#john brady fanfiction

[luminouslywriting]

what do you think would be the reactions of the different men when they’re falling for a single mum? I think going with the time it’s more likely a young widow than a girl with a kid out of wedlock but who knows maybe John Brady just feels the desire to make an honest woman out of a poor girl at church who’s man ran off or Bucky takes to teaching his neighbors kid baseball because he sees their mom is stressed… just whatever guys you think would fit this

Nonny, this gave me actual brainrot so I hope you enjoy this so much 🥰🤍 as always, my requests are open and I don’t mind spam haha! More under the cut, cut for length, light spice sprinkled in:

Bucky Egan: (I had to run with the baseball idea haha)

-Absolutely the type of man who does not care about the past sexual history or life of a partner....and he's kinda looking for someone to date at the moment??

-But there's this kid on his block who's about six and he watches this kid attempt to throw a baseball every day and it just pains his soul because the form is awful and where is this kid's dad??

-So one day, he rolls on over to the yard of said kid and just starts offering pointers—he always wanted to be a baseball coach in his free-time and he just hasn't gotten around to it yet

-This sweet little boy makes him a deal that if Bucky comes over and teaches him how to throw a ball, lemonade will be made and given by you (his mom) and he will help Bucky paint his fence

-Bucky thinks it's a swell idea and it's at this surprising point to you that your son brings in the attractive war hero Bucky Egan straight to the kitchen and demands lemonade

-Well you and Bucky get to talking and you tell him that your husband died in the Pacific pretty early on in the war and your son has never really known a father

-That being said, it's a slow burn. He really enjoys getting to spend time with you and your son and he's afraid that he'll mess things up. But then your kid is inviting Bucky to dinner and you're telling him that it's no problem and you usually make too much food anyway.

-And somewhere along the way, he starts thinking of your house as more of a home to him than his own lonely home that he purchased. So naturally, this man panICS and has to call Gale and ask what he should do because he doesn't want to spook you or ruin the nice thing you've got going on.

-Gale definitely has to reassure him that if you both clearly want him there, then he should just go for it; Bucky deserves to be happy too.

-But he DRAGS his feet in the process....right up until your son accidentally calls him dad after hitting the ball with the baseball bat

-And then there's actual panic between you and Bucky and he's trying to apologize because clearly he's overstepped

-It would be at this point that you have to tell him that it's quite alright and you'd really like to get to know him more...because you like having him around and clearly your son adores him

-CUE THE FIRST KISS (first of many, might I add)

-It's the most darling domestic thing and he absolutely views your son as his son and he's never been so happy in his life

Gale Cleven:

-I think the most logical move here is that he finds you after Marge's passing. It was a short and love-filled marriage for them, but it was gone so quickly.

-He's devastated, naturally. And he doesn't really have anything left in Wyoming, so he sets out for Wisconsin.

-Now the thing about this is that John Egan has married Josephine Pitz—and Josephine Pitz's best friend is you. Your husband was a Marine during the war and died in action, leaving you with two little kids.

-You're doing your best but it's hard being a working single mom during the early 1950s.

-Cut to Josie and John setting this up just so

-Bucky makes the point that your car needs some work and you're a good friend of Josie's

-So this is how Gale Cleven is introduced to you—matchmaking via car-service haha

-Your two boys? Absolutely just wanna watch him work and wanna hear about everything that he's doing to the car

-But you're no fool and you know that Josie and Bucky are trying to set this up for the two of you

-So you just flat-out confront him about it and tell him that they're trying to be sneaky and that you're sorry he got caught up in their schemes

-But the thing is?? He's perfectly happy and used to their schemes. There's also the fact that this is the safest and calmest he's felt since Marge died.

-So he admits that he'd be willing to give this thing a chance if you are

-So it's a slow-burn for the two of you as you're trying to navigate around the fact that you've both already lost a partner and the fact that you have kids

-But he's so good with them and helps with the homework and genuinely just tries his best

-It's not a surprise to anyone when you're married a year later

Robert Rosenthal:

-On his way to the Nuremberg Trials, he meets you—a young lawyer who has recently just found out that you're pregnant (not that you're telling anyone that).

-You two become fast friends and he finds out that your husband was a British RAF Pilot who died. He's entirely sympathetic and sweet about the situation.

-The pair of you team up for the trials and it's amidst the preparations for the Trials that he finds you doubled over with morning sickness. This man assumes that it's the flu. Babe, it is not the flu.

-So a few weeks into you being sick and dealing with the trials, he's getting real concerned and you just have to spill the tea that you're pregnant.

-Not gonna lie, Rosie's heart shatters a little bit for you. It's not as if you want to leave the Trials to deal with pregnancy but you're also a whole ocean away and who do you have to rely on?

-Well he makes a promise that he's gonna help you through it

-And along the way, he's absolutely falling in love with you—with your dedication and kindness, the way that you're soft about the baby and continue to focus on work, and the way in which you're so determined to do everything entirely on your own

-He definitely very quickly makes you an offer that you're a little befuddled by

-The offer is marriage—and the thing is?? It's a damn good offer. You're a recent widow trying to do her job at the Nuremberg Trials, just found out you're pregnant, away from home, and have no support system

-So naturally you accept and this is a marriage born out of convenience and kindness to you....but there is so much affection and care.

-He's had feelings for you for a while and he's perfectly happy taking his time in the relationship and understands that you might not reciprocate the feelings in the same way.

-If nothing else, at least you'll be provided for, your child will have a father, and you'll always have a friend by your side

-It's at this point that your feelings start to develop because he's just such a good person and treats you so well and so clearly loves you

-The two of you are icons during the trials (Mr. and Mrs. Rosenthal), and he comes back from Europe with a wife and daughter on his arm....and no, he didn't tell anyone so it was quite a shock to everyone.

John Brady: (Also decided to run with it haha)

-Listen, this man has a picture perfect plan for what he wants to have happen when he gets home from the war and that's all fine and dandy, but this man was NOT planning on you haha

-You faithfully attend the same church as he does and it's pretty obvious that you're pregnant.....

-But man the gossip is bad. And he's not one to listen to idle gossip and just believe what people say. But evidently your fianceé had run off when he found out you were pregnant and had taken any chance of a reputable life. It's ROUGH, okay??

