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[noneedtoamputate]

One more night at camp with seven Brownies. Two homesick girls, one girl who rubbed her eye after touching crushed red pepper, and half the girls want zero lights on and half the girls want more nightlights.

I'm taking a long bath and a three-hour nap when I get home.

[noneedtoamputate]

#76 broken pieces for whatever two characters you would like, please.

I have a brainwave that these two needed to share a scene - so here they are.

This was the third date this month.

It felt funny, saying that, that Molly was going on a date, but Billie wasn't sure she had any other word for when a fellow dropped by in a nice suit, picked up a girl in a nice dress, and the two of them went out to dinner.

A date. Could you even imagine? It was Berlin and the war was over and they were going on dates again, real dates, where you spent time cleaning yourself up first and the fellow actually had a front door to show up at. Not like they'd done during the war, where a date could be meeting a guy for dinner in the next foxhole, or sharing a blanket, or watching a fire. Any spare five minutes alone.

But here he was, on the front mat, shoes shined and hair combed. She wondered what they were paying him - his suit looked too nice for Berlin. Everything here was shabby after six years of war, and he looked out of place in the hallway. "Mr. Rosenthal." She opened the door and let him inside before returning to her seat at the table.

"Sergeant Mitchell."

"She's almost ready - she found a run in her stocking and had to change."

He shrugged. "We're not in any hurry."

Billie nodded, and returned cagily to her magazine, glancing up to follow his eyes around the room, taking in the small bits of art on the walls, some of it stuck up with tape, the calendar in the kitchen, the dishes in the drainer by the sink.

George Stout wasn't ever one for running a really military outfit, and the fact that they were Army without the Army meant private billeting rather than barracks. It was just the two of them in the apartment, though there were several other officers in the building, which was run by an absolutely ancient little old lady who knew very little English. (Molly was trying to learn German, just to get by a little with her, but the Army phrasebook wasn't getting them very far.)

He looked a picture, standing there in the front room - you could say that much. He would have looked even more handsome in class As, with that dark dark brown bringing his eyes out in full force and the mustache that made him look like Tyrone Power. An easy charmer, one of the gang would have said. But she'd known easy charmers before. What do you know about him, Mol? Like, really know? Apart from the blue eyes and the curly hair and the manners and the smile and the fact that he can't sing? He's been coming here for a month and what is he? A hotshot pilot and a lawyer and what else? What's he hiding? Where's the catch?

Because there's always a catch, isn't there? With a boy like that. He's too good.

Billie rose from her chair and moved to put her now-cold cup of coffee in the sink. "I don't think she ever told me where you're from, Mr. Rosenthal."

"Brooklyn - Flatbush."

Billie had a sudden desire to call up Ruth and ask her what she knew about flyerboys from Flatbush. "And you still have family there? Parents, siblings? Girlfriend?"

He nodded. "My mother, and my sister." He smiled a little. "And no girlfriend."

Notice I didn't ask about a wife. "You still close with them?"

His smile never wavered for a moment. "My mother writes me nearly every week. Sister less often, but she'll put a word in Mom's."

"And your firm, are they - are they taking you back, when this is over?"

"I'm sure they will be." He moved closer to the kitchen and looked her in the eye. "You know, I could provide personal references, if that would take less time, Sergeant. Former commanding officers, friends - my rabbi." He smiled at her surprise. "I'm a lawyer. I know what an interrogation looks like."

Billie squared up, her eyes meeting his with no hint now of gentle prying. If you thought the rabbi was going to trip me up, I'll tell you now I don't care. "I like having all the facts." And the fact is that I don't know you, Robert Rosenthal, and I don't like that.

"And the fact that I like Molly an awful lot?"

See, you say that and I believe you, and I hate that I do. "Lots of guys can say they like a girl, Mr. Rosenthal. Maybe even use the word love. Doesn't mean a thing later. I'm trying to establish intention and motive." There's been a war on. People say things they don't mean all the time. Isn't that why you have a job?

He was watching her with a kind of respect in his eyes, smile tugging at his mouth. "Have you ever considered becoming a lawyer, Sergeant?"

Billie felt off balance at the compliment. "The bar wouldn't have me."

