#nurse doris

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

btw I’m a 100% that whenever Doris was on nightshift she and Crockett would sit at the nurses station spilling all the day shift tea

[thena0315]

Chicago Med Characters with 100+ episodes appearances in Wolf Universe

Shows included: One Chicago universe

This list does NOT include episodes the actors' character are credited for, but does not appear in.

Dominic Rains only needs to appear in 3 more episodes as Crockett to reach 100+ episodes

Colin Donnell is at 90+ episodes

[uwmspeccoll]

Steamy Saturday

"Love and fear -- there was too much of both. . . ."

"She . . . was on her way to Orestes Island . . . of the handsome and powerful Ramon Orestes."

". . . Sunny's arms went around her and his lips pressed against hers."

". . . her treacherous mouth kissed him in return with an ardor that surprised her."

"She hardly expected to become the fiancee of two men and find herself in love with a third. . . ."

"Avril Andrews was forced to make the most difficult decision of her young life."

"She hardly expected. . . . to face the terror which gripped the entire population of the island."

"She found herself being drawn into web of fear. . . ."

The fiancé of two men, with another guy on the side?! This nurse needs some serious self-control. But then again, the nurse does live on TERROR ISLAND!!!

I chose this book, Nurse on Terror Island by the absurdly prolific romance novelist Doris Knight (b. 1897), published sometime in the 1960s by Modern Promotions, mainly for its bizarre cover art. In the midst of hurricane winds and impending disaster, a couple, with nurse in full regalia, calmly smooch on slippery coastal rocks. Don't they understand the danger? Then again, why should such mundane things bother them. After all, they live on TERROR ISLAND!!!

The story centers on young nurse Avril Andrews who is on residency in Mexico, leaving her fiancé Derek back in England. He is opposed to her leaving and "tired of playing second fiddle to her nursing career" (yeah, time to dump that guy). While there, she gets an opportunity to care for the young ward of rich island landowner Ramon Orestes. The child, an adorable stock-character Mexican boy with zero agency, is fawned over by everyone like an injured puppy, and Orestes, of course, is an oligarchical bastard. Despite Orestes being an overbearing tyrant, the real power on the island rests with his ancient great-great-grandmother Donna Santos, the wealthiest woman on the island who is feared by the locals as a witch as she is constantly casting vindictive supernatural curses on everyone.

Nurse Avril befriends a few locals and begins to fall for the newly-arrived, handsome pop singer Sunny Martin. As Nurse Avril gets closer to Sunny, she learns that he is actually the long-lost brother of one of her local friends, to whom she remarks in disbelief: "But your brother! Sunny is so fair and blue-eyed. You are so -- so Spanish." As a Latino myself, with a grandmother who had fair skin and pale-blue eyes, I take serious issue with this response. Then again, the novel is replete with racial and ethnic stereotypes.

But trouble soon brews over the custody of the hapless "little Domingo," and Donna Santos forces Avril into a marriage with Orestes to give the boy legitimate parents, or else she will take the boy herself and raise him as a witch. Then, when it looks like Avril and Sunny are about to undermine the impending marriage, Witch Santos curses the entire island with destruction by an oncoming hurricane.

Will Nurse Avril forsake Sunny to marry Orestes in order to rescue the island and save little Domingo from a life of evil? Will Donna Santos continue her iron grip and reign of terror on Orestes Island? I'll never tell, especially as this post is already over-long.

View other nurse romance novels.

View other pulp fiction posts.

-- MAX, head of Special Collections

[laderniereseancedecedrique]

HELL NURSE (2022)

Vu Le : Vendredi 27 Décembre 2024

Durée : 1h12mn17s

Version : VOSTFR

Titre Original : Hell Nurse

Interdiction : Aux Moins De 18 Ans

Ma Note : 06/10

Le Lien :

La Bande-Annonce :

[fazcinatingblog]

i hate that people can't get her name right

[clemsfilmdiary]

The Honeymoon Killers (1970, Leonard Kastle, Martin Scorsese, Donald Volkman)

4/26/23

[magmagicstyle]

So I love Chicago med... But at the same time, I hate the characters in ways that I can't explain.

Except Ethan Choi, I absolutely love that man... And Sharon Godwin... And Nurse Doris... And Sam Abrams.

[bullet-prooflove]

Home: Russell Shaw x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989

Nobody in Russell’s life knows about you, he makes sure of that. Not Colter, not Dory, especially not the Horizon Group, even though they’ve tried keeping tabs on him multiple times.

The address he gives is a PO Box and every single one of his cell phones a burner. Every single time he switches one out, he texts you the new number from the road. That’s how dedicated he is to your safety, to making sure you stay protected amidst the mess that is his life.

When he comes home tonight to the house the two of you share, he can’t help but smile when he sees the warm glow of the porch light.

It’s been a gruelling week, reacquainting with his brother, tracking down Doug, getting shot. He doesn’t think he’s slept more than a couple of hours in the past seven days and he feels the exhaustion deep down in his bones as he turns off the car engine.