-And the thing is, John Brady is out here just trying to do his Christian duty by seeing if you need any help over at your house....because he also passes it on the way to Church and YIKES, your yard is going through it

-It's the first time that someone just offers to do something nice for you??? You're so thrilled about it

-So he comes over that summer and does your yard work for you and you make little sandwiches and he gets to have lunch with you

-The thing is, you two get to talking and he finds out that you weren't even planning on having kids for a while anyway and it was YOUR former man who wanted to do the deed and refused to help out in any way. This is entirely a man's folly and has ruined things for you.

-Now he feels bad, he does....

-But he's not trying to make a move or anything. At the moment anyway haha. Instead, he invites you to spend some time with his sisters because you need friends anyway and they all have kids so they can help you know what to expect for pregnancy.

-Well it's all going great and he's pretty happy with the fact that you now have a support system and he's starting to make some waves in work. And then the yard is done and finished.

-And for some reason he's offering to help with the plumbing and the inside work too? It's definitely not because he's worried about you and it's definitely not because he's very very attracted to you in any way shape or form lol.

-I don't think anything actually happens until you're right ready to pop....at which case YOU kiss HIM because you're just real impatient

-And he doesn't get to respond to anything because your water breaks and he's taking you to the hospital

-So while you're in labor, this man is processing the fact that he MAYBE really really likes you and has already planned out the rest of your lives together, but that's BESIDES the point

-He still feels like he's taking advantage here....right up until you have a son and you name him Johnny because Brady was the only person that was kind to you during pregnancy and this man just melts on the spot, professes love to you—and tells you that he wants to take care of you for the rest of your life.

-Chef's kiss tbh

[cetaitlaverite]

Why All This Music? - The Millie and Brady Cut

a/n: if you’re new here, this can be read on its own or as a companion piece to my multi-chapter fic (rosie x oc) ‘why all this music?’ but be warned that millie and brady are side characters in that one!!

if you’re not new here, hi!! i’ve missed you guys!! absolutely no one asked for this but i thought it was time for millie and brady to finally have their moment. if you ever wondered what, exactly, transpired between these two idiots when they were sneaking around in the bg of watm then you're in luck, because here's a snippet!! hope you loveee <3

Millie was scowling. So much so, in fact, that the muscles in her face were starting to ache. Her eyes were narrowed and her teeth were clenched, her eyebrows perched low over her eyes. Her hands were grasping fistfulls of her skirt in her lap. “Bastard,” she muttered, and there was no way he could hear, but from across the room John Brady smiled, as though sensing her displeasure.

That only made her scowl harder.

Across the table from her, with her back turned to the subject of Millie’s wrath, Jem was tipping her empty glass back into her mouth, trying to lap up the lingering droplets of beer.

Millie paid her no mind, her attention firmly elsewhere.

The band finished playing their song and there was a brief spell of quiet in the interim. Chatter seemed to become louder now that there was nothing to shout over, the sound of feet shuffling on the dance floor awkward as it became audible. John Brady, his saxophone lowered during the pause, was smirking at one of the female ATA pilots standing by the bar, the nicer one who had a bit of a reputation as a heartbreaker. Her name was Alice, Millie recalled, and she was pretty. Not as pretty as her friend, the only other female ATA pilot who had her own reputation for being a live wire, equally as likely to bite as she was to play fetch, but pretty in a softer, girl-next-door kind of way. Pretty enough that she didn’t ever seem to find it all too difficult to secure herself a dance partner whenever she so desired. And today, apparently, she so desired John Brady.

“Bastard,” Millie muttered again.

Millie had never spoken to Alice other than over the radio when she was ferrying but suddenly she despised her. She didn’t altogether know why. It was none of her business who John Brady did or did not choose to entertain. She didn’t even like the man, more to the point, so it should have amused her that Alice-of-the-ATA was about to take him to bed and then break his heart. But it didn’t amuse her. It infuriated her. Almost as much as that stupid smirk on his face and his stupid hair and his stupid saxophone. Who played the saxophone these days anyway?

“Idiot,” Millie said out loud.

“Sorry?” Freddie asked as she set two pints of beer and a glass of wine onto the table, having just returned from the bar. 

When Millie glanced up she found Freddie frowning and realised with a start that Freddie thought she was the idiot.

“No,” Millie said quickly, “not you, Fred. Him.” She gestured with her head towards the band but Freddie didn’t need specifics, as soon as she glanced in that general direction she knew exactly who Millie meant.

“What’s he done now?” she asked, eyebrows furrowed as she returned to her seat between Millie and Jem.

“It’s not what he’s done,” Millie replied, her lips twisting back into a frown as her eyes returned to Brady, “it’s what he is. And what he is is an idiot.”

“And a bastard,” Jem added helpfully as she set her empty glass down and reached for the fresh one. “At least, that’s what Mils has been muttering to herself for the better part of twenty minutes so I’m assuming she means Brady and not me.”

“He is a bastard,” Millie defended herself. “Earlier he sought me out to tell me my instructions on the radio weren’t clear enough. I said if he was a decent pilot to start with he wouldn’t need such specific guidance. My job isn’t to mother him down the runway. But he told me my instructions are lazy. He said he’s always irritated when he gets me on the radio before a mission.”

Freddie snorted into a sip from her glass of white wine.

Millie cut her eyes at her. “What?” she snapped.

Freddie was grinning. “The two of you are both as childish as each other.” She shrugged, her eyes dancing. “He’s glaring at you right now, just so you know.”

“Thought he was too busy smirking at that fucking ATA pilot,” Millie all but growled.

“Who?” Freddie asked. “Finley?”

“Alice,” Jem corrected. “She’s got her eye on Brady tonight.”

“Right,” Freddie said. She and Jem exchanged a meaningful glance which served only to infuriate Millie.

“What?” she demanded.

Jem snickered but took a long gulp of beer to avoid having to reply.

Freddie simply shrugged. “Nothing.”

Millie turned her eyes back on Brady and, sure enough, he had one of his maddening scowls on his face. His eyes on her were narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed, his lips twisted unpleasantly downwards.

Millie scowled right back at him and raised her middle finger in his direction. Before he could similarly swear at her, she turned away and gulped down half of her beer in one go. “I want to dance,” she declared, setting down her glass. She planted her hands on the table and pushed herself up to standing. “Where’s Benny?”

“In the corner by the bar with Meatball,” Freddie said without even having to look. She seemed to have developed some sort of sixth sense for always knowing where Meatball was at any given moment but it came in handy occasionally.

“Who’s he with?” Millie wondered.

“Ev and Dougie, last I checked.”

