Which characters live rent-free in your mind? I mean, they're always sort of hanging around and your imagine stories for them or refer to them the way you would an actual real-life person. These can be canon *or* OC characters.

Answer in the tags!

Tagging for fun and feel free to pass, play, and reblog: @fericita-s @tessa-quayle @tortoisesshells @sagiow @orlissa @vesperass-anuna @aquitainequeen @nervousladytraveler @oldshrewsburyian @mercurygray @amarguerite @asteraceae-blue @kivrin @theburnbarreljester @broadwaybaggins @sassy-doctor-foster @ultrahotpink @artielu @iamstartraveller776 @trulybetty @daisyyydaisyyydaisyyy

I started The Artful Dodger and Jack Dawkins and Lady Belle Fox are giving major Jedediah Foster and Mary Phinney from Mercy Street vibes! 🤌🏻

Mercy Street is a perfect example of why public organizations like PBS need all the financial support we can give them. An excellent show ended after only two seasons in 2017 due to funding concerns.

May the universe grant me a winning lottery ticket so that I can personally petition PBS to bring this show back. I absolutely want to see Nurse Mary return and for everyone to see Samuel become a recognized surgeon.

could I please request #37 "eyes" for...the first fandom on your ao3! (or dealer's choice)

of course! Mercy Street was my first AO3 fandom, so here's some fluff of dubious canonical status. I guess it fits in somewhere in between 1x05 and 2x01?

“That’s enough of that, Nurse Mary,” said Jed Foster, high-handedly taking the latest Frank Leslie’s Illustrated from her drooping hands, “The light’s bad – you’ll strain your eyes worse than our spirits, if that is possible.”

For her part, Mary made a half-hearted gesture that the paper ought to be returned, but, sleep-addled as she was, she could scarcely remember what she had just read about the port of New Orleans, or what was happening there now; her protest was very easily turned aside, and it was hard not to let herself be amused by Jed’s sharp-edged care.

He continued: “If you insist on doing damage to your own features – and with our own equipment and supplies in such a state, I would have an easier time finding tincture of laudanum in Little Napoleon’s camp than here – I’ll be forced to requisition glasses from some unsuspecting soul. For the good of the Union – I think, perhaps, I might be able to convince our stout-hearted chaplain of the necessity with such a line.”

“Jed – oh, don’t – but do I believe you would,” Mary replied, already nodding off.

Send me a number and a fandom/pairing/character(s), and get a five sentence ficlet in return!

Reblog if you're still angry at PBS for canceling Mercy Street

Favorite Episodes of "MERCY STREET" (2016-2017)

Below is a list of my favorite episodes of the PBS Civil War medical series called "MERCY STREET". Created by Lisa Wolfinger and David Zabel, the series starred Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Hannah James and Josh Radnor:

FAVORITE EPISODES OF “MERCY STREET” (2016-2017)

1. (1.04) "The Belle Alliance" - Emma and Alice Green, along with Confederate spy Frank Stringfellow plot a daring plan to help prisoner-of-war Tom Fairfax escape during a Union ball held at the Greens' house . . . with tragic results. Meanwhile, Union nurse Mary Phinney and Dr. Jedediah Foster (still recovering from his drug detox), guide freedman Samuel Diggs through a delicate operation on the pregnant former slave Aurelia Johnson.

2. (2.06) "House of Bondage" - In this series finale, Dr. Jed Foster accompanies Samuel Diggs, who is going to a Philadelphia medical school. On the way, the pair pay a visit to the former's family plantation in Maryland. Meanwhile, the Greens endure a political setback following the Union victory at Antietam and put an end to Pinkerton's investigation of their missing military guest.

3. (2.05) "Unknown Soldier" - French-born anatomical artist/war observer Lisette Beaufort uses her art skills to help the Mansion House Hospital staff identify a disfigured and amnesiac soldier. Nurse Anne Hastings joins Dr. Byron Hale's efforts to undermine the authority of the new hospital chief, Major Clayton McBurney. And the Green family buckle under the emotional stress from Detective-turned-Secret Service Head Allan Pinkerton's investigation into the disappearance of Union officer staying at their home and James Jr.'s gun smuggling operation for the Confederacy.

