#Harry crosby x Jean Crosby

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Four Weeks in New York

gorgeous gif credit to @violaobanion

Requested: ☑️

Warnings: SO. MUCH. SEX. 18+, reunion jitters, potentially out of character actions due to rough sex? but then again, they’ve missed each a lot other, ok?! Also, i dunno, but beware he’s a horny over thinker and he’s in a funny headspace due to, ya know, war. Jean is a champ, Harry can’t manage to blow a load for awhile, mild breeding kink if you wanna call purposefully making a baby that…Gerry Hamilton and Margaret Blakely make tiny little cameos in here and I swear I’m half thinking of writing this trio of women all giggling over their legendary husbands

Word count: a hefty 7k and we’ve got more coming for ya

Coauthored with m’baby @crazymadpassionatelove

Synopsis: Harry Crosby is sent stateside to be with his wife for a month of terribly needed R&R in the summer of 1944

Caveat: this is based off a portrayal of real people in a tv series, while Jean wasn’t represented by an actress as Harry was, in this price of media I intend the same. I mean no disrespect to the real men and women mentioned and dramatized herein.

Scene One:

Jean had been at it so long in front of the mirror she began to notice every grain of powder collected in her smile lines and every infinitesimal blur of strong coal from around her eyes and -she needed to step away, at least a few inches from the reflective glass and get a grip. At the more sensible distance of gripping onto the edge of the counter -marble and swanky like everything in this posh and paid for hotel- she saw her face restored to what it was, a pretty decent cutie’s with a perfect mask of makeup and freshly styled hair: fit for a homecoming.

It was going to be fine. She was going to be fine. She was going to need to make him fine again, and give him back to them strong enough to come back to her for good. Happiness and dread swirled in a gnawing cocktail inside her, the cruel thought of almost wishing not to be teased with him at all until she could keep him for good fighting with the braver parts of herself that wanted every second of him she could have, even if it had a big red finish line drawn at a month.

A month was a long time, a month was about all they’d had to be married before he left. Technically, or at least Jean wondered if technically, it would mean she’d only been fully “married” for two months. Of course that was nonsense to the general public and the pastors who reminded about vows and the wedding band she flashed at over eager servicemen, but to her select little girl gang, the ones who worked at the factory with her and who had to give up their husbands too- they talked about their brief marriedness with hushed and giggly fondness, like something out of a dream and just as brief.

The fiancés in the girl gang were jealous of this topic and Jean supposed they had a right to be. She indulged the innocents with all their questions about being “actively” married, tried to repay them with the same frankness she’d so desperately sought before her wedding. But as it was, she’d only had a month of active service, and while it had been spent as vigorously as any young couple’s first four weeks of legal license, it had left Jean in the interim with a plain impression of herself being a little bit of a hussy.

She wanted Harry so badly this past year since he’d gone she hardly thought it medically sane. Wanted him so badly, and that was something not even the girl gang could always bring themselves to titter about. It was one thing for Margaret Blakely to joke about her Ev coming back the previous month ‘taking’ his leave in more ways than one, but they weren’t often out here asking each other if nothing really fixed the hunger since their man had been gone. It was all Jean thought of. Jean wanted to ask if it ever cooled, if the sticky frustration with one’s own inadequate fingers ever subsided.

By the dreamy eyed state of the recently visited Mrs. Blakely, the answer appeared to be a resounding no. Nothing ever beat the real thing. And that made Jean want to writhe in frustration before learning that she too, would be visited by a on-leave husband.

A year of being married and only a month of it “active”, Jean had concluded it was a chronic case on her part of salivating need for her Bing, the only cure would be him -him inside her, in perpetuity. All she’d gotten out of Maragret had been a grinning warning to Jean to “get in shape for Major Crosby’s furlough, you’ll spend it on your back.”

Jean could freely admit to herself that she needed to be ripped apart by her man, she needed him lingering inside her when he left again. She just feared that it wasn’t exactly their usual way. How could she tell him, what if that’s not what he needed. What if it was all different, what if it needed to be?

Jean pointed a finger at herself in the fancy gilt mirror, red nails pointing at her fancy clad self in pastel silk and tiny bows, “He’s your husband,” she told herself sternly, trying not to sweat at the idea he could be here any hour, catch her in this state of intentional undress, and help himself to her jittery body, “he loves you, you love him. All you need to do is let him have his husbandly rights and things will go smoothly. It’s a vacation not a death trap. You’ve got a man to patch up, get on with it.”

This speech gave her four whole seconds of empowered determination before a vigorous set of knocks on the hotel suite’s outer door made her jump out of her skin in surprise. She could go open the door but then -what if someone was in the hall with him? And saw her in this state of…lack of…well, her in her lingerie. He had a key, they’d have given him a key. He was the Mister to her Missus Crosby, they were allowed a shared suite.

“Jean?” Hearing that dear voice for the first time in twelve months, even faintly from far outside the bathroom door, flooded Jean with so much feeling her knees locked up and her throat collapsed on her response. He was her husband, her Bing, her first and only love, they’d be alright. They had to be.

Harry gingerly closed the door behind him, the heavy painted wood shutting with a finality that made him feel terribly anxious. While he had been trudging up the hall to their suite he’d been able to laugh a little at his dismal procession, morose shuffling and hang dog attitude. It had been absurd for a guy coming back to see the wife who he loved. He knew that and he could say that again and again in his head in a voice that morphed more and more into Bubbles’ voice an-

-and now he was in the room and he wasn’t anticipating anything, he had arrived and as if he’d just touched down in occupied Europe, he couldn’t help his braced posture or hunted surveillance of the oddly empty room.

“Jean?”

She wasn’t in here, but the en-suite bathroom door was shut. She wasn’t in here but from the bathroom came wafting something so viscerally nostalgic of her that he felt his heart pound in devoted recognition before his brain even caught up: her soap. Not some fancy hotel brand, it seemed she had brought her old stuff, the stuff he’d lathered on her as many times as he’d had the chance before leaving, the stuff she smelled of before church and the stuff that got more strong and pungent when he made her sweat in it from their exertions in bed.

It smelled like Jean in here and it was enough to make him drop his duffel bag with a decided thump. He was staying. This was his wife, everything might be different but some things like soap -they’d still be the same, as would the dry mouthed want it filled him with.

“Jean?”

He ventured further into the room, not bothering to call her name again, maybe being around guys had made him callous to spooking her but no real harm would be done, he was…him.

“Oh! Bing?” Jean sounded flustered behind her door and Harry found himself grinning. “I’m coming! I’m coming right out!”

It sounded less like a reassurance than it did an order to herself, which was amusing and it made him wonder, just how awkward were the two of them going to manage to make this? God knows he’d tripped over himself enough times winning her over the first round, he had such hopes never to revisit the bumbling stages of courtship. Seemed like once they’d married and joined it had been smooth as glass ever since- until…until he’d stopped being himself.

Until he had wandered into a hotel room with a woman who didn't wear a matching gold band. Jean knew nothing of that though. She never would. Sweet peaches and cream Jean who had come all this way to see him. Bringing that soap and the books he saw stacked on the night table. Bringing that sweet, pink pussy he needed to sink himself into. Remind himself of who he was. He didn't want to be Major Crosby at the moment. He wanted to just be Jean's husband. He heard the clock in the room ticking, felt the sweat pooling at the back of his neck as he waited for her. Her Elizabeth Arden lipsticks lined up like perfect little soldiers on the dresser. It had been so long that kissing her was surely going to feel like the first time all over again.

There was more amiss in the room, upon further inspection, besides her trunks and her hat boxes and the lipsticks. Amiss in that: there were elements no hotel should have, the plate of very delicious looking misshapen fudge, for instance, the plate itself looking suspiciously like their wedding set. Harry could describe that pink and green pattern on ivory in vivid detail if you had asked him yesterday, tracing it now was like no time had passed at all since that first breakfast as husband and wife, tittering over having “things” of their own. And beside the plate a book, one he’d not finished when he went over, he realized with a lump growing in his throat. Then there was the bed beneath these things, tidily made but not pristine, ha -how could it be with homey floral sheets in place of pristine white and a monogrammed pillow case each.

Giant embroidered C’s. For Crosby, of course.

Jeepers -he’d taken Jean for the first time on those very sheets, now he was recognizing them, and some very uncivilized part of him suddenly wanted to rip the covers back and find out if her virgin blood hadn’t fully scrubbed out-

“Bing!”

He is awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed, thumbing through the pages of Look Homeward, Angel when Jean manages to saunter out with a summoned amount of calm. His hair is sleek and trimmed, his jacket well fitting, his whole self in his army duds seeming so comfortable, filled out, self possessed -it’s the floral sheets beneath him that ruins the effect just a little, makes him seem shifty, out of place. That and those great brown eyes suddenly round as a newborn calf’s at the long awaited sight of her.

She’s seen the soldier’s return posters -does he expect the same greeting? No little party at the station in satin and lace here, but they’d both agreed it would be better to be private, secluded, uninterrupted. Now it feels too tame and mild.

Does he want that? That reunion embrace?

Before she can rethink it she rushes him. “Binger!” she gasps out right as he stands to meet her head on, long arms outstretched to engulf her. This she knows, this she dreamed of. If she squeezes too tight she must be forgiven, it’s too fabulous to be considered real for many moments, the feel of his flexing back beneath her hands and his chest under her cheek. It’s tight and jarring and not a bit smooth but it’s him, it’s him and all is well.

Harry has his nose buried in her hair, that smell is wafting in again. It’s Jean -hits him with the force of a rocket and he’s suddenly responding in kind, arms crushing her to him, can’t get close enough, can’t tell her enough about missing her and loving her and how he’s put one step in front of the other all these years for this moment.

“Oh Bing,” she exclaims again, her face just barely pulled away to really get a look at him, her hands on his cheeks, “I can’t believe it. I’ve prayed, every day I’ve prayed for this.”

Prayers -the word sours in his mind after what he’s seen, after how many he’s sent up and not plane returned with an answer. “Mmm, Mrs. Crosby.” he contemplates the dear face before him before dragging his hand beneath her hair, cupping the back of her head with his large hand, watchface cool on the back of her neck. She’s been waiting for him to kiss her, wanting to let him lead, hoping her initial enthusiasm would embolden him like before. Instead he seems lost in archiving her face, those dear, melancholy eyes flitting over every feature, the hands studying and firm but not a caress. It’s obvious there’s something missing here, a piece ajar from the puzzle.

Jean stands atiptoe carefully, and determinedly slots her lips against his plush, red ones. That seems to rouse him a bit, Harry responds instantly, making up for his hesitancy, deepening it as his tongue meets hers in a heart wrenching reunion of sorts. He always was fond of kissing, her Bing. Now he was kissing her senseless and this -this was more like what she imagined.

His hands trail from her neck down the her ribs and into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hips where he vaguely notices she’s adorned in some silky little something, no doubt chosen and worn just for him.

Say something Croz, you big idiot —he thinks to himself, confronted with the fact he is gripping at her and sucking face without another word said besides inane repetition of her name.

“Jean you look…perfect.” he mumbles against her lips.

It’s boyish and reminiscent, the stumbling praises mumbled so earnestly. It makes her giggle fondly. She breaks their kiss and takes hold of his face in her hands, indulging a little inspection of her own. “My beautiful boy,” she croons, “you came back to me.”

She kisses the prominent bridge of his nose and his perpetually furrowed brow and the smooth below each heavily fringed eye, his cheeks, his chin, the corner of his mouth -she pressed at his chest till she’s got him sat on the edge of the bed again. He’s fully dressed, taut as a bowstring and she wants him, needs him, to relax. She can feel the tension, the uncertainty, rolling off him.

She won’t let them take this away from them, she won’t let them rob them of their comfort with each other.

She kneels gently before him and undoes his boots, enjoying the way he pets her hair, quietly admiring its shine and style. His trousers are creased and starched and knelt between his legs Jean finally notices it then, the prominent tent beneath the olive weave. It makes her breath hitch. Was he always this big? Even camouflaged by trousers?

“You must be tired,” she frets aloud, working on the laces, “and cramped from such a long flight. Did you take something? Your eyes are a little…funny.”

Harry nods before realizing she’s not one of his men. Wives tend to value words and sentences, the more syllables the better. “Yeah,” he croaks aloud, “something for the stomach.”

Oh Bing and his stomach. Ever the dutiful wife, Jean rubs the sock feet she just liberated and kneads her way up his calves, hoping to leech some of the tension out of him. She works her way to his thighs, rising back up to her feet when he grabs her wrists and pulls her into another kiss. It’s even hungrier this time and his first moan of the evening sends a jolt of longing triumph straight to her core.

“I’ve missed you.” she chokes out between kisses and he responds by biting her neck, his thumbs rolling the satin in circles on her hips. His front pressing hard and firm against her lower belly, making her mouth run dry.

Still, Harry’s not saying much and if he wasn't kissing and caressing her so ardently, she'd have no clue they were even on the same planet.

And so Jean decides to do something rather bold. Something her mother would not approve of. She puts her hands on his shoulders, briefly causing him to pull away from her neck, then she whispers temptingly in his ear, “Last night I…slid my ring finger inside me. pretended it was you…I won't have to pretend anymore, will I, Harry?”

She feels him twitch against her belly beneath his layers. It’s her turn to kiss his cheek and nibble his neck, finding his little groans to be intoxicating. His grip tightens on her waist as he buries his head against her with his eyes closed, breathing her in. That scent.

That's when she adds in a plea, “Y-y-you're gonna have to…open me

up again Croz.…..you know what I

mean?...my poor little fingers are so

tiny and now I'm back to how I was

on our wedding night…”

Harry’s groan is animalistic and pained and she -well Jean’s a horny, rambling mess and she can’t bring herself to be ashamed, she missed him too strongly. “You're a hero to America.” She swears into his panting mouth, “And to me. I'm gonna give you the strength to help you get through the rest of what you need to do. But I need something from you, I need you to put a baby in me Bing.”

That is what he responds to, like orders in war. He’s good at finding his way with directions. His head rears back and his eyes sharpen with concentration. Jean wants something? he’ll deliver it, always was that way.

He nods.

“Lay back on the bed Jean.” his voice is quiet but she’s never heard it so steady, so commanding. That must be the voice he uses when he speaks to his men over there. If she wasn't squeezing her thighs together and scrambling onto the bed to follow Major Crosby orders, well, she'd cum right then and there. This isn't the same Bing that reads the paper, his beautiful lips mouthing the words as he does, the one who brings her flowers just because, or is quick not to curse in public. This man before her is a war weary Major who is used to being obeyed. Jean intends to follow every word he says, the thought of seeing him off without a little piece of him nestled inside her would just devastate her.

She burrows up against their Crosby pillows, looking like an absolute treat and admiring her man's package that seems to be growing bigger by the second. He's panting like a wild horse above her and she realizes she should heed all that advice she'd been given. Be a good wife, take care of his needs. Her painted toes rub against the sheets as she slowly inches forward to help him undress. Major Crosby beats her to it though, ridding himself of his uniform efficiently and tossing it on to the floor in a rumpled mess accompanied by a huff.

Is he mad? Jean wonders to herself. His freshly exposed cock sure looks mad. It's red, and almost looks hot to the touch as it dribbles and leaks down his thick shaft.

Was it always that big? Were his eyes always so wild? Bright -she remembers them as being bright.

He collapses on her purposefully, a crushing embrace with his hands snarled in her hair, elbows to the bed, his belly to hers, his lips devouring her own. It’s a shock and a thrill, that first feeling of skin against skin again, Harry’s so warm his tongue is nearly scalding and she feels herself sweat in her skimpy finery. The anticipation is harsh, the dynamic fumbling in its ravenous rush, her head spins when an irrational spike of fear slices through the heady haze of desire that his touches coax. Touch? -a mauling of sorts, more like, he is all teeth and nails and assessing hands, grabbing at her ferociously.

Instinctively Jean begins to rub him, his shoulders, his neck, his forearms

-a soothing caress at a kinder pace than he allows but she means it well, channels that little spark of anxiety she feels to sooth his own keyed up self.

“I’m here, I’m here,” she keeps swearing as she feels him buckle just that little bit to the insistent kneading of her hands on his arms, “I’m not going anywhere.” she swears and the rigid line of his body sags further into her neck, some off kilter focus he’s carried about him slipping under her gentle persuasion. “Baby, how about a little rub?” she coos, lithely extracting herself out from under him before she thinks on it too long.

“That might be nice.” he manages, not sure what the hell it is he needs, “My neck maybe..took a little spill a few days ago...” he casually mentions the incident, underplaying that whole fiasco of passing out cold from exhaustion, splattering on the floor like the contents of a mop bucket.

“Then let me rub your neck.” she begs.

He allows it and with a slightly lost gaze he follows her movements as she props up beside him and brings him closer for leverage. She scoops his head into her lap with that familiarity that made him fall first and hard for her, and suddenly he is pillowed on the warm, giving belly of a woman. His woman. And Croz feels himself begin to melt from that feeling alone, long before her clever thumbs start working at the knots nearly calcified at the base of his neck.

She used to do this for him when he was at school, too much reading in an ill advised position had him often so stoved up he couldn’t be of any use on the baseball team. Jean had learned to work her magic then, and Harry had learned how very much he liked his face buried against the swell of a girl’s womb.

Oh fuck -her little speech comes rushing back to him- Jean wants a baby.

Damn the jet lag, the separation jitters and all the rest that got him sent here like a looney to a special holding facility. Jean wants a baby and he hasn’t been rock hard since Dartmouth only to let it go to waste by sleeping it off.

