#Peace Corps volunteers

[wearytaco]

The United States government officially withdrew care for transfolks.

Peace Corps Volunteers (and likely others) have been told to "forgo treatment" or be medically separated.

[crispyfryenperu]

Normal Midnight Chaos

It’s 12: 16 am. I am sitting in my dusty bed under my dusty mosquito net in my dusty town which I at once adore and is the bain of my existence. I am listening to my host mom softly snore from across the hallway (our bedrooms have windows to the inside of the house so you can always hear everyone). I am surfing youtube and happily settle on 1989 the album. Taylor’s Version was announced today to come out in October. I am excited, I can remember so clearly blaring every song with Julia and Antonia, we had just graduated high school and thought we were so cool.

This race in Newhall was awesome- it was so rainy and so many varsity girls fell down the hill. Everyone was covered in mud and soaked to the bone. Then they cut out the muddy/hilly part for the varsity boys race which was afterwards. (losers)

Today was a strange day, although not unusual. All in all a typical Peace Corps day. Unlike most midnights, I am enjoying my 25 gigabytes a month to listen to 1989 and type up a hopefully-quality-blogpost. I can’t sleep. Possibly because of the brownies I made today with Ryan. Usually sugar doesn’t affect my body but I guess I ate too many (just 5?) brownies. I’ll blame the “chocolate-flavored chips” that we use for their cheap price. Who knows what those are made of. Or maybe it’s because I drank one teaspoon of instant coffee today. Or maybe it’s because there are so many striking, beautiful moments in my days, and also so many startling, uncomfortable moments. In addition recently we had a tragedy over here in Peru.

First I’ll tell you about my day. I woke up took out my retainers and opened my door… there was my 5-month old teenage kitten meowing at me right away. Michicucho followed me as I drank some boiled water - there was no milk :/ and ate a piece of french bread with REAL BUTTER!! I made my bed (wow!) and got out some baking items. Ryan Reynolds (I recently turned in a report and didn’t realize I referred to my site partner as Ryan Reynolds in it. His last name in Lenhart.) Ryan Reynolds showed up at 9:45 am to bake some brownies - despite being in Calango almost a full year this is probably only the second time we hang out just the two of us outside of work. So we talked about Peru and Peace Corps and our expectations vs reality. We are both happy to be growing as people and learning new perspectives and ways of life. I hadn’t wanted a site mate but in the end I’m grateful that Ryan is here!

Now Peruvian ovens are tricky - they usually don’t reach as high temperatures so you need to bake your goods for a long time. Once they were finally done it was lunch time! After I ate 5 brownies and Ryan licked the bowl, he left with most of the brownies. My host mom came home with rice, mashed potatoes, and chicken soup from the comedor popular (like a soup kitchen). I made a lemonade - I can never get the lemon to sugar ratio perfect enough for my host brother! At this point I just try my best, there isn’t more I can do. And my host mom made me a fried egg to eat with the rice and potatoes. I’ve changed in a year because I did enjoy this lunch.

 Throughout the morning I was also checking in with my host mom and counterparts, because I had a meeting with the mayor at 12, but he was at a reservoir inauguration so i had to wait for him and my counterparts to return. After lunch (2 pm) I went to the municipality to wait for them. Finally I was able to present my community project at about 4 or 4:30 pm. Unfortunately, they are stressed, busy, and understaffed, so I was rushed through my presentation. My counterparts weren’t able to come because they had other work to do, in the room nextdoor, as well as because the timing was so impromptu. But the project was accepted. I mean, I’ll be applying to a Peace Corps grant, so who wouldn’t accept free outside money.  Then I tried to have a small meeting with my counterparts to assign some responsibilities in the project and agree on a timeline. But it’s pretty much iMPOSSIBLE to get even 3 of them in the same room for more than 7 minutes. Then I walked 30 seconds to one of my friends house’s to bs about work and life. We walked up towards a bakery by my house to drown my sorrows in some warm french bread. Then I came home, managed to open my front door with the key - We recently changed the lock and I haven’t been able to open it all week. I shared brownies with my host mom and brother, held my crazy cat, and watched my favorite tv show Al Fondo Hay Sitio. But in Al Fondo Hay Sitio there are some really idiotic characters, and today showcased characters who were racist or classist. So it was making me angry. Then I spoke with my creative and lovely friends Alex and Carmen on googlemeet (weird), and finally to my parents. Even though family can be so frustrating sometimes, FaceTiming my parents always brings me joy.

I put my laptop and myself under my thick blankets in case my typing is bothering my host mom. It’s now 12:41 am. Fortunately most people in Peru are very used to loud noise all over the place. So I’m probably fine. Actually the acceptable public loudness in Peru is one thing that I … hate. 

Everything I did today was pretty trivial, so why did I bother sharing it? Well, it just had so many moments of joy and hope. and so many moments of frustration, sadness, or anger. I think it all felt exaggerated in my mind due to the fake-chocolate-drugged brownies (am I old or allergic?)  Regardless, I finally felt today that my community project makes sense. All of the puzzle pieces came together. But there is also so little support for it. The people I am looking for don’t have a lot of time to give me. I can’t blame them for not wanting to do extra work which isn’t even in their job description. 

I was going to talk about TRAGEDY in this post but it’s already a post on it’s own! Looks like that’ll be coming up. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly okay. And so is everyone I love. 

12:57 am. Hopefully now I can sleep deeply.

[selfdiscoverymedia]

GV23-32. Peter Michael Johnson, author of WHITE CLOUD FREE.

Our Global Veterans Stories with Sara Troy and her guest Peter Michael Johnson, on air from August 8th Set mostly in Latin America, it’s a semi-autobiographical tale of an idealistic, naïve Peace Corps volunteer who suffers a series of traumas abroad, leading to unlikely friendships. At 23, Peter has enlisted in the Peace Corps and finds himself teaching beekeeping in a tiny village in Paraguay.…

[usnatarchives]

Beyond the Stars: Mae Jemison’s Odyssey ✨

Happy Black History Month!

This Black History Month, we spotlight the extraordinary life of Dr. Mae Jemison, the first African American woman to travel in space. Born on October 17, 1956, in Decatur, Alabama, and raised in Chicago, Illinois, Jemison’s journey into the stars is a testament to the power of dreams and determination.

