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Get To Know Me Meme: [2/10] Female Characters - Lady Edith Crawley

I am never the one.

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Flyboys and Flirting

I had a chat with @shoshiwrites earlier this week after seeing this photo of Callum Turner in a turtleneck (thanks @hogans-heroes for doing God's work.) I blame her entirely for my Bucky Egan obsession. Like Ellen, I am not one to like the bad boys, but there is something about him and his character development during Masters of the Air that got to me. I tagged the photo with something like Chuck wouldn't mind Ellen taking off her sunglasses to check Bucky out, and Shoshi said no one deserves to look that good in a turtleneck. Based on our chat, here's a little fun one-off I wrote about Colonel Egan stopping by the tobacco store.

San Francisco

October 1957

Afternoons were usually quiet in the shop, a good chance to catch up on pesky tasks like organizing receipts for the accountant. He called Chuck last week, and Ellen saw the headache start behind Chuck’s eyes. Chuck hated anything to do with taxes.

She decided to get a babysitter for Friday and come into the shop for the day. They’d get everything sorted and then go out for dinner, just the two of them, as a reward for a solid day’s work.

They were in the back room, Chuck at the desk and Ellen perched on the counter next to the sink going over August’s purchases, when the bell above the front door rang.

Chuck sighed and rubbed his temple.

“You keep working. I’ll go out front,” she said as she hopped down, giving his shoulder a squeeze before walking out into the store.

Her eyes widened at what she saw. She forced her mouth to remain closed though her jaw wanted to drop to the floor. 

A curly-haired man with a mustache, aviators, and a bomber jacket, looking better in a turtleneck than any man had a right to, stood in front of the high-end cigars. He must have heard her footsteps, because he looked her way, took off the sunglasses, and flashed her a smile, a smile she knew he put on for everyone and had nothing to do with her.

This was a Bad Boy.

Ellen never had gone for the Bad Boys. She’d always liked the honor roll students, the boys next door. She suspected Chuck had gone through a Bad Boy stage, but by the time she met him, he owned the store and shaved every morning and parted his hair just so and was always on time to everything. 

Every once in a while, she wondered what it would have been like to be with a Bad Boy, the boy who kept her out past curfew or had a motorcycle or had a mustache that normally didn’t do anything for her but made her hot and bothered. 

She congratulated herself on wearing a pencil skirt and heels today instead of her usual shirtwaist dress and flats. 

“Can I help you?” she asked calmly as she walked toward him. 

“Yes, I think you can,” he said slowly, still smiling. “I should introduce myself. Colonel John Egan, United States Air Force.”

“Ellen Grant, co-owner of this store,” she said, shaking his hand. “Cigars, I see. What flavor are you looking for today?”

“Perhaps you can explain my options,” he said. 

Despite whatever game they were in the middle of, she wouldn’t play dumb. She went through what made each cigar different, whether they were flavored with sweet Mexican vanilla or spicy Indian pepper, how each one was rolled slightly differently and had different shapes and filters, affecting their taste. 

“Which one is calling you? Sweet or spicy?” she asked coyly, barely believing those words came out of her mouth.

“A little bit of both, I would say.” He lifted his eyebrows just a bit. “Let’s take a box of each.”

They walked over to the counter.

“I just flew into Hamilton Air Force Base last night for meetings. I’m sure my colleagues will enjoy these tonight,” he said. 

“I’m sure they will,” Ellen agreed. “Any cigarettes? Luckies or Chesterfields?”

He looked at her quizzically. “Luckies. How did you know?”

She laughed. “It’s my business. But for most officers, it’s one or the other.” She rang up two packs. 

They made small talk for a few minutes, about the store and his Pentagon desk job, but mostly about flying.

“You seem to know a lot about planes,” he said. He looked down at her finger, the one with the diamond ring on it. “Is your … co-owner a pilot?”

“Well, he was in planes, but he didn’t fly them. A paratrooper,” she explained.

He looked impressed. “The 82nd?” he asked. 

“No!” Ellen almost shouted. “The 101st.”

“Sorry,” John apologized.

“You should be. Those guys in the 82nd were a bunch of amateurs.” She grinned as she handed him the bag.

“Well,” he said, a little deflated at the prospect of leaving, “This has been a delight. Thank you, Mrs. Grant.”

And with that, the spell was over.

“Likewise, Colonel Egan. Enjoy your cigars and the rest of your trip.”

He smiled, nodded, and walked out the door without a second glance. 

Ellen turned around to walk into the back room when she saw Chuck, leaning against the wall, arms folded on his chest with an amused look on his face.

“What?” she innocently asked as she walked past him.

“You were flirting with that flyboy,” Chuck pointed out. 

“I was not!” Ellen could barely keep a straight face.

Chuck couldn’t, and he laughed out loud. “I heard the whole thing. God, it’s so predictable. All it takes is a pair of fancy sunglasses and a leather jacket and all the girls fall for it.” He shook his head. “Here I was thinking my wife would be better than that.”