Right when she begins to feel the motion of her hands take effect on his rigid shoulders, her Harry is suddenly lifting his head again, face slightly flushed and creased from the lace of her nighty and he smiles at her then. Mischievous and warm, “C'mere,” he beckons with a voice that means something and so she follows him as he sits up, “stand up babydoll, show me that outfit. Let me appreciate ya.” He slides his warm palm into her smaller one and tugs her to her feet, an easy sort of dance move to bring her round in front of his position, swaying her back and forth just outside the v of his legs.

“Well, look at you.” he marvels at her, his expression gone soft under that wrecked mop of curls. Jean recognizes the old spark alight in him, the one that might go dormant for her when away or when she couldn’t make up her damn mind but anytime she wanted him back?—oh he looked at her like this, like he was lucky as hell to have her and intended to be brave with that luck. “Turn around for me, loverdoll, c’mon, show me what I’ve got, come onnnn Jeaaann,” he insists, his voice playful and insistent as he spins her with a hand at her hip until she shows him the back of this frilly little excuse for nightwear, “Look at that.” he whistles behind her and Jean feels her cheeks burn pleasantly, “Pretty as a fawn, Jean.” he punctuates this odd little compliment with the back of a finger running up the length of her thigh, to the little swell of her rump and Jean knows her legs tremble in helpless response. “Go on, strike a pose for me, I know you didn’t put on this get up for nothin’. Who'd believe it? My Mrs. Crosby out here lookin’ like one of those girls.”

‘Those’ girls, whoever they are exactly, are left nebulous and Jean likes it that way, it gives her a saucy bravery to pitter patter away from his hold and turn back to face his unabashedly admiring gaze. Jean cocks a hip and drops a shoulder, knee turned in, toes pointed. Gerry had made her perfect it a million times in the mirror when she should’ve been sensibly getting into a gown and getting some shut eye instead.

Thank God for Margaret Ann Blakely and her fun loving pastimes. And also: “Screw him for us Jean!!” -thank God for Gerry Hamilton and her brazen preoccupations with her own man, for how she piled on as she convinced Jean of an assortment of little silk things thrown into her suitcase, “Screw him good, for all of us! For Americaaaaa!” the young and empty Mrs. Hamilton’s candor had built until Jean was close to frantic to get into the taxi and leave her best friends and their antics behind.

Jean didn’t doubt for a single minute that Hambone and Ev would shortly be receiving letters that good naturedly bemoaned Jean and Croz’s luck.

“You think you needed to look like this to get me to nail ya?” her Croz teases her now and his grin is lewd and Jean likes it that way, it matches the disrespectful hands that reach out without her Harry’s usual calculation and instead paw at her tits like a sex starved man. It sends a line of electricity straight to the little button between her legs and Jean ends up leaning into those hands until she’s suddenly so near him she’s on top of him and then, easy as anything, he knocks her sideways and under him once more. Legs splayed wide and with a husband lying on top of her with a very determined look on his face -she reckons the games are over.

“Gonna be like a second wedding.” she squeaks out, giddy eyed in excitement, toes curling in terror, he feels so big slotted at the spot.

Was he always so big?

Harry slings her leg over his hip and he’s suddenly in her without even needing to fumble for entrance. Little Croz pries her open all at once in a smooth, brutal, unyielding shove and that’s all it takes, he’s so overwhelmingly substantial that Jean finds herself bowing under him in a climax from the painful pleasure of reunion alone.

“Really, already?” he chuckles at her as she hoarsely keens out her ecstasy beneath him, her nails digging crescents in the flesh of his tense shoulders, his own thumbs stroking along her throat, “I missed you too, Mrs. Crosby.” he laughs.

She slaps at him, lovingly as her throat still hasn’t fully come back to use, “God you feel good.” She croaks.

“Just wait till you learn there’s more.” he teases before pulling his hips back and keeping that far tip barely nestled in her petals before slamming in again so forcefully she feels something funny in her chest.

“Bing!” it’s not a protest on her part but, my God -he, they…they used to give it the ole college try before he left, but this? This must be what it’s like to get really and truly screwed.

Screwing her, that’s what he’s doing and she wonders in a vague haze of helpless sensations if he’ll auger a hole straight through her back to the mattress with this merciless rhythm. She’s as vaguely impressed by his strength and capability as she is by her own body’s ability to absorb it, her freshly rediscovered hole burning at the use and somehow it’s all just a wonderfully heated, overwhelming miasma of delight as she keeps on seizing under him and he bullies her right though one peak after another with only a wicked grin on those full lips to suggest he’s got any idea what she’s so happily enduring.

“I can’t stop, I just can’t stop, it's just so -it’s so much.” she babbles, very keen to get her point across but very unsure what her point actually is. All thoughts, feelings and intentions center around Harry and that fat schlong of his rearranging her insides. She’s not sure her toes have been uncurled in over a quarter hour and her mind’s not been her own for longer still. “You’re so much.” she wails, and for half of it she means not his size but how long he’s been going at it.

“And you’re gonna take it.” he confirms, the hand on her hip inexorable and his pretty face is half snarling at her in desperation. “You miss this?” his voice shakes from his exertions and Jean is sure she’s never heard a more attractive sound than his wrecked breathing, “Miss this, huh? Bet you did, so goddamn tight. No married woman’s got any…any…any business being so tight. Gonna fix that, gonna make you so married you’re not gonna-“ he presses her legs back until she feels her hamstrings burn, knees to her chest, his body lunging into hers…angry again? she doesn’t know he just keeps grunting “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She’s milking him so perfectly, peaking and shuddering and clenching more frequently than he ever remembers and he should be so saved up he can’t manage to hold on but instead -the fuck if he can blow. It just won’t let go. The noise of his work is a lew phwap phwap phwap of split splat suction and from her whimpers and begs he knows he has already spent her but-

Goddamn! Came all this way, waited all this time and he can’t let loose?

Through the haze of her overstimulation Jean can feel something amiss, the tension back and worse than that, there’s the frustrated anger of before. Harry is breathing hard and his face is dark and the prominent vein across his alabaster forehead is popping so significantly she worries about stroke. He’s about to crack a tooth at this rate, his tension is so extreme and then suddenly, there’s a pause.

He stares down at the wet mess where they’re joined, brows knit together and mouth firm before a flicker ignites in his eye and in a fit of rage at himself and this deficient cock, he grabs at one of the decorative pillows and throws it across the room. It bangs dully against the window and flops to the floor.

Unsurprisingly the outburst against cotton batting and fancy trim does little for his pickle, he’s still stiff as a board and nowhere close to relief. He fought a whole goddamn war and came back just to not be able to get his rocks off. What a joke.

Gently as he can, and with rampant self pity running loose, he disentangles from Jean’s snug self and throws himself beside her on his back.

Bewildered Jean is more than a little grateful for the intermission. She does her best to collect her wits, looking over at him and clocking his defeated expression and closed eyes, the hand pinching the bridge of his nose. And poor Little Croz that is a furious magenta red with veins about ready to burst from swelling, sticking straight up from between his legs.

Shifting onto her side to face him rubs her poor kitty just wrong -or right- and a helpless mewl escapes her as she creams herself again from that little movement alone. The sound and shudder of his wife makes Croz crack open an eye, watching intently as Jean bites her lip and timidly runs her fingers through the hair on his chest.

“Come sit on my lap, Jeanie.” he mumbles.

She perks up with a smile, “Whatever my hero wants, baby.” she condones before shakily straddling his lean hips and sinking down with a noticeable squelch. It earns a drawn out moan of satisfaction from both of them. Sensing the agony and desperation of the man beneath her as she begins to lift her hips and slam them back down, juices splash on her feet from the movement. To lift his spirits she attempts her best at shoving her tits in his face while she does it and gets her nipples tugged in thanks.

This right here is perfect, she’s so full she can hardly bear it but he feels so good she ignores the burn of her legs and keeps her pace up, the beautiful expanse of her man laid out before her a perfect spur. The sun seems to have set by now and through the open curtains the sounds and lights of the city pour in, glistening off his sweaty skin like a million stars and doing nothing to dim the noise of his appreciative moans, the hoarse grunts of her name, the sounds of their sticky hips colliding.

“I've dreamed about being full like this every night since you left.” Jean tells him, stuffed beyond her limits it feels like he’s so damn deep he could describe the feel of her cervix in detail.

She can feel those tight bowling balls she's sitting on that need to unload inside her, and precariously she reaches backwards to fondle them with one hand, remembering how he used to react to it. She gets her first high pitched whine of the evening from him at that, his chest heaving and his head thrashing, curls everywhere. “Bing -- oh it's big, it's big, I'll take it all though I-I promise….we gotta make you cum, baby.” she determines, not needing the discarded pillow or fuming passion to alert her to his desperation, “Lemme help you…just fill me up, let it alllll out... you need to, must be aching so bad”

At the mention of the ache he begins to buck into her wildly like a feral thing. Jean would have toppled off from his vigor if he hadn’t seized her hips in an iron grip and held her still for his assault from below. Jean hears herself squealing and whimpering and begging nonsense, still a bit fresh -and respectful- to this new and ferocious side of him. Somewhere in it though, Harry’s beginning to crack, frustration going from anger to fury to desperation to some boyish and pitiful need for relief.

Harry doesn’t mean to groan so loudly, so pathetically but it’s all so perfect and he’s so damn close and Jean’s like a sprinkler down there she’s enjoying herself so much and -why the hell can’t a fella just blow?

Jean instantly stills atop him and cradles his face tenderly, soft searching eyes and lips whispering about …something, something something “baby boy” -and he shudders. His pants are harsh as if he’s about to have a heart attack and his chest is so winded and achy he thinks he might. Or else cry.

Wouldn’t that be fun.

Beneath his hands he feels Jean’s hips begin to flex and she’s grinding on him again, twisting her hips in a slow figure eight that feels like a man’s heaven beneath his palms, and ten times that for his cock. It’s not doing it enough to make him blow but for a moment he decides that’s fine, he inflates his poor lungs again and lays back, admittedly a bit too stiff and rigid, and touches her as she pleases herself on top of him. She giggles shyly to him and her near constant moans are music to his ears as she swivels on his cock. He enjoys watched the pink little folds absorb him and the way their curls brush and mix where they meet, his lower belly a wet mess and streaks of the same running down to her ankles, they’ve made such a soup.

Clam fuckin’ chowder, by the looks of it.

Maybe he did blow. Doesn’t feel like it. And after watching and coaxing her through another melting peak, he lets her sag onto his chest for a minute and regroup before, with a kiss to her hair and a hard smack to her ass, he tells her,

“Hands and knees, Jean, if you want that baby -hands and knees.”

He barked it like an order, and while a little startled by it, she still wastes no time in flipping herself over and off him, scurrying into the position he specified, shaky from so many orgasms and the anticipation of him back atop her. Wincing inwardly at the thought of that package at this angle with how sore she already is-

-and he wastes no time. But instead of a cock she feels the shockingly familiar but never less exquisite feeling of his tongue running up the messy length of her slit. Her face collapses into the pillows along with her pleased shriek of “Bing!”.

He he laughs warm and wicked behind her, enjoying the ass up display of what he’s done to her.

“Spread ‘em Jean.” he tells her, and two dainty hands leave off from gripping the covers to bashfully pull her cheeks apart and show her husband where his fat cock belongs. He can see her pulsing down like a living entity of its own, even in this dim light.

“I'll be good... I'll be good for you, Major. Tell me what to do.” Jean swears hoarsely, those fawnish legs trembling again.

“Just take me.” he mutters simply, mounting her suddenly with his hand on the back of her head, keeping her cheek to the pillow and her scream muffled as he shoves in and begins to plow this squeaking little lady like tomorrow is indeed not promised to men like him.

Beneath him, between the high pitched squeals of pleasure and the urgent whines of endurance, Jean is muttering a litany of …something. Again and again she’s saying words like “it’s ok baby, it’s ok” and Harry isn’t sure if it’s meant for him or her, she sounds like a drunk fairy and his head begins to buzz with likelihood. “It’s ok baby, they told me you'd be like this, it’s ok. I can take it. I’ve missed you—“ she just keeps muttering that and vaguely Harry is pretty sure that comfort is meant for him and he wonders who ‘they’ are and what ‘like this’ even means.

On Jean’s part she is legitimately unsure who’s she’s trying to convince, likely herself but also, maybe that part of her between her legs that’s torn between panic and absolute ecstasy at his rough usage. Jean's mind spins at the realization of how much she likes it, likes the feral proof of how badly he missed her, needs her, wants her still. Her sweet and mild Harry climbed on top of her and is now railing her, and while it’s not your average little jaunt in the sheets, she clings to her pillow and takes it with something like pride…in between the moments when Harry’s fat cock wipes her mind a starry white as her legs kick up helplessly beneath him and her back arches and her hole clenches and another happy mess slides down her inner thighs to the sodden sheets.

And all through it the best of it is Harry and his voice, half sane sounding for once this evening as if to balance out the animalistic pose he has her in, groaning above her,

“That's it, be my good girl..my good, good girl. Always so good to me.”

He’s petting her hair like she’s a damn Labrador or something, wrapping her beautiful curls around his hand, arched over her like a cat, it’s perfect and he’s so deep he thinks he could fuck his balls in, foot placed sturdily on the bed beside her for further leverage.

“-Croz! You gotta!” His wife wails nonsensically beneath him, he picks her head up by the hair to hear what the hell she’s jabbering about now, husbandly rights or how she was ‘told’ he’d be.

She’s so cock wrecked it ain’t even funny but when he prods her with a “What's that Jean?” between thrusts he gets a slightly more formulated thought-

“You gotta put a baby in me!” she insists through sobs, orgasm after orgasm turning her into this shaking, shuddering, limp excuse of a woman.

A loverdoll, for real.

Her words ping in his head like that damn red light everywhere he goes on base. A light at the end of the tunnel, an eminent thing he’s needed for. Tightness seizes his belly and takes him unawares, suddenly Harry’s roaring out a resounding,

“Oh FUCK! Jean! Fuck-“ that bounces around the room like a cacophony.

The hotel guests next door might be

wondering why a moose is dying in

Manhattan? But no sweat, it’s just Major Crosby seeding his willing wife.

Like a soothing balm on a surgical wound, Jean feels him exploding warm and sticky and healing inside her at last. It doesn't stop coming, rope after rope of the thick, steaming hot gold of his body swelling her own and this adds the finishing touches to what was already a melted woman. In his last rapacious thrusts, she can feel her body playing the minx, trying to squeeze him out but her Croz is having none of it, like a dying man to water, he uses every bit of strength left to shove himself back in and flood her until she’s a collapsed and leaking mess.

In a haze, Croz pulls his now mercifully limp cock out of her and surveys her wrecked self with bleary, appreciative eyes. “Looks like you been through a war of your own, baby.” he jokes but his voice is so wrecked from his previous yells it startles his newly moderated self and he ends up toppled over beside her, no longer capable of giving a damn about anything.

His eyelids refuse to stay open and his neck is laying funny but -fuck! He was just inside Jean!

“You ok, Bing?” he hears her sweet voice whisper beside him and it was no dream then, and God forgive him he was probably mean. She’s panting beside him and when he can’t manage to answer he feels her hand grab his wrist and gently guide him somewhere until he’s petting startlingly warm petals that are saturated with his spunk.

“Think you managed to open me up, alright.” she titters, still sounding drunk and he can’t help the way his cheek crinkles in a returning smile.

Smashed into the pillow as it is, it’s still the prettiest expression of the best man Jean has ever known. “Y-Yeah.” her man croaks, half insensible but his beautiful hand keeps petting her where she’s sore and recently excavated, his identification bracelet jangling softly in the stillness, “You were such a good girl Jeanie..a good wife…ya did your job.” he mumbles more, fully in Major mode as he begins to drift off, forgetting entirely that maybe a fella shouldn't praise his wife like she's one of his men gotten back from a mission.

But Jean takes the compliment well, knowing how it’s meant, knowing that maybe tomorrow when he’s more conscious and healed, she may be blocked out from that world entirely. It’s a little glimpse and she takes it for what it is, with soft appreciation. Smilingly she lets go of his hand to give deflated Little Croz some pats, the sticky, shrunken thing is playing at being harmless and she has a longing to meanly suck on it until it shows it’s true colors again.

But no, for now, Croz’s heavy and nearly insessible arm throws itself over her waist and drags her to him, slotting the married couple together like spoons in their drawer.

They could try to shower but that seems too daunting a prospect at present, and highly futile considering what lies in store -more of the same. And for her part, Jean doesn’t dare move and slosh and waste any of what her Bing gave her. His forearm is heavy over her battered womb, cum and abuse swelling it just that little bit as if she were on her menses. She’s not, those were two weeks ago.

When his hand splays and cups the swollen bulge he made, Jean whispers to his already snoozing self, “We made a baby Bing, I just know it.”

And if not— there’s four more weeks to make certain.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[sagesolsticewrites]

friend, I am DESPERATE for a Harry and Jean homecoming fic 😭 his first day/night home. I know they'd be nervous after being apart for so long but how ADORABLE would that reunion be <3

BESTIE OMGGG wait this is so cute and I’m absolutely getting started on it asap 🥹

(also when I tell you I’m lowkey already working on a reunion fic for another character… 👀 maybe it’s the fact that I’m in a long distance relationship but I’m just a sucker for romantic reunions okay 😭)

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Too sweet

John Egan X RedCross! Reader

Summary: When Y/n breaks up with Harry Crosby, Bucky goes to help her...

