#the pacific one shot

[imaginesbymk]

❝ WHAT DO WE DO NOW? ❞

The Pacific One Shot

PAIRING — SNAFU SHELTON x NURSE!FEM!READER.

SYNOPSIS / The war's over, and Snafu is taking the edge off with Eugene and Burgin on the high rocks. It doesn't last very long when he notices that you’re having a victory party of your own . . . 

TAGS: mentions of war, mentions of bullying, drinking, smoking, swearing + snafu being snafu

PROMPTS: ❝ can I kiss you? ❞ / ❝ will you stay with me? ❞

WORD COUNT: 1,991

A/N: this story is a bit different than the usual marine x nurse!reader trope. usually the nurse!reader is deemed perfect or is a childhood crush from the town they’re from who reunites with their lover after the war, but i wanted to make them like the outcast who finds some sort of comfort in the bad boy vibe from snafu who holds a soft spot for her in the end. this gift is for @latibvles​ from your secret santa <3 i’m late but merry xmas!!!! and thank u for allowing me to participate in secret santa @hbowardaily​​ —enjoy :))

THE DAY the Japanese surrendered, you had just finished patching up a Marine who suffered several cuts to his lower calf. For years you adjusted to the blood-curdling screams and moans from Marine after Marine, tending to them as they begged you a bunch of nonsense — that nonsense would have worsened their wounds and injuries. But that was your job in the Pacific theatre.

The screams and cries were now chants and balls of laughter, something you haven’t heard in a very long time. Maybe you have heard them here and there from the tents and hospitals— small talks whenever you passed by the cots, they were short-lived. Either they died the next day or their souls died acknowledging this war that felt like an eternity, the laughing would just be dead silence.

It was nice to hear a bunch of men and young boys have a victory party out at base camp.

Although, you left them be. You didn't like the idea of intruding, and drunk men gawking at you. You stayed back to clean up. A couple of nurses were enjoying their own victory parties, clinking glass bottles of coke and wine. You were clinking bottles of medicine back into the shelves.

Outside, Snafu, Burgin and Eugene isolated themselves from the Marines. Watching them party from below was a view, but looking up at the night sky was a movie.

"You see that? Line of stars angling up?" Snafu points up at the dark sky.

"Yep," Burgin answers with an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

"That's Snafu's peckuh." He listened to the conversation with Eugene and Lieutenant Mac.

One question stuck with him that Mac asked out theoretically. "What do we do now?" Snafu scoffs. "What an idiot."

He was in a small daze. Burgin hands the bottle of alcohol to Snafu.

What could he do? Clean up the mess on the islands, organize everything and take roll call, finish all his duties, clean himself up with a fresh uniform and a plane and train back to Louisiana. There was just one thing he gotta do first once he took his first sip of alcohol.

"I gotta take a piss." He climbs down the rocks, reminding him that he didn't need to keep his head down and adjust his helmet like from the times he instinctively ducks down to avoid being seen by the Japanese. He lands on the gravel and walks over to the side.

Meanwhile, he wished there were women joining in on the fun. But like Eugene would eventually tell his brother back in Mobile, they were off limits. But it’s not like Snafu is obedient every now and then. 

And with that, he watched you from afar. While everyone else was doing God knows what, he wondered where the rest of the infirmary staff were while you were left to handle the manual labor all by yourself. Maybe he didn’t need to pee off in the corner after all. And so he followed you as you went back inside your tent. 

He just watched you at the foot of it, the small breeze from the night moving the curtain a bit so he could see a better view of your uniform. And of course, he was staring at certain places.

You were beautiful, he thought. But he could say that about every other nurse here. 

His look-see didn’t last very long. You turned around when you felt another presence just as you were carrying the twentieth box of inventory into one of the crates. 

“JESUS!” You screamed, dropping the box of medical supplies and crashing on the ground. 

“Terribly sorry for startling you,” but the young man’s grin never faded. He allowed himself in the tent. 

“That’s close enough, Marine.” You made him halt in his tracks. For one thing, he could be drunk out of his mind, looking to sink his claws into someone for pleasure. What was separating him from your safety was the spill that he could foolishly slip and injure him in. And that would be another job to do. Speaking of, you looked down at the shattered glass pieces and substances scattered on the ground. At least it wasn’t too toxic for exposure. “Great.”

“Like I said, I apologize for the disturbance,” the man said.

“Disturbance is an understatement. You can say you scared the shit out of me.” You bent down and carefully gathered the glass shards, ironically touching them with your bare hands when you know you should be getting a broom and dustpan for that... and perhaps some safety gloves and a separate bin to dispose glass.

Snafu raised his brows. “I wouldn’t touch that, ma’am. I’d get a—”

“Yeah, I know.” You stopped doing what you were doing.

The smell of rubbing alcohol nearly filled the air, and there was an unopened pack of sulfur powder. The last time he saw someone use sulfer powder on an infected wound was the First Lieutenant. “That’s the thing, ma’am. I see you packed up all the cleaning supplies. Digging through the dozens of them would be beating the dead horse.”

“I can’t just leave spilt rubbing alcohol on the ground. It’s a safety hazard. I can’t get in trouble again.”

Again? Oh yeah. Snafu watched you kneel on the ground, carelessly getting your sheer tights stained with dirt. He found himself studying you again. In ways he was checking you out previously, but also recognizing the same features he saw when he visited the infirmary tents to see if there were any bandaids left for Burgin’s cuts on his fingers. That day, you were scolded by another nurse for something and the rest of them stared at you like a bug that needed to be squashed. Not only were the nurses staring at you, but so were the Marines who were being treated. Snafu was present to see all of that while he was patiently waiting at the curtains. It intrigued him. Normally he would chuckle to himself over how clumsy someone can be, but a part of him felt that pity. If this was him back in Louisiana, he’d be feeling just as small.

When you made eye contact with him, you said nothing— he was just every other Marine seeking assistance, so you handed over a pack of bandaids. You kept your head down, refusing to let him notice that you were on the verge of tears. He thought nothing of it, and moved along.

“Hang on, doll. I’ve seen you before,” he nods down at you. “You’re like the doormat.”