“Yep,” Jem confirmed, the only one of them who could see in that direction without having to turn around. “Just the three of them. Four if you count Meatball.”

“Always count Meatball,” Freddie said.

“Didn’t even know they were friends,” Millie remarked, but she took another big sip of beer and smoothed down her skirt nonetheless. “See you later,” she offered, then turned on her heel and made her way over to the aforementioned quartet without further comment.

Benny noticed her almost immediately and smiled. “Millie Harlow,” he greeted as she neared. He straightened out his posture and his uniform as he watched her approach.

“Benny DeMarco,” Millie returned with a smile. “Fancy a dance?”

“With you? Always.”

Millie laughed, holding out both of her hands towards him. “Such a gentleman,” she said. “Can’t you teach your friends to be more like you?”

Benny rolled his eyes jovially as he handed Meatball’s lead off to Blakely and placed both of his hands in Millie’s. “Don’t tell me you and Brady are at each other’s throats again,” he said, leading her towards the dance floor.

“Brady and I are always at each other’s throats, Benny,” Millie replied pleasantly. “You should know this by now. But tonight he’s royally pissing me off. So tell him to stop being a bastard at the next available opportunity, would you?”

Benny shook his head with a poorly concealed smirk but said nothing, turning as they came to a stop at the edge of the dance floor and getting the two of them into position.

Millie could feel Brady’s eyes on her the entire time she was dancing with Benny. He was supposed to be concentrating on his sheet music as he provided the sax to this upbeat jazzy tune, but every time Benny spun her she caught a glimpse of his eyes narrowed on her, his jaw hard and his jaw muscle pulsing.

Millie felt a thrill every time. Each part of her he set his eyes on became warm, as though he was laying his hands there. She was smirking to herself by the time the song came to an end because this was exactly what she’d wanted, but then the large majority of the band were dismissed in favour of those remaining playing a slow song, and then she was catching sight of Brady leading none other than Alice-of-the-ATA onto the dance floor. The two of them came to occupy the empty patch of floor right beside Millie and Benny. Because of course they did.

“Hi, Benny,” Brady greeted pleasantly as he drew Alice in close.

“Brady,” Benny greeted back. “Nice playing.”

“Thanks. Feeling inspired.”

Millie refused to look at him. She set her eyes on the pins on Benny’s collar, biting into the inside of her cheek. 

“Benny, you know Alice, right? She’s a ferry pilot with the ATA.”

“We’ve met a few times,” Alice cut in. “But only briefly. You’re the one with the dog, right?”

“Yeah,” Benny confirmed. “Meatball. Won him in a game of craps.”

Alice laughed.

Millie tightened her hold on Benny and surreptitiously drew herself closer to him.

“You met Millie yet, Alice?” Benny asked next.

“We’ve been working here together for a while now,” Alice informed him with an audible smile. “Millie helps me take off and land over the radio sometimes.”

At this, Brady let out a low, sarcastic hiss. “Unfortunate. You wanna get Fred on the radio, really. Harlow, here, is a lazy wireless op.”

Finally, Millie looked up and met his eyes. Her smile was sour and venomous. “You know, Brady, you’re the only pilot I’ve ever spoken to who has ever had any complaints. Did you ever once stop to think that maybe you’re the problem?”

“Maybe I’m just the only one with the balls to say it to your face,” Brady fired back.

“Maybe you’re the only pilot who wasn’t able to safely ferry in his plane from pissing Greenland. Maybe you’re the only pilot who needs to be spoon fed landing instructions. Maybe you’re the only pilot who has a problem with me because you’re a shit pilot, Brady, did you ever stop to think about that?”

“Brave words from someone who spends more time flirting with everyone over the radio than delivering landing instructions.”

“Not that you’d know because I wouldn’t dare flirt with you.”

“Because you know you’d get rejected.”

“Because I’m not interested,” she corrected sharply.

Brady rolled his eyes. “You and I both know you’d be interested if I was interested.”

“You and I both know that you’re a fucking arsehole, John Brady. I wouldn’t go for you if you were the last man on earth, let alone willingly.”

“Such pretty language from a lady,” Brady mocked. “Yeah, you’re a real prize, Harlow.”

Millie opened her mouth to retort but Alice cut right across her, likely sensing that there was no end to this argument in sight. “Are we actually going to dance or are you two just going to argue while Benny and I stand here like lemons?”

Millie and Brady stared each other down for a few more seconds before Brady scoffed and stepped back from Alice. “Don’t feel like dancing anymore.”

“Me neither,” Millie growled.

“Wonderful. Benny, would you like to dance?” Alice asked.

“Love to,” Benny replied.

“Prick,” Millie ground out as she turned and passed Brady on her way off of the dancefloor.

“Heard that,” Brady taunted.

“You were supposed to,” Millie told him over her shoulder before making a beeline straight out of the officers’ club. After all that she needed a smoke.

Unfortunately, Brady wasn’t willing to let her off the hook. He came stomping out of the officers’ club right behind her, muttering under his breath all the while, and when Millie stopped to lean back against the outside wall of the club he took hold of her elbow and towed her behind him further away from the door.

“What the fuck, Brady?” she demanded, wrenching at her arm to free it from his grip. “Let go of me!”

“Stop acting like a brat, Harlow,” he fired back and kept on carting her with him. He led her into the darkness, walking in silence, until they ended up in the small alley between two buildings.

Now, Millie finally managed to tug her arm free. She was seething when he turned to her. “What the fuck?!” she demanded once more.

“What is your problem with me? Huh?” Brady asked. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving not with exertion but with frustration. His eyes were stormy as they glared down at her.

Standing this close, Millie became conscious for the first time of just how much she had to crane her neck back to meet his hard gaze.

“What is my problem with you?” she echoed with a scoff. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, Harlow, I am fucking serious. What’s your problem?”

“What’s your problem with me?!” Millie demanded of him right back. “You waited outside the tower for me just so you could insult me! You don’t do that with anyone else!”

“You were the first to insult me after my belly landing when I first got here. I didn’t even know you then!”

“I wasn’t insulting you -”

“Then what were you doing?!”

“Why were you listening to my conversation anyway?!”

“You were talking too goddamn loud to ignore it!”

“Well, I wasn’t insulting you! I just said I thought the crash landing was unfortunate,” Millie told him, tilting her chin up higher to assume an air of defiance. “Not that it’s any of your business, for the record.”

Brady’s eyes were still blazing. “You laughed after.”