“Oh,” she said, closing the gap between them and putting her hands on his shoulders. “Are you jealous?”

“Of that guy?” he asked incredulously. “Please.” 

Ellen tilted her head. 

“I’m not jealous, but nobody should look that good in a turtleneck,” he conceded.

She playfully hit him on the arm. “That’s what I thought!” she said.

“I’m not jealous,” he said again, grabbing her by her hips. “I’m the one who gets to do taxes with you and go out to dinner with you and go home with you,” He gave her a slow, sultry kiss. “When is the babysitter off duty?” he asked

“Nine o’clock. The kids should be asleep,” she sighed as he found the spot on her collarbone that she liked. 

“I hope so.” His hands left her hips and roamed lower. “No, I’m not jealous of that guy who is going to be smoking cigars with the brass tonight while I get to be with you.”

“You know, you can be bad, when you want to be,” Ellen remarked. 

“Very bad,” he agreed.

Ellen didn’t want a bad boy. She didn’t want a hotshot pilot with a mustache. But she liked knowing her clean cut, responsible husband who didn’t own a turtleneck could be bad if he wanted to be. That was enough for her. 

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It's a "extra simple syrup in the iced coffee" kind of morning.

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Scott Gibson as Capt. Andrew "Ack Ack" Haldane in THE PACIFIC (2010)

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I’m normal about Ronald Speirs (lie detector goes haywire with the enormity of the lie I’m telling)

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ANTHONY BOYLE as Brendan Hughes in SAY NOTHING: The Cause (2024)

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What about a Masters of the Air/Come From Away mashup where Bucky is an airline pilot who gets grounded in Gander, Newfoundland after September 11, and .... well, I haven't gotten to that part yet.

I HAVE TWO FICS IN MY FOLDER I NEED TO FINISH! NO NEW IDEAS UNTIL THEN!

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Each time things start to happen again 

I think I got something good going for myself

but what goes wrong?

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HBO War fandom, here's a tasty treat. No reason.

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BAND OF BROTHERS (2001) ↳ Part Eight: The Last Patrol

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Hello, Blind Dates Fest fans!

Hopefully everyone's summer is off to a fabulous start and we all have some rest and relaxation planned.

A couple of months ago we all came up with some great and wonderful new characters and had a lot of fun introducing them to the world. (You can re-read all of this year's festival submissions here!)

But now summer's happening, and it's a great time to send them on another adventure - maybe with a friend?

Enter Blind Dates: Friendship Fiesta!

Write a piece using an original character and their canon friend, or celebrate your writing friends by writing a crossover piece for your OC and a friend's OC! Do your friends write for different fandoms? No problem! Obviously OCs need vacation plans, too - write an AU where they're in the same universe.

The characters you use for this fest do not need to be previous Blind Dates entries (although it would obviously be great if they were.) This is a small and informal challenge to give us something to work on during the month of June!

You may publish your finished piece on the site of your choice and provide a link to the blind-dates-fest blog. If the post is here on Tumblr, tag us in it so we can see it! You can look through the tag #fest submission here on this blog to get an idea of how these posts are usually formatted. (And please, this fest is pro read-more. Please use one if you are publishing here on tumblr.)

What is Blind Dates, anyway? Blind Dates is a festival/challenge that takes place during February and celebrates creating and writing original characters! Blind Dates: Friendship Fiesta is an additional summertime event encouraging writers to expand horizons for thier original character. The guiding principle is to do something new, and possibly challenging, and to serve as writing practice. It can also be a low-stakes excuse to try out a new character in a fandom you don’t usually work in in a small and manageable way.

Do I need to sign up? Nope! This fest is designed to be low-stakes and informal. There’s no penalty for thinking this was a great idea a few months ago and not having time or energy now.

You can read more at our Festival FAQ.

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Fic to-do list for the next week for accountability:

-Finish up next chapter of Every Beautiful Thing (sorry, Chuck and Ellen)

-My MOTA OFC Chapter One? Or just a one-off? It's something, and I want to get it typed out.(I have ideas, but do I commit to making this a long fic? Commitment issues right now.)

-Fun summer one-off with said MOTA OFC for @mercurygray's Summer Fiesta.

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👸for the WIP game, please! And ✅✅✅ for the fest.

It was hardly a court receiving room, this half-underground vault with its demilune windows and barrel chairs and the constant fug of smoke from the students and their assorted pipes and cigarettes. And it was hardly court manners, to have the girls all tucked up in their boys' laps, long skirts trailed over high button boots, everyone discussing equally the news of the day and the actions of the administration and (he pointedly ignored this) what everyone thought of the King and the Prince Royal.

But everyone else is doing it, so why shouldn't we, John thought to himself, secretly delighted that Fred hadn't even thought to ask before sitting herself down in his lap.

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liking band of brothers is so awesome cause there's about a hundred different retellings of the same 10 or so events because the people being interviewed are all 80 year old veterans who (like almost every old person on the planet) have really bad memory and to make it worse it's about stuff that happened 50 to 70 years ago. not to mention all the infighting between the company and accusations and covering each other's asses and unprovoked hate etcetc i mean it's literally so great

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The promised (threatened?) Jack Kidd fic! A small moment of quiet.