4. (1.03) "The Uniform" - Maryland-born Dr. Foster confronts his family's divided loyalties when his mother and wounded Confederate brother arrive at the hospital.  Alice is shocked to find fiancé, Tom Fairfax, deeply changed by the war. Samuel and Aurelia try to persuade a slave boy owned by Mrs. Foster to seize a chance at freedom.

5. (2.02) "The House Guest" - A Union officer staying as a guest at the Greens' home attracts the attention of Alice Green, now a Confederate spy and member of the Knights of the Golden Circle. The Mansion House's head nurse, Mary McPhinney, succumbs to typhoid fever. And the no nonsense hospital chief, Major McBurney arrives.

Singing in Slavery: Songs of Survival, Songs of Freedom

In Balm in Gilead, Charlotte Jenkins, a former slave turned activist, arrives in Alexandria to help the growing population of “contrabands” make the transition to freedom. Upon arrival she quickly recognizes a small pox epidemic at one of the contraband camps. Working with Samuel Diggs and Mary Phinney, Charlotte establishes a small pox quarantine tent for sick contraband.

Songs of Survival: Middle Passage and Slavery

Singing as a form of communication is deeply rooted in the African American culture. It began with the African slaves who were kidnapped and shipped across the Atlantic during the Middle Passage. Slaves from different countries, tribes and cultures used singing as a way to communicate during the voyage. They were able to look for kin, countrymen and women through song. According to a white shipmate who made four voyages to Africa between 1760 and 1770. “They frequently sing, the men and woman answering another, but what is the subject of their songs [I] cannot say.”1 Although they could not understand what the Africans were saying the crew did pick up on the sorrowful tone of their songs.2

Music was a way for slaves to express their feelings whether it was sorrow, joy, inspiration or hope. Songs were passed down from generation to generation throughout slavery. 

These songs were influenced by African and religious traditions and would later form the basis for what is known as “Negro Spirituals”. Col. Thomas W. Higginson of the 54th Massachusetts Regiment recognized the term Negro Spiritual in the Atlantic Monthly (June 1867). Higginson had heard the songs in camps and on marches with colored soldiers.3

Singing at contraband camps helped former slaves navigate the gray area between slavery and freedom. Members of the contraband camp sing “There is a Balm in Gilead” as Charlotte Jenkins arrives for the first time to the Mansion House Hospital. A traditional Negro spiritual, the balm in the Gilead is interpreted as a spiritual medicine that able to heal sinners.

There is a balm in Gilead To make the wounded whole; There is a balm in Gilead To heal the sin-sick soul.

Belinda mentions the Balm in Gilead when she notices Mary Phinney coughing while tending to the contraband patients in the Small Pox Quarantine Tent. 

The “Moses of her people”, Harriett Tubman was the Conductor of the Underground Railroad. The exact number of people lead to freedom on the Underground Railroad is not known. But Tubman was able to create a network of stations and operators helped to lead escaped slaves North to freedom. One of the songs of the Underground Railroad was “Wade in the Water”.   While it hasn’t been proven, it is believed that Harriett Tubman used this traditional Negro Spiritual as a way to warn slaves to get into the water to hide their scent from the slavecatching dogs on their trail. 

Wade in the water, wade in the water children Wade in the water, God's gonna trouble the water

— Kenyatta D. Berry

HOPE OF TIRED SOULS These two were a good old age for their time, Samuel Kathrens died at eighty-nine, and his wife Mary Ann was ninety-two. She was the second to go in December 1903, slowly failing through her final months – "gradually fading", in the words of her obituary. Published in the long-defunct Bridgetown Monitor, it goes on to read: "to find a resting place in that better land where the weary are forever at rest." I like that wording, marking a shift from earlier obituaries that were often overly pious in nature. These thoughts are content to simply settle for sleep – the very best hope of tired souls. There are times when I see life as a very long waking, despite the loss of consciousness each night. The best way to go is snuggled up, tucked in tight till slumber, certain that your life was long enough that morning need never come. September 21, 2022 Kathrens Burial Ground Phinney's Cove, Nova Scotia Year 15, Day 5428 of my daily journal.

Okay, not gonna lie, this weeks' episode of The Gilded Age is making me want to write middle-aged and ruthless Mary Phinney.