Millie scoffed. “Oh, come on, Brady, your feelings are not that fragile.”

The set of Brady’s jaw was hard. “How are you and Fred such good friends? She’s so sweet to everyone and you’re -” He faltered.

“What?” Millie snapped. “What am I? Choose your words very carefully, John Brady, or I swear to god they’ll be the last you ever say.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he hissed.

“Oh, I’m annoying?!”

“Yeah! You are!”

“You’re worse than I am! I can’t do anything without you getting on my back about doing a bad job!”

“I can’t go anywhere without you staring at me!”

“I can’t dance with anyone without you interrupting me!”

He kissed her so suddenly and so fiercely that her back hit the wall. His hands on her jaw kept her close.

Millie’s hands were on his chest, relishing the racing of his heart beneath her palms, the hardness of the muscles of his chest. Her lips were feverish in their attempt to keep up with his.

When his hands descended to her waist, hers twined into his hair, twisting and tugging at the strands as his tongue slipped into her mouth. He pushed one of his legs between both of hers, pressing his knee up against her, and groaned into her mouth. The sound of it, the vibrations it sent into her own mouth, woke Millie up. She pushed him back, gasping for breath, and sputtered, “What the hell did you do that for?!”

Brady didn’t quite know where to look. His eyes flitted from her face to her hands to the wall on either side of her and down to his own hands, like he couldn’t believe where they’d just been. “Well, I -” He grasped frantically for words. “I just - I don’t know!” he finally decided.

Millie stared at him hard, her expression cold, before she lurched forwards in turn, wrenching fistfuls of his jacket towards her and pressing her lips firmly to his. They resumed their previous rhythm immediately, hot and fiery and insistent, passionate and desperate, tugging and pulling and pushing at each other, trying to get closer than it was possible to get.

That was, until Millie set both of her hands on his chest and gave him a push back as firm as it was sudden. “You’re stupid!” she accused, pointing one finger at him. With that, she turned and fled the scene, her footsteps rapid, leaving Brady panting and disoriented, utterly bewildered, in her wake.

Once safely back in her hut, Millie shut the door behind her and fell back against it, raising one shaking hand to press against her tingling lips. And, in spite of herself, she smiled, just at the memory of the feeling of his lips and the taste of his tongue and the smell of him, how it had been to feel his heart racing beneath her hands.

Her smile fell right off her face when she remembered who it was, exactly, that she was mooning over.

Once again she was scowling. “John Brady,” she hissed to herself, “you are on such thin fucking ice even a feather would send you under.”

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

Modern Screen (October 1950): "Stag Night at the Steam Room"

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Those Who Can || integrated Female Air Force series

Introductory part 1: Flintenweiber, or “Rifle Broads”.

Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlistment and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.

Authors Note: this is an Au, obviously, and I intend for the de-segregation in the force to not be entirely full, in fact in some ways they would mirror that of the Tuskegee Red Tails where they were held back from many opportunities and placed at a disadvantage, to say the least. However, as this is primarily a POW fic that aspect only effects their reception into the Stalag and the timeline of their crashes.

Inspo: thanks to all of y’all who contributed with suggestions and advice on this fic. I want to say that I based a great deal of the brutal treatment and indignity heaped on these fictional OC’s on the true and horrific treatment of the Soviet Female Soldiers taken as POWs. Taking into consideration that American ties would give these OC’s some leverage, I have moderated these horrors if anything, however as I intend for these girls to be some of the first of their kind, they in many ways endure the brunt of the cruel initiation. If you’ve got any questions or suggestions about this, have at the inbox.

Warnings: 18+ for disturbing content. War, brutality, cruelty, and references to sexual violence. Specifics: a woman’s head is forcefully shaved, a woman is kicked to death, a dog turned loose, concentration camps, brief infighting between Soviet’s and Americans, past tense illusions to rape which are underplayed and may be consequently more disturbing to some. Quite angsty ok?? It’s women at war. Rampant misogyny by Nazis.

Familiar faces: Gale Cleven, Benny Demarco, John Brady, “Hambone” Hamilton

Original Characters: Lt. Maureen Kendeigh (bombardier), Lt. Colonel Ida Brady, Lt. Tallulah Smith 

If Maureen Kendeigh heard the word “degenerate” used one more time in regards to her profession, her sacrifice and skill, -she just might do something regrettable.

By this point she was ready to get off this cattle car and go back to talk with Interrogator Glasses about stupid and unnerving shit like why the clock in the mess hall at Thorpe Abbots had a broken arm. Her distressed inner monologue of “how did he know that??” at the time was preferred to this newest method of demoralization: death by aspersion and suspense.

It was nice to be back with the girls, ones she knew and ones from other squadrons. But that held a misfortune too, the fact that it was just the girls, still not a single male crew member in sight. Apparently the Gestapo and the Luftwaffe were having a spat over who got to keep them, these Flintenweiber: “Rifle Broads”.

In the meantime Maureen and her fellows got punted back and forth between the two institutions like unwanted stepchildren. First the horrible isolation but humane treatment of the Air Force interrogation cells. Then back to the prison where all bets were off and the hope of safety came from a herd-like defense of each other against the ever more erratic guards. In these holdings, if one of their members hadn’t been executed by a pistol to the temple by end of day, it was considered a successful defense by the whole. All other atrocity, indignity and assault were unbearable’s that required bearing for the time being until the Luftwaffe took them back.

And then handed them back over.

And on and on it went.

It was effective, Maureen gave them that, after each hosting by the Gestapo, the girls were softer, tenderized and more susceptible to any deal that might procure them a shred of honor and safety. Only Ida Brady, the most senior amongst them at the incomprehensible rank of Lt. Colonel, had held ranks together, spine of steel and bearing more terrifying than most men’s, she’d fought for every grueling respect of rank they had been afforded. Even if it landed them in harsher conditions, worse interrogations -anything to ensure that what happened to her girls were considered as war crimes against lawful combatants when the time came for justice.

But they’d been collecting the downed girls and holding them apart like prized anomalies while conflicting orders came in from Berlin, and while the Red Cross fussed regarding combatant status. Now they had a tidy number collected, well over twenty by the time Maureen saw Ida Brady pushed into the cell, having been downed with a significant portion of them after Munich.

But now they hadn’t seen Brady in over a day. Not since they’d been loaded on this rail car headed to god knows where by soldiers with the dreaded lightning bolts on their collars.

The SS.