You’re curled up on the couch with your laptop when he lets himself into the house, wearing his Pantera t-shirt and a pair of his boxer shirts, your hair tied up in a messy bun. It does a little something to him, seeing you wear his clothes, it always has.

The first time you slipped out of those motel sheets and into one of his t-shirts he’d known he was done being a lone wolf. He’d found a mate and Russell, well it turns out he mates for life.

“You’re injured aren’t you?” You say without looking up from your computer.

“No, of course not…” He says and your eyes flicker up to meet his with an expression he knows all too well. He sighs as he sets his luggage down alongside the door. “What gave it away?”

“Duffle bag was on the wrong shoulder.” You state as you set your laptop down on the coffee table and raise to your feet. “Let me see.”

“Ariel, its fine.” He tells you but his girl, she sees right through his bullshit. It’s one of the things he loves about you.

“Russ baby.” You say, your fingers trailing along the zipper of his jacket, dragging it down. “Who are you trying to kid here?”

He hisses through his teeth as you help him out of his jacket, struggling to remove his left arm out of the sleeve.

“You’re gonna be mad.” He says frankly as you toss his jacket over the back of his armchair.

“Why would I be mad-” You trail off as your gaze comes to rest on the skin coloured gauze that’s been looped around his bicep. “You got shot again?”

“Yea.” He sighs as you start to unknot the bandage, he feels the pressure loosen on his arm as you unwrap it carefully. “It’s a through and through. Colt sterilised it…”

“He did a pretty good job.” You say examining the bullet hole in your life partner before you begin to redress it. “The wound’s clean, there’s no signs of infection.”

This is not the first time you’ve played nurse to Russell and you both know it won’t be the last. He was fortunate to fall in love with someone who’d trained as a Medic with the Rangers before leaving the service and becoming a P.I. He’s lost count of the amount of times you’ve patched him up.  

“Yea well, our dad taught him well.” Russell grumbles as you carefully redress the injury.

“You wanna talk about that?” You ask him as you secure the bandage and Russ swallows hard against the ache in his chest.

His emotions on seeing Colter again are complicated. There’s a lot of shit there to unpack. The two of you don’t have secrets but he’d not ready to go into this just yet. He’s too tired, too emotional. He just wants to curl up in bed with the woman he loves and sleep for a week.

“Not yet.” He says, his good arm looping around your waist as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “I just want to be with you right now.”

Love Russ? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[tragedy-of-commons]

To put it lightly, Kaveh is incensed.

Sat at the dining room table, seething with a tick to his square jaw, all of his thoughts scrambling for some semblance of purchase.

Just who do you think you are? How did you find out about his debt, and more importantly, why did you pay it off in its entirety for no good reason? Most importantly, who are you? Taking the moral high ground by wiping all of his financial troubles clean anonymously is...

...is a wonderful thing. He's so grateful that there are tears in his eyes as he fights the urge to stand up from his mandated breather to hunt you down himself. If you know about his issues, who's to say that you don't know about his living situation too? He'd been so careful - well, save for the time he'd gotten a little tipsy and blabbed to the whole tavern - but that's neither here nor there!

But what is he supposed to do, really? His hands are idle, and no work is getting done because for once he doesn't have to crunch any commissions. There's nothing to pay off, nothing glaring to make up for because that's all he's been doing for years and years. Running in circles, dragging his own feet - so much so that he truly thought he was fated to be miserable. He can breathe a bit easier, and he actually tastes the humidity seeping into the house.

You are horribly audacious, but Kaveh can't even express it because you are philanthropic to boot. It's humiliating, thinking of himself as a charity case, even if it's true; he lives rent-free in his sort-of-friend's home, hanging off of Alhaitham's back like a leech, struggling to find work that he actually likes. But now? Now there is one less monumental burden obscuring his creative vision for the future.

Archons. He's crying, wiping away the beading tears with his coarse palms. Kaveh can't even thank you or give you anything in return. He knows it's petty to be bitter about a miracle such as this - so many have it worse and hope for this everyday - but it stings. It stings like a scorpion, venom spreading slowly to every limb before lulling him into a delirious fever dream. It stings because he couldn't pull himself out of the mess that he made.

He rises from his chair with a vengeance before realizing how silly he looks with his hackles raised. He has to do something... try to track you down, maybe. He could try to get some more information out of Dori, narrow down the list of suspects. Yes, that's what he'll do next.

The logistics of this plan contribute to Kaveh's (oddly painless) headache that he's nursing. It's too late in the day to interrogate anyone right now, though it doesn't stop him from imagining doing so as he goes about doing pointless chores to keep himself occupied. The dishes are surely going to get scuffed with the force of his scrubbing... sometimes he forgets he slings a claymore around.

What will he say when he finds you? He could try and convince you to ask for a refund, if that's even possible. Surely your sizable wealth could be put to use somewhere better - an actual noble cause, perhaps. If that doesn't work, he could always do some work for you off the books. That's what got him into this mess, after all - passion and his craft and whatever else other scholars would turn their noses up at.

Would you even accept his service? It's the least he could do. Kaveh's mind can't help but conjure up all sorts of ideas of what you might be like, images of foreign dignitaries on vacation to juggernauts of old money flashing before him. No matter, he'll pay you back no matter what.