With apologies to @noneedtoamputate, who gave me Phoebe months and months ago and I never did anything with her.

He saw the shadow on his desk before he heard her approach, and looked up to see her leaning in the doorway, half-smiling and all mischief. "Don't make me say it."

The joke had been old and tired well before he'd arrived at Thorpe Abbotts, but was it his fault that someone had made him Air Executive? All work and no play makes Jack…"I have reports to finish."

Her arms were crossed and she was not moving. "You need to eat sometime, Jack. Come out with me."

It was true enough, but he knew what his options were at this hour. "Bar peanuts in the officers club isn't a meal."

"I'm sure I could find someone to make you a sandwich," she replied, undeterred. "I've been told I'm very persuasive." He half-smiled at that - persuasive wasn't even close to the word. A force of nature, more like. She simply breezed into rooms and people found themselves doing what she asked - even him. "A half an hour in a chair that isn't this one, Jack. One half of one hour. For the sake of your back and your shoulders, if nothing else."

He sat back slowly in his chair as if he were considering. "Just my back and my shoulders?"

She shrugged. "Well, a girl likes to be held once in a while, that'd be nice, too."

"And danced with?"

"Only if it doesn't interfere with eating that sandwich and remembering you're a human being and not a machine." A pause. "And if you don't get out of that chair in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to come and sit on you, Jack Kidd."

Half a smile curled at his mouth. "Maybe that's what I'm hoping for."

It did not take more than a moment before she had made good on her threat - crossed the room and moved him back from his desk and installed herself on his lap, arms looped around his shoulders, a bodily wall between him and the work he'd been doing. Uniform jacket just so, nothing out of place except where she was seated. He caught a faint whiff of her soap, the warmth of her jacket.

"Phoebe."

"Jack."

He loved the weight of her on his body, the gentle pressure to stay in this moment and not worry about the next. Not worry about tomorrow, or the route they would fly, or the planes they would lose, or the men that would die, or the replacements they would need to request. Only Phoebe - straight-forward, force of nature Phoebe, with oceans in her eyes.

"And what if I don't…want to share you with the officer's club?" he asked, voice quiet, all too aware of the tide of his breathing around the coasts of her collar, her throat. "What if I just want you here? Where it's quiet? For thirty minutes." The officer's club would be loud, and full of music, and replacement pilots trying to sound like they'd flown a hundred missions, and other, stupider replacement pilots trying to see how far their luck would go with Sergeant Kent and her ocean-blue eyes. Someone would ask her to play the piano, and she would say yes, and she would be theirs for the taking, not his.

It was not widely known they were a couple - Jack did not care to have everyone knowing his business, and she was much the same - and the kind of demonstrative posturing that would have come from stealing her away from the piano or glowering at her admirers did not come naturally to him. (She would say that it did, but that he saved it for things that really mattered.) She would turn them away - she always did.

"The reader will please observe a distinct lack of sandwiches, or eating."

"I could be eating," he murmured into the crook of her neck, nose tracing the line of her jaw as his arms wrapped around her a little more.

"Jack." She was neither scandalized nor surprised by the suggestion, merely warning him off.

He had said it with some jest in mind, though he would have committed if she'd been agreeable. "Five minutes," he said instead, not quite all the way to begging, like a boy who does not want to remove himself from the warmth of his bed. "Five minutes of this, and then I'll go eat your damn sandwich."

"Fine." She pulled him closer, fingers gentle in his hair, and he wrapped his own arms closer around her body and pressed in tight. "We're not going to win the war by you burning yourself to a cinder."

They were fine words for a woman who'd watched two commanding officers do just that - Huglin with his ulcers and Harding with his gallstones, bound to their desks and their duty until pain and circumstance had finally forced them away. But he, Jack Kidd, was still here, though he was ten pounds lighter, and not quite yet consumed by the flames. "I could say the same thing about you."

"You're not coming to sit on me and tell me to eat dinner."

"I can't ever catch you to do it." The laughter in her chest made him smile. "Has it been five minutes?"

"Say one. You have four more."

Agreement buzzed in his throat, and he focused again on his breathing, on the smell of her and the feel of her body underneath his hands, the way her cheek was pressed to his forehead. He was thinking now in earnest about the other kind of eating, the color of her undergarments and the feel of her thighs, but it was abstracted, somehow, and did not excite. Five minutes was hardly enough time for that. This would be enough for him. Her hand was gentle in his hair, and he wondered, for a moment, if he would take such comfort in this after the war, when he was not at a desk with plans for battle in front of him and she was not wearing a rank badge, when neither of them had anywhere to be but where they were.

The idea was strange to him - after the war. A place he'd only heard spoken of and could not look for yet. I've been here too long, he thought to himself silently, and aloud said, moving his legs a little, "Why don't we go find that sandwich?"