#German etching paper

[tamaraleedot]

I made a print! 35x35cm Giclee fine art print, printed on 310GSM German etching paper.

tamaraleemakes.bigcartel.com

[oncanvas]

Gallery of Fashion, vol. IV: April 1, 1797 - March 1, 1798, Nicolaus Heideloff, 1794-1802

Hand-colored etching and engraving 13.38 x 10.44 in. (34 x 26.5 cm) The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, NY, USA

[huariqueje]

Lily Moth  -   Roos Holleman

Dutch , b.  1989 -

Piëzografie on 310 grs Hahnemühle German etching paper , 48 x 33 cm. Ed.33

[boy-eater11]

-Paper Confessions-

- Kurt Wagner/nightcrawler x Shy!Reader

- After Kurt receives two anonymous confession letters, written in slowly improving German. He comes face to face with their quiet author. -

- CW: fluff, bad German, references to insecurities, Gn!reader

The first time it happened, Kurt didn't know what to think. Messy handwriting, horrible grammar, and other blatant mistakes led him to believe the note must have been some kind of elaborate prank.

It seemed honestly quite rude, that someone he knew would go through the trouble of translating an entire fake secret admirer note into German, just to mock the idea that someone could honestly have feelings for him.

Compliments like, 'Der netteste Mann, den ich kenne' or 'der schönste Mann, den ich je gesehen habe' read as cruel insults instead of words of appreciation.

Needless to say, the following day, Kurt was visibly disheartened. You however, were quite proud of yourself. The days before, you had spent countless hours reading and practicing German, in an earnest effort to learn it.

Ever since you had developed feelings for Kurt, you had been painfully unable to communicate how you felt towards him, any attempt to have a genuine conversation resulted in stammers and awkward silences, so you opted to appreciate him from the sidelines. Spending quiet hours in each other's company.

Yet, it had been months since then, and the need to express to him how you felt was becoming too great, so you crafted an idea. You would write him a note, something truly meaningful, to get the stress of hiding your emotions off your chest, even deciding to write it in German, in order to show Kurt just how much you cared.

Your efforts were seemingly in vain however, as the first attempt went incredibly poorly, so poorly you trashed it, where without your knowledge, it managed to find itself into the hands of the very person it was written for.

Kurt had been in the library when he found the crumpled paper with his name on it. He thought it was odd of course, but figured its author wished him to receive it. He regretted that decision after reading it. A cruel insult to all the effort he had put into seemingly as kind and approachable as possible, not wishing to be seen as a monster.

You were of course, confused, when Kurt was inexplicably downtrodden the next day. Everyone could tell, yet any attempt to comfort him was brushed off. When approached, he just claimed to be tired or unfocused.

Observing this, you poured yourself into your books again. Writing, practicing, translating, anything you could do to perfect your skills. Finally, nearly three days later, you had finished your note. Imperfect, but unlike your first failed attempt, you felt confident in your progress. You slipped it under his doorway of course, anonymity was your saving grace.

Despite your original plan, you couldn't bring yourself to admit the confession, leaving it unsigned. You hoped that at least getting your feelings off your chest would help you relax.

Kurt however, was only further confused. This second note, properly addressed to him, left for him to find, was much less demeaning. Still imperfect, in fact it was painfully clumsy in his eyes, but a vast improvement. If he had read this note first, he would have been over the moon with joy. Yet, the cruel doubt etched in him from the original note, clouded his mind from the possibility of sincerity.

He thought through his suspects, Logan, Storm and Jean, seemed like obvious no's, Remy, Scott, or even Rogue seemed more likely, yet he had a hard time believing any of his teammates would do this.

Then you crossed his mind. Painfully shy, but confident in a fight, you seemed far from anyone who would do this. Yet part of him hoped it was you. That he had gotten this whole thing wrong, and that you had been secretly reciprocating his affections.

Kurt had liked you for months, after you patched him up after a seriously bad mission, he felt comfortable around you. When you first arrived, Kurt assumed you were scared of him, you always seemed to avoid him, and never seemed to want to keep a conversation with him. Yet, when he asked if you found him monstrous, you were honest. Saying that you found him quite kind, but that you simply struggled to make friends, and had been intimidated by his forwardness.

So, Kurt took his time. He let you approach first, he was constantly welcoming, and you two had found yourself in a pattern of spending quiet afternoons in each other's company. Not talking, or even really hanging out, just being in each other's presence.

That's when he developed feelings, the quiet moments you shared, seemed like the most relaxed Kurt ever got to be. You were beautiful of course, but being near you reminded Kurt of a warm blanket or a cold towel on a hot day. gentle, and refreshing.

So, that's what Kurt hoped for. That his assumption was wrong, and that you had been writing these for him. It seemed unlikely, and part of him truly believed he was wrong, but it made him feel giddy to think you could feel the same.

You, on the other hand, and only dig yourself a deeper hole. Your work was pointless, you still felt overwhelmed by your wish to confess to Kurt, and the fact that you had put so much time into trying to escape it, weighed you down like bricks on your shoulders.

"You've got to tell him properly. Right now he's probably thinking he's about to get swept off his feet by the girl of his dreams, and you're too scared to admit it's you." Jean teased.

"You're right...I know....I just can't even bring myself to look him in the eyes." You signed, running your hands through your hair in frustration.

"Then don't, hell if you don't want your work to go to waste, just actually put your name down this time." Jean rolled her eyes in response.

"Are you sure that's a good idea though? I mean I can hardly talk to him now, what if after he finds out he doesn't even want to be around me?" Jean patted your back and you rubbed circles into your temples.

"He won't. You two just need to communicate for once."

So, you wrote again. One last letter, rambling painfully about how much you cared for him. Detailing every way he made you smile. Reading it back made you want to almost vomit with cringe, but you didn't know how else to say what you felt.

So, as you had done days prior, you snuck to his room, slipping it under the door frame. However, this time, as you turned to flee, you were treated by a familiar *bamf*

"Mein freund... This was... You?" Before you know it, you're face to face with the fuzzy blue boy of your dreams.

"I... Uhm..yeah." you nod, staring down at your feet, a bright red blush stinging your cheeks.

Without another word, Kurt begins to read your most recent note. You shift uncomfortably, debating whether to run, or to freeze in place.

"You've improved quite a bit Schatz... I am glad." He looks down at you, a wide smile, and indigo blush gracing his features.

You chuckle awkwardly, unable to formulate a genuine response.

"Ich liebe dich auch." He rests a hand on your shoulders, calming your fidgeting, and freezing you in place.

"y-you.... Really?" You stare at him, wide eyed in disbelief.

"of course, meine Liebe. I have for quite some time. In all honesty, I had been wishing it was you."

Without thinking, or saying a word, you pull him into a hug. Burying your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around him.

"good."

- end. -

[cinnastray]

🌸 So, I turned my illustration into a print 🌸

I made the original artwork for Royal Talens after they sent me a set of Pantone markers for testing. Some people said they really like the illustration and want it as a print, so I said alright, cool :]

I tested different papers and decided to go with one that felt the most like an original artwork, rather than a print.

The print is A5 (which is the original artwork size), comes without a frame and is printed on 320gsm natural cotton textured art paper (Hahnemühle German Etching) aaand you can buy it here <3

The packaging is entirely recycable!

[Super important information hidden below!]

The cat is very loosely based on my kitten, Jiji!

He's awesome :] Thanks for checking!

[milkbobatyun]

the emperor's mistakes

pairing: michael kaiser x reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: he let his anger get the better of him again and once more you were the one he directed his anger towards

word count: 968

C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : injury, implied abuse

a/n: for you @nfekwefdskldm cus you're such a big kaiser simp smh

at the kitchen counter, a pile of steaming dishes in front of you as you sat, staring listlessly into the flickering flame, waiting for michael to come back. in the midst of the banquet sat a singular blue rose in its crystal vase—a flower michael had gotten you last week, to apologise for another fight the two of you had.

the old grandfather clock ticked away, steady like a heartbeat. it was almost 10, way past the time that michael normally came home. your hand itched to call him on your phone, but the memory of last time made your breath hitch in your throat. his fury echoed in your ears: “stop being such a busybody.”

he had come home after with fire burning in his eyes, screaming at you, his words blending into a blur of rage and hurtfulness. as if the verbal assault wasn’t enough to satisfy his anger, he had raised his hand against you. to this day, your cheek bore the scar where his ring had cut deeply into the flesh.

the flame flickered, throwing shadows that danced and taunted you across the walls. you couldn’t go to bed early, he expected you to greet him at the door after all. each second passed with a mix of fear and baited breath.

you were about to doze off, the quiet ambience lulling you to sleep, when you heard the jangling of keys at the front door. 

sliding down the bar stool, you padded to the door, quietly greeting kaiser as he entered. but just one glance from him and your words died in your throat. his face was thunderous, frustration emulating from his visage. the look sent a shiver of fear down your spine, as you bowed your head and averted your eyes, shrinking into yourself to make yourself unnoticeable.

it was best if you didn’t anger him further tonight, yet no matter what you did, it seemed to tick him off even further.

he stalked past you wordlessly, slamming the door as he entered his study.

under your breath, you counted silently to 3 before you heard the tell-tale sign of kaiser’s anger. the muffled thuds of books falling to the floor, intertwined with the tingle of pens created a symphony of fury, conducted by the egoist himself.

sighing, you sat down on the large couch, hoping he would calm down soon. on the kitchen table, the food slowly grew cold.