Before he truly he goes to bed that night, Kaveh is struck by the epiphany that debt truly controls his life. If he is not in Dori's, he is in Alhaitham's. If he is not in Alhaitham's, he's in yours - whoever you may be. No kindness offered to him will ever belay the guilty bite of his lip, but only worsen how deep he drives his teeth in. As always, he pushes that thought deep down into the recesses of his mind.

Instead of acknowledging that he is cruel to himself, he will paint you as the cruel one.

It's what he does best, artist that he is.

[darylas]

Chapter 1 - Blue Skies

John "Bucky" Egan x singer!fem!reader ♫ next ♫ ao3

When Bucky hears his favorite song begin to play, he does not expect to see a new Red Cross volunteer walk up to the microphone.

1.6k words

Warnings: Language, Alcohol

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

A/N: This was my first time writing in several years! It's short and the pacing is interesting, but gosh darn it I had fun writing this. Special shoutout to @blurredcolour for inspiring me to pick up the pen. Go read their work, it's fantastic.

Bucky sat cross-legged in a chair next to Buck, not-so-slowly nursing his second whiskey. Men and women danced in the center of the officers club as the military band played an obviously well-rehearsed rendition of Glenn Miller’s A String of Pearls. Bucky tapped two fingers on his knee in time to the beat while he watched the dancers. He had already spent three songs dancing with three different women and was now taking a break to sit and enjoy his best friend’s company.

“That girl you were dancing with before, she was pretty,” said Buck before taking a sip of his coke. “She works in the Clubmobile, right?”

“Yeah, Helen. Good dancer, too.” Bucky spotted her on the other side of the room, chatting with Tatty Spaatz. 

Buck took another sip as he watched the band play. “Got a letter from Marge today.”

“She dump you yet?”

“Not if I read the letter right.” Buck smiled and looked down. After a moment, he looked back at Bucky. “She said Peggy was not too happy she hasn’t gotten a letter from you.”

Bucky responded with a puzzled look. “We went on one date. A double date. I swear I didn’t give her any ideas that she’d be expecting mail from me. Buck, I swear. I don’t play like that.” 

Buck gave a soft exhale through his nose. “I know you don’t. I was just passing along the message.” A String of Pearls began to come to a close. “Not sure why it’d be such a bad idea to write her, though.”

“Aww, c’mon, Buck, I’m trying to have a nice evening here.” Bucky’s eyes lit up as the band initiated the next song, loud trumpets and melodic saxophones blaring out the snappy intro to Blue Skies. He broke into a grin. “Now we’re talkin’.”

Buck and at least three other men couldn’t hold in their groans as they too heard the familiar notes. They knew exactly what this song did to Bucky, especially after a few drinks. 

Bucky leaned over to address one of the protestors, Major Jack Kidd. “It’s my song! It needs vocals! You can’t expect me to just sit here in silence.”

“I think you’re gonna have to, John,” said Buck. “Looks like your act’s been booted.” 

Bucky whipped his head around to look at the makeshift stage where the band was playing. He watched in disbelief as a woman wearing a Red Cross uniform strolled up to the microphone in front of the band and began to sing.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Several of the men whooped and whistled appreciatively, and Bucky saw you smile and wink at the crowd as you continued to sing. Every note was sung with confidence and precision, and you continued to smile brightly as you got to the chorus. Everyone in the room seemed to be under the spell of your voice and stage presence.

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you’re in love, my how they fly

Buck hadn’t realized how right he’d been. Bucky had gone completely silent.

He rubbed the lower half of his face to cover his growing smile. He hoped you’d glance his way but so far no luck. He found himself in a strange quandary as he was torn between closing his eyes to listen to your voice and keeping them open to stare at your face. He wasn't sure if it was the whisky, the humidity of the packed room, your performance, or a strange combination of all three, but he was beginning to feel dizzy.

Far too soon for his liking, the song ended, with you hitting the final high note right on the head. The crowd applauded as you stepped back and gestured to the band behind you in appreciation. You stepped back up to the microphone.

“Thank you very much. Let’s hear it one more time for our Air Force Band! Aren’t they wonderful?” The crowd cheered, Buck and Bucky clapping along with them. “While I’m up here, I just wanted to remind you all that this Saturday, the Red Cross will be hosting bingo night in the Aeroclub at 1900. I don’t want to spoil anything but I will tell you that we’ve got some pretty terrific prizes for the winners. Thank you again, ladies and gentlemen.” 

As you departed the stage, several men in the crowd let out cries of disappointment. The band director spoke into the microphone, “Don’t worry, ladies and gents, she’ll be back! Now if you feel so inclined, grab a partner and get back on the dance floor!” He signaled the band to start playing a new song with a count of "one, two, three, four.”

Bucky slapped both hands on his thighs and stood. He quickly downed the rest of his whisky, put down the glass, and straightened his tie. “I do believe I feel so inclined,” he said to Buck. 

“Yeah, I figured you might,” replied Buck with a smirk. 