With Brady missing, Maureen supposed that made her and Lieutenant Smith a leader of sorts. Most of her “leading” currently took the form of not responding to a single vile threat or taunt by the guards mingling amongst them in the ever rocking car. Ida would be proud of her emotionless detachment at one guard’s suggestion to let the dog loose and see who it chose to maul.

Lieutenant Smith -tender hearted Tallulah with the bronzed skin and knack with animals that rivaled Snow White’s- had made the cryptic observation in Maureen’s ear that she’d never known a dog could be trained away from the throat to go for the breasts instead.

As of last Sunday they now knew, and none of them were likely to forget.

“I’ll be faster next time,” Smith had mumbled in a simmering rage, “I’ll be faster. I’ll have my fist down that cur’s throat before they finish slipping the leash.”

It was a nice sentiment, would’ve been made more so if Maureen wasn’t so sure it would land dear Smith with a bullet in her head. Would be made more so if Sergeant Forsyth had lived from her injuries long enough to benefit from it. Lots of things would be made nicer by heavier coats and the presence of drinking water.

One of the new ones, a terrified little replacement who wore her ordeal on her face, made the rookie mistake of asking for a drink. She’d been given the predictable initiation of being pissed on by a guard in answer and now she bore her thirst as doggedly as the veterans.

When the train cars rolled to a halt, and the great door was hauled back, sprawling out before them appeared the most idyllic scenery one could ever hope for. A crystalline blue lake, dotted on its border with charming structures adorned with red tile roofs, a quaint church of the same, lush fields and sparkling water and deep forest for miles. Maureen did not think they would haul them so near a town only to execute them. But then what did she know?

Nothing, not even where she was.

When they had lined the girls up, some in worse shape than others and a motley collective group from various military branches, they hauled off Ida Brady to the head of the pack, her bruised face considerably more busted than when she’d been loaded on. Maureen could see her craning her neck as she was drug past, counting down her flyer girls, looking for any missing from the trip.

They were marched, four abreast and with guns at their backs, down a wide and well traversed road into town, past cottages on its outskirts with little garden plots and clothes blowing on the line. Maureen was reminded of the idyllic countryside she had landed in with her chute before being seized and hauled off. There were women and children in row boats on the lake and the path they took through the woods was more peaceful than ominous. A traitorous sort of hope began to bloom in Maureen’s heart.

That was dashed when the tree line broke and out before them stretched what seemed to be miles of wire. And beside it a sign, welcoming them to Ravensbrück -a concentration camp. A camp for civilians, a camp to never return from.

Their new guards were ready for them, smiles on their faces and whips in their hands. Among them were a few remarkable for their sex, they were women too -if women who enjoyed such craft could still be called that. And for all the horror inflicted on them by their male captors so far, there seemed to be a general presentment amongst the arriving girls that the finer arts of terror had not yet been endured.

Standing for hours in the infamous square inside the compound, roll call and registration took on a form of torture yet unheard of. Round and round it went, repetitions of ranks and serials over and over and each time they were met with two alternatives. Renounce the ranks and be admitted as civilians with no further targeted harassment. Or-

“If you insist on being special, we will be forced to make you special.” as one officer put it to Brady’s stone cold face. “Ask your Soviet compatriots, the ones who wanted to be special like you. They claimed to be officers too, and now they service officers in Buchenwald. They have not left their beds in months. Special, no?”

“I’m not ‘claiming’ a goddamn thing.” Brady would go round and round with them in turn and up and down the line was the echo of ranks and serials.

Nothing but ranks and serials.

The minute they dropped one or the other, they’d be freed from this standing purgatory, and they’d be as good as dead. They might wish it were so anyway, if the threat was carried out but they’d suffer as officers, with honor. Whatever that meant this far from home and any appreciation of it. A fresh batch of guards relieved the first and the banter continued, even through roll call of the general camp where a mass of the most miserable specters of female kind poured out of the huts and were made to await the call of their one single number.

A serial for a serial. Maureen would keep hers. By dawn she had kept it, as had all but one of her group, a navy nurse with a broken leg who’d succumbed to the allure of a chair.

Civilian status for a seat.

Maureen thought a drop of water might be her own undoing were it offered, but one look at Smith's cracked yet unmoving lips cemented her in her own determination. As did Ida Brady’s talk, straight back in front of her, trousers bloodied on the inseam but not a cringe to be discerned in her stance.

By morning roll call for the entire camp, their guards were tiring of them, or else thought a new method of persuasion more likely to bring success. Off they were marched to their new billet to “meet their Allies” and what Smith wouldn’t give to have her brass knuckles back when met with a hut full of Soviet soldiers. Females, if females could have shoulders like that. They were impressive women with murder on their faces at the intrusion of a new gang of American blowhards.

“Did you give up already?” The one with the most English taunted and for the first time since capture, Maureen saw Ida Brady’s spine bow backwards just a fraction -a pacifying gesture in the face of the Russian’s nose to nose staredown.

“Hey, we’re not here to make trouble.” she insisted, cool and stern. “Did you?”

“We’d rather die.”

Brady gave a sharp nod, “Then we’re Allies in that, too.”

“Your precious Red Cross won’t come for you here.” That likely verdict seemed to bring the woman satisfaction, and Maureen wondered how many months, weeks, hours of this grueling place it would take before she too took savage satisfaction in another’s misfortune. How long before all better impulse to be glad for others was stamped out and all that was left was crowing self preservation. “You are not the firsts. There were others, Americans, like you, they are now wearing the ink of field whores- or they are dead.”

“One might assume the same of your predecessors.” Brady pointed out mildy, and both groups shifted behind their leaders, ready and tense.

“Anyone who accepts-“ the Russian warned, “-we kill.”

With that incentive clear, a tentative peace was made, which included a few trying to fraternize, converse and share news. There was little that aligned to create any cohesive figure, despite their shared experiences and sufferings.

When night fell they were hauled out for roll call amongst the masses, and together after hours of waiting to be called upon, they answered with their ranks and serials, each in their own language. The Russian who had confronted Brady was beaten so badly she did not rise again after it. The guard left her lying there and asked Brady herself what her occupation was.

“Lt. Colonel in the United States Air Force.”

The unfortunate rookie who had so ill advisedly asked for water on the train stood beside Brady; and got a bullet to the head for her superior’s answer. What Colonel Brady thought of her judgment being given to another did not show, her face white and her lips sealed, only the speckle of blood on her profile stood in stark relief in the early morning.