10 minutes, 20 minutes, half an hour passed before the house was finally silent again.

you gave yourself some time before taking in a deep breath and calming your jittering nerves. your worries were rational, no one knew what this wild beast would do in his fits of rage.

tentatively, you knocked on his door. once, twice, thrice. you called out his name, still no answer. you reached out a shaking hand, turning the cold doorknob, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

the chaos of scattered papers and pens, discarded paper weights and overturned chairs were strewn about the room, the remainder of a hurricane. in the eye of the storm, kaiser sat, slumped in his chair, his hands buried in his hair, quietly muttering words of german in anger.

hearing the door open, kaiser’s head shot up, frustration an ugly mask on his face.

“get out!” he roared, slamming his fist on the table. “get out! get out! get out!”

you were too slow for his liking, so he grabbed a nearby book, throwing it in your direction.

time seemed to slow, as you watched the heavy, bound book fly towards your face. pain exploded in bright hot bursts where the corner ripped through your skin, blood flowing freely down your temple.

surprise was etched on your face, as you reached out a trembling hand to your head, fingers staining with your blood. still in a state of white shock, you closed the door with a gentle click.

the door locked away the wrath of kaiser’s anger, but it still echoed in the silence. the sting of the book had turned into a dull throbbing, a ghostly trail of rusted blood on your face.

stumbling into the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of yourself. how had the bright-eyed, cheerful you, turned into this life-less, pathetic ghost of a shell?

gently, you disinfected your wound, hissing at the singing pain that ran through you.

back in the living room, you lowered yourself onto the couch, exhaustion weighing you down. you were tired, you wanted to sleep. to rest. forever seemed like a long enough time.

you were tired of this relationship. you wanted to be free, but your tender heart and lovesick brain believed you could change him for the better. how naïve.

when kaiser had calmed down from his fury, he began picking up the objects strewn around the room.

as he bent to pick down the book lying in front of the door, his fingers came away sticky and coated in blood. your blood.

guilt twisted and gnawed at his insides. once again, he had caused you pain. he was so weak-minded, every time anger consumed him like a flame, you were always the one to bear the brunt of his fury. the bitter taste of defeat was on his tongue.

 every time, he promised that he would do better, rein in the anger, but his temper always won. he was weak to anger, quick to give up. that was not the way an emperor should act.

it was also not the way an emperor should treat his empress, he thought bitterly. once again, his fury had caused you to be hurt. how could he make it up to you this time?

for once, he suspected that no matter how grand, how sincere his apologies were, it may never be enough.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki, @nfekwefdskldm

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[kulapti]

Aug 2023, bookbinding of The Silent Isle Imbowers by Tharkuun.

I’m sooo so so pleased to finally share this! I have been actively working on this for many months and waited until Tharkuun received her copy before posting so the final result would be a surprise.

-----------About this bookbinding under the cut

This binding has been one of the more elaborate pieces I have attempted so far. This has been my first binding where I (1) made three copies of a piece at once, (2) used a modified a historical illustration, (3) collaborated directly with another artist on the decorative elements, (4) finished matching art for the cover and title page, and (5) layered paint and heat-transfer vinyl for the covers. These are also (6) the first non-tiny books I have made with this style of hinge and cover attachment.

Pretty much immediately after I first read this story I felt I had to make myself a copy of this. I had a strong mental image of a vintage-looking cover for a fairy tale, with a deceptively simple design of flowers on the cover, probably with fancy metallic accents, the kind of thing you’d find in an interesting used bookstore with no summary, no text on the back, no dust jacket, just the flowers and maybe a title. I’m going to make a separate post about making this cover design a reality because oh man has it been a journey lol! I designed and drew the digital art for the cover (digital because of the cut and application method), as well as the corresponding title page illustration (pencil and dip pen, scanned, title added digitally).

When I asked Tharkuun about it she was excited to suggest I get in touch with quillingwords, who generously agreed to collaborate with me! Among her talents quilling writes calligraphy, and hand wrote both the book title and chapter headers for me to incorporate into my plans. Check OUT those chapter headers! So fancy! A font could never!! Quilling has also been very encouraging and let me yell about this project in dms for months so the final result could be a surprise for Tharkuun. Thank u so much quillingwords, your calligraphy adds invaluable amounts of swag to this project.

I was going to do some kinda neat font for the chapter headers, but quilling’s work is too cool for that and I decided to use a modified piece of a historical illustration instead. The illustration also happens to be cool as heck: I was browsing the Artstor database (an academic quality resource available for free via Jstor, my beloved) and found E. N. Neureuther's 1836 gorgeous etching for etching of the fairy tale Briar Rose, an illustration made for a printing of a Brothers Grimm recorded German fairy tale with Sleeping Beauty elements. Much to my delight this illustration not only matches the general look I wanted but is actually relevant to the story, itself a Sleeping Beauty spinoff.

Slightly less stylistically consistent are the endpapers, which are prints of two different paintings by Arnold Böcklin: Isle of the Dead (1883) in the front and Isle of Life (1888). The first painting had occurred to me as an excellent visual to go with the story, and Tharkuun and I discussed this and agreed that pairing it with the related later, more optimistic piece was too thematically appropriate to resist.

I had fun and learned a lot making these books and I am very pleased with the result!!

Materials: Archival bookboard, cardstock, cotton cheesecloth mull, archival PVA glue, linen thread coated in beeswax, paper cord, red cotton embroidery floss. Blue cotton backed with archival paper, acrylic paint, machine cut black and gold heat-transfer vinyl. Laser printed text and illustrations. Metallic scrapbooking paper.

[psikonauti]

Max Klinger (German,1857-1920)

A Standing Nude, 1891

mezzotint and etching on japan paper

[major-mads]

Chapter 13: At Last

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: GUYS! Sorry for the SUPER long delay! I went out of the country for a while and had some other things come up, but here we are...the long-awaited chapter!! enjoy!

For some reason, tumblr won't let me tag more than 5 people, so I'll tag people in the comments instead!

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 9.4k

Wednesday, October 27, 1943: Stalag Luft III: Sagan, Germany: 1000 HRS

The dull scrapes of pencils, the ticking of the clock, and the sniffles of Jimmy Lambert in the far corner of the room were the only things keeping Ruth Morgan sane. She sat at her desk fidgeting with her ink pen as she stared down at the paper before her. Her eyes drifted over the page numerous times, but her mind was in no state to absorb information, even information as mundane as an analysis of characters in Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

5 Days Earlier

“We thought you were dead,” Murphy muttered from where he sat at the center table in the girls’ room. “They, uh, they said there were no chutes, ma’am.”

Frank’s brows furrowed slightly, his fingers brushing over his mustache. “No chutes? Someone saw us go down?” 

“Apparently. No one would tell us anything,” Crank added matter-of-factly, but his voice softened as he continued.” Especially not Buck or Bucky. We had to find out what happened through the grapevine.”

With Hope asleep on her bunk, the room’s eyes shifted to Ruth at the mention of the majors. She sat silently at the table, her eyes glistening in the room’s low light as she stared at the roughened wood before her. If everyone thought they were dead, she could only imagine how John must have reacted. How would she have reacted?

“John,” she shakily breathed, raising her teary gaze to the men. “How-How is he? ”

As soon as the words left her lips, Glenn shifted awkwardly in his seat and glanced at Crank and Murph, who acted much the same. Ruth’s brow creased in concern, her eyes searching their faces for answers when Frank draped his arm over the back of her chair. After a few moments, Glen sighed.

“He took it hard, ma’am. Both him, Buck, and Sparky. Bucky, he, uh…” Glen’s eyes flicked to his friend’s desperately for help, and Murph straightened in his chair, coming to the co-pilot's aid.

“Harding made him take a pass to London, but Buck went down over Bremen the day he got there, so he came back early to lead the next mission.”

“Münster was a frickin’ turkey shoot,” Crank grumbled. ”The Zig went down before us…We saw what? 9 chutes?”

Ruth’s breath hitched, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her fingers digging into her palms. “Nine chutes,” she repeated softly, her voice trembling. “But Johnny? Have y’all seen him since?”

The room fell silent, the weight of Ruth’s question hanging heavily in the air. The men exchanged uneasy glances, the shadows in their eyes deepening.

Cruikshank cleared his throat, his voice low. “No. We haven’t seen him. None of us have.”

Ruth’s heart sank and a wave of fear crashed over her. Her vision blurred with unshed tears as she tried to process the news. “So, you don’t know if he’s...”

“It’s Bucky,” Crank nodded. “He’ll make it.”

She nodded, biting her lip to keep from crying. John was either evading, captured, or dead in a German field somewhere. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, not after everything they’d been through. Not after she’d told herself he was safe back at Thorpe Abbotts, convinced herself that he’d be waiting for her.