From an early age, Jemison showed a keen interest in science and space, but noticed the absence of women astronauts. She pursued her passion relentlessly, earning a B.S. in Chemical Engineering from Stanford University and an M.D. from Cornell Medical College. Before joining NASA, Jemison was a general practitioner and served in the Peace Corps in Sierra Leone and Liberia, where she managed health care for other volunteers. In 1987, Jemison’s dream became reality when she was selected for NASA’s astronaut program. On September 12, 1992, aboard the Space Shuttle Endeavor on mission STS-47, Jemison became the first African American woman to travel in space, serving as a mission specialist. During her eight-day mission, she conducted experiments on weightlessness and motion sickness, contributing valuable data to the field.

Jemison’s honors include induction into the National Women’s Hall of Fame, the National Medical Association Hall of Fame, and the Texas Science Hall of Fame, among others. Her story is not just one of breaking barriers in space exploration, but also of inspiring generations to pursue their dreams, regardless of birth and obstacles.

For more information on Mae Jemison’s groundbreaking journey and contributions to science and humanity, the National Archives holds numerous resources that illuminate the lives and achievements of African American pioneers:

[whatevergreen]

Blood of the Condor (Yawar Mallku), (1969), film poster. (director: Jorge Sanjinés)

"Ignacio (Marcelino Yanahuaya), the proud chief of a tribe of Quechua natives in remote Andean Bolivia, discovers that his wife cannot bear children. Like the other women of their village, she has been secretly sterilized against her will at an obstetric clinic operated by a purportedly beneficial aid group from the United States, with the covert help of the Bolivian government. Ignacio gathers the men of his tribe to exact revenge and bring justice to his people."

The story, which was based on accounts by indigenous people to Jorge Sanjines, provoked a public outcry which led to a government investigation about the Peace Corps' actions in Bolivia, ending in their expulsion from the country.

Part of an interesting albeit slightly flawed review on IMDB:

"... Molly Geidel, author of, "Peace Corps Fantasies: How Development Shaped the Global Sixties" found documents decades later clearly showing that the Bolivia Peace Corps director and volunteers with the agency, inserted IUDs in indigenous Aymara women at the time, despite not always having medical credentials and not being able to communicate well with the women.

So, it would seem that it wasn't the large-scale premeditated sterilization of a people that this film would have you believe (that is debatable), but none-the-less, an incredibly problematic policy practiced by the U.S. Peace Corps. It's not a long walk from nonconsensual contraception to accusations of population control. But the true story gets more complicated.

Long after this movie was released, a 2002 report by Peruvian Health Minister Fernando Carbone suggested that the president of neighboring Peru, all around asshole Alberto Fujimor, was involved in the forced sterilizations of up to 300,000 Quechua and Aymara women between 1996 and 2000 as part of a population control program called "Voluntary Surgical Contraception".

The United Nations and other international aid agencies supported this campaign, and yes, USAID provided funding and training for it. Whether these Western NGO's and Orgs were told that it was a voluntary family planning program (as the title suggested) or they knew it was a crime against humanity, I can't say.

The point is, the conspiracy theories this film uses to push its political agenda are based on either an eventual truth, or an ongoing truth that we simply don't have the full reportage of. So the movie's anger is prophetic or timely, but regardless, righteous."

Source:

[neil-gaiman]

If Good Omens comics come out I will dedicate my life to serving God's higher purpose I will go to church I will volunteer I will join the Peace Corps I-

Oh good.

[discoonthegrass]

I asked this about Kirk earlier, but I’m curious what you all think McCoy would do if he wasn’t a doctor for whatever reason! (Also not including nurses or paramedics)

[nrdmssgs]

Spiraling

Masterlist Part 2 (in case you need a happy ending)

Very mild angst Pairing: Ghost x you TW: no Summary: Ghost understanding, something very important just slipped through his fingers. AN: this is kinda sorta songfic. Here is the inspiration.

The worst part is that Ghost can't even get mad at you. He was never there to show you true love, you were never there to break his heart. There were no promises, no occasional touches or stolen glances. There were these two evenings: each beautiful in its own way.

On the first one, the squad was resting after a successful operation, waiting for a transport to pick them up. A large group of soldiers gathered around you and Ghost came closer to find out what was going on. The southern sky was strewn with large, bright stars. Not a single cloud hovered over the desert, so it was a perfect opportunity for stargazing. Time to time you raised you hand up, searched for a next constellation and did this strange, unpractical move: you pointed on the constellation, drawing an invisible line between stars and then pretended to grab it. Ghosts mind blurted out some jibe about you obviously being too short to grab a star. So he sat on the ground behind others, to say it out loud, when you pause. Only to find himself alone on the ground, staring up at the sky. "Lieutenant? Ghost?" Your voice brought him back to reality. "Our heli is here. Are you alright?" He nodded and was ready to stand up, when you offered him a hand. He reached out automatically and you grabbed his hand. It was almost pointless since you were much smaller, but still you helped him. Grabbing his hand like one of those stars, you'd never reach.

The other evening happened much later. Ghost could say, he got used to seeing you around. There were still no chats outside work topics, no interactions at all as soon as any of you was off to home. It was the way it was supposed to be: clean and professional. Ghost was in his office tending to paper work, when you knocked and entered. "Lieutenant, I wanted to let you know, I'll be spending the next few months away from this base. Volunteered to train international corps." Ghost nodded, not even raising eyes from his papers. "There is one more thing. I like working with you and plan to keep it on. But lately I've felt distracted, when you are around." His hand froze, not even finishing signing the last form. That sounded not good. So he finally looked up on you, only to find your absolutely peaceful smiling face. "Don't worry, I won't let it grow. We are all adults here, and I am planing to work here, not search for any kind of informal bonds. That's why I decided to take this job. Just wanted to be honest, ok?" Ghost nodded again, much slower this time. "Ok. Now go show them, how it's done." You left his office, and he tried to remember, where was he. But after a few attempts he understood, it was utterly pointless: his mind was racing somewhere. And that rush felt easy, even joyful. It was a good thing, you two were colleagues and there always was this formal barrier between you. But it was also a good thing, you were so mature and honest. It made him feel safe. His borders were secure. Somewhere deep inside, he was smiling.

Two evenings, they weren't even filled with anything special. So why the hell he felt as if a white-hot sting was deepening into his stomach, when in a few months he got a short message from you.

"The problem is dealt with. I'll be staying here for a little longer. Staying frosty."

You come back in almost half a year. Calm, polite, effective and professional - Ghost couldn't wish for a better squadmate. He finds himself observing you from afar. In theory, he must like, what he not even sees, but rather feels: you are at peace, you are over this. But a traitorous voice somewhere deep inside chuckles, "That easy, really? A few months to erase me, a few more - to consolidate success - and that's it?"