Avatars 400x640

Mary Elizabeth Winstead, in Mercy Street

Her Name Was Libby

READ ON AO3 HERE

Mary had never been a good patient. Even as a young child she would fight tooth and nail to leave her sickbed, much to the frustration of her mother. It seemed even a fever hot as a Massachusetts summer did little to slow down the headstrong and determined young girl. Only one thing had been able to settle her, that is one person. Her father and his beautiful recitation of Ulysses.

She had not remembered the fit of hysteria that had caused her to flee from her quarantine room. The head nurse could hardly fathom finding the energy to lift her head off the pillow propping her up let alone sprint down the old oak stairs of Mansion House, in her undergarments no less. Miss Phinney had been slightly mortified by that fact but had felt far too tired to grieve over such, quickly taking back to her bed with the help of the anatomist that current sketched her.

“Who did you see, miss?”

“My Father…”

The woman in pink, who introduced herself as Lisette, was far calmer than one should be after witnessing nearly half the staff being rammed into by a delirious damsel. Mary was forever grateful for her gentility and discretion as she helped her back into the plainly made bed, her chemise clinging to her body from the never-ending sweats. And yet this stranger seemed so familiar, as if she had known her her entire life, not hesitating a second over her curiosities or her to draw her in such raw form compared to the usually well-dressed nurse the hospital had come to know, expect and respect.

“My father gave me fortitude when I was sick as a child. He died soon after I married.” Mary paused, looking to her lap, suddenly remembering the spectacle she had caused. “I'm sorry if I alarmed you,” she breathed, not sure whether to laugh or cry, instead changing the subject entirely. “Why do you do this, sketch me?”

“It is my work. And my habit.” Lisette chuckled, her hand continuing to shade, not stopping even for a moment. “You care of people. I draw them. You have a husband at war?”

“No!” Mary stated far too quickly, shaking her head for added emphasis. “I'm widowed. It's been... well, quite a while now. . . “

“And your daughter?” Lisette continued to draw, not seeing the confusion and sadness that washed over the pallor face of her subject for another moment, realizing quickly she had crossed the line in the sand.

Mary had been shocked by the question, flabbergasted how this stranger knew about such a secret, on she had buried so deep, even Jed was never to know of her. It would have been one thing to seek a position as a Union nurse as a widow, but to state she had lost a child and a husband within two months of each other would have been grounds for immediate rejection by Dragon Dix.

And then suddenly it flashed back to her, the moment as clear to Mary as her father sitting in the chair, a Cherub like toddler balanced on his knee suckling a chubby hand, the sunlight peeking through the curtains dancing on the chestnut-colored curls that graced her head.

“Who did you see, miss?”

“My Father…and my daughter. “

A few moments of silence passed as Mary forced herself to speak her name out loud for the first time in a few months. Just thinking of her flooded her memories with the entire biography of the young girl’s life. Mary remembered the moment she realized she was expecting, the maid playfully noting how her sheets had gone two months without bloodstains. She remembered telling Gustav, how ecstatic he was that he nearly lifted her in the air, instead simply placing a hand on her stomach. That is where it would stay every night as her stomach grew as did the child’s movements wild whenever he spoke. Mary sobbed the first time she heard her cry, bursting into the world during the coldest of January mornings following two days of labor and three hours of pushing. Gustav however was even more emotional the first time he held his daughter, her wide eye, slated to turn honey brown, already focusing on his voice and solidifying the fact that they would be inseparable. When she was two, Mary had thought the Child had caught a cold, but that wishful thinking was quickly shatter by a rattling cough, her baby struggling to breathe. By the time the doctor had arrived, it was far too late, the unmistakable Diphtheria lesions having suffocated her. The day that she died, there little Maus, so did Gustav’s will to live. Mary had tried everything to lift his spirits, to ease him back to the land of the living as she herself struggling not to drown in the sea of sorrows. Nothing worked and now he remained in Concord, buried with the only thing that may have saved him.

“Her name was Libby.” Mary started slowly, Lisette’s pencil coming to a halt as she listened.

“The honorable Miss Elizabeth Louisa von Olnhausen… “Mary smirked, remembering the day her daughter . . . their daughter had been born, her husband Sitting behind her in bed as they simply stared at this tiny being, they had created.