“Lieutenant Morgan?” A voice called out, but it barely registered in her mind.

“Lieutenant?” the voice repeated, more insistent this time.

Ruth continued to stare blankly at the paper, her mind caught in the memory, but when a shadow fell across her desk, she finally blinked. Her gaze slowly lifted to see one of her students standing there with concern etching his face. “Ruth, are you alright?” he asked softly.

“Oh,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly to clear the memory. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Need some help?”

George, a 20 year old, baby-faced lieutenant with sandy hair and a kind expression, looked at her with a mixture of worry and sympathy. “You seem a bit…distant,” he said carefully. “Are you alright? Did something happen? Did the goons-”

Ruth forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and interrupted his endearing rambling.  “I’m fine, George. Just got a lot on my mind. Thanks for asking.”

He nodded, although not entirely convinced. “This class…it helps all of us so much. So if there’s anything we can do to help, please let us know.”

“I appreciate that, really. How’s your work going?”

George glanced back at the table where his papers were spread out. “It’s going well. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Her heart warmed at his concern. These young men relied on her, and she couldn’t let them down. “Thank you, George. I’ll be alright. If you need any help with your work, let me know.”

He gave her a small smile and returned to his table, leaving Ruth to gather her scattered thoughts. She took a deep breath and refocused on the task at hand, pushing her worries about John to the back of her mind for the moment. She had to stay strong. For herself, for her friends, and for the young men in her classes that clung to their lessons for a sense of normalcy.

1600 HRS: 4 PM

Ruth sat at room four’s table, attempting to organize her lesson plans, the soft scratch of a pencil the only sound in the room. No one had seen Hope since she left toward the infirmary following the 6am roll call, but it was almost time for her to come back. Murphy and Charlie Cruikshank lay in their beds staring up at the wooden slats above their heads. Glenn was off with Frank Martin checking out the garden and harvesting the last of the vegetables before winter came. The chill in the morning and evening air were sure signs it was coming, and fast.

“How was class today?” Murphy asked, sending her a half-smile from his bunk. Since their arrival, the three newcomers kept a close eye on the women.

“It was okay,” she groaned, placing a paper in her ‘graded’ stack. “I’ve got a lot of papers to grade.”

A few moments later, the echo of the siren at the entrance gate cut through the silence of the room. The men sprang to their feet and ran out the door, but Ruth remained in her seat, shaking her head with a grin.

“Ruth, you comin’?” Murphy asked, poking his head around the doorframe.

She shook her head, glancing up from her work. “No, but y’all go ahead. I’ll be fine in here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Ruth insisted, “Go on!”

With a final nod, Frank followed Crank out of the block, their boots echoing down the hallway. The room fell silent again, and Ruth took a deep breath. She picked up Macbeth, hoping to distract herself from the gnawing anxiety that settled in her chest. The words on the page blurred together as her mind wandered back to John. Between Hope pulling away and his unknown fate on top of the uncertainty of captivity, it was all she could do to keep functioning. 

The silence of the room was comforting yet heavy as the minutes ticked by, her mind drifting to the events of the past month. With a sigh, she closed her book and began to tidy up the room. Humming softly to herself, cleared and wiped down the table. With mud, dirt and everything else caked onto the surface, getting it off was a chore. 

Knock. Knock.

“Come on in.” She called, her back to the door that slowly creaked open. “Anyone interesting come in today?”

No response. The silence felt odd. 

Sighing, Ruth turned toward the entrance. “If y’all don’t start cleaning up, too-”

When Ruth’s gaze landed on the figure in the doorway, she didn’t feel her grip on the rag loosening, didn’t hear it hit the ground. All she could focus on was the man standing before her. He was battered and bruised, his uniform torn and dirty, but his eyes…his glossy blues were the same that filled her dreams, her cherished memories.

“John,” she whimpered, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper as tears welled in her eyes.

He slowly took a step into the room. “Hey, Ruthie.”

They simply stood there for a moment, locked in each other’s gaze. But then, a wide smile grew on his face and he crossed the room, throwing his arms around her small figure. Beneath his hold, John felt the sharpness of her features, the way she seemed impossibly smaller…but his mind quickly pushed away the thought because this was the moment he’d dreamed of. 

Ruth instantly returned the embrace with a choked sob, holding him as tightly as she could while John buried his face in her neck. His arms were warm and sturdy, familiar in a way that made her feel whole again.

Pulling back, he tearily grinned at her and gently cupped her face, resting his forehead against hers. “I love you,” he whispered quickly. “I should’ve told you, but I just-”

“Thank God. I love you, too,” Ruth interrupted with her own teary laugh. “I love you, John Egan.”

“I thought you were gone.”

She sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. “I know, I know. But I’m right here. I’m right here.”

Unable to hold off any longer, John kissed her gently, cradling her jaw as he connected their lips. The world melted away and they got lost in each other’s presence for a few moments until Ruth pulled away, her eyes taking in the damage done to his face. It was a mess of cuts and bruises, his right eye swollen and bloodshot. As a nurse, she was used to seeing people in pain, but seeing John in such a state caused that barrier to crumble.

“Oh honey,” she said softly as her thumb brushed lightly over a bruise on his cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He nodded and allowed her to lead him over to the table where he perched atop it. As he sat down, Ruth hurriedly grabbed their first aid kit from under Hope’s bunk before returning to his side. He seemed to notice her sling for the first time and concern flashed across his face.

“Your arm, doll.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she dismissed him, unwrapping some gauze and dabbing it with alcohol. “This happened when I, uh, bailed. Broke it when I went through some trees on the way down.”

John’s saw clenched as the next question filtered through his mind before leaving his lips. His voice was quiet with a barely contained rage at the thought of her suffering at the hands of their captors. “The Krauts. They haven’t...They haven’t touched you, have they?”

“No. Thank God.”

He visibly deflated. “Good.”

Silence again filled the room as she worked carefully to clean the cuts marring his face. When she inspected his it further, she noted the swelling and his bloodshot right eye. “Johnny, this is bad,” she whispered, her fingers trembling as she brushed over the injury. “Can you see okay? Any double vision?”

“Sometimes, but I’m fine, doll. Really. Strong as an ox.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ruth, I’m alright…”

“Take off your shirt, John,” she demanded quietly.

Ruth expected a half-baked joke to fall from his lips, but when it didn’t, her heart sank. He sighed, gritting his teeth as he attempted to take off his jacket. Even the smallest movement felt like murder, and all he wanted to do was lie down, but she was there. Their reunion had pushed down the pain but it came rushing back in that moment.

“Here. Let me help.”

She carefully helped him remove his A2 jacket and unzip his flight suit down to his waist, revealing a dirty, once-white tank top underneath. As she slowly lifted the tank top, John’s jaw clenched and a few pained grunts escaped his lips when he raised his arms. The sight that greeted her was worse than she had feared. His torso was a canvas of bruises, the worst of which spread diagonally across his back. The center was an angry mix of red and purple, while the edges were turning a sickly brownish green.

“Oh, God,” she breathed, her voice cracking as she stared at the damage. Ruth’s eyes filled with tears and she raised a hand to cover her mouth. John set his jaw and stared at the floor silently, unable to meet her gaze. Her hands hesitantly touched the largest bruise across his back with feather-light pressure. 

“What happened?” she asked shakily as a tear streaked down her cheek.

Should he tell her? Subject her to the horrors he’d experienced in the month they’d been apart? He’d want to know. He wanted to know what happened to her, but the thought of watching his sweet, gentle, and caring Ruth crumble as he explained that night’s events and the days that followed was enough of a deterrent.

“I think it was a club,” he replied before glancing up at her with a exhausted smirk. It didn’t quite reach his eyes but he gave it anyways. “Chump had a terrible swing, though. Could’ve batted cleanup for the Braves with the season they're having.”

Deflection. His favorite game, favorite defense. Strong John Egan, the 418th’s CO, Major in the Army Air Force, didn’t want to think about the most helpless moment in his life. Didn’t want to think about how terrified he’d been. Bucky thought he was going to die as he sputtered for air on the ground that night, warm blood running down his face. Through the ringing in his ears and the pain in his head, he heard gunshot after gunshot echo off the brick buildings. Each sent a comrade to their grave, and he knew the next was for him…

“Hey. Please don’t do that,” said Ruth quietly.

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

With a sigh, he turned his gaze back to the dusty paneled floor.  “Me and a group of guys from the 381st were taken through a town, and the people…they just went crazy. I got knocked in the head a few times.”

Ruth swallowed thickly and took his face gently in her hands, tilting it up from the floor to meet her gaze. “What else?”

“Doll,” he sighed, his voice rising slightly as he reached out and gently grasped her waist, pulling her to stand between his legs. “I don’t think you should-”

“I want to know.”

“Well, I’d rather talk about you.”

Ruth blinked, momentarily taken back. “Me?” she repeated, her voice incredulous. “Johnny, look at you. You’re the one who’s hurt.”