"It's good to be back, Lieutenant." You give his hand a firm, short shake.

"You aren't back," hisses something from the back of his mind, but Ghost only scoffs at it.

Too little too late, Riley.

That day, he finishes paperwork earlier and locks in his room. He sinks on his bed and watches evening lights slowly crawling across the ceiling. Simons' mind begins to spiral as he lays there, heartbroken over a love that never even happened.

[acourtofteasandfoxes]

I just... I love the idea that the Foxes join Renee at church on occasion. All for different reasons, at different times.

Wymack is the first, obviously. He loves all of his Foxes, knows them deeply. Wymack is there with her every Sunday for nearly two months before she settles on a church and finds her place. He still shows on occasion, especially on weeks Renee has been particularly quiet.

Dan goes to squash their high school rivalry. They need to be a team and team members support each other. Dan is also the reason Matt goes for the first time. The girls use it as a test. They wanna see how whipped Matt is for Dan, but also if he'll be respectful. Dan says yes to a date when he asks later that night.

Betsy goes because Renee asks. It was brought up in therapy and Betsy goes without question. Abby joins them. They don't go again, but Betsy doesn't hesitate to discuss religion with Renee and Abby ducks her head anytime Renee prays.

Allison goes after Seth. She had been meaning to go, truly, Renee is her friend and she had been invited. But it doesn't happen until Seth dies. Allison Reynolds is searching for answers, and she wants so badly to find them in church pews and worship songs. Allison would only step foot in that church one more time, and it will be for Renee, not for answers.

Seth never goes before he dies. Renee did invite him, just as she did all the Foxes, but he laughed at the thought.

Nicky was raised religious. Arguably it makes the most sense for him to join Renee when she asks him. Nicholas Hemmick has never said no so fast in his life. The jokes he throws around about bursting into flames when he walks through the doors aren't all jokes. Nicholas Hemmick is scared of the God he once loved. It's not until Drake, and Christmas, and Balitmore, that he cracks. He catches Renee right before she walks in and she holds his hand, in the back pew, as he cries during the sermon. They sit there for an hour after everyone else has left. Renee is the only one who understands the way Nicky feels both healed and broken.

Aaron goes because Katelyn goes. Her and Renee talk about it, she asks Aaron to take her, and really? Dude is so whipped he wouldn't say no. Aaron will never admit it, but he actually really liked the choir. When he gets back to the dorm he looks up a few worship songs to listen to before games.

Andrew doesn't go to an actual Sunday service. He does, however, help Renee volunteer for the church ice cream social. They were short handed and she promised him unlimited ice cream scoops. The adults are scared of him. The children love him and it's absolutely not, could never be, because he is giving all of them double scoops of sprinkles. Much like Wymack, however, he joins on occasion if Renee's vibe feels off. He just never goes inside, choosing instead to smoke in the car as he waits for her.

Kevin is the one to ask Renee if he can join her. They're talking about religion in one of his history classes, it overlaps with Renee's religious studies class, and he's interested. He ends up going every Sunday that summer, gathering information for a project, interviewing people, including Renee. He gets an A on his project and gets invited to all the church's events after that. The little old ladies loved him.

Neil is the last to join. He respects Renee, enjoys her company, but church and large crowds? Sitting still for an hour? Being preached at about something he doesn't believe is real? He has exy, and Andrew, and better things to do with his time. It's his idea, however, when he finally does go.

Because Renee has graduated. She's graduated, is heading into the Peace Corps, and she's leaving the church. Leaving Palmetto. Kevin gets the invite, but it's Neil's idea. Off handed remarks that turn into a Thing. Because the Foxes don't do small.

When Renee is asked to stand, when she is asked to lead the church in prayer one last time, she looks out into the crowd and has to take a moment. Because there, in the back, is an entire pew dressed in Palmetto orange. Every single one of them is wearing her number.

Renee knows, in that moment, that God truly does exist.

[babylon-crashing]

the psycho'vac

I.        In a glass case                in the dark                         in an alcove                                in the dark                in a church in Rome,        in Sienna, in Florence,                                bits of saints mummified like the monkey's paw or                        Daniel Dravot's withered head                                                sat in the dark                        waiting for the faithful                                                to pass by, tourists to gawk at, for children of archeologists                to be terrified by.        Outside the Uffitzi                        one could buy postcards                                        fragments of Bosch's                                                        Last Judgement (1504)                                        reaction against sexuality                        that was creeping        back into the faith – every where lusty, fleshy figures                        were being torn apart, swallowed whole by frog-eggs,        tossed into pits of fire and snakes,                                        onto pitchforks and trees of thorn                while the saved, the fleshless,                                desiccated, loosely built creatures                        closed their eyes and lay upon the ground to pray.

II.

It starts while you sit in an outdoor cafe near the great clock in the ex-Lenin Square, forever at 11:45, while swallows who nest in the ruined eaves dart low, dark sickle-flashes, sweeping, skimming. Your notebook is open, pen cast down. You sip at the tiny cup of bitter coffee-sludge (when you are at a friend's house the old tatik takes the finished cup from your hands and reads the ground-stains, having you press your thumb into the hot residue, always with the curious shapes rimming the inside lip.) There is a smell thunder in the air. It starts when you walk down one of the city's mud streets, the rain coming down for four days nonstop. You stand in a crumbled doorway, a truck rumbles past full of cabbage heading for the market, spraying mud and gravel into the air. The wave-like clouds come down off the nearby mountains, things urgent and low to the ground, overwhelming the ruined factories and caved-in apartments, the one-room emergency boxes families of eight or twelve had been living in for the last seven years. It starts as you walk down the street. Under your boots, laying in unmarked graves, thousands of bodies, crushed and buried, their calls bubbling to the surface. Waiting for someone to hear.

III.

After the first baby in the orphanage you work at dies, then the second and finally a third, you go on a walk. It has been lightly snowing. Behind the city lays the broken rail yard. Even though there is no penicillin at the rail yard and none of the doctors who refuse to come to the orphanage to heal "things" as they call your babies will be there, you walk without a hat in the late afternoon gusts. You climb up through an abandoned cab engine, the iron sticking slightly to your gloves, its wooden passenger carriages trapped under a fallen wall. The train - its olive green and chrome and red 1940s Soviet art deco - slightly covered in wet-powder. At your feet, in the lee of the cab engine, dozens of empty hypodermic needles. Beyond the cab, the twisted rail lines; toppled buildings and other ruins; open pits of crude oil sunk in the ground; a whole roundhouse with the roof caved-in. It looks like a temple. Something holy, but you who never believed in the sacred or the holy, who saw ghosts as simply cultural abstractions. When you reach the roundhouse you find nothing inside but rubble and years and years of snow.