Warning: Asshole!Harry Crosby/+18/ smut/ riding/ unprotected sex/ p in v/ hickey/ swearing/ kissing/ alcohol/ use of Y/n

Word count: 2.7k

The band was playing as Y/n and Harry Crosby made their way into the room. It was a party for someone’s 25th mission. Y/n was excited to drink what the barman was going to propose, words on the street was that he was good with fruity drinks. It was something new for the base, they usually drank whiskey, rhum and coca cola. ‘’I’ve heard that he makes new drinks, fruitier than your usual whiskey’’ she joked, but Crosby was not laughing. He was growing tired of Y/n’s sunshine personality. He liked her, but he liked her body more. They were just having sex at first, to blow off some steam, but Y/n started to visit him, and Crosby didn’t have to balls to tell her that it was just sex.

‘’He doesn’t deserve her’’ John Egan said to his friend, Buck. ‘’I completely agree with you, he seems tired of her’’ he adds. Ever since she came on the base as a Red Cross volunteer, Bucky was in awe of her. She was so beautiful, and she had this confident attitude that attracted the Major. Bucky kept looking at her from across the room as Crosby dragged her in front of the bar. ‘’You should convince her to, y’a know, leave him’’ Rosie Rosenthal said, taking a sip of his drinks as he joined the conversation. Egan’s head turned to look at Rosie, questioning his motive, but still, John agreed with him. Helen joined the men, with her drink in the hand, she came next to Rosie. ‘’I heard that he’s the missionary king. Kinda boring if you want my opinion’’ she took a sip, smirking. Gale Cleven scoffed before looking at Y/n, the woman looked desperate for someone to save her.

She adjusted her dress, the one she wore for him. It was bright red, the buttons stopped in the middle of her breast, exposing cleavage, the dress stopped mid thigh. It was beautiful, Y/n thought she looked amazing in it; but when Harry Crosby saw her, he just said that she looked nice. It pained her, she put a lot of effort in her look to just be told that she looked nice. ‘’I’ll have a whiskey, neat’’ Crosby ordered. Y/n stuttered a little bit, she didn’t know what to say. She looked at the menu, filled with colorful drinks before choosing one with grenadine and gin. Helen came to her rescue, pulling her away from Crosby as Y/n grabbed her drink. ‘’I’m borrowing her’’ Helen said to Harry. She almost spilled her drink, but when she sat on the table, Helen looked at her. ‘’Him? Y/n you deserve better’’ she stated. ‘’We’re not official, and he’s really tired, his job is hard.’’ she excused him, again. Helen rolled her eyes, before looking at John Egan. ‘’By the look of things, you’ll never be official with him. He looks bored’’ she tries to reason her friend. Y/n fidgeted with her fingers, taking a sip of her drink. It was really tasty! ‘’It’s complicated, he’s still with Jean’’ Y/n whispered. Helen choked on her drink, almost spitting it. ‘’WHAT?!’’ she exclaimed; Y/n looked at the ground.

John Egan was looking at Y/n, that red dress suited her perfectly. She was breathtaking. When they heard Helen exclaim loudly, Buck and Rosie looked at each other. ‘’Holy shit’’ Rosie chuckled as he read Helen’s lips. ‘’What?’’ Bucky asked, looking at Rosie. ‘’If I understand correctly, he’s still with his wife’’ Rosie whispered. Bucky started to laugh. ‘’Harry Crosby, you son of a bitch’’ he mumbled, chuckling. Harry Crosby made his way into the crowd, looking for Y/n, when he got to her, he practically pulled her away from her chair. Y/n walked past Bucky, smiling to him as she was being dragged in the room.

‘’Another whiskey, neat please’’ he ordered the same thing. Y/n tried a lot of things, it was all good, she tried to convince Harry to try other things, but he was sticking with his whiskey neat. ‘’Croz, the Cosmopolitan is really good, I’m sure you’ll like – ‘’ Harry Crosby slammed his hand on the table, not to strong, but loud enough to make the woman flinch. ‘’Goddamnit, Y/n, for the last time. I don’t want to try your fruity drinks! God, how many times do I have to tell you?!’’ he said, aggressively. ‘’I, uh, I’’ she stuttered, in shock of what just happened. ‘’You and your sweet stuff. *scoff*, pathetic. Why can’t you just be like Jean, obedient and silent. No, I have to deal with your sweet and ‘I always see things in a positive way’ bullshit. Your just too sweet for me!’’ he spat. The waiter put his whiskey on the table. Y/n had enough, she took his glass and got up her seat. ‘’You know what? I’d like to see things for your point of view, but I can’t get my head so far up my ass. Fuck you Harry Crosby, we’re done. Go back to your wife, you must miss her after all!’’ she said as she threw his whiskey on him.

That’s my girl! That’s what John Egan thought when he saw Y/n throw whiskey on Harry Crosby. He had it coming for a while now. He was so proud of her; he had a huge grin on his face. ‘’Go after her’’ Helen suggested, and that’s what he did. He saw her going outside, so that’s where he went. ‘’Y/n, wait!’’ he called her out. She had pure anger running through her veins. But she knew that it wasn’t Crosby going after her. She turned around and saw him. ‘’Bucky, hi’’ she cleared her throat. ‘’Are you okay? I, uh, saw the scene’’ he scratched the back of his head. She replaced her hair, looking at Bucky. ‘’Yeah, he's such an asshole’’ she scoffed. John walked closer to her, she wasn’t crying, but she was angry at Crosby. ‘’You want to get out of here?’’ he asked her, she tilted her head in confusion. ‘’Where would we go?’’ she asked. ‘’Not out of the base, but out of this aera, where he could come out’’ he clarified. She nodded as John led her gently to his Jeep.

They entered the woman’s quarters, but they were empty, since everyone was at the party. ‘’By the way, you look astonishing in that dress.’’ He complimented her. Her cheeks grew red as she bit her bottom lip. ‘’Thank you, Bucky, I, uh, you look handsome too’’ she stuttered. ‘’Those drinks looked really good; I wished I tasted one’’ he said. Y/n smiled, truly happy. That’s all he had to do, was it so hard Harry? ‘’Yeah, they were’’ she whispers as she awkwardly looks around the room. ‘’Can I ask you a question?’’ he asked her. She nodded as she sat on her bed. ‘’Why were you with him?’’ he asks. Y/n smiles as she thinks. ‘’Honestly, I thought he was going to be nice and caring. But he wasn’t, and the sex was bad’’ she blurted out the last part, putting her hand in front of her mouth in shock. ‘’God, I’m sorry, please forget I said that’’ she chuckles nervously. ‘’Don’t worry, I already knew that Helen told me’’ he confessed.

They’ve been talking for a while now; nurses were starting to come back. ‘’You have to go; you’re not supposed to be here’’ Y/n signs. John got up, so did Y/n. ‘’I’m not ready for this night to be over’’ he confesses. She blushes as she looks at him. ‘’Me neither’’ she whispers. Bucky smirks as she takes her hand, leading her outside. They got up in his Jeep as they went inside Bucky’s quarters, since he was important on the base, he had his own room. It was in the building where everyone lived, but still, it gave him a little bit of privacy. ‘’Don’t worry about them’’ he whispered as she saw men on their bed. Some men were already sleeping, others were reading and the ones that looked at her were smiling, because they saw what happened with Crosby.

When they entered his room, she felt a weird sense of déjà vu. She’d been here, in this building multiple times with Crosby, but now, she felt like she was important. When she was here, they would have fast and boring sex, usually in missionary. After sex, Harry would fall asleep, he fell asleep around 3pm, leaving Y/n alone, bored and unsatisfied. ‘’What’s going on in your pretty head?’’ Bucky asked as he closed the door. ‘’Nothing, I’m happy to be here’’ she said, not too loudly. Bucky smiled; she was so beautiful. She got comfortable, taking her shoes off and taking a seat on his bed, where he joined her after taking off his jacket. He was a little bit nervous, only because she was so beautiful. ‘’What did Helen told you, y’a know, about the sex?’’ she asked, smiling. Bucky chuckled and looked at her in the eyes. ‘’That he was the missionary king, and it was boring’’ he explains. ‘’Yeah, uh, she’s right.’’ She laughed nervously. ‘’He was that bad?’’ he asked. Y/n nodded as she blushes. ‘’He was’’ she whispers.

The air in the small room felt hot and thick. They’ve been talking about sex for a while and Y/n was hot, the small room was not helping. ‘’Tell me something true’’ Y/n said. He let out a breath before finding the courage to say what he was about to say. ‘’I really want to kiss you right now’’ he breathed out. Her breath caught in her throat as she blinked and looked at him. ‘’Tell me something true, Y/n.’’ he said seductively. She didn’t even have to think twice. ‘’I really want you to kiss me’’ she breathed out. She looked at his eyes, then his lips and his eyes again. Their face was so close, the air in the room was so heavy. Bucky put his hands on her cheek before pressing his lips on hers. The kiss felt like sunrise, it felt so good. Harry Crosby wasn’t a good kisser, but John Egan was a really good kisser. They pulled away to catch their breaths. ‘’Please… Don’t stop’’ she whispered. ‘’I wasn’t planning on it’’ he smirked. Their lips crashed against the other again, this time, it was more intense. Bucky hands trailed down her body, he laid down on the bed, making Y/n got on his lap.

His hands were getting under her skirt, trailing on her thighs, getting closer to her panties. ‘’That red dress is driving me crazy’’ he mumbled against her lips. Her hips grinned against his lap, she felt him growing hard under her. ‘’At least, someone found it hot’’ she chuckled. ‘’Yeah, more than hot – ‘’ his hips buckled, making her feel his boner. ‘’- Feel that? That’s what that dress does to me’’ he smirked. ‘’Just a dress? It doesn’t take you much’’ she giggles. He scoffed before kissing her neck. ‘’Yeah, just that. You looked like a goddess’’ he sucked the skin on her neck, making a mark. She was out of breath, she wasn’t used to this much foreplay, she felt a little dizzy, but it was in the best way possible. His hands were still on her thighs, playing with her panties, taunting her a little bit. But, even if she loved what was happening, she was frustrated, she needed Bucky right now. ‘’Major, I need you. I love the foreplay and stuff, but please; I need you’’ she breathed out. He smirked as he reached her panties. ‘’Whatever you want, darling’’ he said as he took her panties off. Her hands reached his belt, she unbuckled it as she eagerly watched him. ‘’As long as I love this dress, I want to see you’’ he said, unbuttoning her dress. ‘’Then, let me see you’’ she replied, looking at him.

They quickly undressed before going in the same position they were in before. She was naked, on top of him, Bucky was also naked. She was soaking wet, she wasn’t used to this much attention, so it turned her on a lot. ‘’Ride me, sweetheart, c’mon’’ he encouraged her. She sunk down on him, her breath caught in her throat because of the size of his length. ‘’Holy shit’’ she moaned. ‘’Breath, Y/n, take your, shit, take your time’’ he mumbled. His head was thrown back, she was really tight and felt heavenly. She began grinding on him, slowly, to make sure that it didn’t hurt. ‘’Atta girl’’ he breathed out. As she familiarized herself with his size, Y/n began to move a little faster. Bucky’s hand went on her hips, he wanted to guide her. But she was going to the pace that he was looking for. ‘’You’re so big…’’ she moaned as she leaned to kiss him. He chuckled before kissing her. When she felt one of his hands on her breast, she moaned inside his mouth. He played with her tit, teasing her nipple; he loved watching her body react to him, it felt good, seeing the effect he had on her.

The heavy breathing coming out of their mouth was erotic, the fact that they had to keep quiet was pure torture. As they came closer to their orgasm, it was more difficult to keep quiet. She felt a not in her stomach, her climax was close, but a small part of herself didn’t want it to be over, she was truly enjoying it. ‘’I’m close’’ she managed to whisper. ‘’Me too, cum with me’’ he pleaded. She tried to hold her orgasm, but it was hard. Her thighs were shaking. ‘’Bucky, I need too – ‘’ ‘’Cum, now’’ he ordered. They both reached their climax at the same time, they tried to keep quiet, but the pleasure was too much. Bucky sucked her neck again to keep quiet, marking her again.

Bucky and Y/n had to take a moment to recover from what just happened, it was truly amazing, they couldn’t believe it. ‘’Thank you for this amazing sex’’ she breathed out, smiling. ‘’You’re welcome, and I agree, it was amazing’’ he smiled. She decided to sleep here, postponing her walk of shame tomorrow. She put on one of his shirts as she laid beside him. She felt happy, her stomach had butterflies. When she fell asleep, she didn’t even think about Harry Crosby, she thought about John Egan.

A knock on the door woke them up, it was potentially someone telling Bucky that he was flying today, but when she opened the door, Y/n was surprised to see Harry Crosby. When he saw her, his mouth slightly opened. ‘’Y/n, what are you doing in Bucky’s room?’’ he asked. Bucky walked behind Y/n, she felt like she had a scary dog privilege. ‘’What do you want, Croz?’’ Bucky asked. ‘’You, uh, you’re needed, the, uh, Colonel wants to see you’’ he stuttered, seeing the marks in Y/n’s neck. She looked at her watch, it was almost time for her shift. ‘’Shoot I gotta go, see y’a’’ she kissed Bucky’s neck as she put her dress on, not bothering to button it since she was going to change. Crosby had his jaw on the floor, it wasn’t a walk of shame, it was a walk of power.

She was sitting on a table; it was her break. She’d been giving out coffee for hours, she didn’t want a boring black coffee, she wanted a good coffee, with milk and sugar, sadly milk and sugar was for Majors. ‘’Is there anyone sitting here?’’ Harry Crosby asked, with two cups of coffee in his hands. She didn’t want to talk to him, but he sat down on the table anyway. He pushed one cup in front of her: black coffee. Y/n looked at the cup, then slowly rose her head to look a Crosby. ‘’What do you want?’’ she asked. ‘’I’m so sorry for yesterday, I didn’t know – ‘’ she cut him off with her hand. ‘’Crosby, you came here to get me back?’’ she asked, with a hint of disgust. He nodded. ‘’I don’t want to hear it, you humiliated me, told me I was boring, and you’re married!’’ at the same time, Bucky came to sit next to her, handing her a cup of coffee with milk and sugar. ‘’Milk and sugar, just how you like it’’ he smiled as he sat down. Bucky kissed her cheek before looking at Crosby. ‘’You said it yourself, Harry, I’m too sweet for you’’

[ginabaker1666]

All Of Me

From the Love Letters Series

Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

Jo struggles with her response to Rosie's first letter but later finds help in an unlikely friend with shared common ground. It's his second letter back-to-back, however, that stacks her worry like wobbly apple crates, ready to tumble at a moment's notice.

Read part 2 Here Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist

October 1943

My Dearest Robbie, 

Today is Halloween, so it would be remiss of me not to wish you a Happy one. I know you won’t be celebrating; not that we are either, but it’s still heartwarming to see some of the littles in the neighborhood running up and down the streets looking for sweets. I’m saving a Hershey bar for when you’re back, so that we can share it like we always do. The leaves have all turned by now, and Prospect Park is a beautiful shade of golden hues. I’ve taken to walking with your sister, as it fills a small void in my days. She’s excellent company, and somehow always has some local gossip at the ready for when I need cheering up. I couldn’t help myself and told her the story of your bicycling disaster. Please don’t be too mad at me. I hope that by now, you’ve learned to ride a bike properly, and that poor Pappy hasn’t had to fish you out of any more ditches. Please thank him for me, because I don’t know what I would have done if he had not been there to rescue you.

If I know you at all, I know that you’ve been hemming and hawing over the weather over there, but the longer it rains in England, the better I feel knowing you’re on solid ground. I’m glad to know you’re able to find some respite in the Officers Club, even if it’s just some jazz records and mediocre scotch. Good company can make all the difference and it warms my heart to know you have that in your crew and fellow officers. I’m putting my bet in now on Nash and the Red Cross girl. Having someone is important, so if he finds that in her, I’m glad for them both. Tell Pappy not to be so pessimistic though, I’m sure Nash will make her very happy. 

Speaking of having someone waiting, I paid a visit to Harry Crosby’s wife, Jean. I thought she could use a friend, so we spent an afternoon in the city, having lunch and doing some shopping. It’s lonely enough moving to a new city, but with her husband overseas, I can’t imagine how she feels. I know how I feel waiting for you, and so she must feel it tenfold. With the holidays approaching, I’ve invited her to spend Thanksgiving with us. I couldn’t bear the idea of her spending it alone. She’s a darling woman, and I agree, we will have to double with her and Harry once you’re both home. 

Sweetheart, how you could ever think that I will not worry about you while you’re over there, is a mystery. I will worry, and miss you, every single day until you’re back home. I will be holding you to that date, Robbie, and am counting the days until we’re on the dance floor, together. Until then…

Forever yours, 

Jo

Reaching for the bottle of perfume on the dresser, Jo quickly spritzed a generous helping of the floral scent on the paper in her hand, to ensure it lasted the long journey, before folding it up and sliding it into its designated envelope. Carefully, and with a delicate hand, she addressed the letter to Thorpe Abbotts Airbase. She had received Rosie’s first letter earlier in the week, and had spent that time drafting multiple responses; all of which had ended up in the waste paper basket in the corner of her bedroom. She had spent three nights mulling it over, before deciding that she should clear her head, and write as if he was sitting next to her. Well, it was not so much her deciding as it was advice from Jean Crosby. If anyone had experience in writing these types of letters, it was Jean. And so, Jo had written as if Rosie was sitting next to her; as if he was leaning across the table and telling her the details of his latest adventure with enthusiasm, and she had written back with equal vigor. 