“I know, but right now I just want to forget about it,” John said with the purse of his lips. “Tell me what happened…how you’ve been holding up.

Her eyes searched his face for any sign of his usual bravado, but she saw none and relented, taking a deep breath as she tried to shift her focus to herself. 

“We went through a flak field and fighters…they came out of nowhere. Killed our copilot,” she admitted quietly, still slotted between his legs. Ruth reached up, her fingers gently running through his dark curls, soothing his worried mind with each stroke. “Bailing was terrifying, and then we were captured and separated…it’s been a nightmare.” she sniffled quietly. “Definitely not what I expected when I joined up. But you’re here, now, and that makes things much better. Not that I want you to be here, but-”

John cut off her stressed ramble with a kiss. It was filled with more urgency as if to assure himself that she was really there, not just a figment of his imagination, not just a dream. She pulled back gently and placed a hand on his chest, a smooth metal chain beneath her touch.

Her cross. 

“You kept it?”

“It was all I had left of you. I never took it off.”

Tears once again burned in her eyes but she quickly blinked them away. “Enough about me. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” she said softly. “I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

He nodded reluctantly and Ruth went back to carefully tending to his face. As she worked, she continued talking in a feeble attempt to distract him from the pain. “Frank’s been looking out for us the whole time, and since your guys got here last week, they’ve done the same.”

John flinched as she cleaned a deep gash on his temple. “Good,” he managed through gritted teeth. “They’re. How’s Hope? I know Buck’s in another compound.”

“She’s not good. Hasn’t been sleeping because of nightmares, so Frank and I have tried to stay up with her… but she just shuts us out. We don’t know what to do.”

Johnny frowned, concern deepening the lines on his bruised face. “Hope’s tough but it sounds like you’ve both been through hell. It just looks like it’s taking her more time, doll.”

“I know, but it’s so hard to see her like this. She won’t talk to me, John. She won’t open up. I-I don’t know how to help her,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she carefully dabbed a cut on his eyebrow.

He reached up and gently cupped her cheek. “Hey, listen to me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that escaped down her cheek. “You’re doing everything you can. Some people just need to deal with things their own way, in their own time.”

“But what if she never does?” Ruth whispered, her voice breaking. “What if I can’t help her?”

The major’s heart ached at the pain in her big blue eyes, and he pulled her closer, gently wrapping his arms around her waist. “She’ll come around. I know it.”

Just then, a series of rapid knocks on the door interrupted them, followed by the sound of familiar voices. “Ruth, Bucky, you two decent in there?”

She quickly wiped away her tears. John looked up, wincing slightly as he tried to sit up straight. “Come on in, you dodos,” he called out.

The door swung open, and Murph, Crank, and Glenn hurried into the room. Their eyes widened when they took in the sight of John’s bruised body.

“Shit,” Crank muttered. “Bucky, what did they do to you?”

Murphy’s face twisted in concern. “You look like you went ten rounds with a freight train and lost,” he said with the shake of his head. “You alright?”

John gave them a weak grin. “Just fine, boys. You should see the other guy.”

“If you say so, sir,” Graham grimaced.

Ruth helped John back into his shirt and into a seat, and the men sat around the table, asking John about the Münster mission, what happened to his plane, and if he knew about any of the other guys from his crew. While they spoke, her mind wandered to Frank and Hope. It was almost 5:30, almost time for supper…if you could call half a potato and a tiny sausage-looking meat stick supper.

Noticing her far-off stare, John placed a gentle hand on her thigh beneath the table and remained in the conversation, his touch offering little comfort against her worry. It wasn’t until the door creaked open a few minutes later that she could finally breathe. Frank and Hope appeared in the doorway, freezing as their eyes fell upon the group. The group’s hushed voices ceased and a few chairs scraped back as they turned to see who had entered. She felt John move beside her, turning to face the pair. 

“Hope! Frank! You’re back. Ruth’s been telling me all about you both since the crash.” John cracked a wide smile and Ruth noticed the way his eyes softened as they fell on Hope. 

 Frank stood behind Hope in the doorway, his eyes widening when his gaze fell on Bucky. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “It’s good to see you, Major, sorry it’s not under better circumstances.” 

John shrugged, his arm coming back around to rest on Ruth’s shoulders, “We’re at war Captain, worse things could have happened. To think that of all the camps I could have gone to I ended up back with my girl. It could have been worse, I could have been stuck in a different compound like Buck and…” 

The room fell silent and all eyes fell to Hope. Ruth held in the small gasp that threatened to fall from her lips. She saw Hope’s eyes trail to the floor, her brown eyes fighting against her emotions. 

“Ahh, Hope, I didn’t mean…” John began, his face etched with concern as he realized the weight of his words. 

“It’s fine, John. Really, it’s good to have you back. It’s nice to see Ruth so happy again.” 

Hope sent her friend a sincere smile and the blonde returned it, her shoulders relaxing a little. Ruth wasn’t convinced that was the truth, but to know Hope wasn’t about to run out on her again brought her a small amount of comfort. Everyone walked on eggshells around Hope. It was like she was an unexploded bomb that needed to be handled with such delicacy in fear of her going off at any moment. 

Hope sat herself down on her bunk, her dark eyes trailing over the group. Frank joined in the conversation and Ruth took that as her moment to slip out of John’s grasp and make her way over to her friend. 

Hope didn’t notice Ruth approaching her until the bed dipped beside her. 

“How are you doing?” Ruth asked, slipping her hand into Hope’s and squeezing it gently. “You’ve been really quiet since Gale arrived.” 

Ruth wanted to approach the subject but also didn’t want to drive her friend away further. She knew she’d have to be careful with her probing questions…one false move and Hope could close in on herself again. 

“I’m fine, Rue, really. Work’s just been busy and I’ve not been sleeping well, but I promise I’m fine,” she forced a smile that stretched across her pale cheeks. Ruth could see the dark, purple skin beneath her friends eyes and the way her skin pulled tightly across her cheekbones. She had always considered her friend to be beautiful, so striking with her dark hair and red lipstick, but now she look like a ghost of her former self. 

Ruth wasn’t convinced. Her once bright eyes looked tiredly at Hope, breaking her heart even more. 

What had become of them?

2200 HRS: 10 PM

The afternoon passed with introductions to fellow prisoners and supper, along with John’s first evening roll call. By lights out, the major was half-asleep in his chair around the table, pure exhaustion wafting off him after the journey he had from Dulag Luft. Everyone else was lying quietly in their bunks, leaving John, Ruth, and Crank alone at the table. She watched with a softened gaze as Bucky’s eyes drooped again and again. It was adorable, the way he continued to fight it, but Ruth knew he was beyond tired. She shared a glance with Crank across the table before returning her eyes to John’s half-lidded ones. 

“Come on,” Ruth patted his shoulder gently, his eyes opening wider. “Let’s get you into bed.”

John blinked a few times, trying to gather his thoughts. “Yeah, okay,” he murmured, pushing himself up from the table with a barely concealed wince. 

That afternoon, they decided he would get the bunk above Ruth’s. If their roommates were being honest, they guessed one of the beds would be empty more often than not. It wasn’t an easy task getting all six-foot-something of John up onto the second-row bunk, but he gritted his teeth and swallowed the pain as he climbed into the bed.

Charlie stood to help, but Johnny waved him off. “I’m good,” he insisted, though his voice lacked its usual strength.

“Sure you don’t,” Crank replied with a knowing eye-roll but stayed close just in case.

John gritted his teeth and tried to climb onto the second-row bunk on his own. He managed to get one leg up before a sharp pain shot through his side, making him grunt and pause.

“Let us help,” Ruth whispered.

He nodded reluctantly, the fight leaving him as he sighed. “Alright, alright. Just this once.”

Crank and Ruth each took an arm, Charlie doing more than the blonde, and they carefully helped him up onto the bunk. Only a small wince left his lips despite the ever-present ache throughout his whole body. Once he settled on the narrow mattress, he took a long breath.

“See? Easy,” he joked weakly, slightly out of breath from the movement.

Charlie clapped him gently on the shoulder before heading to his own bunk. “Sure, Bucky.”

Standing beside his bunk, Ruth’s face was slightly taller than eye level. She looked down at him with worry swirling in her mind. The cuts, the bruising, his eye, the avoidance…it all worried her. She wanted to know what happened. Needed to know. How could she be there for him if she didn’t know what he went through?

“You alright?” he asked sleepily, his face only visible from the moonlight streaming through the room’s small window. “What’s going through that head of yours?”

Ruth sighed and raised her hand to play with the messy curls hanging over his forehead. “I missed you. So much. Being here…it gives you a lot of time to think. Makes you realize what’s important. Who’s important. A part of me thought I’d never see you again.”

“Well, I’m here now, and I promise I’m not gonna leave you again, alright? I meant what I said earlier, doll. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she replied softly, kissing his cheek. “Get some rest, okay? You need it.”

Groaning, john tiredly raised his eyebrows. “Come on. That’s all I get?” 

“So needy,” Ruth smirked with the roll of her eyes before kissing him properly. “Now really go to sleep, hotshot.”