IV.

Humor. An US Embassy worker, an American working for a Foreign Aide organization and a Peace Corps Volunteer run into each on the street. Soon an Armenian friend walks by.

"This morning for breakfast," the Armenian said, "I had Frosted Flakes with milk."

"You had Frosted Flakes?" cried the Embassy worker, "How did you get Frosted Flakes in Armenia?"

"Oh, I bought them at the black market store near my house."

"You had milk?" cried the Foreign Aide worker, "How did you get milk?"

"Oh, I mixed the powdered milk with water."

"You had water?" cried the Peace Corps Volunteer, "How did you get water?"

V.

All winter long you were in isolation

watching it grow. You had given up

on the poetry brought in the 40-pound

box from home. You had not spoken

English in over three months, ever since the first

frost coated your pillow – there was no heat

in your hut, the rains turned to ice.

You wore your jacket and thermals and gloves

to bed and gave up on poetry. Reading

a poet writing about wasted sex no less

in San Francisco was a hateful thing.

Reading a poet, in Berkeley, where they

have everything, speculate on her fat

soul was a hateful, too. Under your floor

boards the dead called out your name, until

vodka, Russian water, kept the their

voices at bay. Intolerable, how clear they

came in. All of them complained,

griped, belly-ached in a language

untranslatable until your perception:

It was a cross between Armenian

and Russian that the old women spoke

down in the market.

VI.

It is sad to see these old people one, two, three generations apart from their children. These haughty, thin old people unable to speak of these things anymore, needing always to speak around them, as if at the dinner table to speak with clarity would make the magic happen all over again. To listen to them submerge their magic, to protect their children. There was a woman, nearly a hundred, who lived in a nearby village. As a baby she had escaped the Young Turks' Genocide in 1915, had witnessed the USSR rise and fall and had lost eighteen children and grandchildren in the earthquake. You visit her, she speaks in the ancient language, the old Armenian words, "God has forsaken the Armenians" – and spends her time looking for her god among the graveyards where 50,000 of her people died in 4 minutes in 1988. You will be leaving soon, returning on a 32-hour flight. Numbers. Something is inside you. Parasite. You will be leaving soon, and she has no more use for the living. Her words drop away, become muddled, confused, a lexicon of secrets, you pass by gravestone after gravestone on the way to the surface, thousands of them, until there is no more room for air.

VII.

Of course, you

take it with you.

It grows hideous

inside you, even

after the Peace Corps'

doctors arrived and demanded

that you are Medically

Evacuated -- the ol' Psycho

Vac -- three days before your

twenty seventh birthday, you

take it with you. You have

grown thin now, fleshless,

desiccated. They do not

even let you say good-bye

to your babies, such is the state

they find you in. On the flight

back to DC you sit next to

a woman, Dutch ex-missionary,

who explains that sometimes,

the young men God has sent

to do his bidding go crazy.

They, who fear for the safety

of their souls above all else,

do not know how to take

care of themselves so far from home.

She knows this, she assures you,

she has seen it happen. As

the stewardess pushes the cart

for the evening's meal by your seat

the thing that rests inside you

gurgles once in agreement

and then is still.

][][

Notes.

This is it, my grand attempt back in 2002 to put words to my nightmare.

The poem starts out in Italy because that is where I learned, for the first time, about the religious fever dream that is Hell, when I accidentally saw the LSD-madness of Hieronymus Bosch's art and it blew my little brain at the implications of such a concept. It didn't seem like much of a stretch to link the mummified bodies of Bosch's righteous in that painting with the babies dying under my care.

The, "the one-room emergency boxes," are called "domiks" and are basically railroad boxcars used to house the vast homeless population suddenly needing protection from the cold. Gyumri was never really rebuilt and 30 years later there are families still living in their rusted-out boxes.

[nailsofvecna]

The faewish sprites were created by the Wishing One in ancient times, made from the leaves of the Grand Millewish Tree. Even now, long after the Wishing One left the world, they still collect the wishes of humans, hoping to find the most special wish as an offering to their god.

Meanwhile, the pieceys are the remnants of clothes once owned by the long-dead residents of Prosperville, animated by the lingering spirits an unfulfilled dreams of those people. They live peaceful and secluded lives now, in the abandoned ruins of their former owners.

According to the pieceys, the faewish sprites were responsible for the death of the Wishing One. Hence, not trusting them to care for the god's treasures, the pieceys seized the Wishing One's holy relics, kicking off a bitter feud between these peoples that rages to this day. Both groups are constantly preparing for war, pouring all available resources into their respective defence forces: the Wish Master's Paladins and the Volunteer Corps. Is there any way to undo so many centuries of mistrust?

[g3tinl0ser]

dont know a name for this one ethier. its a Reader x her own harem x Tengen too. idk how its gonna play out we shall see. lets go.

Everyone knew the Uzui family practiced polygamy. At 15, Tengen's father was supposed to choose three wives for him. Suma, bless her heart, stepped up and volunteered. She loved Tengen. She crashed through the door and made a scene during her sister's interview. She knew he would belong to others and others would belong to him, but she wanted this. Makio and Hinatsuru became Tengen's wives too, and Tengen became theirs. It was public knowledge.

What wasn’t public knowledge, however, was that another family also practiced polygamy—though not in the same way. In your family, the harem was centered around the women rather than the man, and there was no set number of spouses. You had five fathers, even if only one was biologically yours. All of them loved and raised you, spoiling you beyond belief. Despite that, you weren’t stuck-up or snotty. You trained hard, knowing that this unique family structure was deeply tied to the Demon Slayer Corps. Your mother was a Hashira, and you were preparing to take her place after your first marriage.

That marriage was the only one arranged, though it didn’t feel forced—you had met your soon-to-be husband many times. He was already a Hashira. At first, Sanemi was beyond rude, throwing a fit over the deal his despicable father had arranged. But with all your fathers and two brothers standing behind you, his protests only went so far. Once Sanemi realized there was no way out, he begrudgingly admitted it could have been worse.

You were strong and capable, holding your own against him without breaking a sweat. He knew you would have others to love and protect you when he wasn’t there. Still, he made one request: to have time with you alone and to ensure that none of your other husbands would be part of the Corps. While you couldn’t promise the latter, you assured him that at least one wouldn’t be.