“Such a big name for a tiny thing, “Mary laughed, Libby immediate grasping the woman’s finger with all her strength.

“Don’t worry, my Liebling,” Gustav smiled, planting a kiss on her temple. “She’ll grow into it.”

First sentence: This may be the most stubborn man Mary had ever met, and given the places she had lived in, and the people she had met, that was saying a lot about the character of this particular doctor.

This may be the most stubborn man Mary had ever met, and given the places she had lived in, and the people she had met, that was saying a lot about the character of this particular doctor. Still, she did not have it, whatever vice or virtue it might be, in her to argue with him any further, when he insisted he cared not a whit for Hale’s opinion and he’d take the responsibility upon himself for the use of the chloroform and the suture for the surgery. She’d only argued that he must not operate alone and he’d had the wisdom not to challenge her on that score. It had taken him nearly six hours to do the work, a terrible waste if the boy did not survive, a necessary victory if he did. 

“I had to give him a chance, Mary, you must see that—” Jed said, laying down the scalpel on the tray and she nodded, for she herself had scoured Manchester for some tonic for Gustav, though everyone else had called it hopeless. She’d lost him but not herself and that, she understood, drove Jedediah, more than the needle or his intellect or his pride.

Valentine 5 sentence fic: rose, Mercy Street, any pairing

(Irony of ironies, you and sagiow reqeusted the same prompt! So I’ll write both, one that fericita won’t kill me for, and the other, well...)

He was hiding something.

There was a look on his face that Mary couldn’t name, and he was hiding something behind his back in a way that reminded Mary of how she would try to sneak rescued kittens and other animals into the house right under her mother’s nose. “Jed?” she asked, her tone a mix between confusion and amusement. “What in heaven’s name are you doing? I have to say you’re making me nervous.”

“What? Damn it, sorry. I...I haven’t done this in a while. E--Eliza always said I was hopeless at this sort of thing.”

Mary’s eyebrows arched. “What sort of thing?”

In lieu of answering, Jed thrust a bouquet of hothouse flowers at her, the arrangement bursting with roses in every shade of pink and red, dotted through with baby’s breath. “Romantic things. Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

“They’re beautiful,” Mary said, taking the bouquet gently. She smiled indulgently at him and added, “Although I have to admit, roses aren’t my favorite.”

His face fell, but she reached out and cupped his cheek, kissing his lips softly. “But that’s all right,” she whispered. “You’ll have plenty of time to learn all of my favorites, Jed.”

Today I deliberately misunderstood the MASH prompt from Mercy Street Advent: Silver and AU to bring you that favorite middle school game, MASH, as played by Emma.  Mary made her do it and liked what it predicted.

Unusual Fic Author Asks: Perspective Flip for "Physician, Heal Thyself - Or, Our New England Cousin: Being An Unpublished Excerpt From the Lives of the Staff and Volunteers of Mansion House Hospital, Alexandria, Virginia, in the late War"

kind friend, this was SUCH fun to come back to!

men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves (Mercy Street, T, continuing the spiritual crossover with AL:VH, ~900 words)

In which something is the matter with the dead and dying of Mansion House, in late May of 1862,

or,

Mary Phinney von Olnhausen had never considered her mind particularly inclined to suspicion, and the circumstances of life in Mansion House were of such a magnitude of concern that investigating what struck her as abnormal about that place would be as futile a process as examining the strand of a beach she had once seen, grain of sand by grain of sand – she could gain little knowledge by the experience, and what she had gained would be swept away – by the grey tide of the Atlantic, which she and Gustav had watched for many hours, while hoping the unshadowed sun and clean sea air might provide some relief from the wasting disease which would, in some short months, claim him –

Her mind was wandering.

Mary pinched the bridge of her nose against the coming pangs of a headache – whether from the exhaustion, or sorrow, or hunger, or even the irritatingly tuneless whistling of the dentist’s apprentice – she could not say. There were two empty beds which had been occupied when she had performed her last rounds, and it –

It pricked at something in her. Her better senses, perhaps, or conscience.

Read the Rest on AO3!

PSA: Mercy Street is a fantastic show if you enjoy even a little whump.