“Kneel.” a very shiny Luger barrel was pressed, still smoking to Brady’s temple.

She did so, braced for the inevitable execution. A soldier's death, it’s what they’d signed up for. The Kommandant waved over one of the female guards and spoke to her in German. She took off at a run to one of the buildings with a bright smile, and Ida Brady stayed kneeling, the splattered brains of the unfortunate dripping out of her hair and into the leather of her jacket, a mockery of her own upcoming fate.

The female guard returned with scissors. “Your poor hair, so pretty. Now it is ruined.” the Kommandant bemoaned, gloved fingers sliding though Brady’s wet tresses, “See what happens to beauty when you pervert the order of things? Now it must be sacrificed. Perhaps then you will see how ugly you are become.”

Maureen felt Smith’s restraining arm before she had even registered her impulse to charge forward, caught about the middle she strained against her friend's surprising strength and in the end was forced thusly to keep ranks and watch with the rest as the Nazis fucks scalped the Colonel of her femininity with a pair of sheep shears.

Dribbling blood down her face and shaking with rage, Ida was in better shape than her Russian counterpart. When her ordeal was over, she rose again, even if she swayed dangerously upon doing so.

And when asked, she had her serial at the ready.

Crowded back into the hut, Maureen and Smith watched the Russians hopelessly fuss over their insensible leader, knowing all too well how likely it might be that they could be found doing the same tomorrow, in a week’s time, who knew. For now, Brady sank down against the wall with the rest of them, the scowl of her formidable brows deflecting any potential commiserations for her battery.

When the navy nurse was pushed into their hut next evening, a dead silence greeted her. One of the Soviets, a sniper by her markings, came up to her and unceremoniously tore open her shirt. If the girls had doubted the Russian’s warning about “wearing the ink of field whores” upon their skin as mere hyperbole, such speculation was removed. It was a dreadful tattoo, large and damning as was the reaction it elicited amongst the servicewomen.

By the end of the night there were two dead bodies on the hut floor. And it didn’t seem to matter who had killed which. One had died for honor, the other for giving it up. And in the end? Where was this ephemeral honor? Ida Brady could only find it in the tense faces of her girls, lining the room from their places along the wall, waiting for another roll call or worse.

But in war, as in peace, sometimes the dead sent favors and in this instance it came to them with screams of:“Amerikaner Soldat!” in the middle of the night. They were marched out to the square and stood to attention once more in the sweep of the spotlight, all the while were shouts of “Amerikaner Soldat!”

All they knew was the bitter waiting in the gray dawn chill and the choking anticipation of some sick, final joke, or some methodical mass execution. Maureen wished she could knock her shoulder into Ida’s one last time and tell her she’d been a rock -she was a rock- but Brady stood there in front alone, as was her privilege and her curse. Talullah Smith would not meet Maureen’s side eyed glance for a farewell. Maureen wished she had less of a roar inside her, wished she could step off calmly into whatever was on the other side but the idea was repulsive, even after all she’d endured, and she looked about in vain for some semblance of the same revolt on her fellow’s faces.

What came instead was the dreaded whistles and the order to march. They were marched right out of the gates and down the idyllic lane they’d been marched up days ago, back through town to the railway station. There the soldiers herded them back up into a cattle car that smelled more of death than livestock, and then the train pulled away, hurtling south -perhaps the only one to do so with living cargo.

There were no guards inside the car, only the cramped space to keep them docile and the lack of promise that the great door would ever grind open again.

“The hell do you think happened?” Maureen hissed to Ida, finding her superior propped up in the corner in a suspiciously casual pose that she suspected hid a limp and unfathomable fatigue.

“Haven’t got a clue, Kendeigh.”

“Maybe someone got word out.” Maureen suggested, thinking of their predecessors, thinking of the useful dead.

“Or we’re headed to a nice rural dumping ground.” was all Ida would speculate. “Or brothels.” she added after a long minute.

Maureen chewed her cheek and kept peering out the slats at the beautiful countryside flashing past. “Well, at least they’ve ensured you’ll be least wanted of the bunch at such an establishment.” she joked and watched with the careful precision of a trained bombardier as her mean joke landed and Ida Brady’s legendary eyebrow ticked up in something that might have been amused disbelief, had she any energy left for such a display.

“Pistol whipped in the mouth and still no respect for rank, Kendeigh.” Brady observed and it was so like her brother John’s flat lined humor that Mauren’s heart throbbed with something alarmingly akin to sentimentally. For John Brady -and all the other lucky souls still at Thorpe Abbots, God willing. “I’m not laying on any damn beds for them.” Brady suddenly broke the silence again in a low voice, one Maureen knew was meant between officers only.

She pitched her head closer in agreement. “Me either.”

“I don’t care if they shoot me first,” Ida went on, as if reciting it to herself, “-and I don’t care if they shoot all of you first. I’m not going to.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” Maureen agreed again, vacillating briefly in her intent before proceeding to say, “That Sergeant -she wasn’t your fault. The nurse either.”

“I know that Lieutenant.”

“I know you know,” Maureen muttured, “but some stuff bears repeating. Places like these, we’re liable to lose our bearings without a little repetition.”

“Mm.”

Maureen shuffled beside her and wracked her brain for pleasant conversation, something besides the Soviet girls they’d abandoned and the skeletons they’d seen at Ravensbrück. “Ya know,” she remarked tiredly, “if someone in here’s hydrated enough to pee, I might be ready to drink it.”

Brady slowly turned from her view out the slats to give Maureen a blank faced stare. “Should I make an announcement or are you hoping to keep that between us?”

“Oh hell, Colonel,” Maureen grinned, mischief bubbling to the surface at the first chance, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else but you, liable to get stds from this lot.”

“Kendeigh.” Ida hissed warningly but there was that disbelieving wobble to her stern mouth, “That’s not funny -not with where we’ve come from.”

“It kinda is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is- a little. Admit it, a little.”

“It’s not.” And still her cheeks were pink with suppressed amusement, just like John’s got when Maureen pressed him on a dig about basic training.

“You sure you’re ok?” she ventured again, eyeing Brady’s extensive injuries visible above her clothes.

“Yeah?” Ida looked nonplussed, “I mean -what’re you ranking as ok, these days, Lt. Kendeigh?

“It’s just,” Maureen bit her own busted tongue briefly as a spur to get it out,

“-you’re bleeding a lot, Ida. Couldn’t help but notice.”