He laughed at her casual brutalism, and glanced down at his shoes, considering his next words very carefully. "When you fly a bomber, the only guys you trust are the other nine in the plane with you. Imagine it's the same in a foxhole."

"After they've given you a reason to, sure."

"Guess I'll just have to work on that, then."

It was then, of course, when they were nose to nose and eye to eye that Molly walked in, beautiful in her dress uniform. "Billie Mitchell, are you interrogating him?"

Rosie stepped back, supremely unconcerned by all of it. "It's all right, Mol. We were just talking. It never hurt to have friends who care."

He calls her Mol. And he calls me Sergeant, because he knows we're not friends yet. That's what Ron did, too.

Billie met Molly's eye with a clenched jaw, almost afraid of what she'd find there. It's what you did for me, isn't it, care? And I never listened. But you're smarter and better than me, and you deserve better, too, better than broken promises and broken pieces of a heart. And if he is what he says, you deserve him, Molly. You deserve the world. And if he's not then I'll bury him.

"No," Molly said, softening a little, realizing what they were saying. "No, it never did." She sniffed and checked the fastening on her purse, fiddled with a button. "Will you wait up?"

Billie shook her head. "You'd better take the key. I'm not going out."

Molly nodded, grabbing the key and its chain from where it hung near the door and closing the door behind her as she and Rosie left. He would ask her, at dinner, what that had all been about, and perhaps Molly would tell him - or not. She fell in love with a guy she thought she knew. It ended like you think it did.

[noneedtoamputate]

👀✨😭 for the fic recs, please. And feel free to replace with another emoji if these have already been answered.

👀 A fic that you love a normal amount

nostalgia (prompt fill) by @floydmtalbert (Band of Brothers, Talbert character study) — Nobody does postwar like Jenny does postwar, and this fic is no exception (and I'm not just saying that because I sent the prompt). It's just so good and so Tab and so gorgeously drawn.

✨ A fic you wish you could read again for the first time

Steve Rogers at 100: Celebrating Captain America on Film (Captain America, Bucky/Steve, General) — I can't even really describe it, but if you're into Captain America even a little bit, or HBOwar...I'm jealous that you get to experience this for the first time.

😭 A fic that ripped your heart out (but it hurt so good)

I See You In The Daytime (I Hear You At Night) by johnslittlespoon/quickcatton (Masters of the Air, Bucky/Curt, General) — ID tags and big ouches. Vivid and heartbreaking.

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Just noticed the "ladies who Brady" tag, and I must say, well played, MotA fandom.

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💖💘💞 some hearts for the ask game!

Thanks, Sam.

💖 A drabble that made you want 100 more words.

I don't read a lot of drabbles, mostly because if I do like them, I want more! However, a late online friend of mine held a Twelvetide Drabbles ficfest each winter, giving prompts for 12 days and people donating money to charity. It's where I tried my hand at fan fiction for the first time, and there is a lot of good stuff in the collection. It crosses all fandoms, so there was always something for everyone. Check it out.

💘 A fic you couldn't stop reading once you started.

I tried my hand at M/M fic for the first time this Christmas for an exchange. (The recipient said they liked it, and that was very kind of them.) I did a lot of Spierton research before writing and read The Desolate House by Howling_Harpy in one sitting.

💞A fic that led you to being friends with the author.

Sam, I hope it's not too presumptuous to include you as an online friend. (I read Sam's Where the Pieces Go after my BoB rewatch last summer. She graciously let me build on her fic.) Thanks for letting me message you random things that pop in my head every so often and for leaving me thoughtful comments on my fic and for creating emotional works of fiction.

Someone else who I hope is a friend is @shoshiwrites, I don't know how I stumbled onto her blog, but I'm so glad I did. Her Jo Brandt is one of my favorite OFCs in the BoB fandom. One thing I've learned from Sho is I don't just have to keep writing chapter after chapter on my main fic, especially if it's not feeling right. She uses Jo in AUs and has moved her over to Masters of the Air, too. If I create a character, I can do with her what I want, so thanks for showing me that, Sho! She's also someone else who puts up with my random thoughts and questions and is helping Chuck and me pick out an important piece of jewelry in an upcoming chapter.