Sanemi would train your future husbands to fight like they were in the Corps themselves. He needed to know that if he wasn’t home, the others could protect you and any children you might have. Over time, he started taking you on missions, bringing you along to trainings and dinners with the Master. Each time, others were shocked to see him soften more and more.

It wasn’t an easy journey—it took a lot of time—but Sanemi’s feelings for you grew. He finally understood jealousy when Tengen's gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long. That fleeting moment taught him what it meant to truly care about someone in a relationship.

After returning from a grueling three-month mission, Sanemi was exhausted, but the moment his eyes landed on you, that familiar sense of warmth and peace flooded his chest. He had missed you more than he cared to admit. You were standing beside a tall, lean man with dark, tousled hair and striking green eyes—your newest husband, Daiki.

At 22, Daiki was older than Sanemi, but there was something about him that made Sanemi’s gut twist with a mix of wariness and intrigue. The man’s smile as he greeted you told Sanemi everything he needed to know: Daiki loved you, and that made him both protective and uneasy.

"Sanemi, this is Daiki," you introduced, the joy in your voice unmistakable. "He owns the restaurant down the street and is the head chef. He’s been waiting for you to come home so he could finally meet you."

Sanemi couldn’t suppress the scowl that tugged at his lips. Another husband? He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this. He had just gotten used to the idea of having you. This was hard to swallow.

"Nice to meet you," Daiki said, extending his hand with a friendly smile. His voice was warm, and his demeanor was unassuming. He was a stark contrast to the sharpness of Sanemi, but there was no denying that Daiki was genuine in his excitement to be here, in your life.

Sanemi shook his hand, his grip firm. "You’ve been taking care of her, then?" He didn’t mean it as a challenge, though it came out that way, sharper than he intended.

Daiki’s smile never wavered, though he did blink in surprise at the tone. "I’m doing my best. I run the restaurant, so I’ve been able to stay home more often. I’ve always wanted to be the one to take care of things at home. Cooking, cleaning, all of it. I like to think I make a good homemaker."

Sanemi raised an eyebrow at that. A homemaker? He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. The man’s life was already set in his own hands, and he wasn’t sure what to make of someone who seemed so content to remain behind the scenes while others went out to fight and defend.

But there was something in the way Daiki spoke about you that made Sanemi pause. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his voice cracked slightly with excitement as he talked about his plans for the home—it was clear that this man loved you deeply, and his devotion was evident.

Sanemi’s jaw tightened as he studied Daiki, but part of him couldn't deny that there was sincerity in the younger man’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to share you, but he had to admit, Daiki was trying. And as much as it grated on his pride, that mattered.

"You’ll have to prove you’re worth it," Sanemi said, his tone still guarded but not as harsh as it might have been before.

Daiki just nodded, unfazed, a slight chuckle escaping him. "I’m ready to do whatever it takes."

You knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy—sharing your love with so many people, especially someone as intense as Sanemi—but you also knew this was what you wanted. And Daiki, with his quiet confidence and love for you, was a part of this journey.

Sanemi wasn’t sure what to think of Daiki yet, but one thing was clear: as much as he didn’t want to share, the man loved you. Sanemi huffed, clearly not pleased, and without another word, he turned sharply on his heel, striding off toward your shared room. His footsteps were heavy, the frustration simmering beneath his cool exterior. 

You watched him go, feeling the tension in the air like a crackling storm about to burst.

Sighing, you turned back to Daiki, whose smile had faded into a quiet understanding. He didn’t say anything right away, but you could see the way his brows furrowed slightly, concern flickering in his eyes.

"You okay?" Daiki asked, his voice soft, like he didn’t want to overstep but needed to check on you.

You nodded, forcing a smile to reassure him. "Yeah, just give him some time. He... he’s not exactly used to sharing, but he’ll come around."

"I figured as much," Daiki said, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I’m used to dealing with strong personalities. It’s just... I wanted to make a good first impression."

You stepped forward and, without hesitation, pressed a gentle kiss to Daiki’s lips. His surprise melted into warmth as he kissed you back, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. "Thank you for understanding," you murmured against his lips. "I know Sanemi can be a lot to handle sometimes."

"I don’t mind," Daiki replied, pulling back just slightly to meet your gaze. "I’m happy to give him space. I know you care about him, and I’ll do whatever it takes to fit into this... family."

You smiled again, this time genuinely. "You’re doing fine," you said, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his face. "Just give him time. He’ll come around. He just needs to figure things out on his own."

Daiki nodded, though you could see the slight tension in his posture, like he was holding back his own frustrations. "If he needs time, then I’ll give it to him. I just want you to be happy, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re taken care of."

Your heart warmed at his words, and you placed a hand over his, squeezing it gently. "I know you will. Thank you."

With a final, reassuring smile, you turned toward the hallway, the weight of the situation still hanging in the air. You made your way toward your room, hoping that when Sanemi had a chance to decompress, he would calm down enough to see that things were changing, and he had to make room for others in your life.

You quietly entered your shared room, finding the door to the adjoining bath slightly ajar. The faint steam rising from the water hinted at Sanemi already being inside. You hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open fully, your heart beating a little faster. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him in a vulnerable state before, but tonight felt different.

Sanemi sat in the large wooden tub, his back turned to you, the water barely rippling as he leaned back. He didn’t seem to notice your presence at first, lost in his own thoughts. His broad shoulders were tense, his normally sharp expression softened with exhaustion. The sight tugged at your heart.

"I missed you," you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper, though you knew he’d hear it.

Sanemi’s shoulders stiffened for a brief moment before he sighed and turned his head just slightly, enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His eyes softened as they met yours. "I missed you too," he muttered, his voice rough from both fatigue and the strain of the day’s emotions.

You stepped closer, taking a deep breath before crouching beside the tub, your fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder. "I know it’s a lot... with Daiki and everything," you said carefully, the words slow and measured. "I just need you to know... I’m here with you. You’re not losing me."

Sanemi let out a quiet snort, leaning his head back against the edge of the tub, his eyes closing. "I don’t know what’s harder—being away from you for months, or coming back to all of this... this new thing. I don’t know how to share you."

You gently cupped his jaw, tilting his face toward you so you could meet his eyes. "I’m not asking you to share me in the way you think. I want us all to have a place, but you will always have YOUR place in my heart."

Sanemi’s gaze softened, the hardened edge in his eyes dulling as his lips curled into a small, tired smile. He leaned forward just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I don’t like it," he murmured, "but I’ll try... for you."

You kissed him then—soft and slow, your lips just grazing his at first. The warmth between you both settled in, like the comfort of home. His hand reached up to gently cup your face, holding you there as the kiss deepened, and you could feel his tension slowly begin to melt away.