You scoff at that. “Not an understatement.” And he wasn’t wrong, either. You weren’t exactly the unlikeable one in the bunch, but these nurses weren’t planning on sticking around to become best friends with you for life during and after the war. Meanwhile, the majority of the men looked at you differently, either like eye-candy or a nurse who needed more training. You couldn’t hold small talk with anyone you worked with. Not a single nurse gave off a friendly vibe, and it reminded you of those snobby kids in high school. It shouldn’t affect you when you had a serious job and the cause was likely due to the physical and mental exhaustion from the war, but still... it stung. 

Snafu grins, the alcohol wasn’t even speaking for him. He only took one sip out of the bottle Mac gave them, anyway. He was just like that. “Can I kiss you?”

“Absolutely not.” Your face beamed red.

“Why? You kissed that Marine from Love Company.”

“You’re very likely mistaking me for another nurse, then. I don’t kiss Marines. I nurse them back to health when they get shrapnel in their eyes.”

“Then how about I find you back home and then I can kiss you?”

“No. God," you huff. "You'd do anything to win a girl's heart. You just suck at it. You're the type to run through Makin Island to get to the likes of blondes."

“Not exactly,” he corrects you. “And war’s over, ma’am.”

“I can’t believe you just asked me that out of the blue,” you shook your head in disbelief. But were you even surprised? “You don’t even know my name.”

“I’m Merriell Shelton,” he extends a hand. 

You knew how you wanted a formal introduction to go between you and a man. You expect the man to be polite, and it all started by shaking his hand. But this was Merriell, as you come to learn his name— in which you assume he is given a different nickname by the Marines fighting out there. You heard that the Marines nicknamed First Lieutenant Eddie Jones ‘Hillbilly’, and then-Captain Andrew Haldane ‘Ack-Ack’. For Merriell, it could be something you imagine to be vulgar.  

You stare down at his hand, not reaching yours out to shake it. “Well, Merriell Shelton. I will not kiss you. You should go.”

"So what did you do before all this, Miss?" Snafu dodges your order. 

You roll your eyes and stared at the tiny bottles of ibuprofen tossed in the box, wishing you were back home, doing what you did before all of this. "Just like any other young adult. Helped around the house, tried to get pass through potential colleges. Never thought I'd end up on the other side of the world."

"You're telling me." Snafu nearly spat on the ground. If he had done it, you'd be clearly annoyed and disgusted. You knew these men had gone through so much that even their manners and behaviour were picked up by the conditions on the islands. Even if he had spat, war or no war, you would choose to not say anything.

You and Snafu could hear the loud shouts and laughter outside acquainted with music. Eugene and Burgin must be wondering where Merriell—Snafu– wandered off to now after urinating on the ground somewhere. 

“So... what do we now?” He asks, repeating Mac’s words. 

No one was an idiot in this moment for even asking that. What could the two of you do right now?

“Well, Merriell Shelton, because you just gave me another job, what I am gonna do is sit here and wait for a nurse to come stumbling in to help me clean up.”

“There’s no way they would come and help you. For one thing, they would be too drunk to even carry a broom. They would make you do it yourself. If anything, I can help.”

“After scaring me like that and asking for a kiss? You should be on your way drinking with your friends out there, no?”

“I find this encounter much more entertaining.”

“Why? There are nurses out there to drink and laugh with.”

“I remember faces, ma’am. Some of them weren’t that friendly to you that one time.”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugs. “I remember faces.” 

You got up and sat on one of the chairs. “Well, I’m done working for them and with them. Therefore, I’m not unloading the cargo for a dustpan and broom.”

“Then I suggest you leave the mess here for them to clean up, and make sure there’s no wet floor sign so they can slip on their mistake. Make it seem they were too stupid to realize they dropped a few things in here. They dun’ need to know the truth.” You look up at him. He was smirking. 

“They’ll say something. Will you stay with me?” you ask. “Just don’t try and kiss me. I will hit you so hard in the face, Marine.”

Snafu smiles. “You don’t have to stay in here and wait for it all to unfold.” He extends his hand out once more. “We’re staying by the rocks away from everyone else. I’ll introduce you to Sledgehammer. Maybe I’ll finally get you to tell me your name, by then.”

You smiled back and took his hand. Perhaps one friend is better than many.

END.

[lonesomedreamer]

STAR TREK + peace

You have a real war on your hands. You can either wage it with real weapons…or you might consider an alternative: put an end to it. Make peace! There can be no peace! We’ve admitted it to ourselves. We’re a killer species, it’s instinctive! It’s the same with you. All right. It’s instinctive. But the instinct can be fought.

[groovygrub]

[webgottism]

love them both sm but visually the pacific has stayed with me a lot more than band of brothers for some reason. like i think about the image of snafu throwing rocks into that corpse’s open head and sledge in the hut with the old woman and hamm’s body after getting shot and the way sledge leans over the table to say that remark to the girl at the course registration and the garden behind stella’s house in melbourne and the hesitant look on snafu’s face when he leaves sledge on the train constantly. they torment my brain !!!!

[she-wolf09231982]

Bill Hoosier Smith

“There, I said it!”

Summary: It’s a chore getting anything out of Hoosier that isn’t sarcasm or jokes. But when it comes to his favorite medic, he’ll say it.

A/N: One shot, Mature audience, BillHoosierSmithx!FemMedic, WW2, Female Pronouns, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Womanizing Comments, Military and Medical Terminology, Inappropriate Nicknames, HBO The Pacific References, Mentions/Descriptions of Injuries, Weaponry, Smoking. Angst/Conflict, FOREVER FLUFF

*Able Grable = Girl with low morals

*The Ichiki = Japanese Soldiers

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real Marines the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~

August 1942

Ever since you’ve been assigned to H Company, you were accepted by most of the guys. You had an addictive personality and had a whimsical way with your presence. You dished out whatever the guys threw at you, and they loved that you were a bit rough around the edges.

You weren’t afraid to get dirty and break a sweat. You’ve earned your place amongst them when you showed them your worth when bullets started flying. The moment “Medic!” was called, you were running like a bat out of hell to get to them.