A pleased smile curved John’s lips as his eyes slipped closed. “Night, Ruthie.

She gave him one last tender look before stepping back and moving to her own bunk below his. For the first night in a month, the overwhelming sense of doom, of panic, seemed to lessen, and she drifted off to sleep easily. Bucky, however, was subjected to the same nightmare that visited him nightly. 

Smoke and flames burned his eyes as he frantically looked around him. The twisted metal of the Angel lay scattered around the field, its normal green paint charred in the blaze. John stumbled over the debris, his heart pounding as he searched for any sign of life. The plane was nearly unrecognizable, the once proud C-47 reduced to a smoldering heap of metal and fire. John’s eyes darted frantically across the field, the smoke filling his lungs. He coughed violently and his hands trembled as he clawed his way through the debris. Then, in the fire’s dim light, he saw her…but the vibrance of her eyes was gone as she blankly stared up at the sky.

“No, no, no,” he gasped, his heart skipping as he rushed to her side, but his hands passed through her as if she was a ghost. 

John jolted awake with a gasp, and his heart pounded in his chest. His heaving chest was drenched with sweat as he tried to get his bearings. For a moment, he was disoriented, and the line between dream and reality blurred. But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he remembered where he was. The stalag. Ruth was alive. He’d seen her, held her. But the lingering fear from the nightmare gnawed at him.

Ignoring the pain that shot through his body with every movement, Johnny carefully climbed down from his bunk and lowered himself slowly to the floor, wincing as his bruised ribs protested. 

He felt uneasy. An unnerving feeling spread through him as he turned and met a dark pair of eyes watching him from the window. His breath caught in his throat as his heart continued to pound. Hope watched him sympathetically. Her own eyes were rimmed red and her small frame looked childlike in her oversized coveralls bunched up against the window. The pair exchanged no words as John shuffled closer to Ruth’s cot. Leaning against the post of Ruth’s bunk, he fixed his eyes on her sleeping form. She looked so peaceful, her chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. He reached out hesitantly and lightly brushed a strand of hair from her face. Bucky had watched her for what felt like hours when she finally stirred. 

Ruth’s eyelids fluttered open as if finally sensing his presence, and she blinked sleepily, her eyes focusing on the figure sitting beside her bed. 

“Johnny?” she whispered, her voice heavy with sleep. “Why are you on the floor?”

He pursed his lips. “No reason. It reminded me of my lovely cell back at Dulag Luft.”

A small sigh left Ruth’s lips as she watched him in the dim light. Through the bruises and the bravado, she saw a wounded man…one wounded physically, emotionally, and mentally.

“John.”

The silence that followed was filled with Murph’s quiet snores.

“I, uh, just wanted to check on you,” the major murmured after a moment, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap, his eyes stuck on them. “To make sure you’re okay…That this isn’t some messed-up dream.”

It was then that Ruth remembered what the others said…He took it hard. But what all did that entail? Did he go out and drink himself away every night or did he pick up his old habits with women? She didn’t know, but what she did know was that he was there, they were finally together.

“Hey,” she whispered, sitting up and reaching out to him. She gently ran her hand through his greasy curls. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

John’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, she saw raw vulnerability in them, but the strong facade quickly returned. He thought back to the long nights in the Officer’s Club, sitting around the bar with a drink in his hand, just trying to drown out the memories that followed him everywhere. John couldn’t go to Dickleburgh, couldn’t bear Tommy asking about Ruth, asking when he’d see her again. The first and only time it happened, Buck and Kidd looked at him warily, unsure whether he’d crumble or explode as Tommy stared up at him with his signature toothy grin. John simply took a big gulp of his pint and clenched his jaw, telling Tommy she’d be gone for a while. He didn’t remember much after that moment, but he remembered waking up the next morning with one of the worst hangovers of his life. He awoke knowing he couldn’t face Tommy or the memories that mercilessly replayed in his mind. 

He nodded and softly took her hand, running his thumb over the top of it as he spoke. “Yeah. I know. It’s just…They told us the Angel went down. Said there were no survivors. We - uh - spent the past month thinking both you and Hope were dead. I-” 

Bucky trailed off and looked away from Ruth, his gaze focusing on the dusty floor beside him. He couldn’t stop the burn in his eyes at the thought of the past month. He was no stranger to pain, to loss. Losing his father was heartbreaking, as was losing man after man as the war went on. But Ruth? Losing Ruth was the worst pain he’d ever felt. And to think, Haussmann was the reason he knew she was alive after all that time.  

“Johnny, look at me,” Ruth murmured as she softly turned his face toward her. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone. I wish more than anything I could’ve made it back to you.”

He blinked away the tears glistening in his eyes and took a deep breath with a nod. “Me, too, doll. Me, too.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, both soaking in the loving gaze of the other. Ruth noted the flecks of grey in his blue eyes. The grey reminded her of the clouds that almost always hung in the sky around The Grove and Thorpe Abbotts. A dog’s bark in the distance broke their trance, and Ruth lightly tugged on his hand.

“Come here.”

He hesitated but then slowly climbed onto the bunk, wincing quietly as he did so. Ruth made space for him, which wasn’t much, but they managed to fit. He lay on his back and she nestled herself on top of him, her body conforming to the limited space they had.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his face for any signs of discomfort.

John nodded, his mind finally able to rest with her in his arms. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, Ruthie, you’re not hurting me. I promise.”

She carefully laid her head on his chest, her ear over his heart. The steady rhythm was comforting, a reminder that he was alive and here with her. That she was alive. Tears welled up in her eyes again as she clung to him.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, sitting up on his chest and peering down at him. “I was worried sick about you. I couldn’t focus in class…”

“Class?”

Ruth’s lips formed a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I-uh,” she sniffled quietly, “teach English to some of the other kriegies.”

With a huff of air and a shake of his head, he relaxed against the straw pillow, staring at the wooden slats above him as a faint smile grew on his face. Since his capture, John had thought about how much his life was changing. The freedom he cherished would be gone, and no one knew how long he’d be stuck in the camp under German rule. But then there was Ruth, already stepping up and helping out where she could, not wallowing in self-pity like he had already begun to. 

“What?” she asked, sitting back up on his chest.

“Just you. You’re just amazing. Even here.”

Ruth blushed and her eyes dropped to his chest as she absent-mindedly traced patterns on his shirt. “It helps me feel like I’m doing something, you know? Like I’m not just sitting around, waiting for the war to end. It gives me purpose.”

“At least you’re able to do what you love. Those kids back home were lucky to have ya, and now these guys are, too.”

“It’s not the same, but it helps. And they seem to appreciate it,” she said, looking up at him. 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “I bet they do. Doesn’t hurt that you’re gorgeous, either. You never stop amazing me, doll.”

She shook her head, smiling. “I don’t know about that. It gets my mind off of everything, though…Got my mind off you.”

He stared at her for a moment, really looking at the woman before him. She’d been through hell and was more worried about him than herself…him, who up two weeks prior had been sleeping in a warm bed in England while she was being forced across Germany. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Johnny murmured, tightening his hold on Ruth as his arms wrapped protectively around her. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

His question brought back a memory, and Ruth found herself being transported back to Thorpe Abbotts, to the night of Dye’s party when he’d asked the same thing. Everything was so different then. In that small hall bathroom in the Officer’s Club, John had also asked her to come to London with him. 

Oh, the things that would never be…or at least wouldn’t happen in the foreseeable future.

Her hand found its way to his cheek as she spoke. “You didn’t have to do anything, remember? I love you. Don’t let anything tell you different.” 

A few seconds passed before John sighed and looked up at the bunk above him. “You know, when I thought you were gone, I-I didn’t handle it too well. I drank…A lot. Went to London on my own, hoping to get some closure, but it…it didn��t help.”

Ruth just watched him, trying to keep her own emotions in check. To her dismay, almost everything she’d guessed had been true. The strong man she knew was reduced to someone who needed alcohol to get through the day, to go to sleep at night. He went on to tell her about London, the mission, and his interrogation, but he kept the most brutal parts to himself. She was already worried and didn’t need anything else to stress over. 

“But I do owe that Nazi chump one thing. He let me know you were alive, even if he didn’t realize it.”

“What?” she asked with furrowed brows. “How?”

“I didn’t tell him anything. But as I was leaving, he said something I wrote in my last letter to you. Told me the ‘Yankees always end on top…’ probably to try and rile me up, I guess. I knew that meant you went through there if he knew that.” 

Chuckling, Ruth shook her head. “Wow. Who’d’ve thought?”

“Speaking of the Yankees,” John began with a twinkle in his eye. “They won the World Series.”

She playfully groaned and turned away from him with a poorly hidden smirk. “I did not miss hearing crap from you about the Yankees, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, come on, doll. You know you missed it,” he teased as he turned onto his side and pulled her against him wincing slightly as pain shot through his ribs. “Don’t even deny it.”

A loud giggle involuntarily escaped her lips when he wrapped his arms around her again. The sound lifted a weight off of Johnny’s shoulder’s. It was a sound he’d heard night after night, memory after memory, and hearing it after believing he never would again eased his mind in a way he couldn’t describe. Ruth could’ve sworn she heard Frank gag from a nearby bunk, but he made no other complaints. 