Fic Recs

[noneedtoamputate]

hello - sneaking into your asks to give you a massive compliment for your chuck x ellen story. i absolutely love it, came across one of your "snippets" on here and then found my way to ao3 to read the whole thing. both your characterisation of chuck and ellen are captivating on their own and their dynamic is lovely - comforting sometimes too.

thanks for posting your work online for fellow bob fans xx

Thank you so much for your lovely comments! I've been feeling discouraged about my writing the past few weeks. Finding this message in my inbox was the confidence boost I needed. Chapter Ten is in the works, and I have a one-off AU planned, too.

[noneedtoamputate]

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 of 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. 

[noneedtoamputate]

The first episode of Rosie the Reviewer is up!

Don't forget to follow us on Instagram. 😊

@fayestardust and I talk the first three episodes of Band of Brothers!

[noneedtoamputate]

For the touch prompt, #24, please.

Thank you so much Jess! <3 I couldn't get our coffee-talk out of my head🥺☕

24. "whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin"

“Now,” he says, with the tinny clatter of the dishes plunked down next to her, without a splash, “I didn’t add too much sugar— because, well, we ain’t got any, and also because I know you don’t like when it sticks at the bottom.” She laughs, the warm timbre growing in her chest. “Thank you." She doesn’t say anything when he sits next to her, not across, their elbows barely touching.  He sips at his own cup, black, the way you drink it when you need it like a tonic. She lets her hands warm around the enamel mug, watches the coppery color of the coffee inside, the lightest touch of milk. Not like his hair, a chocolatey brown. Maybe if they all got a little bit more sun. It was some stupid detail, the sugar. She must have mentioned it in the course of a conversation weeks ago, surrounded by talk of memories and home. Powdered coffee crystals on rushed assignments, the corner automat and Sunday mornings. Like they ever had enough sugar for her to have specifications about it. She wonders if he ever takes his differently. Before the war, she means. She wonders if he even likes it. He’s not grimacing, just sitting here with her.  “How is it?”  It’s not a lie when she says, “delicious.” He smiles. “Just what I needed.” A beat, and she knows the answer here, asks it anyway. Yours?” The grin on his face tightens by a centimeter, fades under the lightbulbs. “Gets the job done.” She looks back down at her mug, the faint print of her lipstick, out the window to the gray afternoon, across her shoulder to him. “A girl might get used to this kind of treatment.” “Hope she does.” Now don’t go saying things like that. Her stomach twists, somewhere deep in the pit, and suddenly what she’s most afraid of is someone walking in. She makes to stand, hastily sipping the coffee as she does.  “Where you off to?” She leans down on impulse, pressing her lips to the top of his ear. Like they do this all the time. Like it’s a habit. “Got a story to file.” “Right. Well, let me know if there’s any trouble.” “Thank you,” she says, suddenly a whisper. Presses a kiss under the lobe. He lolls his head slightly, leaning into her touch. “For the coffee.” Maybe she imagines it, the smallest exhale in his voice. “Anytime.”

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Since it's tax season I was thinking about the scenario Winnix file their taxes. So in the modern AU Winnix are married and file their taxes as a married couple (in some particular years they might choose to file separately and they have an argument about it, Nix thinks it is more practical, Dick doesn't like the idea of filing separately, or vice-versa) Dick would file the taxes for both of them, his tax is simpler, while Nix's is a little bit more complicated, besides wages, he might have incomes from the family trust, securities and other investment, etc. Nix suggested once they could just let CPA do it, (who works for Stanhope and the Nixon business), Dick feels against it and rather do it himself. He thinks it's a private matter and doesn't want outsiders to peek into their private life, and filing jointly is a special part of being married, so Dick insists, but it doesn't mean he didn't complain about it every year, and Nix procrastinates, so Dick has to remind him to give him all those forms and Dick likes to start with the filing early.

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Just a reminder that you don't have to overthink leaving a comment. Today, someone wrote "I love this so much" on one of my chapters, and it made my entire day.

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hi jess! i'm always looking for new fics to read, so can i ask 🔁 and 😭 from the fic recs ask meme?

Hi Blu! Thanks for the asks. I am going to focus on OCs in this episode of the fic rec game.

🔁A fic you've reread several times.

