#for now im still reading on wheelchairs and how much at home care is realistic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

georgeluz · 7 years

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Congrats on 900! if u r still doing the ask game can i request The Pacific (blurb) + BoB! face tag is /tagged/my-face + about page is /about INFJ, passionate abt journalism + truth. idealistic but realistic. compassionate but wont take any shit. i h8 disingenuous situations. integrity is v important to me. in a constant battle between my anxiety + doing what i think is right. v serious but i have a dry humor + swear like a sailor. have an adventurous spirit. just want to make a difference. thx!

NO MORE ASK GAME REQUESTS PLSNTHNX.

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. ???? RIP IN PIECES. I have so much going on I swear aeoghajdfjgr. Anyway. Thanks for the ask, you got it!

The Character I See You As: Joe Toye! I love this kid so much. I’ve read a lot about him, about how he could be super serious and dry-humored and even scary sometimes, but how he also was very protective of his boys and the replacements. I feel like someone wrote in a book that one of the guys was being threatened and Toye literally picked up the dude doing the threatening and was like “never do that again” and juST SET HIM BACK DOWN and made sure the other guy was ok. Also, again, someone talked about how he was insecure about how he never graduated high school because he knew he was smart, but he was limited by his lack of education and HNNG JOE TOYE. SO PURE.

Your Three Best Friends: Bull Randleman, Carwood Lipton, Bill Guarnere

The One You Don’t Get Along With: Sobel. I avoided putting him as anyone’s just because it’s way too easy, but honestly I feel like he (and Dike) represent a real issue for INFJs–authority they can’t respect. And it’s not that you won’t respect them anyway, but rather it’s the helplessness of knowing that for duty’s sake you must respect them, but also knowing they’re a fucking idiot and you could do better given the chance. Like honestly it’s the worst of the worst and especially difficult for INFJs, who end up feeling strained and frustrated and bogged down by ineffective direction like Sobel, etc.

Who I Ship You With: Carwood Lipton! Gentle, patient, sweet, super smart, good under pressure, I literally almost can’t think of anyone better. Like fire and ice, tbh. Lip would be there while you rant about something, whether it be about justice, your anxiety, someone annoying you, etc. He’s the gentle voice of reason, trying to steer you in the right direction while also listening to you complain about what you need to in order to move on.

Wildcard: Staff Sergeant. 3rd Platoon. Easy Company.

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The Character I See You As: Bob Leckie/Hoosier Smith! ARE YOU LECKIE? ARE YOU HOOSIER? Journalism, idealistic but realistic, adventurous, serious, but super dry sense of humor. Anxious but still does what’s right even tho he’s internally screaming 24/7?? This is Leckie and Hoosier at the same time I feel like. This is also you I SWEAR. I mean I think in the show Leckie might get a little dramatic compared to you (though who am I to say?), whereas Hoosier has the overall salt but the COMPOSURE. But of course Leckie has the balanceof the idealism/realism and the love of journalism and adventure (whereas Hoosier just wants to sleep tbh and be left alone).

Your Three Best Friends: R.V. Burgin, Eugene Sledge, Ack-Ack Haldane

The One You Don’t Get Along With: EVERYONE. Just kidding. Just people who STEAL YOUR SHIT (looking at u larkin god). Disingenuous people, I know that goes without saying (you even said that), but yeah. Maybe Snafu since he’s a little off his rocker and almost nothing like you.

Who I Ship You With: Chuckler Jeurgens. If this ain’t the realest….- Chuckler and Leckie are like mom and dad. So it would basically be the same for you two. Chuckler has a good sense of humor, is incredibly patient with everyone (despite the circumstances), always finds a reason to smile and goof around and boost morale. Whenever you’re anxious or despairing, all you have to do is crawl over to his bunk and lean your head against his bed and he’ll talk you out of it, talk to you about real world stuff, debate with you, anything to get your mind off things. He’s so pure….. I JUST.

Wildcard: Private. 1st Marine Regiment. Radioman.

Lil Blurb: You woke up in the aid station after Peleliu in a fit of sweat, cursing up a storm at the sudden chill. You realized you’d thrown off your blanket and sheets in the nightmare you assume you must have been having and reluctantly crawl out of bed, groaning as pain shoots up your spine like lightning. A mortar hit right behind you, sending you flying to the ground. That was one of the last things you vividly could recall before that that very moment, struggling to drag your blankets back into bed with you. Without another thought you crawl back into the cot, rolling onto your stomach, lulled into slumber once again.

The next time you’re awoken, the nurse is telling you that you’re being transferred to go home. You don’t know how long or how hard you’ve been sleeping. You’re groggy, muttering a few obscenities under your breath as you’re forced to change, gather your things, and join a host of other injured men (and a few women like yourself) to be sent back to the states. Your intestines seemed to twist at the thought, leaving behind the other marines. You felt almost guilty, wringing your hands. Hoosier, Leckie, Runner, and finally Chuckler. You were the last to fall. You had no idea where they were, where anyone was. You just knew you were alive.

You were transferred to San Diego hospital. It was the nicest facility you’d been in in probably a year, but that wasn’t reassuring. The white walls. The pristine decor–none of it felt right. It was all uncomfortable, oddly surreal after what you’d been through. You didn’t want to take it in. You just wanted to sleep until the wounds on your back turned into scars. The place in your shoulder where you were shot? That too. You’d almost forgotten about that, but it had happened so long ago, on Guadalcanal.

After getting out of the wheelchair and stubbornly hobbling toward the woman’s ward (much to the nurse’s horror), a familiar voice called out to you from behind.

“Y/N?”

You stopped, shaking the grogginess from your head. You felt like you hadn’t escaped that feeling, the out-of-body, surreal feeling until that voice hit you like a brick wall, yanking you back into battle, into the memories suppressed.

“Lew?” You spin around on your heels. He’s still all height, hunched over slightly in pain; he couldn’t have been up long. Chuckler is one big crooked grin too big for him, ears too big for him, feet too big for him. He was barefoot, ridiculous as it was. You found him completely endearing. Two long weeks apart and all you wanted to do was throw yourself into his arms. He had done right by you, taken care of you, sacrificed for you.

“Holy shit, Y/N, I thought you were still in the Pacific.” Incredulous, he started forward, stretching out his hands to drag you into his chest. You didn’t resist (despite your aversion to public displays of affection), but leaned forward, burying your face into his hospital gown, gripping the fabric in your fists.

“Jesus, fuck, Lew–Chuckler, I thought you were dead, god. No one told me anything.” You didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so you did both, finally releasing the gown and wrapping your arms around his waist. His nose was in your hair, eyes closed, waiting until he was sure you were done talking before he responded.

“Hey, hey now, we’re all good. Leckie and Hoosier too, we’re all fine, it’s all fine,” he soothed, dragging his fingers across your back. “Wanna go see them?”

You sniff, cursing yourself for crying on his shoulder. You left stains. Jesus, Hoosier would take one look and know for sure. You would catch hell for that. Wiping your nose and looking back at the nurse, who appeared disapproving (moved, but disapproving), you nodded your head. “Hell yeah, I need to yell at the two of them for leaving before I could say bye.”

Chuckler reached down pressed his hand into the small of your back, pushing you forward in the right direction. “C’mon then, Y/N, you have a lot of yelling to do.”

“Damn right, Chuckler.”

#ask game #ask #iwanthoosier

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