In the beginning, you didn’t always get along with Hoosier. The man had it out for you in the worst way the day you arrived to board the carrier to the Pacific. For weeks the guys made such a fuss about you and it annoyed the hell out of him…especially Chuckler. He went on and on about you and Hoosier was over it.

“Goddamn, Lew, if you want her so bad, then go fucking get her or shut the fuck up.” Hoosier barked at him one day.

“Damn, Bill, what’s got you snapping your cap?” Runner asked.

Hoosier glared at him then went back to cleaning his rifle.

“He’s just jealous that I saw her first.” Chuckler teased.

Bill slammed his weapon down, “You know what it is, Lew? It’s that women don’t have a place on the front lines because they’re nothin’ but a distraction.” He snapped.

“Come on, Hoosier, we don’t get to see nothin’ pretty around here. It’s something to look at that isn’t a Jap or Leckie’s face.” Gibson explained.

The guys laughed including Bill.

“Now that I can go along with.” Hoosier agreed.

Just then, you approached the group.

“Hey guys-“ you began.

The guys always lit up when you came around.

“Hey, Y/L/N!” Runner, Leckie and Sid greeted.

“Hiya, doll!” Lew added.

You smile at each of them, but noticed once again Hoosier avoiding eye contact with you. You knew he didn’t like you. You usually made it your daily routine to bust his chops by starting small talk with him to make it awkward for him. The guys found it entertaining when you give him a hard time. Bill, however, couldn’t stand it.

“Hey, Hoosier.” you say sweetly.

He side eyed you with a scoff while he function checked his rifle.

The guys watched intensely with mischievous smiles painted across their faces.

“You’re looking extra rugged this morning.” You dared to continue.

The guys snickered. Hoosier looked around at each of them with vigor, then looked at you.

“You think you’re fucking funny, Y/L/N?”

Your friendly smile softened into a cocky grin.

“They seem to think so.” You returned, gesturing to the rest of the group.

“Yeah, well, they’re only siding with you because you’re a broad. If you weren’t a medic, you’d be useless.” Hoosier jeered.

You furrow your eyebrows at him as you cross your arms, “Oh, is that what you think?”

His mouth curled into an evil smirk, “It’s what I know, lady.”

You feel your anger boiling over.

“Well, your opinion is noted, Smith. Not that your opinion matters.” You retaliate.

He narrowed his eyes at you, then redirected his attention to polishing the barrel of the rifle.

You look at the others, “If you guys need anything, I’ll be at the aid station.”

You turn around and walk off. They waited until you were out of ear shot.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Bill?” Sid asked hitting his shoulder.

“What?” Hoosier replied.

“You know, she’s gonna be the one helping you out there if you get hit.” Leckie pointed out.

Hoosier remained silent. He didn’t give a damn. He just wanted to kill some Japs, and go home.

~~~~~~~

You avoided Hoosier like the plague. You haven’t poked fun at him for a few weeks and whenever your paths crossed while he was waiting in line for chow or he needed medical attention, you looked right through him like he didn’t exist.

“Shit, Bill, if looks could kill-“ Runner had said.

“Yeah, she hasn’t said a word to me in a few weeks. ‘Bout damn time.” Hoosier commended.

Runner rolled his eyes.

“You got so much piss and vinegar in your veins towards her, Hoosier, I don’t get it.”

“We’re all here to do a job. There ain’t no female that’s gonna stop me from doing it,” Bill affirmed, “maybe if ya’ll focused more on the war it would be over already.”

“Yeah, yeah, ok.” Runner humored Bill by agreeing.

~~~~~~~

Lt Corrigan addressed H company one morning about the next mission.

“We’re settin’ up a little less than a mile that way along the perimeter,” he explained pointing in the direction along the road outside their camp, “The Japs decided to go around us to hit the airfield. Leckie, figure out the five Marines for the first watch for two hours at sunset and make sure a medic goes with each shift. So six total, got it?” He finalized then trudged off towards headquarters.

“Aye, sir.” Leckie acknowledged.

Bob looked around at the guys, “Any volunteers?”

No one answered.

“Come on, guys, don’t make me pick.” Leckie pushed.

“Fucking fine, I’ll go.” Hoosier muttered.

“We’ll go.” Sid and Gibson voiced.

“Ok since you’re being good sports, I’ll take the first watch with you guys.” Leckie supported.

“Fuck it, I’m in.” Runner added.

“Good man. Ok, we head out at 1730. It’ll give us enough sunlight to get to the posts before it gets dark. Get your gear together and meet me on the edge of camp at 1725.” Leckie ordered.

Hoosier walked to where he had his weapons and gear before Leckie pulled him aside.

“And won’t you be happy about this.” He said a little too excitedly.

Hoosier looked at him skeptically.

“What?”

“Your favorite little medic is coming with!” Leckie replied with a wide smile.

Bill shook his head, “Fuck you, Bob.” He spat before stomping off.

Leckie chuckled as he gathered his rations for the shift.

~~~~~~~

It was bad enough that Leckie had requested that you be on the first watch that Hoosier was part of, but he also arranged that you and he also shared a fox hole together. You were absolutely fuming sitting there next to him.

The trench was 6 feet long and 3 foot wide, leaving very little personal space between the two of you. Although he could see perfectly over the edge of the foxhole when he stands, you had to place an ammo case in the hole as a stepping stool because the depth of it was a little too deep, and it was an obstacle for you to climb in or out or see the line when you stand.

You almost opted to sit on the wooden case instead of on the ground of the foxhole, but you didn’t want splinters on your butt, so you had to sit relatively close to Hoosier.

Leckie’s face appeared over the edge.

“Cozy?” He mocked.

You both scowl at him.

“Do you need something, Leckie?” You asked exasperated.

“Nah, just checking on everyone.”

“Yeah, just having’ a grand ol’ time with Able Grable over here.” Hoosier uttered.

You look at him with daggers behind your eyes.

“Excuse me!?” You shrill.

Leckie laughed, “Best idea I had all day posting you two together! Have fun, kids.” He said as he disappeared.

Hoosier only shook his head, laughing to himself about his snappy insult towards you.

“You think I’m some bimbo out here lookin’ to get laid do ya?” You propose.

Hoosier didn’t bother looking over at you.

“If the shoe fits.” He simply replied with a leering expression.

“Ooo you pompous pig!” You growl through clenched teeth.

“I’ve been called worse.” He dismissed.

“I fucking believe it!” You shot back turning your back to him.

You’ve never been so disrespected in your life. You always tried to be a good person because of how you were raised. And because he had such an arrogant opinion on where women belonged in this war, he treated you like dirt regardless of how good you were to him or his buddies.

You keep your back to him because your rousing anger caused tears to build in your eyes and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that anything he said affected you. But Hoosier wasn’t an idiot. He knew you were crying. He felt a tinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach, but his pride always got the better of him, so he sat there quietly and tried his best to ignore your silent sobs.