As Bucky made his way toward where you were seated with another Red Cross Girl, he smirked as he noticed that other officers who had the same idea begrudgingly backed off. As Buck was known to say, rank had its privileges. When you looked up, Bucky greeted you with his most charming grin. “Quite the performance up there; you do autographs?”

You looked at his hands and quirked your brow. “I don’t see anything to sign.” 

Bucky looked down at his hands as well and flipped them over a couple of times. “Damn, you’re right.” He looked back at you. “How ‘bout a dance instead, then?” 

You smiled politely at him. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t dance.” You motioned to the girl sitting next to you. “Rachel here is a marvelous dancer, though.” 

“Oh, I know.” Bucky nodded at Rachel. “How ya doin’, Rach?” 

With a mischievous smile and her chin resting on her fist, the blonde replied, "I'm just swell, Bucky." 

He smiled back at her. “That’s great.” He looked back at you skeptically. “You sure? I promise to keep you on your feet, Miss…”

You gave him your name then said, “I’m sure. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Major, and don’t forget about bingo night on Saturday.”

Bucky stuck his hands in his pockets and pressed his lips together, nodding. “Right, right. Bingo night. Alright then, I’ll see you around.” He began to walk away then turned back around. “I don’t know if the band said anything to you, but Blue Skies is sorta my signature song. S’okay, though. You did alright. Little different than my rendition, but you sounded great.” 

You gave him that same damn polite smile that he couldn’t decipher and said, “Glad you liked it.”

Bucky nodded once and headed back to his seat. He cleared his dry throat after sitting down next to Buck. After picking up his whisky glass, he frowned upon realizing that it was empty. Buck looked over at him. “What happened?”

“Turns out she’s more your type. Said she doesn’t dance.” 

“What’s ‘a matter, Bucky?” He turned to see Blakely and Douglass grinning at him. “The jazz cat have claws?” Both burst out laughing at the terrible joke. Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and gave them an exasperated look.

Buck smiled good-naturedly and clapped him on the back. “Had to happen sometime, pal. Maybe getting shot down for once will help fix that king-size ego of yours,” he joked. 

“I didn’t get shot down, she said she didn’t dance.” Bucky pulled on one of his sleeves. “There’s a difference.” Once again, he began tapping two fingers against his knee to the music, trying his damndest not to look at you.

═════ ♫ ═════

Later in the evening, Bucky, Buck, and Curt Biddick were all standing at the bar. Curt and Bucky were animatedly discussing the Yankees for what had to be the hundredth time, leaving poor Buck to his coke and people-watching for a few minutes. 

Bucky saw his friend look quizzically at the dance floor then quickly avert his eyes and take a long sip. Bucky looked back in the same direction and immediately saw what Buck had been hoping he wouldn’t. At the far edge of the dance floor, you were dancing with Lt. “Bubbles” Payne, smiling and laughing. 

“I’m telling you, DiMaggio would never…what the hell are you looking at?” Curt, who was more than a little drunk, turned around and saw you and Bubbles. “That the girl who was singing earlier? The one that gave you the brush-off? I thought you said she didn’t dance. I guess she meant she doesn’t dance with-” He was cut off by Buck smacking him on the arm. “What?”

Bucky was still watching you with your arms around Bubbles, laughing at something else he said. Bubbles. He was a great guy, but what about him made you change your mind about dancing? Or was dancing not the problem at all?

Curt, unaware of Bucky’s worsening mood, casually slung his arm over his shoulders. “Hey, c’mon, don’t feel bad. I’ll dance with you, Bucky. C’mere, they’re playing our song.” 

Bucky shoved the drunk lieutenant off of him and smiled bitterly. “Yeah, cause spinning and shaking is exactly what your body needs right now, Curt.” 

He felt Buck nudge his shoulder. “You’ll get your chance, John. C’mon, I’m beat. Let’s head to the barracks.” 

As they began the walk back and the music behind them faded, Curt appeared deep in thought. Eventually, he said, very seriously, “Maybe she likes his mustache better than yours.” Buck coughed to cover a laugh. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. He didn’t care that you had rejected him. Not even a little.

He wouldn’t spare you a second thought. No sir.

And he absolutely did not hear you singing Blue Skies over and over in his head as he lay in bed that night.

—

♫ next ♫

[persistenttenderness]

I was held at gunpoint by @felsicveins to make this so heres the run down for Bass:

Bass and John Dory meet after John Dory passes out in the dessert wholly unprepared to cross it after getting horribly lost going to the neverglade trail after the Brozone break up

Bass saves his ass and nurses him back to health, John Dory mistakes him for his guardian angel and calls him angel all the time as a pet name

John Dory has always been attracted to talented people and the first time John hears him sing he falls in love.

Bass is a solid guy, the best way to describe him, very forward in his needs and communication and very chill. Rolls with the punches and always gives good advice, a big picture guy.

Bass has a little puppy crush on JD that turns into something way more serious than he expects, which is the reason why they eventually break up, JD was never going to stay and Bass was never going to come with him.

John Dory and Bass had a few good months together before John Dory felt like he had to keep going on his weird wilderness journey of self discovery, which resulted in a fight between the two resulting in John leaving Vibe City early the next morning.