Breaking away for a breath, you smiled at him, your fingers trailing down his chest gently. "I’m glad you’re trying," you said, your voice hushed, as if the moment was too fragile to disturb. "I need you to know... it’s not easy for me either. I’m scared of messing this up."

Sanemi’s eyes searched yours, his expression softening even more. "I don’t want to lose you," he said, his voice barely audible.

"You won’t," you reassured him, leaning in to place a kiss on his temple, your fingers slowly running through his damp hair. "I love you, Sanemi. And no matter how complicated things get, that won’t change."

He closed his eyes at your words, letting the warmth of your touch and the soft kisses you planted on his skin soothe his worries. "I’ll do my best," he murmured. "I’m not perfect... but for you, I’ll try."

You kissed him again, deeper this time, your lips pressing against his in a promise, a vow. You didn’t need him to be perfect. You just needed him to be there, and in that moment, he was. And that was enough.

After a few more quiet moments, you pulled away from Sanemi gently, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before standing up. "Why don’t you head out to the kitchen? I’ll clean up the bath for us," you suggested, your voice light, though there was a hint of amusement in it. You could tell he was still processing everything, but you hoped that a little space would help him ease into things.

Sanemi shot you a skeptical look but nodded, standing up and stretching. "Fine, but you better not be cleaning up after dinner."

You grinned at him, rolling your eyes playfully. "Don’t worry" you said, giving him a reassuring pat on the back.

As Sanemi made his way to the kitchen, you set to work tidying the bathroom, washing the remaining soap suds from the tub and hanging up the towels. The sound of the water draining from the tub was almost soothing, and by the time you were done, the room felt calm and refreshed. You took a deep breath, hoping the evening would go smoothly.

When you finally stepped into the kitchen, the sight that greeted you was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Sanemi had just entered, looking slightly out of place as he stood in the doorway, his eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. Daiki had turned the small kitchen into an impressive spread, with a large Okonomiyaki grill set up in the middle of the table. Plates, bowls, and ingredients were neatly arranged around the table, ready for cooking. The sizzling sounds of the grill mixed with the rich, savory scent that filled the room, making Sanemi’s stomach growl before he even had a chance to say anything.

Daiki, clearly proud of his work, grinned and gave Sanemi a quick glance. "I hope you're hungry," he chuckled. "I didn’t just stop at Okonomiyaki. I also made sushi and some ohagi since I heard they’re your favorites."

Sanemi blinked, taking in the spread, his jaw slightly dropping at the sheer amount of food on the table. He wasn’t one to show much emotion outwardly, but the surprise was clear on his face. "You... made all of this?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. "You’re going all out for me?"

Daiki laughed, a warm and inviting sound that made Sanemi’s initial wariness start to fade. "Well, you’re family, right? So I figured I’d go all out and make sure you feel welcome." He gave Sanemi a playful wink before adding, "Besides, I remember you’re a man who appreciates a good meal."

Sanemi raised an eyebrow, still a little skeptical but slowly starting to relax. "I’ll take your word for it. But if this doesn't live up to the hype, I'm holding you to it," he said with a teasing grin, his usual edge returning.

Daiki just chuckled again, clearly unfazed. "Don’t worry. I’m confident you’ll enjoy it." He gestured for Sanemi to take a seat. "Sit, sit! There’s plenty more where that came from."

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched the two of them—Daiki, so cheerful and accommodating, and Sanemi, who was still processing all the changes but clearly appreciating the effort. You knew it wouldn’t be easy, but seeing them interact like this made you believe things might just work out after all.

Sanemi sat down, his eyes lingering on the spread for a moment longer, before he looked at Daiki with a small, grudging smile. "You’ve got some guts... I’ll give you that." He gave a low chuckle, and for the first time in a while, the tension in the air seemed to lift, even if just a little.

A YEAR LATER

It was a perfect spring afternoon, the kind where the sky was clear, the breeze gentle, and the cherry blossoms bloomed in a riot of pink and white, scattering delicate petals with every gust of wind. The festival was in full swing, with food stalls lining the streets and families gathered under the trees, enjoying the fleeting beauty of the season. You, Sanemi, and Daiki were among them, though your trio was far from a typical sight.

The three of you wandered through the festival, a mix of familiarity and comfort surrounding you. It had been a year since Daiki had entered your life, and in that time, things had changed—for all of you. There were still moments of tension, of course. Sanemi’s protective instincts still flared up occasionally, and Daiki’s laid-back nature sometimes clashed with Sanemi’s more intense personality. But what had once felt like an tense situation had grown into something far deeper: an unspoken understanding and a bond that was undeniable.

Sanemi walked slightly ahead, his broad shoulders stiff as usual, but there was a softness in his eyes when he glanced at you. He wasn’t the same man you had met a year ago. There was a comfort between you now, a quiet understanding that no matter what, you were his. And he was yours.

Beside you, Daiki grinned, adjusting the basket he was carrying with a few treats he’d picked up from a nearby stall. "What do you think?" he asked, his voice light and teasing. "I’m thinking about entering the food competition next year. You’ve gotta taste my takoyaki, it’s unbeatable."

You laughed softly, leaning into him just slightly. "As long as you promise not to steal all the spotlight," you teased, earning a chuckle from him.

Sanemi glanced over his shoulder, his expression neutral but his lips twitching in a small smile. "You two are ridiculous," he muttered, though there was no malice in his voice. It had become second nature to him by now, this easy camaraderie between him and Daiki. And though he would never admit it outright, he was beginning to appreciate the comfort it brought to your shared life.

It wasn’t perfect, but there was something undeniably beautiful about the way things had evolved. The way Daiki and Sanemi could share a laugh now, without tension or resentment, was a testament to how much they’d grown. They would never be best friends, and they certainly didn’t have much in common, but they had come to respect each other in a way neither had expected. Sanemi had his boundaries, of course, and Daiki had learned how to respect them without pushing. The two of them had found their rhythm, their balance.

"Let’s sit down for a bit," you suggested, pulling them toward a large tree where blankets were already spread out on the grass. You settled down, the soft petals drifting through the air around you as you all sat together. The atmosphere was warm, relaxed—content.

Daiki carefully unwrapped the snacks he’d brought, offering some to Sanemi first, then you. "I figured it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper meal outdoors," he said, his voice casual. "This was supposed to be a picnic, not a competition."