Picking up the letter, and her purse, she made her way from the bedroom, downstairs to where her mother was having coffee with Mrs. Rosenthal. Entering the kitchen, both women ceased their discussion to greet her, her mother holding out an envelope for her. 

“Josephine, this came in the mail for you.” 

Jo gently plucked the envelope from her mothers hand, smiling when she saw the handwriting on the front was none other than Rosie’s. Carefully, she slipped it into her purse to read once she was alone. 

“Another letter so quickly?” Her mother’s grin widened. “He must miss you terribly.”

“He doesn’t write to me that frequently,” Mrs. Rosenthal joked, sending a subtle wink in Jo’s direction. “But then again, he’s not in love with me.”

“Somehow, I think he’ll always love you most, Mrs. Rosenthal, and I’m quite alright with that.” Jo smiled. 

“Where are you off to?” Her mother asked, noticing that she had her purse in hand. 

“Off to post this to Robbie, and then to meet Jean Crosby for lunch.” 

“Oh, well then, travel safely, and let her know she’s welcome to come here for dinner tonight if she wants.” 

“I’ll let her know, mom,” Jo smiled, moving to bid her mother goodbye with a quick peck to the cheek, before doing the same with Mrs. Rosenthal. “Now, you two can go back to your gossip.”

“It’s not gossip, Josephine, if we’re talking about our children.” The older woman’s voice held a lilt to it as Jo exited the kitchen. 

“Then stop planning our wedding!” Jo called back with a laugh as she exited their home and made her way out into the Brooklyn sunshine.  

The fall air was chilly, but not unbearably so as she walked down the block to the Post Office, letter in hand and a prayer in her mind that it would reach Rosie safely. She knew that the post could be unreliable, and take time to reach those stationed overseas, but she hoped against all odds that maybe her letter would get to its intended recipient a little faster than all the rest. It was silly of her to think so, after all, she wasn’t the only woman in New York who was missing her sweetheart, but this was new to her. To both of them. Beginning a romance with thousands of miles between them. Some days Jo regretted not saying anything sooner, wondering if they would have had time before he shipped out. But, then she thinks to herself that they did have time; years together growing up, and learning the ways of each other inside and out, and for that she would always be thankful. 

A short cab ride later, and Jo was knocking on Jean Crosby’s front door. When the door swung open, Jean on the other side, the two women greeted each other as if they were old friends. A kinship that was shared in the dark times of war, but somehow found a ray of light to brighten their days. 

“Jo! I was starting to think you got lost!” Her friend teased. 

“No,” Jo grinned, red lips stretched into a smile. “I had to stop by the post and drop off Robbie’s letter.”

“Finally finished it, then?”

“I did. And just in time to reply to the one I got this morning.”

“Back to back?” Jean looked at her, eyebrow raised in what Jo could only describe as concern. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jean sighed, stopping mid way of pulling her white gloves on, to face Jo with a serious expression. 

“Well…”

“You don’t think…”

“The only time I get back to back letters from Bing, is when something bad is happening over there.”

“Jean…”

“If it came from him, he’s fine, honey.” she reached out, hand coming down over Jo’s in reassurance. 

“It’s in my purse,” Jo confessed. “I haven’t read it yet.”

“Do you want to go sit and read it before we leave?”

“I suppose I’d feel better if I knew for sure he was alright.”

Nodding, Jean pulled off her gloves, and dropped her purse back on the credenza by the door, before guiding Jo further into the house.

Once settled in the living room, Jean began to step away, to allow Jo the privacy that a letter from your man overseas deserved, when Jo’s hand shot out to stop her. 

“Could you…?”

“Of course.” Jean smiled softly, settling into the sofa next to her, but with enough space not to read over her shoulder. 

Jo carefully opened the envelope, fingers trembling as she slid the paper from its confines. Unfolding it, her eyes scanned over the paper quickly, before releasing a shuddering breath of relief. 

“He’s alright,” her hand flew to her chest as the words escaped her. “He’s somewhere called the Flak House?”

“Never heard of that,” Jean looked confused. “What is it?”

My Dearest Jo,

Sweetheart, I can’t promise this letter will be as happy as my last one. What I can promise is that I’m alright, and spending the next week in the English countryside at a place called the Flak House. It’s a place used to help soldiers rest after rough missions. Jo, it’s been three rough ones, back to back, with what felt like no end in sight. I will spare you the details, because you shouldn’t have to read about all of the blood, and horrors, but I do sadly need to tell you that we lost Herbert Nash on the first mission. It happened so quickly, it didn’t register until I had my feet on the ground again. I broke the news to Helen, his Red Cross girl, and I pray that what I saw on her face, is something no one will ever have to see on yours. 

One day, maybe, I will give you the details of our third mission, but for now, I know I should be counting my blessings. And enjoying this time, because sweetheart, this estate truly is something, but the kind of something I would want to be enjoying with you. Together, in the warm sun, reading our favorite books, or rowing on the lake. The boys are enjoying their week of R&R, but I can’t find it in me to relax. Though, I suppose you knew that already. Nobody knows me better than you, Jo, and it’s a time like this that I wish I had you near. 

I couldn’t sleep, which is the reason for this letter, and I think a part of it is that I needed to make sure you knew I was alright. The other part of me, in some way, needed to get this all off my chest. I’m sorry for burdening you with these ugly truths. I’ll try not to do it often, and I hope that it doesn’t become a habit with every mission, that I’m left rattled to my core with fear. I can hear you telling me to take care of myself, and honey, I promise I’m trying. By the time this makes it to you back home, I will be long gone from my stay here, and back on base. I’m sorry for the short letter, darling. I promise the next one will be longer, and happier. Until then…

All of my love, always

Robbie

Jo finished reading, her stomach dropping as she turned to Jean, to confirm that the other woman had in fact, been right. 

“Jo, what is it?”

“He couldn’t say much, spared most of the details, but he said it was rough up there.”

“Is he alright?”

“Robbie’s fine,” Jo confirmed. “But, Herbert Nash, is dead.”

“Oh that poor Red Cross girl!” She gasped, hand coming to cover her mouth in shock. “Didn’t they just meet?”

“They did,” Jo nodded. “I told Robbie I was rooting for the pair in the letter I just posted.”

“How could you have known?”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel sore over it.”

“I know you do,” Jean sympathized. The woman had enough sense to stand, and pull Jo up with her, knowing if she didn’t get them out of the house, her friend would likely spiral with worry. “Now come on, put that letter back in your purse, and let’s get out of the house for a bit.”

With a sigh, Jo nodded, and carefully put the letter back in the safety of her purse, before turning and following Jean towards the front door. For now, she could breathe easy, knowing that Rosie was safe. She knew that his mind was likely full of dark clouds, replaying events of the damage over and over, causing him grief and sadness; it brought with it a melancholy feeling that she wasn’t with him, and couldn’t be there for him to lean on. She knew he had his crew, and now, Harry Crosby, and she prayed that he had the sense to use that to his advantage. 

Jo was grateful that she had Jean. Their afternoon out kept her mind off of the letter that was burning a hole in her purse, and the man who was an ocean away, suffering the loss of a friend. They had stopped by the Automat for lunch, before taking the train uptown for some window shopping, and at Jo’s insistence, a new hat for Jean. By the time she had gotten back home, her mother was already cleaning up dinner. Her father was in the living room, the radio on while he listened to the nightly news. 

“Josephine, you missed dinner.” Her mother lamented at the sound of the front door closing behind her. 

“I’m sorry, mom,” Jo sighed, entering the kitchen and sliding into one of the empty chairs. “We got a late start on our lunch.”

Turning from her spot at the sink, Mrs. Harris surveyed her daughter, before promptly shutting the water and moving to sit across from her. 

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Jean and I just had a busy day is all.”

“Josephine, don’t lie to me.” She spoke with the authority of a mother who meant business, and Jo couldn’t help the few tears that escaped from behind her eyes. 

“Robbie’s letter,” she swiftly wiped away the first stray tear. “Oh mom, he lost one of his closest friends!”

Mrs. Harris let out a shuddering breath at Jo’s admission. The fear she had felt at the sight of her daughter's tears made her think the absolute worst for the young man who had become part of their family, and stolen her daughter’s heart. 

“Who was it?” Mrs. Harris asked. 

“Herbert Nash. He trained with Robbie in Texas, and he was killed on their first mission.”

“May his soul rest in peace.” Mrs. Harris made the sign of the cross. 

“Robbie said it was so bad, three flights, back to back. He didn’t say much else, just that it was too much blood and horror to share.”

“Jesus, that poor boy.”

Jo fished the letter from her purse, sliding it across the table to her mother, giving a small nod for her to read it. 

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“Just the once.” Jo smiled slightly. 

“Well, alright then.”

Mrs. Harris pulled the paper from the envelope, and then the only sound in the room was the breathing of mother and daughter, and the muffled sound of the radio coming from the living room. The pair sat together until Jo’s mother folded the paper back up, and handed it back to her. The silence was growing thicker the longer they sat there, neither sure of what to say. When Jo’s father joined them in the kitchen, the two women seemed to snap out of their daze. 

“What’s going on in here then?”

“She’s got another letter from Robert.”

“Didn’t you just get one? Is he alright?” 

Jo nor her mother missed the recognition in Mr. Harris’ eyes. Having served in The Great War, he knew what could be in any one of the letters his daughter received, and he hoped for her sake, that none of them would make her cry the way she was now. 

“He’s fine. Lost a man during his first mission, and was sent to an estate for rest.” Her mother filled him in for her. 

“Jesus, already? Didn’t the boy just get over there?” Her father looked shocked. 

“He said it was really bad, dad.” Jo spoke up, finding her voice again. 

“Well, the best thing you can do is be there for him, even though you’re far away right now.” Her mother let her hand fall to cover hers, eyes filled with the understanding of a woman whose husband had been away once before. 

“Your mother was what kept me going during the war,” Her father agreed. “I can promise you, Robert will take your words with him up there when he’s flying.”

“Go now,” her mother ushered her out of the kitchen. “Clean yourself up and write him back. You’ll sleep better tonight knowing you got your feelings out.”

She felt heavy as she stood from her chair, her legs like lead as she made her way upstairs to her bedroom, numbness encompassing her until she had the door shut securely behind her. The words blood and horror swirling around in her mind over and over, like the edges of a cyclone that showed no signs of slowing down. Is that what this was? A storm that would continue to speed up, with nothing to stop it, until the last bomb was dropped, the last round fired? She wasn’t sure, but she turned the ideas over and over, words sticking together in her head as she changed for bed, removed her makeup, until finally, she pulled out the chair at her desk to begin her reply to Rosie. 

My Dearest Robbie, 

Sweetheart, I don’t think there are enough words for me to express just how sorry I am for you after opening your last letter. To lose Nash so quickly, and in such a way. I hope that it didn’t pain you too deeply to break that news to his Red Cross sweetheart, and that she is able to find some happiness again soon. Do not apologize for the length of your last letter. Every letter from you is something I treasure, whether it’s three words, or three pages. I will always reply, so long as you’ll have me. 

I’d like to hear more about the Estate you spent the week at, if you’re willing to talk about it. It does sound like the kind of place I would love to spend time with you, though, anywhere you are, is somewhere I want to be. Maybe we can escape somewhere lush and green once you return, and spend our days under the sun, with nothing but time on our hands. Until then, yes, you were right, I do wish you’d take care of yourself. I know you will, but that sometimes it takes a bit of pushing. Don’t try and shoulder the burden all alone, Robbie. You have people who will shoulder it with you; Pappy isn’t just your co-pilot in the sky. Try and remember that. 

I’d like to try and make you smile, if only for a moment. I found our mothers gossiping at the kitchen table this afternoon as I headed out. They claim it’s not gossip if they’re talking about their children; I suspect they’re plotting as usual. Speaking of your mother, try and squeeze in an extra letter for her, if you can. She misses you, though she claims to be alright with you writing to me more than her, I know she’d appreciate an extra piece of mail and to know you’re doing well. Don’t give her too much grief for the gossip, you know she can’t help it.

I’m counting the days until you’re here again, Robbie, and we can carry on as we were meant to; together. Until that time comes, I’m sending you all of my love. 

All of me, always

Jo

Read Part 4 Here

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

Tag List: @winniemaywebber @sagesolsticewrites @rosiesriveter @bobparkhurst @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @rowdy-redhead @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd @basilone @at-1800-hours @justheretoreadthxxs @claireelizabeth85

[forasecondtherewedwon]

hanging clothes

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairing: Harry Crosby x Sandra Westgate Rating: M Word Count: 1687

Summary: They’d let the night grow late around them, cozy by the fire, and then she’d said goodnight, and then she’d reached for him, and then she’d reached for him again.

If it was wrong (it was), at least it was honest: how he was looking at her. How Sandra knew it. God help Crosby because he hadn’t been subtle, but she’d been letting him get away with his long glances, the heavy gaze he kept foisting upon her. She’d always looked away. I can see that you’re married, she’d said when they’d met. Now, why did that fact work on her and not on him?

He loved his wife. He loved her so much that he didn’t just go and say something stupid like, I love my wife, and then make a move on his roommate regardless of that little legal commitment. He loved Jean too much to use her to cover his ass. If he cheated, he wouldn’t let it touch her.

Trying to pinpoint the time if became possible made him nauseous—and Crosby knew nauseous. If he had to guess—and Crosby knew guessing—he’d have said it was losing Bubbles. Bubbles had idolized Crosby and Jean’s relationship, gently though, practically. The letter that had found Crosby here at Oxford did something unexpected: it placed Jean, who was alive, alongside Bubbles, who was… who was dead. To Jean, Bubbles was just as alive as Crosby was, which, rather than sustaining Bubbles’ vitality a little longer, instead made Crosby feel as though his wife’d had a premonition of his death. It didn’t make him feel good, reading that letter. Somebody was always out of place.

Since he’d left her back home, Crosby had thought it was Jean. She’d seemed like she was on the other side of a high fence, and everything he had to do was part of a climb to get back to her. The first time he’d vaulted the fence—surviving a mission—he’d realized there would be more than one. After that, he’d kept jumpin’ ’em, but now, most of the guys he’d known missing or dead, he wasn’t even sure he felt like running anymore, let alone throwing himself up and over another fence that wouldn’t be the last. He couldn’t see the end of them. And the sight of Bubbles’ name in Jean’s handwriting… It was like Bubbles had gone over a fence Crosby couldn’t crane far enough to see the other side of, and it was killing Crosby that it felt as if Bubbles were with Jean, both of them forever untouchable, preserved someplace. He didn’t know how to write his wife back and tell her to stop mentioning Bubbles in her letters. He just wanted Jean to know without having to write it down. Equally, he didn’t want her to know. He wanted her apart from all this. He guessed he wanted two lives.

Don’t touch her, Crosby thought as Sandra set her glass on the table with a solid clack, getting out of this sad bar for two before last call.

But then she leaned towards him and gripped his arm. It was sympathy in her eyes, that was all, round and shiny with the reflected flames from the fire and the alcohol she’d tossed back with a tough elegance he’d felt someplace in his spine.

Crosby looked down, not yet embarrassed by the emotion he’d shown, but beginning to collect himself, to tell himself it was no good now, crying alone by the fire. He didn’t know for a fact that he’d have the strength to stop if he was on his own.

Sandra was on her feet and almost past him when she touched him again, her fingers trailing along his shoulder. Crosby’s heart pounded. In a flash, he’d reached up and caught her fingertips. He swallowed, then glanced up to her face. The first touch, he’d understood, but the second? Call him crazy, but it felt like Sandra’s answer to all his staring.

She returned his look like she was what the British officers believed Crosby to be: a foreigner out of their depth, unversed in local customs. Again, the relevant custom was sex, and Sandra was a self-declared “undersexed” Briton; he, a married man. But Crosby looked at Sandra and thought her naïveté was brave. Not ignorant, not something to be ashamed of. The room assignment hadn’t alarmed her. His stares hadn’t warned her off. They’d let the night grow late around them, cozy by the fire, and then she’d said goodnight, and then she’d reached for him, and then she’d reached for him again.

“Tell me what to think,” he said, holding her gaze and her fingers.

“I’m not sure I know myself, Captain.”

“You’re still a terrible liar.”

He got to his feet. Her fingertips brushed the softened pleat in his pantleg when he let them go. On impulse, he stroked her neck with the back of his fingers and felt the rabbit leap of her pulse. She watched him from the corner of her eye. He stared at her, longing.

When Sandra went, Crosby followed, leaving behind the glasses, the bottle, the fireside scene any romantic with half a brain could populate with a couple of lonely hearts. There was the faint swish of her stockings on the carpet, the thicker shuffle of his socks as he padded across the floor after her. They’d done their talking in his rooms, because it would’ve been so much more dangerous for her to invite him into hers—where he went now, navigating the corridor that separated their living spaces, not drunk but warmed through.

She stepped just inside the bedroom and turned. He glanced past her, taking in the bed, the full-length mirror, the chair just like the one in the bedroom he’d been assigned. He’d sat on his chair that morning to tie his shoes.

“You’re not coming in,” Sandra remarked.

Crosby rubbed his forehead.

“I don’t seem to be leaving either.” He laughed softly.

Tell me what to do, he wanted to request, as easily as he’d requested that she tell him what to think. Tell me who to be. Tell me it’s ok, or that it’s not. Tell me you know my type, and then describe it to me so I can figure out who I am again.