~~~~~~~

The relief crew showed up, and before they could say anything, you hopped out of the foxhole to get away from Hoosier.

Hoosier, Leckie, Sid, Gibson, and Runner walked together as you walked ahead of them alone in the dark.

“Jeez, Bill, what did you do?” Sid accused.

“What the fuck, why does it have to be something I did?” He defended.

“She was fine before the watch.” Runner identified.

“If you’re gonna blame anyone, blame Leckie for posting us together.” Hoosier suggested pointing at Bob.

“Hey, Corrigan said five Marines and a medic. I had to have two people in each trench. It’s just how it worked out.” Leckie clarified shrugging his shoulders.

You heard them bantering behind you, trying to shut them out. You suddenly heard a distant whistling noise, quickly recognizing it was incoming artillery. You turn to the guys in a panic.

“INCOMING!!” You shout back to them.

The shell landed behind them, sending many palm trees to the ground around them. They all dove to the ground to take cover.

“Get those mortars up! Runner! Hoosier! Set up further that way and rain hell on ‘em! Stay where I can see ya!” Leckie ordered motioning towards the area you all just walked away from.

Hoosier and Runner rush back up the road then hastily set up their ‘Goon Guns’ facing where the threat was coming from.

You find a spot behind the pile of fallen trees to take cover, peeking over the top to make sure you can see and hear if the guys needed you. Watching them work out there left you utterly awestruck.

There were obviously more of the Ichiki out there than you could see. Although there were more of them, their aim was terrible. The Japs plotted their targets all around you and the guys, mainly hitting palm trees and rocks. You watch sharply as each shell made its mark.

You tactfully maneuver closer to Runner and Hoosier until you see a streak of enemy gun fire trailing closer and closer towards them. They, too, see the danger approaching and jump start into a sprint towards the tree line.

Runner finds cover behind a pile of gravel while Hoosier runs towards the stack of fallen palms you were hiding behind. A mortar dropped in his path causing him to double backward as he tried shielding his face from the debris.

As the remnants of the explosion clears, you see his silhouette crouched over, rubbing his eyes. You look past him seeing the approaching stream of enemy fire coming straight for him. The fragments of dirt and sand had obscured his vision leaving him unaware of the jeopardy he was in.

“Shit!” You huff as you hurdle over the mound of trees darting towards Hoosier.

A split second before the enemy can make contact with their target, you tackle Hoosier, projecting you both a few feet out of the line of enemy fire onto the jungle floor.

“Ooof!” Hoosier exclaimed when you knocked the air out of him.

The attack continued a few more minutes, then died down to an unexpected silence. You hear rapidly approaching footsteps of your comrades racing towards you and Bill.

Hoosier on his back and you on your stomach with an arm draped across his chest, you feel seeping warmth soaking through your uniform just around your hip and down your thigh.

Thinking you lost bladder control, you look over your shoulder down your left side and see a crimson red stain on your shirt and pants pooling onto the sand beneath you. Hoosier sat up quickly, causing you to wince when your arm slipped off him.

“Fuck, Y/F/N, you’re hit!” Hoosier announced.

“Well no shit, Bill!” You replied annoyed.

Leckie and the rest of them encircled you and Bill.

“Oh, God.” Leckie choked when he saw you were bleeding.

“Get her bag!” Runner told Sid.

As gently as he could, Hoosier flipped you onto your back, untucking your uniform top from your pants on your left side,

“Y/F/N, tell us what to do!” Hoosier said when Sid came back with your medic satchel.

You take a deep, ragged breath, “First see if there’s an exit wound. Prop me up on my right side and see if the bullet went all the way through.”

They did as they were told.

“There’s an exit wound back here, doll!” Leckie confirmed.

“Ok that’s good,” you reassure through a cough, “Get the big gauze from the bag, pack the entry and exit wounds to—absorb the..blood…and then…then-“

Tunnel vision sets in and you start to black out.