In the world of Band of Brothers OCs, I feel like recommending @mercurygray's The Darkening Sky is like recommending The Iliad or The Bible or Pride and Prejudice. Almost everyone has read it, and if you haven't read it, you must! But Golden in the Dark might have been overlooked. It's a postwar fic featuring Molly Mahoney, an orginal character from The Darkening Sky, and Floyd Talbert. It's bittersweet and lovely, and I enjoy postwar fics that take their time like this one.

😭A fic that ripped your heart out (but hurt so good)

I have a confession to make: I am boring. I live in the suburbs and occasionally go to Starbucks. I rock out to '90s music in my Buick.

And I like Bridgerton.

A Thousand Cuts by wall_e_nelson (not sure if they are on Tumblr) is a collection featuring Anthony. It delves into the complicated relationshsip he has with Violet, Kate teaching him self love, and his best friend, lawyer, and OC, Jamie. While I enjoyed season one and the Queen Charlotte spinoff, I felt season two was weak. I think one reason is that ATC is so good.

[noneedtoamputate]

In a piece of personal news, I officially gave notice that I will not be leading Little NoNeed's Girl Scouts troop next year. LNN decided to dedicate time to other activities, but if I'm being honest with myself, I think I would have quit even if they decided to rejoin.

The relief I feel is already palatable, but I'm sure it won't really hit me until October, when the new Girl Scouts year starts.

I've been a leader for four years. We had to meet on Zoom when I first started the troop, and Daisies on Zoom is as horrible as you can imagine.

I had a lot of fun being leader, but it's also a lot of work. And this year really hasn't been much fun at all for a variety of reasons.

Of course, instead of focusing on the four years I have given, part of me feels guilty for leaving these girls without a leader (I will be shocked if another parent steps up.)

Reading "Lessons in Chemistry" hit at a good time last week. Women are seen as nurturers, carers expected to enjoy things that serve a good purpose but are not appreciated, financially or otherwise.

I am already excited thinking about what I can do with the hours I currently spend on Girl Scouts: writing, reading, yoga, hiking, cooking, cleaning my closets. But part of me thinks I should find another volunteer position, even though I am chair of the school book fair committee, hold an elected position in my village, and fill in when needed for the PTO. That's on top of working (for money) part time, driving to ballet and doctors' appointments and birthday parties, and checking homework, and keeping track of the dozens of spirit days LNN has at school (Dress Like a Pirate Day! Wear Your Favorite Premier League Jersey Day! Who's Your Favorite Band of Brothers Blorbo Day! All of these are jokes, but the last one would be great, wouldn't it?)

I'm great at telling other people they should do things for themselves and find what brings them joy, but I'm still working on that for myself.

Today, I took a walk and cleaned my desk and am writing an absolutely silly little one-off fic based on a short text conversation last night while enjoying an iced chai latte, and I am going to try very hard not to feel guilty.

[noneedtoamputate]

those three words / are said too much / they're not enough chasing cars x baberoe – requested by anon

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My funeral is tomorrow at 4:00 you’re all invited

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🔁😭💯please?❤️ — @shoshiwrites

Hi, Friend. Thanks for the asks.

Let's call this the Winnix Fic Rec Edition. I'm probably never going to write Winnix, but can this fandom really ever esacpe the ship?

🔁A fic you've reread several times

To Be Played at Maximum Volume by @churchkey is a modern Winnix AU featuring the Easy Rider bike club run out of Harry Welsh's bike store. All of our favorite characters are there, and Iove an AU that can get me excited about a passion I don't share (like bikes.) And the modern versions of Dick and Lew are so, so good.

😭A fic that wripped your heart our (but hurts so good)

The Pulling Heartbreak Out of Hats series is Winters/Nixon/Talbert OT3 and it's come close to killing me, like taken my heart out and stomped on it, but I love it.

💯A fic that makes you think writer goals

Another @churckey fic is A Spell of Riot, featuring Lew and his journey to sobriety. I have someone very close to me who is in recovery, and this is one of the best things I've read about the process, fan fiction or not.

And another goals piece is @marycontraire's Contact Tracing series, set during the series. Ambrose wishes he had such detailed footnotes in his work. The historical research gone into this series is chef's kiss, and i have learned so much from reading it.

[noneedtoamputate]

Work is entirely overrated.