He just wanted something tender. He’d go to war just so he wouldn’t be in pain for a while. And she was lovely in the light of the fire, in the cool dark of the bedroom behind her. Both ways.

Sandra touched him again, cupping his cheek in her palm. He shut his eyes.

“We can pretend it was an accident,” she murmured, her hand slipping from his face.

Crosby opened his eyes because he didn’t know what she meant, only to see her closing the door in his face. Except she stopped while it was still ajar. He wanted to ask whether that was goodnight then, but he didn’t need to. He didn’t need to because he could still see the mirror through the cracked door. His eyes met Sandra’s in her reflection as she clicked on a lamp and began to unbutton her shirt.

Oh, this. This could be the accident. His cheeks flushed dramatically the instant he understood. His jaw clenched as he watched her, her pace unrushed but steady, each button slipped free of its hole with intention. Sandra gave her shirt a tug to untuck the tail from her skirt, then finished with the buttons. She was wearing a camisole underneath. It wasn’t sexy—nothing you’d paint on the nose of a B-17—but she wore it close to her body, under her uniform, and so Crosby was blindsided by how womanly it seemed, how private, how feminine.

Sandra painstakingly unrolled the sleeves she’d shoved up her arms earlier in the evening, then slipped off the shirt and walked out of Crosby’s field of view. He smiled at the thought that she’d probably gone to hang it up. He couldn’t imagine she’d be concerned about whether or not putting her clothes away properly was seductive, but he found that it was. He appreciated her routine. He liked that she couldn’t lie.

When she returned before the mirror, they found each other again and he felt something more. Sandra unbuttoned and unzipped her skirt. Crosby realized he was squeezing the doorjamb, his heart beginning to race. She pushed the wool down her hips, then started to bend over to, presumably, put it away as neatly as she had her shirt, but she straightened abruptly. He could tell by the way she avoided his eyes in the mirror that she must have been blushing. She nudged the skirt aside with her foot, and his gaze fell on her legs, roving from the girdle that covered her hips to her toes pointing in transparent stockings.

He didn’t think she was married, but he wasn’t sure. Did Sandra have a somebody too? A somebody who wouldn’t understand what she wished she’d never had to know? Crosby needed her so badly. He needed her to answer questions he felt he could only articulate with his body. He’d bet she felt the same. He couldn’t say another damn thing out loud, but he didn’t think he’d need to, not with Sandra. It could all be an accident. A botched room assignment—whoops. A little too much to drink by the fire—an honest mistake. His body on hers—fast, before they could think, so fast he didn’t get his pants all the way off.

His hand was on the doorknob.

How quickly could you fall in love? And was it worth it, to love more, when love burned the water out of you, making you weep in old buildings with near-strangers? When all you wanted, selfishly, was for the love you already had in you to stop? To stop, to end the pain in your chest, your throat, your gut? Crosby could enter, and they could search for answers without words.

He drew the door closed.

“Goodnight, Captain,” Sandra said from within.

“Goodnight,” he replied from without.

Crosby rested his forehead against the door and sighed. He felt an odd sense of mercy, but he didn’t know who it belonged to.

[seven-dragons]

And then came you Lucien x Jean playlist

Heartaches, 1938 - Ted Weems

My Heart Tells Me, 1944 - Glen Gray

I’m Making Believe, 1944 - Ink Spots & Ella Fitzgerald  

You Always Hurt The One You Love, 1944 - Mills Brothers

I’ll Be Seeing You, 1944 - Bing Crosby

I’m Beginning To See The Light, 1945 - Harry James & Kitty Kallen,

My Dreams Are Getting Better All The Time, 1945 - Les Brown & Doris Day 

Rumors Are Flying, 1946 - Frankie Carle & Marjorie Hughes 

Love Somebody, 1948 - Doris Day & Buddy Clark 

Love Is A Many-Splendored Thing, 1955 - Four Aces

Moonlight Serenade, 1939 - Glen Miller 

[newagesispage]

                                                              DECEMBER    2020

PAGE RIB

Peace!!

*****

Joe Biden is the President elect with Kamala Harris as VP. Emily Murphy of the General Services Administration has finally allowed them to begin the transition.** A. Blinken will be the new Sec. of state. By the end of the month, Joe feel while playing with his dog and has a hairline fracture.

*****

Ken Burns is working on programs about LBJ, The American Revolution, the Buffalo and more.

*****

The airlines got a $50billion bailout then laid off $90,000 people.

*****

A bill has been introduced in congress that will reduce animal experimentation. Let’s hope.

*****

A 10- 12 ft. Metal Monolith was found in the Utah desert. By the end of the month, it was gone and another showed up in Romania.

*****

Come Away is a film that combines Wonderland and Neverland.

*****

John Mulaney has joined Late Night as a writer.

*****

Johnny Rotten was bitten by fleas on his penis after taking in some squirrels.

*****

American story: Impeachment, about the Clinton scandal is coming with Sarah Paulson, Clive Owen, Beanie Feldstein and Annaleigh Ashford.

*****

Price Wallace asked Mississippi to secede.

*****

Charles Koch and friends are filling the coffers of Kelly Loeffler and David Perdue in Georgia. Let’s remember that these candidates opposed the $ 1,200.00 stimulus. They outsourced their businesses to foreign workers.

*****

Brett Favre owes about 1.1 mil to Mississippi.

*****

An FCC complaint was filed against Mark Meadows for using campaign Pac $ for personal expenses.

*****

Johnny Depp lost his libel case against the Sun and the abuse complaints by Amber Heard were found to be credible.** Warner Bros. has cut ties with Depp but they will pay his full salary.

*****

Carly Hughes has left American Housewife due to a possible toxic environment. Julia Butters has also left and creator Sarah Dunn was sidelined.

*****

IHOP is on the way out.

*****

Lindsey Graham is the guy in the spy thriller or heist movie who double crosses everyone to save his own skin. –Barack Obama

*****

Castle Rock was cancelled.

*****

Sarah McBride of Delaware is the first openly Trans senator.

*****

Five more states have legalized weed.

*****

What is with all the CoverGirl product placement on Riverdale?

*****

Oh how I miss the sea captain on Seth Meyers!!

*****

Amal Clooney has received the 2020 Gwen Ifill Press freedom award.

*****

I can’t wait for Linoleum about a failing kids show with Jim Gaffigan in 2 roles, Rhea Seehorn and Tony Shalhoub.

*****

An example of the way Fox news helps to keep the public in the dark.  A person I know who gets all their news from the station mentioned that she wished the news would inform us about Covid. She never hears much about it. I told her that other news talks about it all day every day. She was shocked . ** We can see why this country is so unhealthy when so many will not listen to science and Dr.’s even as this virus rages on.

*****

A report said that Stephen Miller wanted to end or modify birthright citizenship in the second term.** Mike Flynn represented Turkey back in the day and was pardoned for Thanksgiving with the Turkeys. You can’t make this shit up.** Trump said that he knows whether or not he will attend the inauguration but isn’t going to tell us. He really is emotionally stunted.** Scott Atlas is out.

*****

Trump has sued America but he warned us. How much executive overreach do we have to put up with??** SAP, the Save America Pac, or $ for the President is newly formed and gives about 20% to the RNC. The rest?**Word was that Rudy was trying to take over complete power, a coup within a coup. Scary Clown thought that Rudy was making him look bad. Oh my. And Sydney Powell .. Well, The Trump Presidency has really brought mental illness to our attention. ** It seems the recounts just seem to make Biden’s lead bigger. **C’mon news media, enough about the official President of those who hate manners. It is time to shift focus to real issues. The less coverage, the sooner we can move on, not forget but move on.** Let’s hope that this is the apex of the conspiracy mania and the better, calmer angels start to take over!!

*****

Super Intelligence is coming with Sam Richardson, Jean Smart and Melissa McCarthy.

*****

Gabourey Sidibe is engaged to Brandon Frankel.

Doctors without Borders have come to help us.** Moderna’s vaccine was funded in part by Dolly Parton with her donation to research at Vanderbilt University. Emory U and the National Institute of Allergy and infectious Disease helped too.

*****

Regina King directed the new One Night in Miami about Muhammed Ali, Malcolm X, Jim Brown and Sam Cooke.

*****

Look for Stardust with Marc Maron.

*****

Hooray for the pig in the fire video and hooray for the woman who was watching him online and saved him.

*****

Lisa Gordon- Hagerty, head of the Nuclear weapons agency has resigned. **Defense secretary Mark Esper is out. ** Barr ordered the DOJ prosecutor to investigate the election and Richard Pilger resigned.** Top US climate scientist Dr. Michael Kuperberg is out.** Top defense Dept intel official Joe Kernan resigned. Chief of staff to the defense secretary, Jen Stewart resigned.

*****

A 449 page report on sexual allegations against the Catholic Church commissioned by Pope Francis is out. Well known in the 90’s, Theodore McCarrick was not defrocked until 2019. We now know that Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict knew about allegations and promoted him anyway. Francis claims he presumed things had been dealt with until the archdiocese of NY told him different.

*****

What’s this about a massive arms transfer to the United Arab Emirates?

*****

Hooray for Kim Ang, the highest ranking woman in baseball.** And hooray for Sarah Fuller, the first woman to play in a power 5 college football game.

*****

There are over 81,000 sex abuse claims against the Boy Scouts.

*****

Hooray for Space X and NASA, even though with all that is happening, there wasn’t that much coverage.** Victor Glover is one hot astronaut.

*****

Jordan Peel will bring his next horror flick to us in July 2022.

*****

R.I.P. Eddie Hassell, Charles Gordon, Caro; Arthur, Elsa Raven,  Alex Trebek, Bert Belasco, Gordon Joseloff, Ken Spears, Lawrence Clayton, victims of the Westhaven Veterans hospital explosion, Viola Smith, more Covid victims, Geoffrey Palmer, David Dinkins, Norm Crosby, Art Wolff, Jerry Hewitt, Ryan Brady and David Prowse.

[tozoa]

ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪: what are your favorite band(s)/artist(s)?

Hoooooboy this’ll take a minute:

ABBA 

AC/DC

Access

The Ad Libs

Afterburn

Agiman

Agnelli & Nelson

Ahmet Ertenu

Ai Otsuka

AiK

Airbase feat. Floria Ambra

Airwave

AKB48

Akeboshi

Aki Kudou

Akioka Ou

Akitaka Tohyama

Akon, Stat Quo & Bobby Creekwater

Alberto Ginastera

Alchemist

Alessia Cara

Alex Aero

Alex Clare

alex gopher

Alex Stealthy

Alex Whitcombe & Big C

Alexander Von Pitanic: Salzburg Camerata Academica

Alfred Hitchcock

Alice D In Wonderland

Alice in Chains

Alien Ant Farm

All American Rejects

Allegri

Allie Moss

Allister Brimble

The Allman Brothers Band

The Allman Joys

Allure

Aluto

Alvin Risk

AM

The Ambush

Amiina

Amilcare Ponchielli

Amy Lee

An Horse

Andain

André Visior & Kay Stone

Andrew Bayer

AndrewShumMusic

Andy Duguid 

angela

The Angels

Animotion

ann lee

Anna Calvi

ANNA TSUCHIYA inspi'NANA (BLACK STONES)

Annabel

Anointed

Antonín Dvořák

Antonio Montana

Antonio Vivaldi

Aoi Тeshima

Apocalyptica

Aquaplex

Arai Akino

The Archies

Archigram

Argonaut

Aria

Armin

Armor For Sleep

Arrakis

Art of Dying

Art Of Trance

Ashtar Command

Asou Kaori

Asuka Sakai / Yu Miyake

atfc

Atlantis

The Auranaut

autokratz

The Avalons

Avenged Sevenfold

AWOLNATION

Ayana

Ayla

Ayumi Hamasaki

Backstreet Boys

Balearic Bill

Ballroom

Bamboo Lounge

Banyan Tree

Baracoa

The Bar-Kays

Basic Perspective

Bastille

Danny Elfman

The Beach Boys

Beach House

Beachwood Sparks

Beady Eye

Bear McCreary

Beastie Boys                

The Beatles

Beck

Bee Gees

bellone

The Belmonts

Beltek

Ben Shaw

benassi bros

Benzino

Berlin Symphony Orchestra

Bernhard Güller: Stuttgart Chamber Orchestra

Bert Weedon

Best Coast

Bibio

Biffy Clyro

Bill Elm and Woody Jackson

Bill Haley & The Comets

Billie Ray Martin

Billy Idol

Binary Finary

Bing Crosby

the biz

Bizarre

Black Lips

The Black Ryder

Frank Black

Blank & Jones 

Bless The Fallen

Blink-182

Blood For Blood

Blood Red Shoes

Blue Gender

Blue Rock

The Bluetones

Bo Burnham

BOA

Bob & Gene

Bobby “Boris” Pickett & The Crypt-Kickers

Bobby Creekwater

Bobby Tank

Bokusatsu Tenshi Dokuro-chan

Bon Jovi

Bone Chrusher & Three Days Gra

Bonnie Tyler

Booty Bronx

Botany

Boy & Bear

A Boy Called Joni

boys noize

Brad Knauber

the bravery

Breaking Benjamin

BREAKWATER

Breeder

Brendon Maclean

Brian Eno

Brian Lebarton

Bride of Frankenstein

Bright Eyes

Britney Spears

Broken Social Scene

Brooks and Dunn

Brother

Bruce Faulconer

BT

Buckner & Garcia

The Budos Band

The Buggles

Bulgarian Womens Choir

Bullitt

The Buoys

Steve Burns

BYPASS

Bystrik Režucha: Slovak Philharmonic Orchestra

Cabala

cajuan

Camerata Academica Salzburg

Camerata Romana

Camille Saint-Saëns

Canibus

Canvas2 

Canyon

Cappizzi Pickett

Carl B.

Carl Doy

Carl Michalski: Vienna Opera Orchestra

Carl Perkins

Carly Rae Jepsen

Cary Brothers

Casa Royale

Cascada

Cashis

Cass

The Phantom of the Opera

Catcher

Cave Man

Cavo

CeCe Winans

CERRONE

Chad & Jeremy

CHAKA KHAN

Channel Tribe

Chant

The Chantays

Charles Gounod

Charlotte Martin

Charm City Devils

Chata

Cheap Trick

The Chemical Brothers

Chicane

Chieko Kawabe

Chiho

Chikita Violenta

Chiller Twist

The Chimes

Choopie & Shmuel

Chopin

Choro Club

Chouken Denkanyuu

Christina Aguilera

Christy Nockels

Chronamut

Chrono Crusade

Chuck Berry

Cignus X

Cindy Morgan

The Civil Wars

CJ Bolland

Clannad

Clarence “Frogman” Henry

The Classics

Classified Project

Claude Debussy

Clear View

Clive Tanaka Y Su Orquesta

Cloud 69

Clouded Leopard

Club Quake

Matrix soundtrack

C-Murder

Coast 2 Coast

Coca & Villa

Cold

Cold Cave

Coldplay

Commission

Conjure One

Connie Francis

Continuous Cool

The Contours

Control Freaks

The Cowsills

Crash and the Boys

Cressida

The Crests

Crispin Glover

Crydajam

Cryoshell

Culture Club

Curtis Mayfield

Cut Copy

D

D’ Alt Vila

D.R.U.G.S.

D12

Daft Punk

dahlback & cost

The Daktaris

Dale Hawkins

The Danleers

Danny & The Juniors

Danny Elfman

DarkMateria

Darkstar

DARLIN’

Datarock

dataworx

Dave Angel

dave spoon

david guetta

David Hasselhoff

David Hodges

David MeShow

Dawes

Dawnseekers

De Hideki

De Trainer Derek

Deadlock

Deadmau5

Dean Martin

DearS

Death Cab For A Cutie

Del Shannon

Delerium

Denchuu Shinkyuu

Deniro

Depeche Mode

Der Dritte Raum

DeVotchKa

Dexys Midnight Runners

The Diamonds

Die Firma

digitalism

Dimrain47

Dion & The Belmonts

Dionne Warwick

Disparition

Disturbed

DJ Cor Fijneman

DJ Crazy Chris

DJ Dazzle

DJ Eremit

DJ Hooligan

DJ Jan

Dj Kitkiller

DJ Marco Bailey

DJ Merlyn

DJ Morgoth

DJ Philip

DJ Skee & THX

DJ Slug

DJ Tiësto

DJ Ton T.B.

DJ TripleStar

Dj-janer

djt93901

Dmitri Kabalevsky

DNAngel

Do As Infinity

Dobre & DJ Theor

DOKAKA

Dokmai

Dom

Dom Kennedy

Dominic Plaza

Dominion

Don & Juan

Don Burnham, Patty Kistner

Donna Burke

Dos Deviants

Douster, Savage Skulls & Robyn

Dove Beat

Dr. Dre

The Dreamlovers

The Drifters

Drumfire

Duane Allman

Dubravka Tomšič

The Duprees

Duran Duran

Dylaln Lloyd

E Nomine

Earl Lewis & The Channels

EDDIE JOHNS

Eddy Arnold

Edvard Grieg

Edward MacDowell

EDWIN BIRDSONG

Ef 

Effective Force

Eiko Shimamiya

El Trono de Mexico

Electric Pulse

electric six

Electro-Prompt

Elie

ELISA

Ellie Goulding

Elvis Presley

The Embers

Emigrate

Emika

Eminem

Emmanuel Top

equaleyes

Es Vedra

Escaflowne

Essit Muzique

Estuera

The Eternals

Eufonius

Eurythmics

Evanescence

Eve

Everlast

The Everly Brothers

Evolver

Existone

Exit

Fabiana

faithless

Fall Out Boy

Falling in Reverse

Fanfarlo

Fantasia

FAT JoE

Fats Domino

Faylan

Feeling B

Felix Da Housecat

Felix Mendelssohn

Fictivsion

Field Music

Friend

Filterheadz

Finger Eleven

Fire & Ice

First Aid Kit

First Arsch

First Class

First State

fischerspooner

The Five Americans

Five Finger Death Punch

Fix To Fax

The Fixx

The Flamingos

Flipsyde

FLOW

Fluid Inc.