Ida Brady didn’t even glance down at her trousers or make a motion to feel her lacerated scalp, instead she answered in the same, almost bored way she always did, “Yeah, Candy, it’s called being a good Catholic.”

Maureen blinked. “Oh. Oh Shit.”

“You know, maybe some of you girls had the right of it,” Ida actually winced before staring back out the slats, “go off and do it ahead, in peacetime. But here I am, twenty seven and as sacrosanct as the Virgin Mary, dropping into occupied territory. What could go wrong!” To her credit, her snort was wonderfully genuine.

Maureen kept after her, “You signed up to fight, to get fought against. We all did -never this.”

“Mm, well, couldn’t choose a better gang to get put down with.” Brady smiled, begrudgingly raising an imaginary glass of her own to Maureen’s already raised one.

“To bitches who bite back.” Maureen toasted.

“To bitches who bite back.”

——————————————————-

Two cases of MIA troubled John Brady the most: Egan, who he had seen jump first after their dispute, and Maureen Kendeigh who he had learned from Blakely had jumped over Bremman. That’s two flyers who should’ve been here by now, before him even, in the case of Kendeigh, and yet they weren’t.

He went round and round the argument with Cleven and Crank and Hambone, all three downed from separate missions yet here together - proving his point. Cleven held staunchly to the belief they were being kept segregated, as befitted their ranks and sex. They could be one sector apart and not hear of them. It was the only hopeful response, it was a leader’s response. There had been women downed before Kendeigh, not many but a few of the escort fighters, and none of them had showed either. Brady wasn’t sure that was a good sign at all.

“So where’s Egan then?” he’d always hit back with, “They mistake his shoulders’ for a dame’s?”

“I dunno John.” Cleven would reply with that newly blank gaze of his somehow enhanced by the twin cuts on his cheeks.

Demarco took Brady aside when he arrived to tell him that whatever had happened to Cleven in interrogation wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t ethical. Those cheek scars weren’t both due to flack. Like a dog with a bone, Brady took this already suspected information about his stoic superior and ran with it, pointing out hotly to an uninterested Demarco, “if it’s happened to Cleven, what about them?”

“What can we do about it?” Was Cleven’s demand that always wrapped up the little circular arguments as they sat huddled in their hut. “Red Cross knows they’re not here, no colored flyers either. They know where they are. What can we do besides ask after them?”

He was right, there wasn’t anything, but still, like a presentiment hung over him, Brady found himself leaning on the wire each time a new batch was marched in, counting heads and scanning faces.

“Ida hasn’t even been shot down, John.” Crank kindly reminded again and again.

“As of two weeks ago.” John snapped.

As of two weeks, and then as of three, and then it became four and -where the hell was Kendeigh? Gale had stopped arguing when the subject came up, apparent but impotent fury slowly racking his wiry frame, face gone wane already above his grimey fleece collar. Winter wasn’t even here and they were fading.

And then it happened, what John had been waiting by the fence for, and boy was there a crush at the wire to see them marched in when they came up the muddy enclosure through the gates.

“The fuck are they bringing the women here for?”

“They don’t belong in here, bastards!”

“Ar’those Brady’s Banshees?”

“They’re not gonna hold ‘em here are they?”

Like he’d been reanimated by the presence of a cause, Major Cleven cut his way through the rabble to the front, addressing the German officer escorting them.

“Hey, hey you can’t bring them in here. They’re women, they belong in their own section.”

“If they are women,” the Commandant pointed out, not unkindly, “then perhaps your country should have recognized that before enlisting them? They belong here.”

Cleven shook his head, vehement in his conventions and rules, “It’s not right, you know it’s not.”

“Then tell your Lt. Colonel to stop fighting for combatant status.” he jerked his chin towards Ida Brady and Gale’s eyes widened at her injuries and tufted hair, “The SS had them tucked away at our most prestigious female camp. But they would not accept. They want to be men.”

“Combatants!” Gale argued the point Ida had been making since her feet touched occupied soul.

John Brady yanked his arm, whispering urgently in his ear, “She’s makin’ sign to me, torture, she says. Don’t fight it, Buck.”

Cleven searched the battered faces, some he knew like Ida, T.Smith and Maureen, and some from other squadrons, -ones who must’ve been damned unlucky to get captured considering their safer postings.

“If it can happen to you it c-“ John Brady was a bit of a pain in the ass, Cleven had found, but he had never found him to be wrong.

“Roger, loud and clear, captain.” Cleven warned him his point was made with a bite in his own tone.

“Have we come to an understanding?” The Commandant, amused by the fluster his female charges had caused, it was ample proof that women could never be fully integrated, not even by a society so pervertedly equal as the American’s. “Ja? Sehr gut. It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway, was it?

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writer’s life blood, let me hear your thoughts and screams, they mean so much to me.

We have so many prompts already thrown around for this AU, I can’t wait to explore them, and I welcome any more if you have them.

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[imasexypotato]

Here's part 2 to the Isekai Historical Romance Clegan Fanfic:

Gale gapes as he watches the prince sitting next to him. He must look like a fish with his mouth open so wide. Gale snaps his mouth shut the moment he hears the prince chuckle.

"Your highness, what are you doing here?" Gale asks as he looks around the room. What is He doing here? What is Gale doing here? Where is here?

Gale takes in the room around him. It's big, everything in here is huge. The bed he lies on makes him feel small. The windows on the right side of the room stretch from the ground to the ceiling, and behind flowing curtains, Gale can see a balcony.

A table at the other end of the room with scrolls and books stacked high on top. It looks messy. Behind it, a bookshelf filled to the brim with books stands tall.

This room isn't as crammed with shiny objects as the throne room had been. This room looks used, and lived in. It feels cosy in a way. It's almost peaceful. Gale looks around some more, taking in his surroundings.

He stops when he hears a cough next to him.

He whips his head back to the prince embarrassingly fast. He feels his cheeks heat up as he looks at him.

The prince has a sly smile plastered across his handsome face. Gale shivers under his dark gaze. There's a glint in his eyes that Gale can't quite place.

"It would seem your mind likes to wonder off quite frequently." He says as he stands from his chair. Gale looks up as the prince towers over him.

He's huge.

Well, not huge. He can't be that much taller than Gale himself. But as he takes in the prince's physique, he can't help but let his eyes wonder.

The prince is in excellent shape. His firm and well-defined muscles can be seen outlined by his outfit.