JD regrets leaving, regrets the way he jerked B around, he was too young and inexperienced to be mature about their relationship and he left on poor terms, later in life though he thinks of him with nothing but love and fondness; he was someone who showed John kindness at a low point in his life, he was just too stupid and naive to appreciate it.

When John Dory and Bass reunite after many years during the Brozone reunion tour it’s bittersweet but nice, after JD left Bass eventually settled down with his current partner and they had a kid. Bass is ecstatic, he is very nurturing and loves his kid more than anything (his name is Bo)

[ar3s-r4t-qu33n]

So...

Like, we all realise that once Murkoff cuts their losses with Project Lathe 2, the Prime Assets and Expops are all being fucking put down, right???

Like I know this is probably obvious but like, since the Reagents are being made into Sleeper Agents or hooked up to the Morphogenic Engine or whatever else the CIA/Murkoff want them for, once Lathe 2 is done for (which sounds like it's happening soon with what's being said by Doris/Nurse Barlowe/Noakes and the documents we can find), they're just gonna fucking kill everyone else 🧍 they can't have witnesses, everyone knows that, there's like an understanding that everyone there is going to die but like surely SOMEONE gets out of this alive??? Like Noakes seems to think that our Reagent can do it, and obviously when you Rebirth it kinda proves you can't, but idk, I guess I have hope that someone gets out okay??? Like escapes somehow??? I know Murkoff and the CIA can't be brought to justice or anything, but like, I don't think I can handle this fate for EVERYONE

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Three

TW: noncon, shithead doctors, trauma, graphic medical descriptions

Your next shift at the hospital, you are understandably on edge. You have not seen Julian since the incident in the parking garage, and so much has happened since, you haven’t even had time to think about what you’re going to do.

Besides kick him in the junk again, if he gets handsy.

On your break, you make your way to the ICU. Washington is there, miraculously in stable condition. His wife is sitting with him, holding his hand. 

You give a little knock on the curtained off room walls, and peak your head in. “Hello.” 

She wipes some tears from her cheeks with the heel of her hand and motions you in. “Oh, sorry, any news from the doctor?” 

You pad timidly into the room, unsure of what to do with your body besides stand, awkward and uncomfortable, with your hands clasped in front of you because folding them across your chest would just seem too hostile. “No, I’m actually just here to see how you’re doing? How he’s doing?”

She gives you a hard look. “And who are you?” You don’t take it personally, only because this woman holds herself like someone who’s been through hell and back, and you respect her for staying strong. 

“Sorry. I’m y/n.” 

Her expression changes instantly. Apologetic, astonished, grateful—you think. “Oh my. Oh, I’m sorry. You saved my husband’s life.”

You take a page from Tom’s notebook of laissez-faire hero sayings. “I was just doing my job.” 

“Well, either way, thank you.” She gives you a little nod, then looks back at her husband’s swollen, perse face. “He’s alive because of you and the paramedics and the doctors and I owe you…” fat shiny globes roll down her face as her voice catches on sadness. It’s kind of just instinct—the urge to comfort another woman in distress, to hold the mourning mother or the distraught widow. You wrap her in your arms, and immediately she clings to you and soaks your scrub top with all the pent up agony inside of her. 

“It’s alright,” you say, rubbing her back in what you hope is a comforting touch. 

That’s how Tom finds you, and he’s past knocking at this point apparently. Barging in, as usual, like he owns the place, but you’re becoming more grateful than annoyed with these interruptions.

It’s stupid, to think that everything will be hunky dory between Tom and Washington’s wife. 

Because Linda’s jagged-spear stare immediately freezes the pushy cop in his tracks, and it’s kind of funny for a minute—to see Ludlow get nerfed by a tiny woman—until you realize she wants him tarred and feathered. 

“What you can do,” she spits, pointing her finger at him, “is get out.”

“Linda, please, hear me out.” He’s as soft with her as he is harsh with any man, and it makes your heart pop like a bloody balloon. “I-“

“No,” she tells him, “Get. Out.” 

You know Linda is a distraught wife, and you know she’s in emotional distress, and you know that she has every right to be upset, but you still find yourself looking at the back of her head like she kicked your puppy. Your big, nippy, sad eyed guard puppy…

So, what do you do? Defend Tom like every fight reaction in your body is screaming at you to do? Satiate Linda by saying nothing? Tom decides for you, thank God, and slips out through the curtain. 

“He’s got some nerve.” Linda shakes her head, then grabs back onto her partner's hand with a grip as strong as her confident attitude that you absolutely envy. 

You have thirty minutes, because you’re taking your break today whether hospital numbers suffer or not, and you sit with her for the entirety. Not saying much of anything, at first. Just silent. Because you have a feeling she needs someone right now, and even though you’re probably not the best companion, somebody is better than nobody. At least in situations like these.

Finally, she speaks. “They said it’s touch and go.”

“Oh,” you nod, because what do you say to something like that? What do you say to someone who’s real-time getting their heart crushed under the boot of unfair circumstances and injustice? “I’m so sorry, Linda.”