Sanemi grunted but took the food, his pride never letting him back down from a challenge. "You’re lucky you know how to cook," he muttered as he took a bite, the food delicious in spite of himself. "But don’t think you’re off the hook. I’m still gonna hold you to that promise about next year."

Daiki raised an eyebrow playfully. "Oh, I’m counting on it."

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them. There were moments like this now—moments where you truly felt the ease and affection between you, a bond that had grown beyond the initial uncertainty. Neither of them had expected this, but you had always known there was potential for this kind of connection. For them to care for each other, in their own way. Even if they’d never be friends in the traditional sense, their bond was undeniable.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden hue over the festival, Sanemi leaned back against the tree, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "You okay?" he asked, his voice unusually gentle.

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment, feeling his warmth beside you. "Yeah," you whispered. "I’m more than okay."

Daiki leaned back on his hands, watching you both, his smile quiet but genuine. "It’s nice to see you two like this," he said softly, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "You’ve both come a long way."

Sanemi snorted, but it wasn’t the usual rough sound—it was something more affectionate, if slightly embarrassed. "I’m not gonna start getting all sentimental on you," he muttered, but his gaze softened as he looked at you. "I’ll just say... this isn’t exactly how I thought things would turn out. But I’m glad it did."

You smiled, reaching out to touch his hand, feeling the calloused warmth of his fingers entwining with yours. "Me too," you said simply.

And in that moment, as the cherry blossoms continued to fall softly around you, you knew—this wasn’t perfect, but it was yours. The three of you had come a long way, and though it was never going to be easy, this was home.

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

The thing about politics and administration changes are that they affect so many different branches of government. Personally I am at the moment sad about losing Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland.

Deb Haaland is the first Native American Cabinet secretary, a 35th-generation New Mexican and an enrolled member of the Pueblo of Laguna. She's especially passionate about environmental issues, climate change, healthcare for all and missing and murdered indigenous peoples. She created the Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative, an investigation of old boarding schools which came after the discovery of the mass grave at Kamloops. This would be "an effort to document known schools and burial grounds, including those with unmarked graves" and to, where possible, return remains to their families/nations. (x) She also created a new Missing and Murdered Unit to "pursue justice for missing or murdered American Indians and Alaska Natives" which has investigated 728 MMIP cases and solved 263 missing persons cases and 8 murders.

I'm currently a seasonal NPS employee so I've been getting weekly update emails from her office, and she includes her pronouns in her signature, which is encouraging to see. She also un-banned NPS uniforms at pride after there was a kerfuffle with that.

She's visited various corps and volunteer organizations (none that I was in. I'm not jealous!...), including Ancestral Lands Conservation Corps, shown here in Canyons of the Ancients National Monument in Colorado:

She's rejoiced at fish progress:

(x)

(X)

And this is just an incredible picture:

(X)

She was present at Biden's historic apology for government-funded boarding schools, an apology which was suggested as part of the road to healing in the Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative Investigative Report. This was also the first time a sitting president has visited Tribal lands in 10 years.

Secretary of the Interior is a president-appointed position and she will almost certainly be replaced in January. We got an email from her about a 'peaceful transition' which sounds like she knows she's on her way out. In the (paraphrased) words of my self-proclaimed moderate republican christian coworker, 'It's too bad, I liked her. Trump isn't going to want a Native American. He's going to appoint a middle-aged white businessman to maximize the profits of the National Park System so we can pay for ourselves and so he doesn't have to give us as much of a budget.' Everyone I've talked to has been sad about likely losing her as Secretary of the Interior.

Though many Department of the Interior employees will miss her and in my opinion the department will suffer without her, she'll still be around and now that I know she exists I'm going to make sure to follow her next projects, whatever those may be.

(X)

[fa1lsoldier]

| FAILED SUPER-SOLDIER TURNED DANGEROUS CYBORG. | by nika. 25. he/they. EST.

EXPLORING THEMES OF. -> being a dutiful son even if it means destroying yourself in the process, wielding anger and pain as a double edged sword, and getting torn apart and building yourself back up again. | Please note he was originally written/made for a discord rp server. That server has since gone inactive. A brief version of his about under the cut. | READ RULES HERE (sideblog to /follows from @vigilanthe )

The only child of a waitress and delivery man, no one expected him to be much of anything. The most he and his parents could hope is that as an adult he could make enough money to help pay the family’s bills. His family struggled a lot with money due to loans with high interest rates, rent, etc. Joining the south korean military at age 18 as a means of supporting his parents/family, he and his family managed to survive paycheck to paycheck… until his father was severely injured in a hit and run accident. At age 28, due to the accident, his father needed frequent hospital visits which racked up a lot of medical debt. To help pay for their ever growing medical debt, he volunteered to join the South Korean army’s experimental corps, a selective branch of the military that was designed to help develop tools and soldiers who are able to keep pace with super powered individuals. The work was dangerous, but the pay was double what he was making as a regular soldier… 

At first, his job was mostly testing weapons, armors and tools for the corps. However, over time, the corps began to experiment with tech less and with people more. Thrust into a testing pool of 7 additional people, he was subjected to multiple injections and experiments, all in an effort to make stronger, faster and smart soldiers (super soldiers). Given the 5th version of the south korean super soldier serum, despite being a newer serum, it proved little better than the earlier version. He and some of the other test subjects experienced violently negative reactions to the serum. Instead of getting faster, stronger and better parts of his body disintegrated into an irreversible dust. Thanks to the super soldier scientists, he lost his jaw and hands. His condition was stabilized by the scientists/doctors but was deemed a failure.

An intern eager to prove their worth took pity on the failure known as “subject 5-8” and gave him a prosthetic jaw and hands. However, in their rush to make the failure useful,they accidentally have him wearable weapon prototypes. The jaw he was given, despite looking more or less like a regular human jaw, wasn’t. Instead it contained sharp, carnivore like teeth. And the hands he were given contained sharp, panther like claws. The intern realized their mistake too little too late. Biting and clawing his way free, Sam left a trail of blood in his wake as he fled the facility. 

During his escape, he killed many high ranking, irreplaceable scientists and soldiers. Because of the loss of so many valuable assets, he was branded a traitor by the South Korean military. Left with no choice but to flee the country to avoid getting arrested or killed, he took the first plane available, which just happened to be to New York. In New York, despite originally laying low and trying to live a more peaceful life, he found himself unable to turn a blind eye to all the injustices being conducted by both the American and South Korean government. He now works as a vigilante, targeting those who experiment on people as well as those who prey on the defenseless.

[luulapants]

I hate that stupid "the orphans don't care if you're building the orphanage out of ego!" story, I think it's done untold damage to activist spaces.