“NO! No no no no, stay with us, Y/F/N!” Hoosier bellowed, “Goddamn it, get her wrapped up we gotta get her to the aid station, NOW!”

~~~~~~~

The boys got you back to the aid station just in time. Luckily, a supply drop was made a few days prior to you being wounded, and the nurses were able to get you hooked up to plasma. You remained unconscious for three days.

Hoosier, internally battling his agonizing guilt for treating you the way he had, visited you everyday while you lay asleep on your cot. On days he wasn’t on patrol or on post, he set up a blanket and pillow on the floor next to you to sleep so he wouldn’t miss you waking up.

While he slept on the ground next to your bed, a whimper emitted from above him disturbing his slumber, alerting him that you were waking up. His eyes snapped open as he swiftly pushed himself up from the floor to kneel next to the side of your bed. With the morning sun illuminating your face, he admired your angelic features as you began to stir.

All he could do was stare, wanting nothing more than to see your beautiful eyes open. Your lashes flutter before your eyelids fully reveal the color of your eyes to him. You look side to side, doing your best to figure out where you were and how you got here.

“Good morning.” Hoosier bid you.

You slowly look over to him.

“Oh. Hoosier.” You reply softly.

You try to sit up and suck in air through your teeth when you feel a sharp pain on your left side.

“What the ffffffuuu-“ you start to say lifting your left arm up to look at your side.

Your mid drift was wrapped in dressings like a mummy. You lightly run your hand over your covered abdomen. You tried to remember the last thing that happened in the field. Hoosier saw you struggling to recollect the events that happened three days before.

“Those Japs got you right above the hip. But it only went through the muscle, Doc said. Nothin’ important was hit. It was a clean shot.” He explained.

“Right.” You whispered staring into space.

Hoosier paused, looking down at his hands folded in front of him on your blanket.

“Why did you do it?” He finally asked.

You looked at him perplexed, “Do what?”

“Why did you save me?” He clarified.

You looked down at your toes under the sheets.

“Because it was my job. I wasn’t about to just let you die.” You rationalized.

“After how much of an asshole I was? After what I said to you in the foxhole before that?”

“Well-“ you started before allowing yourself to briefly slip into your thoughts, “..yeah.”

Hoosier stared at you as confusion screwed up his facial features. His eyebrows drew inward as he started to shake his head at you.

“So, you’re welcome.” You added.

“Ha!” He huffed, “I should be grateful!?” He asked sarcastically.

“Well yeah! I did take a bullet for you! You ungrateful piece of-“

“Hold on, there, pal. I didn’t ask you to do that-“

“-You don’t have to! It’s my fucking job!” You bark back before he could finish.

You grimace from pain from over exertion by raising your voice.

“Just go, Bill. I don’t even know why you’re here.”

“I wanted to make sure you woke up.”

You look down on the floor next to your bed and see his blanket and pillow.

“You slept here?” You asked amused.

He nodded. The pieces started to come together in your head.

“Why don’t you just admit you care?” You prompted.

“Fucking what??” He fired back, slightly embarrassed.

“You heard me.” You retorted.

“You’re a dizzy dame, you know that?” He grumbled.

“Whatever, Hoosier, just leave. I can’t stand to hear your voice anymore.” You conclude as you shift to your right side to once again face your back to him.

Bill was bewildered. He leaned back on his heels not knowing what to do next.

“Just go.” You repeat, knowing he was going to try to push the conversation.

He stood, hovered over you for a few seconds then start to slowly back away. He turned on his heel to walk away, but his intrusive feelings stopped him in his tracks, and he abruptly returned to your bedside.

“Ok, so you want to hear it?” He blurted out.

Startled, you return to your back placing your head upon the pillow awaiting his speech.

“I care! Ok?? There, I said it!” He confessed with his arms raised then slapping them down to his sides before he continued,

“As a matter of fact, you’ve had me fucked up for weeks, that’s how much I care. When you stopped sassing me after you got mad at me, I thought I’d be relieved, but I wasn’t! It killed me slowly inside when you refused to look at me or even acknowledge my presence! I couldn’t sleep because everytime I closed my eyes, I saw your face. I couldn’t concentrate on patrol because I constantly wondered if you’d be ok without me around!”

You gaped at him, completely baffled by his outburst of affection for you.

“I got it so bad for you, I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore.” He professed calmly after taking a breath. He looked down at his boots.

You close your mouth and also look down at his boots.

“I’m gonna go. The guys will wanna know you’re ok.” He muttered as he turned to leave.

“Um, Bill?” You call after him gingerly.

He stopped right at the threshold of the doorway to look at you. You wave him over.

He hesitated at first but came back to you. You began to move your legs off the bed to sit on the side.

“What the fuck are you doing?? You shouldn’t be-“ Hoosier tried to reprimand.

“-Bill, shut up, and sit with me.” You directed patting the surface of your cot next to you.

He begrudgingly sat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

You swallowed hard, unsure you could speak after what he just told you. You look over to him and catch him nervously side eyeing you, waiting for you to say something. The ends of your mouth curve into a faint smile.

“Bill?”

“Hm.”

“Look at me.”

He reluctantly meets your gaze.

“Did you mean everything you said?”

His eyes widened, “Every word.” He purred.

You beamed at him and before you could stop yourself, you pulled him by his shirt catching his lips with yours. He cupped the side of your face as he tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss.

He snaked a hand around your side,

“Ah-ah-ah ow!” You pull back in pain when his hand touched the tender part of your wound.

You grab his hand gently and pull it away from your side.

“Oh shit! I’m so fucking sorry!” He said alarmed, “Are you ok?? Did I hurt you bad??”

“It’s ok, Bill. It was the heat of the moment. It was worth it.” You justify with a wink.

His look of concern melted into admiration.

He tucked a stray strand of hair from across your forehead to behind your ear, then placed his palm against your cheek. You lean into his touch, placing your hand over his. He rested his forehead against yours.

“Will you stay with me again?” You implored.

His smile widened, “Of course.”

“You can sleep up here with me.”

Hoosier laughed, “We ain’t gonna fit up here together, sweetheart.”

“Then I’ll come to the floor with you.” You insisted.

Hoosier shook his head, “How about I pull another cot over here and we push ‘em together?”

“See? You’re smart and pretty.” You teased with a wink.

He kissed you delicately, his mouth forming into a smile against your lips.

~~~~~~~

Just for you @awaterfalls Let me know if you like it! ❤️

[edwards-exploit]

Troublesome Tangmere and 249 Squadron Reliable Rebecca!

In an ideal world, we could've had a story where Tangmere causes good old Sundrian Confusion and Delay and then promptly eats shit.

Rebecca as 249 Squadron wasn't my idea, but it's been ingrained into my head nonetheless. I like the idea of a Rebecca that spent most of her life in scrapyards and storage and then still coming out singing- quite literally! But the trauma of it is still very much there, just... lingering. I imagine 'What Rebecca Does' was one of those moments where her anxiety and self doubt got the better of her- she only spent a short while on rails, and while she did pull expresses like The Night Ferry back on the mainland, here on Sodor it seemed that everyone is much more.... experienced and worldly and cool, and most of all, they got modifications and rebuilds to work around their design flaws while Rebecca is still very much an unrebuilt bulleid pacific. Poor girl's not sure what she can really do, after all these years and with her mechanical problems. This isn't even getting into when she WAS in service- her family was fine, and quite loving actually- and the ex SR engines were a decent sort! Everyone else, however...

[lunarmoves]

girl where tf was i going with this

[auduux]

Hello, I would like to spread Cherno Alpha love propaganda.