They stayed like that for a while, both caught up in their thoughts. Ruth thanked God for keeping John safe, for sparing him and bringing him back to her, even if he was bloody and bruised and they were both prisoners of war. Bucky burrowed his face in her neck and breathed her scent, felt the warmth of her skin, the way she fit perfectly in his arms. She was alive. They were together. And in that moment, he promised to do whatever it took to keep her safe. 

“I love you,” he whispered after kissing her neck gently. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying that.”

“And I’ll never get tired of hearing it. Goodnight, hotshot. I love you.”

With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her presence wash over him. “Goodnight, slugger.”

This time, sleep welcomed the major quickly, and for the first time in over a month, it was peaceful.

Two Days Later: October 29th: 0530 HRS: 5:30 AM

Bang. Bang.

“Aufstehen! Get up!”

The clacking of boots furthered down the hall as the occupants of room 4 slowly awoke. Ruth sat up with a yawn, running a tired hand down her face as John gingerly hopped from the bunk above her and kissed her cheek.

“Mornin, doll.”

“Morning,” she groaned, sliding on her boots and getting bundled up for the morning appell. Ruth layered her sweaters and flight jacket then wrapped her scarf around her neck. She glanced over at Hope on the bunk beside her and noticed the way her friend pulled her own scarf tightly around her neck. Taking a closer look, Ruth also noticed the redness around Hope’s eyes. Everyone knew Hope was struggling, and each time she shut down any conversations about it, Ruth became increasingly worried. In the almost month they’d been at the camp, Hope went from a little closed off to completely isolated…or maybe she just wanted to be away from Ruth? The blonde didn’t know, but she did know that it hurt her heart to see her best friend in such a state. 

Everyone quickly got ready and filed out the door for the morning roll call. It was almost always the same every morning and afternoon. The goons went down the line checking everyone was accounted for until they were satisfied. On special occasions when they felt extra cruel, the kreigies were forced to stand in their lines for hours. Luckily, that had only happened once since the girls arrived. As the chilly air turned colder with the passing days, Ruth wondered how long anyone would be able to stand exposed to the elements. It would snow soon, no doubt.

After roll call, everyone headed to the mess hall for breakfast. John threw his arm over Ruth’s shoulder, tucking her into his side. “I could eat a horse right now. I know you’re hungry, and you know I’m always hungry.”

He paused, waiting for her response, but Ruth didn’t hear a word he said. Her attention was too caught on Hope’s lonesome figure behind the group to notice he was speaking. Hope stood still, almost in a trance-like state as she stared at the mud in front of her. Bucky followed Ruth’s line of sight and sighed quietly, an understanding smile on his lips.

“Go on,” he said, squeezing her good shoulder gently.

Finally breaking from her stare, Ruth peered up at him, her brows drawn in concern. “I’ll just be a second.”

“You’re fine, doll.”

He nodded and kissed her temple. Everyone else seemed to notice the few stragglers and stood beside Bucky. Taking a deep breath, Ruth approached her friend, praying this would be the time she’d finally open up. But even as she stood three feet in front of her, Hope didn’t move. 

“Hope?” 

Hope’s tear-filled eyes snapped up to meet Ruth’s and quickly scanned the group beside John. A sudden redness crept up to her cheeks as Hope realized all the eyes that were on her. Frank appeared next to Ruth and reached out for Hope.

“You okay, Hope?” Frank asked, brushing his hand against hers. But before he could grasp it, she withdrew her hand and turned to avoid the other’s watchful eyes. Hurt flashed on his face for a moment until he reined in his expression, concern painting his face once again.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” she insisted. “I’m just tired. Lots of patients to see today, so I’ll head over to the infirmary.” She pushed past Ruth, moving through the group toward the infirmary. Ruth shared a helpless glance with Frank before following. 

“Hope! Hope, wait!” Ruth called after her, clutching onto her friend’s arm when she reached her. “Hey, you have to talk to me. Please don’t shut me out,” the blonde pleaded.

 “I’m not shutting you out, Rue. I’m busy, alright? I have things I need to do.”

Ruth’s grip remained firm on her forearm but Hope pushed her arm away. “Just go back to John, why don’t you? He’s waiting for you, so you should just go.”

Ruth felt a sharp pang in her chest at the words. The accusation, the resentment, it cut deep. After all they’d been through, this is how they were treating each other? She had been doing everything she could to be there for her friend, but it seemed like no matter what she did, it wasn’t enough. Ruth’s voice trembled as she responded, trying to keep the hurt from showing too much.

“Please, Hope. Please just talk to me.” Ruth bit her lip to stop it from wobbling as tears slowly filled her eyes.

All Hope did was step further away from the blonde. “I can’t talk to you about it. You won’t understand,” she replied plainly, pushing her dark hair away from her eyes. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as she took a breath. “I should check on the men in the infirmary.”

Without another word, she continued down the muddy path to the infirmary block. Ruth’s watched her friend’s retreating figure until she disappeared from view. The ache in her chest was almost unbearable.

You wouldn’t understand.

What wouldn’t she understand? They’d been through the worst experience of their life together, ended up as prisoners of war together. What wouldn’t she understand? Ruth didn’t know what she was supposed to do now. She’d tried everything she knew to do.

John stepped beside her and placed a hand on her back. “I’m sorry if I’ve-”

“No, it’s not you,” Ruth interrupted, her voice breaking as she leaned into him. “You haven’t done anything. I-I just don’t know what to do. She refuses to talk to me. It’s like she’s shut me out completely.”

His hand moved to wrap around her waist, his warmth a small comfort in the cold. “Seems like you’ll have to wait for her to come to you, Ruthie.”

“I just wish there was something more I could do,” she nodded, resting her head on his shoulder.

The rest of the day passed the same as the past 35 they’d spent in the dreaded Stalag Luft III. That night, however, Hope never came back to their room. As the hours ticked by and Ruth, along with the other men, arrived from their jobs around the camp, everyone became increasingly worried. 

“Has anyone seen her?” Ruth asked frantically, running a hand quickly through her hair. “She’s usually back by now.”

Just as John opened his mouth to speak, the door opened and in walked Frank, soaked to the bone with a barely concealed frown. Glancing out the window, Ruth realized it was pouring.

When had it started raining?

Room 4’s occupants looked at the man expectantly. “Hope? You seen ‘er?” echoed Cruikshank.

Frank nodded slowly and closed the door behind him. “Yeah,” he breathed, “She, uh…She collapsed from exhaustion. Dr. Edmund is looking after her.”

“What?” Ruth blurted as her eyes widened in disbelief. Her whole body was on edge, the news sending shockwaves of panic through her. She could only imagine Hope laying in a scratchy bed surrounded by sick and injured men, forced to stay there for who knows how long. 

Collapsed? Exhaustion? Had something happened?

Before anyone could ask Frank further questions, she grabbed her jacket from her bed and pushed toward the door. “I need to see her.”

“Wait, Ruth.” Frank stepped in front of the door, a guilty look in his eyes as he blocked her path. “She doesn’t want visitors.”

Undeterred, she side-stepped him while pulling her jacket over her good arm. She needed to be there, had to be there for Hope. This wasn’t a time to let her handle things herself. “I’m not just a visitor, Frank. It’s me.”

But just as her hand reached the door handle, he put a hand on her shoulder, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. It was almost like the words pained him…like every syllable was a shot straight to the heart. “I know it’s you. She doesn’t want you to see her.”

Ruth froze, turning to stare at Frank as his words sunk in. “She doesn’t want me to see her?” Her voice wavered, and a mix of disbelief and hurt flashed over her face. “Why? Why doesn’t she want to see me?”

“Ruthie-” John started, taking a step toward her, but was interrupted.

She stepped out from under Frank’s hand on her shoulder and threw her arm up in the air. “No,” Ruth said, her voice raising as her frustration boiled over. She’d played this game the past few weeks, and enough was enough. “Why? Why doesn’t she want me there, Frank? Can you please tell me?” 

The outburst caught everyone off guard, the sharpness of her tone a stark contrast to her usual demeanor. Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise as he watched the scene before him. His heart ached for her, knowing how much she was hurting, and he felt a pang of helplessness. He always admired her quiet strength, her resilience, but seeing her like this…so vulnerable and desperate…it broke his heart.

Frank looked pained as he tried to explain. “She thinks she’s protecting you. She doesn’t want you to see her like this.”

Ruth’s shoulders slumped as the fight drained from her. “I’m sorry, Frank,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “Thanks for, uh, telling me.”

All eyes followed her figure as she walked to her bunk and laid down, turning her back to all of them. She didn’t know how much more of it she could take. Things were so much easier when they had each other, and in isolating herself, Hope had accidentally isolated Ruth as well. Without the other, they were the only woman in the camp. 

Frank and John exchanged a glance, pure helplessness evident in both their eyes at the situation. They couldn’t make Hope talk to Ruth, and the fact they couldn’t do anything hurt more than any punishment either of the men recieved in captivity. 