Fluid Ounces

Flyleaf

Fontella Bass

Fonzerelli

Fool’s Gold

Format #1

Fortress

Foster

Foster the People

The Four Lads

Four Seasons

Four Tet

The Four Tops

Fox

francesco farfa

Francis Poulenc

Frank Black

Frank Shipway: Royal Philharmonic Orchestra

Frank Sinatra

Frankie Goes To Hollywood

Frankie Lymon & The Teenagers

Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons

František Drdla

Franz Ferdinand

Franz Liszt

Franz Schubert

Franz Von Suppé

The Fray

Fred Baker

Freddy Cannon

Frédéric Chopin

Free Radical

Fridge

fripSide

G. Love

Gabriel & Dresden

Gabriel Pares

Gabrielle

Gackt

Gaetano Donizetti

Gakupo

The Game

Games

Garrett Davis and Kirsten Lepore

Gary Chapman

Gela Zilkha

GEORGE DUKE

George Frideric Handel

George Thorogood & The Destroyers

Georges Bizet

The Gift

Gilbert O'Sullivan

Gioachino Rossini

Girls Bravo

Giuseppe Verdi

Glasser

Glenn Morisson

Global Experience

Gôji Tsuno

golden bug

Goldenscan

goldfrapp

Goo Goo Dolls

Good Charlotte

Gorillaz

Gotou Mai

Gouryella

gracia

Graeme Norgate, Grant Kirkhope

Grayarea feat. Erik Shepard

Grease

Green Day

The Green Martian

Green Martian

Greg Vail

Groove Park

Groovezone

Groundswell

GTR

Gucci Mane

Gui Boratto

Guy Mitchell

Gwen Stefani

H.I.M

Hadouken!

Haga Keita

Hal David, John Cacavas

Hamaguchi Shirou

Hammock Brothers

Hans Zimmer

Harada Hitomi

Hardy Heller and Ray Boye

Harry Bluestone

Harry Lubin

Harry101UK

Hashimoto Miyuki

Hatsune Miku

Hayes Carll

Hazuki Erino

heartless1298

Helen Forrest

Hélène Gal

Hello Seahorse!

Henry Adolph: Philharmonia Slavonica

Henry Jackman

Henry Mancini

Hensha

Herb Alpert

Hermann Abel: Camerata Academica Salzburg

HH

Hideki Tobeta

HIR

Hirasawa Susumu

Hirohashi Ryou

Hiroko Taguchi

Hironobu Kageyama

Hiroshi Okubo

hitomi

Holden & Thompson

Hole In One

Holly Miranda

Holy Ghost!

Hoobastank

Horie Yui

Hotel Lights

The Hour Glass

The Hues Corporation

Hundred Waters

Hybrid

Hyperdrive Inc

I:Cube

Ian Pooley

Ice Cube

Ichigo 100%

Ichiko

Idiot Pilot

Ikimonogakari

Ikkitousen

Ilaria Graziano

The Imaginations

Imagine Dragons

Imogen Heap

The Inchtabokatables

Indigoflare

Infected Mushroom

in-grid

The Ink Spots

Inoi team

Insigma

Interflow

The Interludes

Iommi

Ishida Yoko

The Isley Brothers

Israel Kamakawiwo'ole

Itou Shizuka

Iyukai

J Daniel

J. Geils Band

J.E. Sawyer

J.E. Sawyer, James Melilli

J.S. Bach

Ja Rule

Jack Wall and Sam Hulick

Jackie & The Starlights

Jackson C. Frank

Jacques Offenbach

Jadakiss

Jaimy & Kenny D

Jakatta feat. Seal

Jake & Jesse

James Iha

Jamie Grace

Jamie Lidell

Jan Driver

Jan Johnston

Jars Of Clay

JASEfos feat. Claire van der Boom

Jason Graves

Jason Michael Carroll

Jason Steele

Jay & The Americans

Jaytech

Jay-Z

Jean Sudbury

Jedidja

Jeff Williams

Jeremy Fisher

Jericho

Jermaine Dupri

Jerome ‘Pacman’ Elia

JERRY GOLDSMITH

Jerry Lee Lewis

Jerry Ropero

JES

Jesper Kyd

Jetta

Jimang

Jimmy Charles

The Jive Five

joachim garraud

Johan Gielen pres. Abena

Johann Pachelbel

Johann Sebastian Bach

Johann Strauss

Johann Strauss Jr.

Johannes Brahms

John Dahlback

John Farnham

Johnny Bond

Johnny Cash

Johnny Preston

Johnny Thunder

Joker Jam

Joman

Jon Lajoie

Jonas Steur

The Jones Sisters

Jose Gonzalez

Joseph Haydn - Kodaly Quartet

Journey

JPL

JT Functions

Judas Priest

Jukai

Julia Fischer & Academy of St. Martin In the Fields

Julien-K

Julius Drake & Ian Bostridge

Jun Sasaki

Junkie Xl

Junko Nishi

Jyukai

Kagami Seira

Kagamine Len

Kagamine Rin

Kageyama Hironobu

Kai Tracid

Kaito

Kakazu Yumi, Asakawa Yuu, Orikasa Fumiko & Toyoguchi Megumi

Kalafina

Kalafut & Fygle

Kaleido Star

Kamaya Painters

Kamui

Kamui Gakupo

Kane & Abel 

Kanno Youko

Kanye West

KAORI

Kaori Utatsuki

Karen Overton

KAREN YOUNG

Karin

Katamari Soul Trains

Katie Thompson

Katou Idzumi

Katsuro Tajima

Katy Perry

Kawada Mami

Kawai Eri

Kawai Kenji

Kawasumi Ayako

Kay Kyser

Kazuki Yanagawa

Kazuma Jinnouchi

Kei Shindou

Kekou Souchi

Ken Nakagawa

Kenji Ohtsuki & Fumihiko Kitsutaka

KID

Kidz In the Hall

Kikuko Inoue

The Killers

Kim Ann Foxman & Andy Butler

kim fai

Kimito Lopez

King Unique

KINYA

kirina

Kirk Franklin & The Family

Kitagawa Katsutoshi

Kitagawa Shouri

Kitamura Eri

KIYO

Kiyoura Natsumi

kmc feat. sandy

KOAN Sound

Kobayashi

Koda kumi

Kôji Kaya

KOKIA

Konami Kukeiha Club

Konishi Kayo & Kondoo Yukio

Kool & the Gang

Korn

kos

KOTOKO

Kourin

K-taro Takanami

Kubota Mina

Kugimiya Rie

Kuko

Kuko & Torikki SHirai

Kuko & Yasumi

Brett Kull

Kumi Koda

Kuniva (D12)

Kusakanmuri

Kuwashima Houko

Kyary Pamyu Pamyu

L.S.G.

La Gusana Ciega

La Roux

La Sera

Lain

Larry Hall

Late Night Alumni

Laura Veirs

Laurence Siegel: London Festival Orchestra

LCD Soundsystem

Le Butcherettes

Le Knight Club

Leama

Ledisi

Lee Andrews & The Hearts

Lee Fields

Lemon 8

Léo Delibes

Leon Bolier pres. Inner Stories

Leonid Rudenko

Les Charts

les visiteurs feat. tommie sunshine

Leslie Gore

The Letter Y

Level 42

Lex

Lia

Liam Finn

Libor Pešek: Slovak Philharmonic Orchestra

Life According To Bozo

Lily

Linda Perhacs

Linkin Park

John Linnell

Lionel Richie

Lisa Coleman & Wendy Melvoin

lisa miskovsky

LITTLE ANTHONY & THE IMPERIALS

Little Big Man

Little Tin Frog

Lloyd Banks feat. Akon

LMFAO

LN Movement

LNQ

Local Natives

Lock

Logan Whitehurst

Loic Bertrand: Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra

The London Symphony Orchestra

The Lonely Island

LONG SHOT PARTY

The Long Winters

Loop Control

looseheadz

Lord Of Trance

Lost Weekend Western Swing Band

Lou Christie

Lou Reed & Metallica

LOVERIN TAMBURIN

Lucinda Williams

Ludwig Van Beethoven

Luminary

Lyle Workman

M.I.K.E.

Mac Miller

Mac Zimms

Mack 10

MadamEdea

Madness

Mads Arp

Magdalene Keibel Combo

Mai Kadowaki

Mai Yamane

Major League

Makino Yui

Malcolm McLaren

Malibu Beach

The Mamas & The Papas

Mami Kawada

Man On Earth

Manna

Mannheim Steamroller

Mantovani

Maor Levi

MAORICA

Maracca

Marathons

Marc Marzenit

Marco Bailey

Marcus Schossow

Mariàn Pivka

Marica

Mariko Takase

Marilyn Manson

mario piu’

Mark Mancina

Mark Norman

Marmalade Boy

Maroon 5

Martian Successor Nadesico

Martin ODonnell

Martin Rex

Marty Robbins

Masako Iwanaga

Masako Nozawa & Mayumi Sho

Masami Nakatsukasa

Masami Okui

Mason

Mass Missile

Master P Feat. Bone Thugs-N-Harmony & Silkk The Shocker

Mastodon

The Mat 1 EP

Matchbox Twenty

mathias schaffhauser

Matt Lange

Matt Nathanson

matt samuels

Maurice F. Henschel: Pretoria Philharmonic Orchestra

Maurice Ravel

Mauro Picotto

Max Graham

Max Raabe & Palast Orchester

Maximum The Hormone

Maxwell

maya

May'n & Nakajima Megumi

Mayumi Fujita

The McCoys

Mechalie Jamison

meg rock

Megumi Hayashibara

Megumi Nakajima

Megurine Luka

Mejale Pirates

Mekka

MELL

Memory Tapes

Menahan Street Band

Mermaid Melody

Metallica

Metric

Mi

Mia X Feat. Mystikal

Michael Armstrong

Michael Giacchino

Michael Jackson

Michael McCann

Michael W. Smith

Michoacan

Mick Boogie

The Micronauts

Middle Class Rut

Midori no Hibi

Midway

The Mighty Imperials

Miguel

Mike Morasky

Mikerobenics

Mikuni Shimokawa

David Miller

Milos Karadaglic

The Mindbenders

Minnie Riperton

Mishka

Mitch Ryder & The Detroit Wheels

Mitsunori Ikeda 

Miyuki Hashimoto

Miyuki Kanbe

Mizuki Nana

Mizuki, Nittoku Inoue

Mockba

Modest Mouse

Mono Puff

Monolith

MONORAL

The Monotones

Montell Jordan

Moogwai

Moonbeam

moonbootica

Motocraft

Motorcitysoul

Motorcycle

Movado

Movie Screen Orchestra

Mozzart

Murray Gold & BBC National Orchestra of Wales

Mutemath

My Chemical Romance

My Darkest Days

Mylene Farmer et Seal

Mystery Skulls

Mystical

myuu

Nakajima Ai

Nalin & Kane

Nana

Nana Kitade

Naomi Davis & Sugarman Three

Naomi Shelton & The Gospel Queens

Nat King Cole

Natural High

Naughty Boy

NCB

Neil Davidge

New Vaudeville Band

Newsboys

Nic Chagall

Nice Peter

Nickelson

The Nightcaps

Nihils

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov

Nino Nardini

Nino/Round Table

Nirvana

Noa Assembly

Nobuo Uematsu, Nittoku Inoue

Norato

Norin & Rad

Notorious B.I.G

NY Alliance

Obie Trice

Obie, Kuniva, Stat Quo, Bobby Creekwater, Cashis

Odyssee

Ohara Sayaka

Ohmi Tomoe

Ohmna

OK Go

Okui Aki

OLIVER CHEATHAM

Oliver Lieb

Oliver Von Dohnányi: Slovak National Phiharmonic Orchestra

Olivia Lufkin

The Olympics

Omori Toshiyuki

One Republic

Oomori Toshiyuki

oOoOO

ORANGE RANGE

Orbital Velocity

Orgasm Death Gimmick

The Oriëntalist

Orita Donichi

Oscar Araujo

Ｏｔｏｍａｎｉａ

The Outlaws

Owl City

Ozgur Can

P.O.S.

Pablo Gargano

The Pains of Being Pure At Heart

Palast Orchester mit Max Raabe

Panic! At The Disco

Papa Roach

Paradise Kiss

Paradise Road

Paramore

Parker & Hanson

Patrick Stump

Patty & the Emblems

Paul Johnson

Paul Oakenfold

Pearl Kyoudai

Peggy Lee

Pendulum

The Penguins

Percy Faith

Pete Thomas, Ashley Slater, Laurie Stras

Peter Falk: Vienna Volksoper Orchestra

Peter Schmalfuss

Petter

Petula Clark

N'Sync

phil collins

Phuture

Pink Elephant

Plain White T’s

planet funk

Planisphere

Plastic Boy

The Platters

Plumtree

Pob feat. X-Avia

The Poets of Rhythm

Point Of Grace

Kanto Symphony

The Polyphonic Spree

PoppinS

Porno Graffitti

Port O'Brien

Powerman 5000

PrEmoEffect

Eliza Rickman

Prince

The Prodigy

Project Monolith

Proof

PSY

Puddle of Mudd

Puhdys

PULLTOP

Pulser

Push

PWB

Qattara

QMAVALLOW

Quadran

Queen

R Kelly

R.O.N

Rachael Starr

Rammstein

Rank 1

rava

Rawrthaas

Ray Conniff

Read or Die

Reba McEntire

Rebecca St. James

Rec

Recepter

Rei

Reinhard Voigt

Renato Girolami, Nicolaus Esterhazy Sinfonia, Hungarian Radio Chorus, Janusz Monarcha, Regina Schorg & Bo Skovhus

Reprise

The Republic Tigers

Reynada Hill

rhu

Richard Gibbs

Richard Marx

Richard Strauss

Richie Valens

Rick James

Rick Springfield

Ricky Martin

Rie Tanaka

Rihanna

Rin Kagimine

Rise Against

Riva

Rival Sons

The Rivieras

RJD2

Roach Motel

Rob Searle

robbie rivera

Robert Babicz

Robert Benfer

Robert Francis

Robert Palmer

Robert Schumann

Robin Beanland

The Roc Project

Rocky Chack

Rodrigo y Gabriela

the rogue element

The Rolling Stones

Ronnie And The Schoolmates

Ronnie Dove

The Roots

The Roues Brothers

Roy Orbison

Royal Philharmonic Orchestra

The Royal Teens

Roze

Rui Da Silva

Rui Nagai

rune rk

Russ Gabriel’s Audio Spectrum

S.B. McCafferty

Saint Seiya

Saitou Chiwa

Sakamoto Maaya

Sakin

Salia

Salt Tank

Sam The Sham & The Pharaohs

Sambuca

San

Sander Van Doorn & Julian Jordan

Sandor Czech Ensemble

Sandy Fox

Saori Nishihata

Sasaki Nozomi

Sasako Shigeharu

Satoko Yamano & Kageyama…

scanty 88

Schiller

School Of Rock

Scoop

score

Scott Grooves

Seabear

Seal

Sean Dexter

Seatbelts

Sebastian Tellier

The Second Coming

Seether

Self

Senoo Takeshi

Serial Experiments Lain

Serj Tankian

Sex Bomb-Omb

Shah & Laruso pres. Global Experience

The Shangri-Las

Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings

SHARP 2

Sharp Tools

She Keeps Bees

The Shells

Sheryl Nome starring May'n

The Shields

Shigeru Matsuzaki

Shikata Akiko

Shimamiya Eiko

Shinedown

Shinichi Ishihara

Shinji Orito/Magome Togoshi

Shiny Toy Guns

Shoji Sugiyama, Yu Miyake

Show Luo Feat. Koda Kumi

SID

Sierra Swan

sikk

Silent Breed

SiLK

silvercity

Simon

Simple Minds

Sinichi Ishihara

Sisko

Sister Princess

SISTER SLEDGE

Skillet

Skrillex

Skull Drugrey

The Skyliners

Slipknot

Small Black

Smart System

The Smashing Pumpkins

Smith & Pledger pres. Aspekt

SMS no Minasan

The Sneaker

Snoop Dogg

Snow Patrol

Soft Cell

The Soft Pack

Solar Factor

Solar Stone

Solar Stone and JES

Solaris Heights

Solid Globe

Solkrieg

sonique

SONOROUS

Soulja Slim

South London Voodoo

Space Shuffle

The Spainiels

Sparklehorse

Spiral

Split Second

Squeeze

Staind

Stardust

Stat Quo

A Static Lullaby

Steady Mobbin

Steam

Stephen Rippy

Steve Conte

Steve Forte Rio

Steve Jablonsky

Steve May

Steve Winwood

Steven Curtis Chapman

Stone Factory

Stone Sour

Strauss

Stray Cats

Stray Dog

streetlife dj’s

Strong Arm Steady

Stuck in the Sound

The Students

Styles Of Beyond

Styxx

Suara

Sugarman Three

Sum 41

SUN

Sunburst

Sunday Club

Superspy

The Supremes

Surfer Blood

Susan Ashton

Susumu Hirasawa

Suzuki Konomi

Svetlana Stanceva; Alberto Lizzio: Mozart Festival Orchestra

Swifty McVay & Mr. Porter

The Swimmer

Sylvia Cápová

Symphony Of Love II

System of a Down

Systematic Parts

T. Rex

T.L.T.