Like Cherno Alpha she's very cool frfr PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEPLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

[blueish-bird]

every time I rewatch Pacific Rim’s scene of the bigass robot wielding an oil tanker like a baseball bat to hit the alien monster it’s a healing experience

[georgieluz]

holy fuck you guys i just realised who hoosier is

he's that one hot sniper dude from that cowboy law enforcement show that i haven't watched a single episode of but somehow have a playlist full of edits and clips saved simply bc of that fine ass dude with a gun and the one liners and it's fucking hoosier

[gardenofchrome]

Ok so currently Voltron is in the lead in the polls-

Which ever one wins, there will be two versions- one with a reader and one with an OC. An OC is more fun to write with but I want to expand into different stuff yk 😊

And Yes, Pacific Rim Headcanon #4 is already written and will be published shortly ❤️

Thank you guys sm for the support!

[antigonenikk]

creating a crossover ship because no one else will do it. post-war second chance at love au type shit !!!

[driftwithme]

LOVE LINE

[ EDITED BY @lemonhoneypastry !!! <3]

Fandom: Pacific Rim (2013 - movie only).

Relationships: Chuck Hansen/Raleigh Becket.

Tags: light angst, Mako Mori (mention), Herc Hansen (mention), Angela Hansen (mention), Scott Hansen (mention), Max (mention), not canon compliant, post-Pitfall, long distance friendship, not actually unrequited love, hurt, mental health issues (mention), war injuries (mention), longing, rivals to friends, friends to "strangers", unresolved romantic tension.

His phone rings again and Chuck does nothing but watch it, mesmerized. He doesn't know how he pressed the number or at what point of the last hour he felt asleep over his desk. All he knows is that he can almost bite his own heart with his teeth when the line picks up, the screen lightning up.

He curses under his breath, scrambling to sit up-- and winces. His back is sore.

"Chuck?"

"Is it a bad time to call you?"

Of all the people in the world he could have called half asleep, of all the ways he imagined his Monday morning to go...

"No," there's noise, a light click, before Raleigh replies: "not at all."

[ CHECK IT ON AO3 HERE ]

Chuck talks over him, the answer a bit rougher than intended.

"I said I'm good, Rah-leigh."

The line becomes silent.

His focus shifts to a single sweat drop sliding down his neck. The humidity of Sydney is starting to crack through the air-conditioner defenses; if he dared look out his window, he'd catch the sun emerging from over the newest skyscrapers. A world of pink and blue hues getting dissipated by the upcoming gold, clouds parting to allow the new day to begin. He doesn't look, though. He doesn't need a peak at the street below to know of the dammed heat wave in the middle of October. The news broadcasted about it endlessly as Chuck suffered every miserable day of the last week, sat in front of a fan until Max got sick.

"It's the heat", the vet told him, like he hadn't noticed the problem until he had handed the money to her.

Instead, he nodded. "Yeah, mate. Must be it."

The line stays silent, long enough for Chuck to check the screen. The call is still on, meaning Raleigh hasn't ended it, but...

I want to tell him.

Chuck ducks his head and spins on his chair. He eyes the room, picks up the device from the desk, changes the mode from speaker to private, and presses the plastic to the side of his head with one hand, the other absently drumming on the arm of the chair. He has half the mind to go to his bed and lie there, but won't he have to leave for work in an hour and a half? Isn't the bed made anyway? He doesn't even sleep on it most nights. It's hot. It's too hot.��As Chuck stands up, he realizes that it's starting to get loud outside too, but on their call, it's all static. It bounces back and forth in his ears as Chuck's sweat rolls down into his sweater, cooling his shoulders, and moving down his spine-- He discards it on the floor.

He ends up in front of his mirror; barefoot, bed headed, an old PPDC shirt haphazardly thrown over his head with a pair of shorts that miraculously still fit him right.

He wants to tell him. He wants to tell him right now.

Chuck tries to catch Raleigh breathing through the telephone. Although it'd be easier if he only closed his eyes, he can't stop staring at the coward in his mirror. He frowns and imagines Raleigh laughing at it, at the wrinkles he'd get, at the comical expression of anger that Chuck hasn't felt in months. He hasn't been that man in a while, the one who burnt through his solitude each hour, Max at his heels and the world kept outside by locked doors. So he stops frowning. He cannot smile, either.

He runs his fingers through his hair, slightly longer now, and presses his fingertips to the sweat on his neck, on his collarbone, and his hand closes over his shirt in a fist over his chest. He grips the fabric, trembling with frustration--

You know I said I was alright, mate.

--because he cannot say a word.

Chuck watches as his eyes blink watery, the golden light peaking through his curtains unable to part the shadow of his tiredness. He didn't sleep last night, at most took at 20 minutes nap. He hasn't slept more than a couple of hours at a time in weeks, for all he remembers. The thought makes him stare at his legs and arms.

Chuck Hansen problem is that he came back whole from the bottom of the ocean, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels like he should have lost something, that he should have some proof of the hollow on his body. The unreleased energy hits his nerves through the dark hours until the daybreak comes and even when they subdue, enough for him to take a nap before awakening in an empty apartment, the feeling of absence never leaves him. 

And it was true, yeah? I'm good. Life's a fucking wonder.

Herc knows Max is sick and offered to travel to meet them. The memory of how their relationship used to be before Pitfall tempts him to accept the offer, but like him, Herc hasn't been that man in a while; the absent father, the general. His dad is truly busy now.

To be honest, the only reason Chuck got his own apartment was because he felt their house suffocating him. It was an old building, the vacation house. They used to go there every summer or December for family gatherings, to relax. It was his grandma's house before it was his mother's and now, technically, it was his. The truth is that he'd never ask his dad to give it up, not after losing all they've had with Scissure. He simply couldn't stay there any longer.

Chuck misses his mom like an amputation, the way he'd stumble on that house and lose his balance only to be reminded at every turn of how it used to be back then, when he used to be whole. Sometimes he would call her name by accident during his sleep. He'd see her shadow on the staircase, hear her voice from the main room. It's what that house would do to him. Bring back the ghost of Angela Hansen, years after Chuck swore to let her rest in peace.

Where his old man would find the missing pieces of his life, Chuck would only notice what wasn't there.