The orphans should care. The orphans will care when they find out that you cheaped out on construction materials because your goal was a building with your name on it, not the comfort and safety of the orphans. They will care when you never asked the community if they need a new orphanage - you just decided that on your own - and what they actually needed was a hospital to keep parents from dying and creating more orphans. They will care if the price of living in your orphanage is having a camera shoved in their faces so they can look pathetic and cheer your name in gratitude, as if a safe place for children to live is a benevolent kindness and not the bare minimum that people with more money than they need owe to society.

Intent is the foundation of every action.

Here's a better story: a team of US Peace Corps volunteers go to a community in south-central Africa. The area has rich, fertile soil and no agriculture, so the volunteers decide to build a big farm and teach the locals how to work it. The locals don't seem excited, but they watch the volunteers build, till, and sow the field. Plants begin to grow. Then, late one night, a herd of hippos come up from the river and stampede across the farm, destroying everything. This is why there was no agriculture in town.

When people care more about how charity makes them feel than they do about the actual work they're doing, at best they will be ineffective and at worst they can actively do harm. The nonprofit industrial complex wastes disgusting amounts of money praising their donors because they think that's the only reason people choose to give.

Don't give because it makes you feel better than others. Give because you are no better others. Your fellow human beings are part of your own soul, and their deprivation is your deprivation.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

USAAF Flight Nurses

So as I’m currently collabing with @major-mads on a fic where our two ocs are flight nurses I thought I do a little post about them as they aren’t well know. I’ve also had a passion for ww2 nurses, including flight nurses and so I’ve really enjoyed sharing my flight nurse knowledge with Mads as we have written our fic. These woman were truly amazing, like many woman during ww2, so I thought I do a little factual post about them.

Before World War II, the U.S. military showed little interest in using aircraft and flight nurses to evacuate wounded soldiers to rear areas. However, the global war forced the US to revolutionise military medical care through the development of air evacuation, which was later known as aeromedical evacuation and flight nurses.

With the rapid expansion of USAAF air transport routes around the world it was made possible to fly wounded and sick servicemen quickly to hospitals far from the front lines. This helped save the lives of many wounded men, and the introduction of flight nurses helped make it possible.

Due to a pressing need for this service, the USAAF created medical air evacuation squadrons and started a rush training program for flight surgeons, medics and flight nurses at Bowman Field, near Louisville, Kentucky.

The increasing need for flight nurses became critical after the Allied invasion of North Africa in November 1942, however many of the nurses at Bowman Field had not finished their training. Nevertheless, the USAAF sent these nurses to North Africa on Christmas Day.

On Feb. 18, 1943, the U.S. Army Nurse Corps' first class of flight nurses formally graduated at Bowman Field.

Due to the C47s used as air evacuation also transported military supplies, they could not display the Red Cross. This meant that without any markings to indicate their non-combat status, these evacuation flights were vulnerable to enemy attacks. For this reason, flight nurses and medical technicians were volunteers.

To prepare for any emergency, flight nurses learned crash procedures, received survival training, and studied the effects of high altitude on various types of patients. They also had to be in top physical condition to care for patients during these rigorous flights.

Eventually, about 500 Army nurses served as members of 31 medical air evacuation transport squadrons operating worldwide. It is a tribute to their skill that of the 1,176,048 patients air evacuated throughout the war, only 46 died en route. Seventeen flight nurses lost their lives during the war.

The Flight Nurses Creed

I will summon every resource to prevent the triumph of death over life. I will stand guard over the medicines and equipment entrusted to my care and ensure their proper use. I will be untiring in the performances of my duties and I will remember that, upon my disposition and spirit, will in large measure depend the morale of my patients. I will be faithful to my training and to the wisdom handed down to me by those who have gone before me.I have taken a nurse's oath, reverent in man's mind because of the spirit and work of its creator, Florence Nightingale. She, I remember, was called the "Lady with the Lamp." It is now my privilege to lift this lamp of hope and faith and courage in my profession to heights not known by her in her time. Together with the help of flight surgeons and surgical technicians, I can set the very skies ablaze with life and promise for the sick, injured, and wounded who are my sacred charges. ...This I will do. I will not falter in war or in peace.

Here are a few of the real flight nurses from ww2 from left upper: Second Lieutenant Elsie S. Ott, upper right: first Lieutenant Suella Bernard.

Elsie S. Ott - As the flight nurse on the first intercontinental air evacuation flight, she demonstrated the potential of air evacuation in January 1943. She was an Army nurse who had never flown in an airplane and had no air evacuation training, she successfully oversaw the movement of five seriously ill patients from India to Washington, D.C. This six-day trip would have normally taken three months by ship and ground transportation. For her actions on this historic flight, Ott received the first Air Medal presented to a woman, and she also received formal flight nurse training.

Suella Bernard - On March 22, 1945, two CG-4A gliders landed in a clearing near the bridgehead at Remagen, Germany, to evacuate 25 severely injured American and German casualties. Once the gliders were loaded, C-47 transports successfully snatched them from their landing site and towed them to a military hospital in France. In the second glider, Suella who had volunteered for the mission, cared for the wounded en route. One of the first two nurses to fly into Normandy after the D-Day invasion, Bernard became the only nurse known to have participated in a glider combat mission during World War II. For this mission, she received the Air Medal.

Upper left: first Lieutenant Aleda E.Lutz Upper right: first Lieutenant Mary L. Hawkins

Aleda E. Lutz - One of the most celebrated flight nurses of World War II, she flew 196 missions and evacuated over 3,500 men. In November 1944, during an evacuation flight from the front lines near Lyon, France, her C-47 crashed killing all aboard. Aleda was awarded the Air Medal with four Oak Leaf Clusters, and the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Mary L. Hawkins - On Sept. 24, 1944, she was evacuating 24 patients from the fighting at Palau to Guadalcanal when the C-47 ran low on fuel. The pilot made a forced landing in a small clearing on Bellona Island. During the landing, a propeller tore through the fuselage and severed the trachea of one patient. Hawkins made a suction tube from various items including the inflation tube from a "Mae West." With this, she kept the man's throat clear of blood until aid arrived 19 hours later. All of her patients survived. For her actions, Hawkins received the Distinguished Flying Cross.

I hope you’ve all found this interesting and now have a greater understanding of flight nurses. If you’d like to read a fic on flight nurses please check out my fic ‘On a Wing and a Prayer’ and @major-mads fic ‘A Pair of Silver Wings’ a Masters of the Air collab.