Sighing heavily, Frank ran a hand through his dripping hair. “I wish there was more we could do,” he murmured.

Johnny nodded, glancing back at Ruth’s figure across the room. “Yeah, me too.” His voice was thick, and the usually talkative Major struggled to find the right words. “It’s tearing her apart, Martin. I’ve-I’ve never seen her like this.”

“Hope’ll come around, eventually. She has to.”

“I hope you’re right,” Bucky replied softly as his eyes remained fixed on the woman he loved. “I really hope you’re right.”

Thursday, November 4th: 1500 HRS: 3 PM

The days passed slowly for everyone in room 4, especially Ruth. While Frank was able to check on Hope in the infirmary, no one else was allowed to visit…this didn’t stop Ruth from trying, however. But to her dismay, she was turned away by Dr. Edmunds before she could even make it through the door. 

She attended class as normal and went about her days, but a dark cloud of worry loomed over her mind, consuming her every thought. Even as she wrote on the chalkboard behind her, she wasn’t fully present. If her students could tell something was wrong, they didn’t comment on it. They just copied down the notes in the notebooks the Red Cross sent them in their packages. 

“So, Lady Macbeth,” Ruth said as she scribbled the character name on the board,” She is an example of character archetype?” 

Her eyes flitted across the room, scanning each of the young men’s faces. Some were searching through their notes to find the answer while others stared at the board in thought. A hand flew up in the front corner of the room, and it brought a smile to Ruth’s face when she saw it was George. 

“Go ahead, George,” she gestured to him.

“Is she a femme fatale?”

“Great job. Lady Macbeth is a great example of a femme fatale. Now can someone besides George tell me what a femme fatale is?”

Before anyone could raise their hand, a knock sounded through the classroom. “Come in,” she called.

A few of the men gave her a wary look, unsure of who would be stopping by in the middle of a lesson. Since Ruth started teaching a few weeks prior, they hadn’t had any visitors. She thought it could be John who’d said he might pop in sometime to see her. Who stuck their head around the corner, however, was the last person she’d ever expect.

Hope.

Did she finally want to talk? After all that time?

Ruth glanced at her watch and placed down the chalk. 

“I think that’ll be all for today. Make sure to read up to Act 3, scene 2, and we’ll go from there in the next lesson.” 

The men packed up quickly and exited the room, sensing the unspoken tension between the women. Ruth leaned against her desk, arms crossed over her chest as she waited expectantly. To say she was surprised to see her friend in her class was an understatement. In all the time she’d been teaching in the camp Hope had never once visited. 

Relief and frustration bubbled up inside Ruth. Of course, she was happy to see her friend, but Hope treated her poorly and her words cut deep. She didn’t quite look annoyed but Hope knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t exactly pleased that she hadn’t allowed her to visit the infirmary. 

“I’m glad to see you’re up and about again,” Ruth replied plainly, a faint smile on her lips. This was her best friend, but she felt like a stranger now. “You had me worried, Hope…had me worried for a while now. Since the crash, you’ve not been yourself, and I understand that but…” she cut herself off, pushing herself away from her desk and moving to a table a few feet away from Hope.

Hope kept her eyes trained on the floor, unable to meet Ruth’s, embarrassment clear on her reddening cheeks as the tears building in her eyes threatened to fall. 

“I’m sorry, Rue…” she mumbled softly. 

Ruth sighed, moving closer and standing before her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know things haven’t been easy for you, but things haven’t been easy for me, either. We need each other, and you pushed me away…pushed us all away.” 

Tears welled in Ruth’s eyes, too, and Hope felt a choked sob slipping from her lips, “I failed you, Ruth. I just keep failing and disappointing you.” 

Sympathy easily overpowered Ruth’s frustration, and she tugged Hope into an embrace. Hope’s head fell against the blonde's shoulder and she felt Ruth’s arms encasing her as she cried. It was the most relief she’d felt in months: to truly cry…to release all the emotions that had been bottled up for the past month. 

“I’m so sorry, Ruth.”

The two women remained still, each clinging to the other as they cried over the events of the last few months. Neither of them had truly faced what had become of them but it was good to finally share in their grief. To face reality together.

Ruth pulled back, rubbing away the stray tears that streaked down her pale cheeks. “Hope please tell me what happened. Frank said you collapsed from exhaustion and didn’t want anyone to visit. I tried to anyways but Dr. Edmund said you weren’t up for visitors.” 

She wanted answers…needed answers as to why Hope quite literally shut her out.

Hope bit her lip, seemingly caught in a battle within herself. A few moments passed until she shakily spoke. “Well, I’ve not been sleeping too well for a while now but I’d finally finished the letter to Gale that Edmund promised to pass onto him,” she began, inhaling sharply between each sentence. “I went to the infirmary earlier, I couldn’t sleep and I wanted Edmund to have it as soon as possible. I went to the infirmary to drop it off and there was this man there…”

Hope gulped.

“He was a patient and was as good as dead, but…”

Ruth couldn’t help the emotion that clawed at her throat as Hope spoke. Her friend’s voice sounded so broken and painful as she relived the events that Ruth didn’t know what to say. What could she say?

“He grabbed me and he tried too… Well, he didn’t manage it. Edmund said it was all the shock of that and the sleep deprivation that my body finally just gave up. He put me on bed rest. Frank only found out because I was unconscious when he arrived and Edmund let him in.” 

Hope let out a long sigh, reaching to take Ruth’s shaking hands in her own, “I didn’t want you to see me so broken, Rue. I’ve always promised that I’d look after you but all I do is keep failing and letting you down.”

Ruth shook her head, fighting to keep her lip from trembling, “You haven’t failed me, alright? You’re the strongest, most talented, hardest working person I know, and you’re the most incredible nurse. I wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you for taking care of me, but it’s my turn to take care of you. You just have to let me.” 

A painful wail slipped from Hope as she sobbed once more, surrendering to her own grief. How had she been so blind to the pain she’d caused her friend? 

“I love you, Rue, I love you so much and I can’t lose you.” 

Ruth’s hand smoothed down Hope’s back, “I love you too, Hope. And don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Tag List: @xxluckystrike @precious-little-scoundrel @bcofl0ve @violetdaze25 @docroesmorphine -> will tag rest in comments!

let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[soulasaurusrex]

Stegosaurus print by Carly! She took some creative liberties with this but he looks cute doesn’t he? This print is available on our Etsy for £23! Head on over and get yourself a beautiful print 🥺🙏

Our prints are high end, giclée prints. Printed on German etching paper with realistic, true to color, colors. They are 20 by 20 cm in size and are limited to only 30 prints 😊

SoulasaurusRex.etsy.com

[writing-whump]

Too many people

Hector gets sick on the subway and meets someone new.

Subway was the classic Vienna experience.

Hector knew wolves had been avoiding it and he knew for a good reason - small space, too many people, cut off from outside air, claustrophobic to be underground - which made him want to try it all the more.

Maybe he would show them all off by being the one wolf who liked subways just fine.

Not to mention, he was kind of late today and subways were everywhere, especially around uni, where he needed to get. Asap.

The first station or two were fine. His natural dangerous aura, even without his shadow - he wasn't such a brute as to show it off in public - scared most people off to give him space. He was sprawling in a four seat all alone, and the subway even went above ground for a while giving him a nice view. Almost like a tram, just faster.

But then they crossed a bigger station and suddenly there wasn't enough place for the thickness of the crowd. Nobody cared who was sitting or stand whom on the toes, people went in with speed, as if expecting the bodies would make space on their own.

Man, they were willing to stand in the funking door, delaying the whole ride, just to get a shot!

Hector was quite miffed about all of that, when he was forced against the window and the subway ran in the tunnel for good five stops already.

The air changed, warmer and stickier with all the bodies.

Hector didn't understand humans didn't mind to be pressed against so many strangers. Whole sides, hands gripping the same pole, breathing right into each other's faces.

He was handling it well though. So he was a little compressed by the shoulders and legs of everyone, and yes, these strangers were touching him, which made his skin crawl and his shadow curl up allergically - but he was fine. Deep breaths. Nothing was wrong.

Except the smell of sweaty palms and the guy pressed up next to him all but screaming his ear off into his phone - did the guy thing it was fine to be so loud, just cause he wasn't speaking in German? What the hell! That didn't bother people any less!

Hector was considering he would simply get out a bit sooner than his stop and run the rest of the way. Wasn't like he was quitting, he would just get a bit exercise done before class.

But then the subway stopped. Just stopped in the middle of fucking nowhere, black tunnel behind and in front of them.

The voice apologised with no hint of emotion for a bit of a 'delay' and nobody protested.

Now Hector looked around at people blindly hypnotised by their phones or talking into their earphones, scandalised nobody minded.

He needed a distraction. His chest was tight, he couldn't stop fidgeting and the sensation of the shoulder digging into him made him feel like ants were biting all over it. Oh god, he really shouldn't have risked a subway...

Then his eyes landed on the girl opposite him. She was the only one not on her phone, instead doodling something on her notebook. With a pencil.