“He’s not dead yet,” she reminds both you and herself and, probably hoping he can hear her, Terrence, too. “He’s been through worse than this.”

Life. What a weird, fleeting thing. You can go through hell and survive, and then a little thing like a bullet wipes you from the earth just like that. You give Linda your number. “Call me if you need someone.” 

Tom’s not here, anymore… You wish he was.

***

Later in your shift, you receive a page to see Dr. Mercer in his office. Your heart makes a very good attempt at beating out of your chest, but you reason he can’t get up to anything too sinister, here at the hospital. 

Yeah, right. 

As you approach his door you start to sweat, your palms clammy, your face hot. Do not have a panic attack right now. Because it’s that easy, of course. You pause and close your eyes, steady yourself with a hand on the wall. You think of Tom, the way some people clutch rosary beads to gather strength, and only then do you feel properly prepared to tell Dr. Julian Mercer to fuck off, if you have to. 

You knock once before entering, and can’t help but think about him like a proper Bond villain now behind his big desk. All he’s missing is the snow-white ragdoll cat. Somehow, you can’t imagine him having a soft spot for an animal. 

“Close the door,” he tells you, his long fingers steepled before him. 

“I’d rather leave it open.”

“Not when you hear what I have to tell you, you won’t.”

With a long breath out of your nostrils you gird your proverbial loins, and shut the door. You do not stray far from it though; a thing he notices, and seems to find amusing. 

“Truce, y/n. I lost my head earlier. You make me…wild.” 

Naturally, it would be all your fault. 

“What do you want, Julian?” you demand, your patience paper thin. 

“I happened to be in surgery, the night your friend Detective Washington came in. I heard you saved his life.”

“Yeah, but…I don’t actually know him.” 

“But your boyfriend Tom Ludlow does.”

Your mouth opens to protest the label–then as you think on the past twenty-four hours, snaps shut. Things have moved like a bullet train with Tom, yet somehow, at their own perfect pace. Everything about that man just feels right, and as you hear his name in Julian’s poisoned mouth you feel as though someone just walked over your own grave. 

“What about it?”

“What if I told you…I excised a very interesting foreign object from Washington’s shoulder?”

He withdraws a small plastic baggie from his breast pocket, shaking it like a dog treat. From where you stand you can see it's something heavy, and silver colored. It kind of looks like lead. “One of these things is not like the others…” 

“I don’t follow?”

“I had a little visit from a fellow in LAPD’s Internal Affairs after patching Mr. Washington up. Sounds like Tom Ludlow has fallen under some suspicion, found in the place where someone attempted to murder the man possibly blowing the whistle on your boyfriend’s less than honorable conduct…what a debacle.”

The blood in your veins turns to ice. 

“Pretty sure Tom was in the store because of me,” you defend, even as you know your deflated tone belies your doubt. 

“Pretty sure will be a great defense in court at Ludlow’s attempted murder hearing.” He looks at the baggy in his hand again, the way some men will look at a lover. Satisfied. Anticipatory. Fond. Dr. Mercer certainly never looked at you that way. “I’m sure the jury will take that over the hard evidence I have in my hand here.”

“What is in your hand?” you demand, losing patience. You don’t entirely understand what’s going on here. Only that it must be bad. 

“This is the remnants of a .38 slug, of the kind many police officers favor in their throwdown. Do you know what a throwdown is, y/n?”

You press your lips, wanting with every fiber of your being to jump over the desk and strangle this man. 

Too bad he might like it. 

“No.” 

“It’s what cops call their extra gun. A little insurance, in case things get hairy on the street, and they have to get rid of a murder weapon. But Tom Ludlow doesn’t seem like the type who would carry something like that around, does he?”

You happen to know he does. You’d watched him strap it onto his ankle, as the two of you had gotten dressed, right before he drove you to work. 

Fuck. 

“And before you think that all you have to do is tell him to get rid of it, they have him on video in the store firing it.”

Double fuck. 

“What do you want, Julian?” You hate how small, how fragile, your voice sounds in that moment. 

He smiles at you the way the snake must have smiled at Eve. 

“Why, I want you, y/n.”

The tinnitus from your misadventure in the store seems to return with a vengeance, a ringing piercing through your ears. 

“Julian…” 

“I’m going to put this in the safe in my house. If you want it…you’re going to have to come convince me to give it to you. And sweetheart, I’m going to need a lot of convincing.” 

“Fuck you.” It comes out of your mouth before you can swallow the hateful phrase back down, and his smile only grows.

“Please, give me more reason to punish you,” he says, motioning for you to go on, to dig your hole deeper. 

Suddenly, a fond memory comes to mind. One where you smashed a flower pot over your ex’s head after his fist met your face. God, you wish you had a fucking flower pot right now. 

You try to set him on fire with pure willpower and the burning look in your eyes, give him a taste of his own medicine. See how he likes being burned alive. Sadly, he stays flameless. 

“Oh, come on,” he goads, leaning back in the swivel chair, “I’m sure that clever little tongue can come up with something.” 

“When?” You grit.

“Hmmm?” He asks, toying with the baggie in his long fingers. 

“When do you want me…to come and get it?”  