Tainaka Sachi

Takahashi Youko

Takeshi Senoo

Taking Back Sunday

Talib Kweli

Taneri

Tastexperience

TATA VEGA

Taucher

Taxigirl

TCY Force

Tears For Fears

Teddyloid

Teebs

Teikoku Yousei

The Temper Trap

The Temptations

TENMON & Eiichiro Yanagi / minori

Tex Beneke and Margaret Whiting

Theory Of A Dead Man

They Might Be Giants

Third Man

This Radiant Boy

Thomas Bangalter

Thomas Schumacher

The Thompson Twins

Three Days Grace

Three Drives

Tiger Army

Till Lindemann & Richard Kruspe

Tilt

Timothy Bloom

Tina Turner

TLC

Todd Rundgren

Together

Tokyo Mew Mew

TOM

Tom Cloud

Tom Mangan

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers

tomas andersson

Tommy James & The Shondells

Tomoe Ohmi

Tomoki Hasegawa

Tomomitsu Kaneko

Tony Yayo

Toro y Moi

Melanie Martinez

Jason Trachtenburg

Tranquilizer

Transa

Tremor

Trigun

The Troggs

Tupac

Turboweekend

Twila Paris

Twilight

Twilight-Perception

Two Steps from Hell

U2

UGK Feat. N.O. Joe

UNDER17

The Used

Ushio Hashimoto

Utada Hikaru

Utah Saints

UVERworld

V6

The Vaccines

Vanessa Mae

VDM

Vegas Soul

The Veil Kings

Vengaboys

The Videos

Vimana

Vince Guaraldi Trio

Vincent de Moor

Viper 2

Vitamin String Quartet

Vitaminless

Vladimir Petroschoff: Berliner Festival Orchestra

The Vogues

Voltaire

Vondelpark

The Voyager

V-Three

W.A. Mozart

Wada Kaoru

Waffle

Wang Chung

the wanted

Way Out West

Wayne Fontana & The Mindbenders

Weird Al Yankovic

West & Storm

Wheed Baskin

The Whigs

White Lies

White Rabbits

Wighnomy Bros.

Wild Bunch

Will.I.Am

William Elliot Whitmore

William Fitzsimmons

William Hartnell

The Willows

Wiz Khalifa

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Woods

World Clique

The Wrens

Xero

Xzibit

Yahel

Yanase Natsumi

Yanni

Yasunori Iwasaki

Yeasayer

Ylvis

Yo Hitoto

Yoko

Yoko Kanno

Yoshino Yuuji

Youko Ishida

Young Parisians

Yousei Teikoku

Yu Miyake

Yui Horie

Yuka

Yuka

Yuri Misawa

Yves DeRyter

Zack Knight

zdar

Zedd

Zoo Brazil

[tabloidtoc]

Time, November 25

Cover: The Next 100 -- Awkwafina 

Page 2: Contents, other covers  

Page 4: From the Editor 

Page 6: For the Record 

Page 9: The Brief -- Democrat Adam Schiff 

Page 10: Adam Schiff’s trial 

Page 11: Spain’s new far right rides nationalist wave to greater power, News Ticker 

Page 12: Has the CDC finally figured out what’s making vapers sick? 

Page 13: Milestones -- Died -- James Le Mesurier, Bernard J. Tyson 

Page 14: In the Democratic primary Amy Klobuchar makes the case for pragmatism over a “pipe dream” 

Page 17: How climate change is clobbering kids’ health 

Page 20: Lightbox -- A family’s grief 

Page 25: The View -- How to reduce medical errors 

Page 27: How Bolivia’s President brought about his end, Marriage: still not dead 

Page 28: Between Countries: As the U.S. pulls back, the Kurds of Syria seek refuge 

Page 39: Time Next 100 

Page 40: Advocates 

Page 42: Awkwafina by Sandra Oh 

Page 43: Asia Kate Dillon by Adam Rippon 

Page 44: Magid Magid 

Page 45: Vijay Gupta, Gina Martin, Sara Mardini 

Page 46: Dutee Chand, Adut Akech, Oluwaseun Ayodeji Osowobi, Toby Merrill 

Page 47: Camille Francois by Mark Warner, Kwame Onwuachi by Tom Colicchio, Joy Buolamwini 

Page 48: Chanel Miller by Christine Blasey Ford 

Page 49: Xiuhtezcatl Martinez and Kelsey Juliana by Mary Robinson 

Page 50: Bad Bunny by Ricky Martin 

Page 51: Amanda Nguyen, Alexandra Rojas, Bindi Irwin and Robert Irwin 

Page 52: Artists 

Page 54: Camila Cabello by Alejandro Sanz 

Page 55: Henry Golding by Michelle Yeoh, John Edmonds, Bowen Yang

Page 56: Jason Reynolds by Ibram X. Kendi 

Page 57: Billie Eilish, Lili Reinhart by Kate and Laura Mulleavy, Ezra Miller 

Page 58: Liza Koshy by Alicia Keys, Njideka Akunyili Crosby, Noah Centineo, Jharrel Jerome by Korey Wise 

Page 59: Beanie Feldstein by Olivia Wilde, D.J. “Shangela” Pierce by Jenifer Lewis, Ryan O’Connell by Lena Dunham 

Page 60: Maggie Rogers by Camila Mendes 

Page 61: MJ Rodriguez by Laverne Cox 

Page 62: Wanuri Kahiu by dream hampton 

Page 63: Megan Thee Stallion, Ali Stroker by Kristin Chenoweth 

Page 64: Leaders 

Page 66: Carlos Alvarado Quesada by Ban Ki-moon 

Page 67: Lauren Underwood by Cory Booker 

Page 68: Dan Crenshaw 

Page 69: Edward Leung, Tabata Amaral, Ayman Odeh 

Page 70: Vanessa Luna, Rafaela Requesens, Shinjiro Koizumi, Varshini Prakash by Jay Inslee 

Page 71: Pete Buttigieg by Steve Adler, Elise Stefanik by Paul Ryan, Jesse Klaver 

Page 72: Thanathorn Juangroongruankit

Page 73: Kyrsten Sinema by Mark Kelly, Josh Hawley by Ted Cruz, Jordan Bardella 

Page 74: Aly Raisman by Ashley Graham 

Page 75: Roya Rahmani, Nadiem Makarim, Francis Suarez by Marco Rubio 

Page 76: Innovators 

Page 78: Emily Weiss by Alexis Ohanian 

Page 79: Tristan Walker, Paula Jofre, Audrey Gelman 

Page 80: Nite Yun by Samin Nosrat 

Page 81: Nat Turner and Zach Weinberg 

Page 82: Brian Armstrong, Silvia Caballero, Lilly Singh by Jimmy Fallon 

Page 83: Jess Morales Rocketto by Hillary Rodham Clinton, Kotchakorn Voraakhom, Yuan Cao, Keller Rinaudo 

Page 84: Melina Matsoukas by Daniel Kaluuya 

Page 85: Jayathma Wickramanayake, Varun Sivaram, Henrique Dubugras and Pedro Franceschi 

Page 86: Desus and Mero by Chris Hayes 

Page 87: Mei Mei Hu 

Page 88: Phenoms 

Page 90: Zion Williamson by Shaquille O’Neal, Bobi Wine, Regan Smith 

Page 91: Emma Chamberlain 

Page 92: Jeremy O. Harris by Lynn Nottage 

Page 93: Keke Palmer by Michael Strahan 

Page 94: Blackpink, Sally Rooney by Meg Wolitzer, Max Schrems 

Page 95: Ben Stokes by Stephen Fry, Marsai Martin, Coco Gauff by Billie Jean King, Kerby Jean-Raymond 

Page 96: Tim Ellis by Terry Virts

Page 97: Alysa Liu by Michelle Kwan 

Page 98: Lil Nas X by Billy Ray Cyrus 

Page 100: Name Game 

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Welcome Darlings, lovely to have you here. I’m a bit of a history nerd and I’m terribly fond of bygone eras and as you’ll see, I’ve a knack for turning most things into some form of historical AU. I’ve been dabbling with writing fiction on here recently and I’m afraid the sweet reception has rather inflated my daring beyond my abilities so —beware.

Have at the inbox with your asks and prompts and thoughts on anything at all. I adore interacting. 18+

My Masterlist is comprised of both SFW and 18+ writings, please pay attention to the warnings at the beginning of each segment. I’m a pretty compulsive tagger and with the variety of interests I share, if a topic or fandom doesn’t interest you, a tag should be available to block, feel free to let me know if I can help with this.

I'm open to prompts from other fandoms/histories. Xoxo Marina💋

Masterlists of my Writings for:

AO3 Link

•Masters of the Air 👇🏼 Series Masterlist

-Those Who Can (integrated POW Au)

-Dear John (John Egan series)

-Friends in the Crucible (pacific Au)

-Four Weeks in New York (Harry x Jean Crosby)

•blurbs

• Callum Turner/Austin Butler/You

• Austin Butler

• “Hotspur” Percy/Kate Mortimer

• House of the Dragon

• Elvis Presley

[ginabaker1666]

This Is Always

From the Love Letter Series

Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

The holidays are usually a time to be spent together, cold noses warmed by the fire, and joyful cheers as the New Year approaches. This year, Rosie is struggling with being away from Jo, and acknowledging the future that he dreams of sharing with her. A heart to heart with Crosby helps put things into perspective for both of them.

Read Part 3 Here Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist

January 1944

My Dearest Jo,

Happy New Year, honey pie! It’s just after midnight here, and though I wanted to be the first person to wish you a Happy New Year, I know that by the time you get this, it will be after the fact. I guess by writing this now, while it’s still ‘43 back home, I’m letting myself be greedy in being the first to send you those wishes. I hope you’re doing something fun tonight, and getting all dolled up to paint the town red. Your last letter came just after Christmas, but I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you just how happy it made me to hear that you were still doing all of your usual Christmas favorites, even if I’m not home to carry all your shopping bags back to Brooklyn after a full day in the city. Believe me, I even miss doing that, no matter how heavy some of them are. 

I got Ma’s last letter just a few days before yours arrived, and she mentioned that you went by the house to celebrate Hanukkah with her and Jeanie. I know that made her really happy, and I can’t thank you enough for keeping an extra eye on both of them for me while I’m stuck over here. My sister would argue that she doesn’t need anyone keeping an eye on her, but I’m sure she appreciates your company, and will rub it in my face after the fact that she got to spend so much time with you. That’s what little sisters do, isn’t it? 

We had a small thing in the Officers Club for the holidays; nothing too fancy, but there was music, and some good liquor that someone managed to scrounge up for the occasion. The Red Cross Clubmobile girls pulled some resources and, even with rationing, managed to bake a few cookies for us. They were good, but they couldn't hold a candle to yours. 

I have never wanted one of your Christmas cookies more than after reading your letter, and to know that Jean Crosby took over as the official taste tester this year; oh it broke my heart darling. But, I’m glad to know that you two girls are keeping each other company, and I know that Croz is happy knowing that she’s not alone. I do hope you two aren’t causing too much trouble while we’re away. Knowing you the way that I do, I know that’s a bit of a pipe dream, but one of the reasons I adore you the way that I do. 

At the risk of sounding melancholy, I’ve spent most of today wishing I could take you dancing; spin you around until we’re both dizzy, until finally we can ring in the new year with champagne. Crowded on the dance floor at Minton’s, wrapped up in each other. Maybe it’s bold of me to ask, or maybe it’s the whiskey, but would you have allowed me a midnight kiss, Jo? I can’t picture kissing anyone else as the clock strikes twelve, nor do I want to, on this holiday or any other day. I hope that by next year, we'll be able to spend the evening together, and not have to send holiday wishes in letters that take too long to get there. 

I dream of you every night, sweetheart, and every night these sweet dreams end with a kiss before I’m pulled back to reality. I’ve been dreaming of the future, and if the real thing is anything like my dreams, I can’t wait for those days to begin. I wonder,do you dream of those days too? Of building a home together, a life that’s just ours. Living in the city, maybe somewhere near Harry and Jean. We could go to the pictures on Friday nights, and sleep in on Saturday’s, warm under the blankets until we peel ourselves from the sheets only because we need to make coffee. I’d spin you around the kitchen while we made breakfast, a record on the Victrola, the two of us tangled together while the eggs burned. The more I think about it, the more it all sounds like a dream come true. 

Maybe it is the whiskey talking, but it’s getting late here. Or early depending on how you look at it, and even though we aren’t flying tomorrow, I’m sure the rest of the fellas will be returning from the Officers Club soon enough. I’ll be dreaming of you tonight, sweetheart, and counting the days until we’re together again. 

Sending you millions of hugs and kisses, and all of my love. 

Yours for always

Robbie

Rosie took a deep breath, and without giving himself a chance to second guess anything in his letter, folded it up and slid it inside the envelope. He’d address it in the morning and drop it off at APO so that it went out with the next mail call; tonight it would remain on the nightstand next to his bed, with Jo’s photo. He was still in his uniform, not having bothered changing after he returned to the Officer’s hut, and was about to take advantage of the empty shower stall, when the door swung open and Harry walked in.

“Thought I’d find you in here.” Harry spoke, hand coming up to loosen his tie. 

“Yea, I uh, wanted to get a letter out to Jo,” Rosie signed, dragging his hand down his face. ‘Or at the very least, written.”

“It’s rough around the holidays isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. Harry knew as well as he did, and he knew his friend was giving him an opening to get his feelings off his chest. 

“Probably the most difficult part of all this. We’ve spent every Christmas and Hanukkah together since we met.”

“She celebrates Hanukkah with you and your mom?”

“Jo is the best gift giver in our family, according to my sister.” Rosie grinned. 

“Sounds like your sister will be the disappointed one if you don’t put a ring on Jo’s finger when we get home.” Harry chuckled, dropping down onto his own bed, across from Rosie’s.

“She’d have to fight my Ma for the top spot, if I don’t marry Jo.” 

The two shared a quiet moment  as their thoughts drifted to a place far from England. Far from flak and casualties and torn fuselages. No thoughts of missing friends, mission counts or that damned red light never blinking off. 

Rosie knew that Harry understood better than anyone; how it felt to be so devoted to someone, and yet, he felt compelled to ask the one question that, if he had to wager, everyone asks at some point. 

“How’d you know Jean was the one?” He asked after a moment, gaze turned upward to meet that of his friend. 

“She wanted nothing to do with me when we met,” Harry balked so loudly that it seemed to echo off the walls of the Nissen Hut. “But I knew. I didn’t want to spend another day without her.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Oh yeah, you just know,” Harry nodded. “When did you know Jo was the one? And don’t tell me you didn’t…”

“Let’s just say I should have opened my mouth a long time ago.”

“Well, better late than never.”

“What if I was too late, Croz?”

Harry stood from his bed, moving around the front to lean himself against the footboard. With a determined gaze, he made sure he had Rosie’s full attention before saying what was on his mind. 

“You can’t think like that. You need to believe you’re going home to her, that you two will have a life after all this.”

“God, I hope so.”

“I don’t know Jo as well as you do,” He started. “I only know what Jean tells me in her letters, but it sounds to me like she’s really something. And I’m not just saying that because she went out of her way to befriend my wife.”

“I told her I want a life with her, a future, our own place, Saturday mornings in bed, lazy days…”

“You want the dream.” Harry nodded in understanding. 

“Told her maybe we’d move to the city, leave Brooklyn, get a place near you and Jean.”

“Sounds like we’ll be in trouble if that happens, Jo and Jean a stone's throw away from each other?”

“I think the two of us are going to have our hands full when we get home, Croz.”

“I bet they’re saying the same thing about us,” Harry laughed. “And I wouldn’t blame Jean. I’ve been a real handful as of late.”

“Oh yea, you’re causing lots of trouble all the way over here.” Rosie chuckled, propping his legs up on the bed, feet hanging off the edge so as to not dirty the sheets. He didn’t miss the slight look of distress that flashed across his friend's face. 

He regarded him carefully; he looked like he had something on the tip of his tongue. His face looked worried, like he had something weighing him down exponentially, and Rosie would allow his friend the moment if he needed it. After all, it was the holiday’s and they were the best source of camaraderie that they had; friends should be there for each other. No one understood that better than he did. 

“No, I’ve been a handful…” Harry finally continued. 

“Croz?”

“Remember after Munster? When Harding sent me to Oxford?”

“Yea…”

“They double you up when you’re at those conferences, and my roommate, she-”

“Ah jeez, Croz…”

Harry sighed, dropping his head, too ashamed to look his friend in the eye. The moment had turned in the blink of an eye, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it, or get his friend through it. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try. 

“I don’t know how to tell Jean.”

“Is this why you kept disappearing up to London? To see her?”

“How do I tell my wife that I slept with another woman?”

“You just do, Croz.”

“That’s the worst possible thing to write in a letter. ‘Honey, I miss you terribly, by the way…’”

“Alright, I see your point. But you need to tell her.”

“This fucking war,” Harry sighed. “I swear, it peels the humanity right from your bones.”

“Then you fight it.”

“More than we already have? More than what we’ve given and lost?”

Rosie knew he was referring to Bubbles, and for a moment he let his mind wander to Nash, and that first mission to Bremen. It would be easy to fold; to pack it up and let the fight take from you more and more. But he would be damned if he’d let it take more from him, and if he had to fight a little extra to make sure it didn’t take any more from his friend, he’d do that too. 