Huh. Hector didn't have a use for pencil since grade school.

She had short black hair he wouldn't have guessed for a girl, a bit chubby face, and a red beanie. In that overheated subway, no less. Crazy.

As Hector watched her, cheek pressed into the cool window separating him from unending darkness and the walls of the tunnel, he noticed her eyes darting up to someone and then back to her paper.

Up and back down. The tip of her tongue came up in the corner of her mouth from concentration.

Was she drawing the passengers themselves?

Hector straightened up, craning his neck to get a glimpse. And truly, there it was. She draw the people on the subway, the man with the suitcase, the girl with blue and red pigtails, the grandmother with a small child on the four seat set next to them.

They didn't look real, they had this round animated like quality to them, but they were recognizable and consistent.

And there. That one in the corner of the notebook was him. A deep frown etched into a hard face, bushy eyebrows.

He cackled out loud at that.

The girl jumped up at the sound, the only one near without anything plugging her ears. Her eyes were big and round, smokey gray colour he never saw before.

He grinned at her. "That's me."

She frowned at him. "It's rude to look."

"But you drew me. Surely I have the right to see."

She wrapped her arms around the notebook, pressing it against her chest. "No, you don't. Look somewhere else."

Hector snorted. Defiant one. Did she not know he was a wolf? She stuck her chin at him in the way a human shouldn't to a predator, revealing her throat, meeting his eyes in challenge she couldn't possibly win.

He tried to stare her down, which only made her cheeks puff out indignantly in a cute way.

Ignorant human maybe? Well, Hector was trained and experienced enough to handle a human that didn't know how to act safe around wolves. He just didn't have to do it in such a tight space before.

The subway finally moved with a huge jerk and no warning. People fell left and right over each other.

One guy with a giant backpack fell to the side right into the middle in the small space between the knees of Hector's four set of seats. The guy turned around himself, looked through the window and then turned again.

A giant clumsy turtle, the fool, cause his backpack went right into the girl.

She squeaked, covering her face with her hands. He would have freaking smashed it with how stuffed that bag was.

Hector shot up before he decided to move, suddenly standing in that crowded twitching subway, his arm between the girl and the turtle guy, like a protective cage.

"You asshole! Could have thrown me off my feet!" Turtle guy said, trying to turn again to get a look at Hector.

Hector growled at him, straightening up as the guy twisted around to glare and immediately shrunk back at Hector's size and deadly expression.

"You almost made her into a pancake," Hector said angrily, just a tone away from a growl.

The guy went pale, stepping away, crushing into the mass of bodies. Didn't stop him from trying to slither through to the other side of the wagon, elicting a series of groans from the other passengers.

Now Hector had a different problem. The subway jerked and turned savagely, and he was in the very precarious position of standing. Holding onto the back of the girl's seat, he was fighting his own weight with the next yank as gravity tried to send him against her.

Her smoky grey eyes were wide as she stared at him. This close to her, her smell was striking. Something like sour fruit, lemon and raspberry.

When the subway made another dangerous turn, Hector's legs all but sliding down and pressing against hers, her hands actually shot up to his shoulders to steady him.

He wanted to recoil from the sudden touch, but it did stabilize him as the stop came and finally some of the people trickled out.

Hector breathed hard, sliding into the seat next to her as it emptied, his legs feeling like jelly, sweating from the strain of resisting the subway's movements.

"Thank you," she said meekly, still uncomfortably close. Her leg was pressed against his, her arm against his arm, though even in sitting she was way shorter than him.

He could tell she was trying to keep a distance, but he also had no choice. People got out, changed and filled the small wagon again, pressing at him from the other side to push against her in turn.

He really needed to get out.

Even sitting down, his stomach was rolling with the movements, his senses overwhelmed. Sweat was covering his skin on his neck and down his back and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of the horrible swaying sensation.

"Are-are you okay?"

He could vaguely feel her small warm hand on his shoulder, twitching under her touch. He was so tired of all the touching. He wanted out.

Hector covered half of his face with his hand, trying to breathe through the roiling in his gut he now recognized as nausea.

"Where is your stop?"

He shook his head, brain completely giving out on where he was going in the first place or on following the announcements.

"Okay, uhmm. Let's just get out on the next one? Maybe you just need some air," she said soothingly, getting to her feet. This usually worked to alarm the rest of the passengers for your desire to get off.

She circled around him, her hand on his other shoulder, coaxing him to stand up.

Hector did so, swaying and grabbing onto the nearest pole.

The subway came to a skidding stop that had him squeezing onto it for dear life, stomach flipping inside him.

The girl didn't have his grip, losing her balance at the halt and flying right into him and towards the floor.

Hector caught her around the waist on instinct, their bodies pressed tight together for a second as he dug his heels into the smooth moving ground.

She looked up at him, face against his chest, her citrus smell all he could think about.

Then his stomach flipped again and he hunched over her, hand against his mouth. Oh god, he didn't want to be trapped with the smell vomit here too...

The door opened and she caught him by the wrist, tagging him towards the exist.

Hector stumbled after her, half-blind.

Still underground. Silly people swarming everywhere.

"This way. Up the escalator and out. I know this stop, come on."

The way out was a blurr of darkness and moving bodies. Hector fought against the flipping, his breakfast splashing against the back of his throat. He swallowed compulsively, trying to get himself back under control.

Somehow she was right, taking a back exit and steps he wouldn't have noticed in the maze, leading him out into a small park.

Actual park, with trees and grass and a bit of open space to see the sky, even if buildings circled all of it.

Hector took a deep, relieved breath, finally not suffocating.

She smiled, her hand still around his wrist. "See, all bett-"

Hector took a step to the side, yanking his hand free and threw up all over the grass next to the exit. Hot chunky sandwich and coffee exploded from his lips in a violent heave.

The taste had him gagging all over, another, even thicker wave joining the mess. He didn't have time to breathe from how intense and overwhelming that felt, heaving violently, hands braced on his knees.

In the midst of that, her small hands landed on his lower back, rubbing gently.

He blinked the stress tears away, gagging one more time, but the flipping of his stomach was dying down.

The ground was solid, unmoving. The air was fresh. His shadow was staring to relax and the panicky feeling went away.

She still rubbed his back, as if she didn't know how sensitive it was for a wolf to be touched.

He couldn't believe he let her, it felt way too...invasive. But it was the most pleasant touch he felt all day and compared to all the bodies in the subway, hers was somehow fine. Friendly.

And he liked how she smelled.

"Y-" he interrupted himself with a burp as he straightened up, "your notebook-"

"It's fine. I have others at home," she said, though her face fell a little.

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head in protest, those giant smokey eyes directly meeting his face.

A shiver ran down his spine.

"No, it's okay. You saved me from getting my face smashed today. Twice." Her cheeks reddned in the cutest way. "Thank you."

He waved it away, motioning to the mess on the ground. "Thanks for...ehh...that."

She nodded.

"I'll get you back to your stop. Where were you going? High school?"

Her cheeks puffed out. "I'm a university student, thank you. I was going to the economy uni campus."

"You study economy?" Hector said with a raised eyebrow, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

"No, not exactly. But you guys have the best light in the study rooms. For drawing."

"How did you know what I'm studying?" he said with a small smirk.

Her lips quirked up. "Experienced guess. You look like those entitled economists."

He rolled his eyes. "My name is Hector."

She offered him her hand automatically, not catching on him not extending his own. Truly, no idea about wolves.

Or did she not even realize he was one?

He took her hand hesitantly, deciding he would tolerate one more touch, if it was her.

"I'm Olive," she said with a smile.

@bellysoupset

[veeveetheheretic]

Otto Dix, German, 1891-1969

ZERSCHOSSENE (SHOT TO PIECES) from DER KRIEG (THE WAR) 1924

Etching, drypoint, and aquatint on paper

John C. Huseby Print Collection of the Des Moines Art Center

[oncanvas]

Gallery of Fashion, vol. III: April 1, 1796 - March 1, 1797, Nicolaus Heideloff, 1794-1802

Hand-colored etching and engraving 13.38 x 10.44 in. (34 x 26.5 cm) The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, NY, USA

[huariqueje]

An Inordinate Fondness ,Rose-myrtle Lappet Moth  -   Roos Holleman

Dutch , b.  1989 -

Piëzografie on 310 grs Hahnemühle German etching paper , 48 x 33 cm. Ed.33

[geekynerfherder]

'The Cathedral Ruins' by Kilian Eng, the next print in Kilian's 'Palace Life' series.

24" x 36" giclée fine art print on 310gsm Hahnemühle German Etching paper, in a numbered TIMED Release edition for £150; and a signed and numbered edition of 80 for £250.

On sale for 48 hours from Thursday October 26 at 5pm UK until Saturday October 28 at 5pm UK through Black Dragon Press.

[weimarhaus]

Otto Lais (German, 1897–1988), Die erhängte Sinnlichkeit, (The hanged sensuality), 1929, Aquatint etching on laid paper, fully laminated on cardboard base, 36,2 x 27,1 cm.