“You’re free next weekend.” It’s not a question. He’s passed niceties. Whatever Julian you get now is the one who wants to see you bloody and bruised. 

“Fine. What—what are you going to do to me?” 

He pops up from the chair, and you yelp, fling yourself back against the door with a hard thud, prepared for him to cross the room and show you what he’s planning. His fucked up grin widens, and he takes something from a drawer behind his desk. 

“Do you know what operant conditioning is?” He asks, coming around to perch himself on the front of his desk top. He has a small, round piece of plastic in his hand.

“No.” 

He presses into the side of his toy and you hear a little click at the same time he lunges forward, bringing himself halfway across the room and making you screech again. “Operant conditioning is voluntary behavior modification via reward and punishment. The voluntary behavior, in this case, is the sass that comes from that mouth of yours. And we’re going to work on changing the ‘fuck you’s’ to the ‘please, Julian’s’.”

“What’s the fidget toy for?” You ask, heart in your throat.

He shrugs. “I just wanted to keep you on your toes.” He clicks it again, and then moves forward, and you flinch back, trying futilely  to press yourself further into the wall. 

On the next click, you don’t need to see him move to cringe and twitch, your whole body aching to run, to move, to sprint far away from this awful man. 

“See?” He says. “You’re a fast learner. You’ll do just fine.”

You’re wrong. Very wrong. Have been this whole time. You’re not a woodland creature, and Julian is not a wolf. You’re a rat in a cage, and he’s the scientist appointed to experiment on you. 

“It could have been different between us,” he has the gall to say, reaching up to caress the curve of your cheek with his finger. You hate the way you flinch and tremble at his touch, but it’s like your joints have fused, refusing to move, refusing to carry you away from this bad man who wants to hurt you. “You’re the one who chose to make it this way.”

You know, you fucking know, in the logical part of your brain that he is gaslighting the shit out of you. But the little scared rabbit part of your brain, the part that is regrettably in charge right now, just nods its trembling head at Julian’s assertion. This is your fault. It could have been nice between you, if you hadn’t ruined everything the first night. He would have taken care of you. 

It’s bullshit, of course. This is the monster that was lurking beneath Julian’s pleasant mask all along. He would have shown you eventually–preferably while you were bound and gagged and couldn’t do anything about it. 

You have got to get out of here. 

You don’t know if it’s your voice, or Julian’s, that spurs you on, that gets you moving, even if just a millimeter at a time. 

“Leaving so soon?” asks Julian with a smirk, clearly amused by the way he terrifies you. He gets off on it, and god how you wish you could just knee him in the balls again. 

As he reaches out to touch you again you warn him, “If I scream your game is up. You want to turn this into a shitshow at work?”

This actually stays his hand. His professional image is important to him. You have to remember that. It might be the only real weapon you have against Julian. Maybe aside from Tom Ludlow–but you have a feeling Tom would do something horrible. Something that would get him into huge trouble, and that was exactly what you were trying to avoid. 

“That won’t stop me from turning over that little bag,” he warns you. 

“Maybe. But you’ll still wish your part in it had remained quiet. So let me the fuck go, until the weekend.” You sound tough, while your knees are positively knocking. 

Dangling the promise of a later playdate seems to appease the hungry monster before you. His chest rises and falls as he takes in a deep breath–smelling you, you realize. Smelling your fear.

“I look forward to it, y/n.” With a cordial wave he gestures towards the door, as though he’s just been a gracious host and you had a pleasant little chat in his office–psychopath. 

You sense that you’re safe for the moment, if only because he wants to savor it. You force your leaden feet to shuffle to the door. 

A sharp click makes you jump sky high with your hand on the door handle. You turn back with wide eyes, to find Julian with a diabolical smirk curving that well-made mouth. 

“Bastard,” you hiss, then flee before he can do anything else to you. 

You know he’ll make you pay for it, later. 

Later, when you have to go to his house to let him do dastardly things to you. 

Later, when you’re going to have to cheat on Tom. 

Somehow, that hurts you worse than anything you imagine Julian doing to you, and you have to duck into the bathroom to throw up, and cry.  

[rfsmith]

(Totally not happening to but is inspired by my current events)

When the kids are throwing up everywhere sick, here’s how Brozone reacts:

John Dory: the man has the weirdest remedies, BUT THEY WORK. Don’t ask him how he knows these things, he probably doesn’t remember, he was drunk, drugged, and travel for two decades. He learned a thing or two. Doesn’t lose his cool unless the throw up is on him, then he tries to hold it in but has to go vomit himself.

Bruce: don’t skip a beat, another kid sick, alright cool another day in the job of Fatherhood. He’s the one who makes the soup, enforced bedrest, and needs Brandy’s help to restrain the kid a bit to give them their medicine. He hates seeing his kids sick, but he doesn’t want it spreading around the island either. He’d be the one they go to first because Brandy would tell them “go tell your dad.” She’s tired, she helps where she can, but Bruce is the default parent and he’s cool with it.