“You’re not fighting it alone, Croz.”

“Feels like it most of the time.”

“And you’re fighting for something back home, even if you feel like you don’t deserve it at the moment.”

“I don't deserve her.” 

“Yea, you do. And you’ll tell her everything, whether you write it, or tell her when we get home. And Jo and I will be there for you both.”

Harry looked like he was about to respond when the door to the Officers Hut swung open. He turned, half expecting a replacement officer, but was surprised to see Blakely and Douglass, the former with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and Douglass swinging a bottle of something in his left hand. 

“Nightcap, fellas?” Douglass lifted the bottle, and Rosie could just make out the label. Vat 69. 

“Where the hell did you get that, Dougie?” Harry’s eyes went wide at the familiar label from back home. A very expensive label. 

“Been saving it, so come on, let’s have a drink.”

“No, seriously, who’d you steal that from?” Rosie asked, watching as Blakely gathered four of the glasses the boys kept on their side tables for brushing their teeth. 

“I won it in a bet, if you must know.” Douglass grinned, pulling the wax seal from the neck of the bottle before pulling the cork out.

“The details are not of importance,” Blakely chimed in, swatting Rosie’s legs off the bed to take up the space next to him. “What is important is that we’re here, and alive, so stop asking questions and have a drink would ya?”

Douglass poured for the four of them, dropping himself down on the bed next to Rosie’s, while waiting for Harry to join them. 

“Any day now, Croz…” he groaned, glass between two fingers as he held it out for the navigator. “It’ll be ‘45 by the time you move.”

“Dougie… fuck off.” Harry stood with a laugh, brushing off his slacks before snatching the glass and taking the seat next to him. “And anyway, we’d all better be home by ‘45.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Blakely nodded, holding his glass up to cheers his friends, the only ones left that weren’t replacement crews, or trapped somewhere in the Stalag. 

The foursome sat silently as they sipped their prize whiskey, thoughts turned presumably to home and memories of Christmas and New Years’ spent with people they loved and missed. 

“Alright, what would you be doing if you were home right now?” Ev broke the silence, leaning his elbows on his knees, gaze landing on Harry. 

“His wife, dumbass.” Douglass chuckled. 

“Woah hey, none of that.” Rosie looked between the two, the rules immediately being put into place without having to say them. 

They didn’t talk like that, but he assumed it had been a bit too much whiskey already for Douglass, and with there no mission on the horizon for tomorrow, their guards were all down a bit. 

“Right, right, sorry Croz,” Douglass held his hands up in apology. “For real, what would you and Jean be doing if you were home?”

“We’d go out for dinner, but I think we’d probably be home for the bells,” he closed his eyes wistfully, and Rosie knew his friend was simply hoping that he’d be able to do that next year. “Dance in the living room, and yea, off to bed.”

Blakely nodded, reaching across to drop his hand to Crosby’s knee in a gesture of good faith, that he felt for him in a way, and was hoping he’d get that moment sooner rather than later. 

“What about you?” Ev turned to his right, finding Rosie sitting quietly. 

“What about me?” Rosie brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip and letting the taste linger on his tongue a moment. 

“Would you and Josephine be out on the town?” Douglass asked, gesturing to the photo on Rosie’s side table. 

“Oh yea, we’d be at Minton’s, dancing until they kicked us out I’m sure.” Rosie laughed. 

“Together at the club then?”

“Every year we go dancing on New Years,” Rosie started. “Christmas and Hanukkah are for family, New Years is for friends.”

“She’s more than a friend.” Harry looked at him pointedly. 

“She is, and a fella can dream that she’ll say yes when I get home.”

Blakely, who had been pulling the cigarette from behind his ear to light it, fumbled, dropping it to the ground at Rosie’s confession. 

“You got a ring?!”

“No, but, that’s my second order of business once I’m back stateside.”

“And the first?”

“To kiss the hell out of her.” Rosie confessed. 

“Good man.” Blakely slapped him on the shoulder, a smile on his face. 

It was absolutely the whiskey talking this time, but he was among friends. The trust was insurmountable. Between the confessions that had taken place before Ev and Dougie had joined them, and the warmth flowing through his veins, Rosie lifted the glass to his lips to drain it, before standing from his place on the bed. Swiping the envelope from earlier, and a clean sheet of paper from the table, he glanced at his friends with a grin, and offered a two fingered salute. 

“Gentlemen, I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going! We still have more whiskey!” Douglass hollered after him. 

“Save it for another occasion!” Rosie called back as he pushed through the doors and out into the chilly January air. 

He walked until he found a spot under one of the lamp posts, the bench undoubtedly cold as he sat down, but he wouldn’t be out here for long. Just enough time, and privacy, to get the thoughts swarming around in his head out on the page before he lost his nerve. 

Pulling his pen from his breast pocket, he carefully let the paper rest on his thigh before he began scrawling his extra note. 

Hi Sweetheart, 

I know this is coming with no context but, I want you to know how much I adore you. I know I’ve said it in different ways, and a few times by now, but, I mean it. Truly, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. And to say it from thousands of miles away, with a war on no less. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to hit me once I’m back home. 

Just know that I’ll always, always, carry your heart with the most careful of hands. I’ll keep you safe, and treasure every moment we have together. Anything you want, it’s yours, Jo. A quiet life together, or a herd of children that jump on the bed on Sunday mornings. I’ll make sure you have it honey. 

Just know, I’m yours for however long you’ll have me, Josephine. I’m hoping for forever, but that’s a question for another day. 

I love you,

Robbie 

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

Tag List: @rowdy-redhead @winniemaywebber @sagesolsticewrites @rosiesriveter @bobparkhurst @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd @basilone @roosevelt-stalin-cocacola @justheretoreadthxxs @claireelizabeth85 @hephaestn @ktredshoes @barrykeoghussy @peachessndreamss @hellfirequinnie

[forasecondtherewedwon]

For the smutty one liners, 19 and 20 with Croz and Bubbles please and thank you

It was your prompt I was talking about the other day—in the post where I said I'd made the smut about grief 🙃 (But there's definitely still smut.) Thank youuu!!

19: "Stop teasing me and do it!" 20: "You're still holding back, just let go."

more smutty one-liner prompts

so I smile and say

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairing: Harry Crosby x Joseph 'Bubbles' Payne Rating: E Word Count: 2032

Summary: The night he and Sandra sit by the fire, Crosby almost cheats on Jean. It takes the voice of a departed friend in his head to help Crosby understand why he felt so close to Sandra, and which feelings really need to be resolved.

If Crosby had been one of those guys he pretended to be in the mirror, he would’ve sat brooding before the fire and drunk the rest of the bottle alone. What Crosby did instead after Sandra turned in for the night was get to his feet and thoughtlessly splash the dregs of his drink into the fire. He just about jumped out of his skin when the flames leapt. Christ. The things he was entrusted with and he didn’t even have the presence of mind not to throw alcohol at fire.

When the fire settled back into a dimming, collapsing thing that really resonated with him, Crosby sighed and shuffled towards the bedroom. His, alone, on his side of the suite he shared with Sandra. “Roommates” was misleading; he usually slept in the barracks with a dozen other men and zero walls. Those were roommates. The accommodations situation with Sandra was more like next-door neighbours. It sounded so homey, so suburban, and not like he was a bad man who’d looked at that woman a quarter of an hour ago and thought about begging her to climb on top of him right there at the hearth for a mindless fuck.

Crosby stripped down to his undershirt and shorts, then groaned, realizing he’d forgotten to brush his teeth. He dragged himself to the bathroom. While he brushed, he stared into his own eyes in the mirror. They were empty, they were red—from liquor and grief and exhaustion. He spat, then ran hot water and let it pool in his palms until it burned before splashing his face. Wake up, he thought, then, Go to sleep, Harry, because the kind of waking-up he needed could only be helped by first falling asleep.

But when he pulled back the bedding and, yawning, slid his body between the sheets to lie on his back, Bubbles was with him, and so his mind wouldn’t rest.

Hey, buddy, Crosby thought.

Hey, Croz.

After it had happened, he hadn’t found Bubbles right away. It hadn’t been until he’d read the letter Bubbles had written to Jean that Crosby had started to hear his voice. Bubbles’ words, his cadence, had come back to him reading that letter. Now, like a whisper, Crosby could hear Bubbles’ voice if the world was quiet. This meant he typically heard it at night. And he knew it wasn’t real—that was the hardest part—but if Bubbles wasn’t coming back—he knew he wasn’t coming back (that was the hardest part)—it was what Crosby had.

It's ok, Bubbles told him when his eyes overflowed, a slow, thick tear rolling down his temple. You’re just tired.

Yeah, I know.

This Bubbles was Crosby’s Bubbles, completely; because he existed in Crosby—was Crosby—he had seen all of Crosby’s vulnerable moments, felt all of his pain. He was the only one. Crosby hadn’t told Jean what war was like, not really, and he couldn’t tell the boys back at the base anything because they all needed to carry on. It was Sandra, only Sandra, with whom he had shared the guilt he felt over Bubbles’ death. It was only her to whom he’d spoken Bubbles name.

I need your help, he thought.

That’ll be good—the blind leadin’ the blind.

Crosby smiled and sniffed, wiping the tear tracks away with his knuckle.

I almost cheated on Jean.

Why was it harder to admit that to himself than it had felt to imagine Sandra’s legs wrapped around his hips in front of the fire?

Why d’you think you were tempted? Bubbles asked.

Opportunity?

That an answer or a guess?

She’s a beautiful woman.

Don’t you blame Sandra, Bubbles chastised.

I’m not! Crosby thought with a huff. At least, he didn’t mean to. The problem isn’t Sandra, it’s that she’s right here, living in these rooms with me. It’s the proximity, Bubbles.

Just the physical closeness that’s the issue, then?

Crosby sighed deeply, hands gripping the sheet as though longing to wrench it up over his face so he could hide. But you couldn’t hide from the best friend who lived inside your head. That helped keep him honest.

No, he thought sullenly. Sandra let me talk… and she listened.

I listen.

You don’t count.

Because I’m dead? Crosby thought in Bubbles’ voice before he could stop himself. He exhaled a shaky breath.

Because it’s about you, he reasoned instead. He rolled onto his side, bunching the pillow beneath his neck.

You wanted to make love to Sandra because she helped you think about me. Crosby’s other thoughts attempted to rush in, an October gust through an open window back home, but he slammed that window shut and made things quiet again so Bubbles could go on. You’ve been scared to, Croz, because it hurts you so damn much. You know I don’t wanna hurt you though, buddy. Harry. It’s ok to feel close to me.

“But I miss you,” Crosby gasped aloud into the thin, dark loneliness of the bedroom he’d still be getting familiar with by the time he had to leave Oxford.

I know you do.

And I love you, Crosby thought, because he couldn’t say that part out loud, not even by accident. He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t even be seen by himself, his hand clutching the pillow.

I know that too.

You can’t. I didn’t realize while you were alive.

You can’t pick when it does and doesn’t matter that a fella’s alive, Bubbles said reasonably, while Crosby fought not to feel lectured or defensive or simply seen far too clearly. For all intents and purposes, Croz, I’m here, and nothin’ could be plainer than the fact that you love me. Sandra knows. That’s why you wanted her, right? You wanted somebody who knew you came to them full to the brim with love you woulda spent on me.

Crosby’s chest felt like an egg that had just been cracked, a tearless sob breaking free of the brittle shell. All of it was true. None of it was straightforward. He and Bubbles had been bullets formed in the same mould, a pair of shoes issued to the same airman, two wings on the same plane. They had read the same books, danced to the same music, and never not enjoyed one another’s company. That was the kind of best friend they had been to each other, but the version of Bubbles Crosby had concocted was rightly insisting that it had been more than that. Crosby had always hung on longer than he’d felt he should’ve when they’d hugged. In his letters to Jean, he’d tended to write nearly as much news of Bubbles as of himself: Bubbles thinks, Bubbles says, Bubbles hopes. Once, when he hadn’t been able to get his hair right, Bubbles had tapped his hands away and slicked Crosby’s hair into place himself. There, he’d said with a smile. Now you look sharp.

And Crosby had looked at Bubbles’ hair sometimes, soft and fair. At Bubbles’ slightest fumble, Crosby had made a noise of exasperation and stepped in without being asked to relace Bubbles’ boot or hold the collar of Bubbles’ uniform jacket while he shrugged it on. I’m here, he’d said with his actions. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, and now Bubbles was not, and so Crosby had told their stories to the beautiful subaltern with whom he’d been mistakenly housed.

It wouldn’t be cheating with you, he thought.

I don’t count.

Only my memories of you.

Those counted so much. They counted more than the life Crosby had been watching himself live, day by day, since Bubbles had flown off and not returned.

I could be the one, Bubbles offered.

And Crosby thought, You always were.

Not drunk but softened to the world, Crosby could see Bubbles with ease. In the silence, the voice in his head was clear, and with his eyes closed, he could picture Bubbles’ head resting on the other pillow. Crosby shifted, and the rustle of sheets could’ve been Bubbles edging closer to him. He was here, with Crosby, where no one could touch him. Where bombers didn’t billow black clouds that mocked the white ones they fell through. It didn’t matter that Crosby trailed his fingertips across the back of his own hand, or stroked his own jawline, or pressed his own palm to his chest to feel the hastening pump of his wounded heart. It was all Bubbles if he said so—Bubbles whose finger traced a straight line down from Crosby’s navel and into his shorts. But not far enough.

“Stop teasing me and do it,” Crosby urged under his breath.

They’d been of one mind about a lot of things, and now they were of one hand—Crosby’s hand, reaching to grasp himself. He pumped slowly. There was something smoky in the air, the scent of the fireplace clinging to his undershirt, maybe. He ran his free hand up his neck and into his hair and got a good grip. The bite of it was the ideal sensation to balance the torturous rhythm of his fist. Crosby moaned aloud as he cupped his palm over the head of his cock and massaged, spreading slickness. His hips bucked into the feeling and Crosby swallowed as he pictured Bubbles’ fist instead, Bubbles’ mouth.

You remember me gentle, the Bubbles in his head observed.

You always were.

I appreciate that, Croz, but if you wanna feel me with you, then feel me with you.

Crosby groaned and thrust through the circle of his fingers, smearing himself with wetness, then flipped onto his back. He made his strokes short and tight.

You’re still holding back. Crosby imagined the words as a whisper in his ear, Bubbles’ warm breath on his skin, his lips skimming Crosby’s lobe. Just let go.

Panting, Crosby slackened his grip and jerked himself off. It was fast and it was rough as he raced the fading illusion he was desperate to sustain. The hand that was supposed to be Bubbles’ felt increasingly like his own.

Don’t go, he silently cried out.

Let go, Bubbles replied.

Even though Crosby’d been the one to think it, he felt sudden panic over what it might mean. He could let go like this—the fleshy slap beneath the sheet—but not of the Bubbles he kept with him, not of the Bubbles to whom he still belonged. Climax approached and it was almost unbearable, but Crosby’s hand wouldn’t slow. He was too used to submitting to the inevitable. When he came, he clamped his lips together to keep the raw yelp behind his teeth. Like a burst of light, there was Bubbles’ face as he’d seen it last, turning to profile as the truck pulled away to take the boys to their planes.

The moments of greatest intensity—a wash of hot pleasure in his groin, tension in his back as his ass lifted from the bed—passed, and only his ragged panting was left. Crosby brushed the back of his wrist across his forehead. Then, he searched his mind for Bubbles.

Right here, Croz.

You wouldn’t leave me. A statement.

Not if I could choose. Not before you’re ready.

That’s two different answers.

You came up with ’em.

Crosby had, but it was ok because neither of the answers had been “yes.”

He tossed back the covers and padded to the bathroom with a change of clothes. If he did that again, it’d have to be in the tub; he didn’t have much with him. His wardrobe was pretty limited. He wasn’t so hopeless that he couldn’t do a little hand-washing in the sink, but how long did stuff take to dry? He could hardly lay out his damp articles in front of the fire.

Clean and clothed, he got back into bed. He was impressed by the size of his own yawn. Wriggling down, he decided it was a nice bed, in a nice room. It was the only bed he and Bubbles had ever shared, and Crosby still felt him there, his best friend. His late love.

Anyone who called him unfaithful would be wrong.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Are you currently writing or planning on any 18+ Harry Crosby x Jean ficlets? There's so little and I am DYING for content after the last few episodes x

My darling, hello! A fellow Croz lover, welcome into my haven! This ask pleases me greatly, I’ve missed talking about my husband. They’ve put us through hell and fed us well all at the same time These last episodes and I still remain very devoted to the dog shelter puppy of a man.

In full transparency, I do not currently have one started. But, I’m more than willing to do so and was planning on it, requested or not. I’m starved for content, too, so I’m gonna be the change I want to see in the world. Feel free to keep screaming Thots at me in the inbox, it helps keep me motivated to make it happen. Xoxo

P.S. another Croz girly and wonderful writer to keep you eyes peeled for us @sagesolsticewrites

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Can you do a Harry Crosby x Jean wedding night ficlet? Soft and gentle but also spicy please🤭❤️‍🔥

Oh my gosh, the shudder that tore through me by simply reading the words “-Harry Crosby x Jean wedding night” in such close proximity to each other may or may not bode well for my ability to actually do it. I may just lay there incapacitated by the little movie of it that I have in my head and not write a single word. But:

I would love to give it a whirl. Cannot promise this one, tbh, but I wanna try.