Herc wrestled Scott in that kitchen on Christmas, he kissed Angela for the first time on that porch. He married her in the backyard, taught Chuck to ride a bike on the back road. He turned on the news the day the Trespasser emerged from the Breach and sat on the edge of that couch, spilling half his beer on the carpet as he talked with Scott on the phone, his left arm kept around Angela as she calmed down Chuck. That house was a balm to his dad, but he was allowed to leave it all every few months to go and deal with the PPDC. Chuck wasn't.

So what if it is not what I thought it'd be? It's not like I haven't done more with worse.

At least now Herc works most of the time online, while the UN reorganizes their contracts. Looking back, those first three years after Operation Pitfall were hell. If it wasn't the extended residency on the medical bay, it was the endless trying to keep the program afloat. Compared to it, the ongoing year is all about patience: playing it slowly until the UN gives them permission to proceed with their new projects, keeping the Shatterdome running cheap until the new bill passes and they get their new funding, harassing their offices with letters and petitions, visiting any prospect from the private sector that could finance them, etc. Herc spends a month there, travels for weeks, spends another month or two at home, leaves again.

Chuck couldn't live in that house. A haunted house was a haunting house, even to its ghost. So he got an apartment. It was closer to Sydney, but not too close. It'd only take a taxi ride for his days to be filled with noise and bodies and the activity of a patched up city. He found a job repairing stuff all morning that assured him he'd be back at midday to feed Max and waste the rest of the day however he wanted. He met with his neighbors, made sure no one would bother him for being an ex-ranger. Got plants to decorate from Mako. Made a DVD collection from the ones he stole from the Shatterdome. Got the Kaidonovsky's radio on his kitchen. Even bought a couch in case someone wanted to stay the night while passing by. He did everything, confident that he needed to move out in order to move on. Except the salty breeze did nothing to soothe him.

Four years later, Chuck still jumps from his bed at the crack of dawn, convinced that he heard the Jaeger alarm and that he must get ready for a drop. He still stops breathing whenever a funny shaped cloud floats in the horizon, and when he watches it from the corner of his eye, it almost looks like one of the Kaijus he used to fight. He forgets to cook for himself, because there's no mess hall anymore. He gets on his PDDC shirts by accident when going out for groceries. He looks up, waiting to find Eureka, and sees nothing but new skyscrapers, sometimes the ceiling, sometimes the stars if he is out at night.

You sure get it. They got you modelling around in that uniform. You must know how it feels.

In the privacy of his room, Chuck catches with his thumb the single drop falling from his cheek. He thinks it's sweat and stares right at his reflection, eye to eye, and doesn't say a word.

What seemed an eternity ended in a couple of minutes of no talking. He hears rustling on the other side of the call and a sight that almost undoes him, almost makes him spill the reason why he called Raleigh of all people, but he doesn't.

Raleigh says: "Good to hear it, Chuck," and after a bit, "See you around."

And the call ends. Just like that, before Chuck could admit he missed the bloke so much, he sleep-called him to tell him so. Before he could talk to him, really talk to him, in a way he hasn't done in over half a year now.

Pitfall took them from hating each other to being friendly in the med bay; they spend almost every minute of their recovery together. Afterwards, they became friends, real friends, and Chuck had no chance because he was completely crushed by his love for that man since the beginning. He had been more or less aware, more or less angry, almost fascinated by the things Raleigh could make him feel, emotions hitting harder than the sound barrier whenever they were together. He never thought he'd get so close to Raleigh Becket, never thought it could evolve from mere comptent-- into to this new silence.

Not that I would know. I hardly hear from you anymore. I had to press your bloody number half asleep to hear your voice.

It started with Chuck moving out.

"I need some time away from the Shatterdome", he had said, and it was true. He wanted a life outside those walls. He wanted to be someone outside his job. Suddenly, he was nothing but the kid with the dead mom, the lucky veteran with all his limbs intact. He was a ghost haunting his country, pressed between the pages of history books like a withering flower or an autumn leaf. To those people --the woman living on the apartment next to him, the kid living down the hall, the elderly man who offered him some coffe every morning as he passed the entrance-- he was a relic. Most days, it helped being a son to his father, it helped being like a brother to Mako, but they weren't there, they couldn't be there, Chuck wouldn't ask them to be there either way.

And his dog was sick.

And the man he had loved since he was a fuck, he had had a crush on Raleigh a 14 years old, had hated his guts at 16, shout his and Mako's names hoarse after Pitfall when he couldn't find their escape-pods, he had fallen asleep on his chest by accident and woke up swearing he would never feel like that again, not in Earth or if hell existed or in any afterlife. His friend is on the other side of the ocean parading himself around to help the jaeger cause. Taking pictures with jaeger replicas, presenting awards, smiling on night shows like he is 18 years old again, like his brother is alive, like he is a doll or a clown or a pretty face to admire and it all aches so much and Chuck hates it all so much and he already broke one tv upon seeing them ask about Chuck Hansen just for Raleigh to shut it down so fast Chuck got nauseous.

He wants that loyalty pressed to his lips, there, real real real, Raleigh's laugh drumming in his chest and not on the speakers.

Chuck doesn't know if he's sick because he's lonely or if he's lonely because he's in love and he cannot, for the life of him, let out the words that would solve his misery.

"I miss you," he says to the stalled air of his room.

The light now hits full on his face, breeze slightly blowing the curtains. He turns away from his reflection, puts down the phone on his bed, ignoring the empty side of the mattress he wishes, every night, could support another body that's not his, and walks to the bathroom.

He decides he'll try again in the evening, after visiting Max. Or maybe he'd call in the hopes Raleigh would get it. Stupidly, blindly, he does what he's been doing all those years and waits for Raleigh to fall back, to fall first, to say it.

Do you miss me?

Yes, he'd call-- and if he doesn't say it, at least he gets to hear his voice.

[fayestardust]

Telescope

Usually, on the days that Sid pours over his medical journals to try to commit them to memory, Eugene is calm. He’ll read somewhere close by and bring him cups of tea and a sandwich when it’s been too long since Sid has eaten anything.

Lately, though, he’s been a whirlwind of activity. Sid doesn’t question when Eugene leaves the house in a hurry, because he’s glad that he’s outside in the fields or, presumably, down in the village, seeing actual human beings and pray-tell, socialising.