Clay: follows the schedule time for the medication on the dot and is behind that kid every step they take. He’d be telling everyone to be quiet and it’s a silent mini golf day or else they’ll close early. There’s no stopping the troll, he’s co runs the place so his word is kinda law. Vivia just lets him because otherwise they’ll get VERY serious Clay and he’s REALLY NOT FUN. Has a nurse mask and gloves, only reason he’s not wearing a hazmat suit is because he let another troll use it can it came back torn. He’d be the one reading funny stories and trying to do anything to keep the kid entertained in bed, even changing his voice and hair to exaggerate the stories.

Floyd: totally freaks out, calls his brothers for help. Burns the soup, gets throw up on him, the boy is stressing and HE NEEDS HELP. (I headcanon he doesn’t have kids, so he doesn’t even know how he got into this situation)

Branch: first of all, the WHOLE village would try to take over for the care of the heir. He’s literally fighting off everyone to get out of his pod or bunker (I headcanon bunker) and is getting annoyed with everyone trying to advise him on what to do. He’s been on his own since he was a baby, he knows what to do. Has a few weird remedies and recipes that do not taste great, but they work faster than any medicine. He doesn’t care for the vomit on him, there are showers and washers but he refuses to make his kid feel bad when they’re already sick. When they want cuddles or songs sung, he’s there for it.

[flowerbloom-arts]

I’m really interested in your school/mafia swap au!! Though I wonder what subjects the mobsters would teach (or what job they’d take at the school.) I’m already hooked lol ^^

In the swap AU they're very specifically working at Springfield Elementary. I haven't figured out alot of them because we don't have much on the mobsters besides the main like, 4-5, but here they are as I've fleshed out so far;

The Superintendent - Vittorio DiMaggio

The Principal - Fat Tony

4th Grade Teacher - Louie (he'd have an awful time with Bart I imagine, just, bullied so much <//3)

2nd Grade Teacher - Johnny Tightlips (he drives Lisa up the wall just by not teaching class properly and unnecessarily withholding information lmao. He'd be a more recent addition to the school.)

Nurse - Legs (since he canonically went to medical school. I imagine he'd be slightly more involved in story plots than ol' Doris as the school nurse and fix up Louie with whatever Bart did to him for the day, these two go way back as childhood friends including Tony)

Lunch man - Luigi (because of course. Also, the school would be much better run by these guys rather than the other bozos so his food is actually edible, thank goodness)

Groundskeeper/Janitor - Frankie the Squealer (the free roaming nature of his job would give him the opportunity to pick up the juiciest gossip to spill to the kids whenever they ask, as well as partially work as a hall monitor who'd report to the other staff, especially Tony. He's also a fairly recent addition [applied at the same time as Johnny] but they're a little less nice about him because he's such a snitch)

If anyone has suggestions on how to staff the rest of the school please let me know! It'd be of great help especially since I have the other side of this swap more or less figured out completely.

In terms of personalities for these guys they're more or less the same except the violent streak is yoinked out of them, so they're left as mostly harmless and oddly adorable losers. They'd also just be called by their regular first names/surnames rather than their mob nicknames, although Legs is still called Legs by Louie and Tony as an inside joke nickname (the rest usually just call him Max or Mr. Legman).

[imasoftieforbarb]

OKAY LAST ONE N ILL HOO OFF YOUR BACK 🩷🩷🩷

Floyd x a old timey singer (I’m talking like flapper type girl<feather boa’s, the iconic slim black dresses and jet black hair!!> Maybe she’s monochrome or black and white bc of her music taste!)

NAYWAYS feel free to go WILD with these!! Any scenarios you’d like!! And if you’d like you can throw ur own spin of them!! Tysm!! Take care!!

-nurse anon🏩

Nurse anon your ideas are MY DRIVING FORCE! Please keep sending them in <3

I loved writing this one, the others should be done today too!

Floyd with an Oldies! Singer:

He likes oldies music

I like to imagine that maybe grandma liked to listen to oldies

So he’s familiar with the genre

BUT he’s never met someone who sings them

He’s shocked when he finds out that you’re colour blind- specifically you can only see black, white and greys

Though he decides that it makes sense due to the fact you don’t really match your outfits (colour wise)

He tries to describe colours to you but ends up giving up for a bit

To him you look amazing- your various flapper dresses

(though he can admit that he gets the most flustered when you wear your red shorter one)

The little heels you wear- he didn’t even know trolls wore shoes- you have explained to him that they’re for dancing- but he’s still convinced you want to be taller than him

All your accessories? He’s obsessed!

If you make your own music and songs he buys a phonograph so y’all can listen to it together

Low-key wants to learn how to do the Charleston but gets confused what to do with his hands

He likes to buy you things that remind him of you

A beaded handbag with tassels? He’s thinking of the time you complained about not having enough room in your little purse you carry

You find it on your bed that night with him smiling sheepishly

He leaves your house grinning with a dreamy look and bright red lipstick marks all over his face

He will learn some sort of dance with you- he is determined!

He finally discovers how to describe colours to you (though it is inconvenient)

“Floyd- what do the colours look like?”

“You remember the time John Dory cooked that apple pie-!”

It was rainbow tie dye and you wore that like it was the most fashionable item ever