Today is another one of those days.

The sun’s going down when Sid hears Eugene - or rather the drop of his bike onto the lawn - as he returns home for the second time that day. He looks up from the writing desk in time to see him come in, carrying a brown-paper square package and another, rather oddly-sized, cylinder parcel.

“Hey,” he greets him, an eyebrow raised as he observes him.

Eugene jumps the tiniest bit, almost like he’s forgotten Sid lives here too, but breaks into a smile immediately. “Hey,” he replies.

“Whatcha doing?” Sid asks, nodding at the packages that Eugene struggles to hold.

Again, Eugene seems to be confused for a second before replying. “Oh. Something from the post-office. Tell you later. How goes the studying?”

Sid half-smiles at Eugene’s lack of answer and then stretches, loudly. “Oh, it’s going. Bit tedious.”

Eugene smiles. “Give me an hour and then we can go do something fun.”

“Okay.”

Sid watches Eugene disappear, most likely to the garage, where he’s got ‘a project. A secret project’.

It’s dark when Eugene comes back into the living room and snaps on some other lights besides the desk lamp Sid has turned on. The change in luminosity makes Sid blink.

“Are you ready for a reward for all that hard studying?” Eugene asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer, dragging Sid out of his chair.

“Woah. I guess,” he chuckles, “Where we going?”

“I have a surprise.”

Not so surprising is that Eugene pulls Sid along, out of the house and into the connected garage. It’s got the car in it, of course, and for a second Sid wonders what the hell they’re doing here, until Eugene directs him towards something next to it.

Sid’s eyes widen. “Eugene, is that a?-“

“A telescope! Yup,” Eugene beams, “Built it myself.”

Sid looks at Eugene and then approaches the telescope. The oddly-sized parcel wasn’t in fact a parcel, then, just the tubing Eugene used to build… a telescope.

“The lens and mirror came today, all the way from California. And I had the wrong size tube before, but I think this will work now.”

“Eugene, that’s amazing, How did you -“

“Let’s take it outside and see if it works!”

The sky hasn’t been this clear in a long time. At least Sid doesn’t remember it. Or maybe it just looks clearer through a telescope. Eugene sits in the grass a couple feet away, watching Sid. His voice is quiet when he speaks.

“You know, the stars always comforted me, during the war. Because I knew that even though we were thousands of miles apart, you were looking at them too.”

[compacflt]

re: them going viral

i think it would make ice disintegrate to open up twitter and see something like

@bigboybussy49: OMG GUYS COUPLE GOALS THEY'VE BEEN TOGETHER FOR 36 YRSSS!!!! 😫🏳️‍🌈

yes, and:

@TKazansky: Wrote a piece for @theAtlantic about the US Military’s recent commitment to ensuring safe working conditions for active-duty LGBT service members at home and abroad. Diversity has always been this country’s greatest strength & we must recognize it as our military’s greatest asset. Read more below: [theatlantic.whatever/ret-SECNAV-Tom-Kazansky-on-lgbt-service-members.062322.whatever] [45 replies / 86 rts / 1,275 likes]

well-meaning Twitter rando: [replying to @TKazansky:] still war crimes sir

ice: well that’s enough social media for this month i think

[gingerwerk]

it’s wip wednesday so here’s a blurb from my andyeddie pre flowers & tattoos au fic so there is actual proof out in the world that it exists outside of my head 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eddie. Not Edward. Never Edward,

Not always Eddie either. Sometimes he was Hillbilly.

Even before all that, before the familiarity, the level of trust Andy experienced with so very few other people, he was simply Sergeant Jones. 

The first time Andy saw Eddie Hillbilly Jones it had been brief, a quick introduction by Captain Harper who took it upon himself to show the green lieutenant around Camp Lejeune.

He was the newest member of Echo company in the Second Marine Regiment- which was exciting -and was set to lead Echo’s weapons platoon- which was less exciting. It was unusual for a fresh second lieutenant to run the weapons platoon, as it required more expertise than a regular rifle platoon but when Captain Harper asked if he’d be comfortable taking over how could he say anything but yes? The marine corps was all about rising to the occasion and Andy knew that this would simply be the first of many instances he had to push through his anxieties to lead. 

After a meeting in his office, Captain Harper took him around the base and occasionally pointed out people worth knowing. Near the end of the quick tour, the two paused near the parade deck, and together they watched briefly as a sergeant led enlisted men through drills. 

“Oh, that’s Sergeant Jones,” Captain Harper informed him. “Solid as they come. Might hear some of the men call him Hillbilly.”

Andy wanted to ask why ‘Hillbilly’ but Captain Harper was already moving on. Andy spared the tall, lean man one more look before he went to catch up with his CO, fighting the feeling he got suddenly in his gut that he should’ve stayed watching that man for a moment or two longer.

During his stint in weapons platoon, Andy and Eddie never really crossed paths. It made sense with him in weapons and Eddie, he learned later, was an infantry school instructor, but he still saw Eddie around enough to never fully let the man leave his mind, heard enough about the man through the grapevine to already have a mental picture of the man without ever speaking to him. Every time Eddie was within Andy’s eyesight he got that same, strange feeling in his gut, the one that told him to stay, the one that made him feel like something was pulling him towards the other. Now, Andy was a firm believer in following one's gut but this had to be some sort of malfunction of his internal compass. He couldn’t get bogged down all because of one man he had never even spoken to before. 

Eventually there came a time when Andy realized he hadn’t seen nor heard Sergeant Jones as he led new recruits about the base. After casually asking someone about it, he was informed that Jones left for a specialty school in preparation to transfer.

“Oh, good for him,” Andy said calmly

It’s for the best, Andy told himself. 

Andy tried to convince himself that was it, that he was happy for Sergeant Jones, and come next week Jones probably wouldn’t ever cross his mind again. He tried, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that he had made some huge misstep along the way.

Never reaching out to Eddie at Lejeune might’ve felt like a missed opportunity but after three years, promotions, and a transfer across the county, it felt like missing an entire flight of stairs when Andy walked into the Fifth Marine Regiment office at Pendleton just to find none other than Eddie Hillbilly Jones staring right at him with fresh second lieutenant bars on his collar.