He must have grown up training with the royal guards. Gale takes him in, and thinks, the man before him is the embodiment of what a king should look like. Tall, strong, regal.

He wouldn't be surprised if the lords and ladies at court bent at his whim. A smile from him would surely make the nobility swoon. His future consort was sure to be a lucky noble. Gale's brain finally catches up to him.

Consort.

That would be.....him.

In the near future at least. Gale frowns.

"...and so, I climbed up through the-" Gale cuts the prince off without much thought.

"Your highness, I need to-" "John" the prince cuts him off. Gale looks up at him. "I'm sorry?" He says as the prince takes a seat on the bed, his thigh grazing against Gale's covered leg.

"You are to be my betrothed, you may call me John. Or Bucky, in private, I truly don't mind." He says as he smiles at him. Gale looks at him for a moment. He shakes his head.

"Your highness works just fine, my prince. Also, there is something I must discuss with you. This whole betrothal and marriage arrangement was completely-" The prince lifts his hand to Gale's face.

He can't help but flinch back. He feels a warm hand move a strand of hair away from his face.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to meet you, my dear. You're a hard person to find you know?" The prince watches him intently.

He keeps his hand on Gale's face, gently caressing his cheek. Gale could lose himself in those eyes.

"I'm Gale." He says without thinking. The princes falters in his ministrations. He slides his hand down Gale's cheek, landing on his neck.

"I know." He says as he runs his fingers along the younger man's tender neck. Gale feels his breathe hitch. He grabs the prince's wrist. He keeps his hand there. He doesn't know what to do.

The prince watches him. He seems to be gauging for a reaction. He sighs as he pulls away. Whatever it is he's looking for, he doesn't seem to find it in Gale's face.

"I shouldn't be here, you and I aren't to be introduced for another week. I heard you had collapsed in the throne room. You gave my father quite the fright." The prince admits as he looks around the room.

That's right. He'd fainted in front of the king. How embarrassing. Then he freezes. He looks around. Where is his mother? He can feel himself start to panic.

He turns back to the prince, about to demand and answer from him, but the Prince holds up a hand.

"Your mother is fine. Worried sick about you. She's resting in one of the guest rooms. A medic is with her, you needn't worry." He says.

Gale feels himself relax as he leans into the fluffy pillows behind him. She was alright. That's all that mattered.

"Once I knew where they'd hidden you away, it was easy enough to sneak in." He says lightly. Gale gapes at him.

"You snuck in?" The other man simply nods as he point towards the balcony. Gale looks out and turns back to the prince, giving him an odd look.

"Did you climb up the walls?" He asks in confusion. How preposterous.

The thought of the young prince climbing up the side of the palace walls to get a glimpse of him makes him shake his head.

The prince nods once more. Gale looks at him as though he'd grown a second head. He pulls the blankets off himself suddenly.

He hears the prince's indignant 'uhmfp' as they land on him. Gale ignores him as he jumps out of bed and makes his way to said balcony.

Gale opens the glass doors and steps out onto the balcony. He walks up and peers over the edge.

He gasps. They're three stories up from the palace grounds.

"Are you out of your mind? What if you had lost your grip? Or slipped? You would have plummeted to your death!" He says as he turns to speak to Prince John.

He's met with a sturdy chest in front of him. He takes a step back. He hadn't heard the prince sneak up on him.

He must be light on his feet.

Prince John smiles down at him as he moves to stand next to him. He looks over the edge and grins.

"It's not that bad. I'm quite agile, you know." He says, almost proudly. Gale shakes his head in astonishment.

"You're not a cat, John" he says. The prince turns to him in surprise. Gale tilts his head in confusion. A wide grin spreads across the princes face.

"You called me John just now." He states. Gale frowns. " I apologise you high-" "I like it." The prince interrupts him again. He does that a lot.

"Now call me Bucky." He all but demands. Gale shakes his head. The prince grabs at his face once more. He crowds Gale up against the balcony railing.

Gale holds his breath. He can feel the prince's body press into his own. This close to one another, Gale would only have to shift a little and their lips would graze.

"Your highness, this is highly inappropriate, so if you would kindly move-" Prince John tilts his head back.

"Please." He whispers. Pactically begs.

Gale's mind goes blank. He had come all this way just to see him. He'd climbed up the palace walls for him.

And really, who was he to deny his prince? He closes his eyes for a moment. He feels the prince rub the tip of his nose against his own. It's endearing.

Before Gale can give in to the prince's request, heavy footsteps can be heard at the entrance of the room. They both turn in ath direction. The prince curses as he pulls away.

Gale looks up at the prince in confusion and then remembers what he had said. He had snuck in. He wasn't supposed to be here. The prince looks over the edge and turns to smile at Gale.

He grabs Gale's hand and pulls it up to his face. He places a tender kiss against his knuckles, his eyes never leaving Gale's. He let's go and steps back.

Gale watches as he places his hands on the railing. It's then that Gale realises what John is about to do.

"The next time we meet, I won't be so open, so...friendly. Don't take it to heart. It was nice meeting you, Gale." The prince winks at him before jumping over the railing and plummeting down.

Gale rushes over, fear clouding his judgement. He almost slips and falls down himself. He grabs the white railing tightly.

He looks around wildly. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he doesn't see a body splattered onto the palace grounds down below.

But it makes him wonder.

He peeks down. Prince John is nowhere to be found. Gale looks around but can't find him anywhere.

How had he done that? In less than a second, he'd jumped and disappeared from sight. Gale doesn't have time to ponder.

A loud scream behind him startles him.

His grip on the railing loosens as his body, following gravity's pull, lurches forward. He closes his eyes and hopes for the best.

Strong hands yank him back to safety. He falls to the ground. He sighs in relief. He opens his eyes and looks around himself. He has company, it would seem.

Three guards surround him, two at his feet, each clinging onto his ankles. And behind him, another guard trembles against him as he has his arms tightly wound around his waist. Gale blinks away a few stray tears.

He looks up and he sees a girl. Her hair is as blonde as his. Cleaner than his. She looks familiar somehow, but he knows he's never met her before.

She must be around his age. Taking in her outfit, Gale assumes she's a maid or a lady in waiting. She's the one that startled him with her scream.

"What where you thinking my lord?! Trying to jump from the balcony, you could have died!" The girl screeches.

Gale gawks at her in bewilderment. The guard under him sits up and glares at him. Gale looks at him in confusion.

"We leave you along for only a moment, and you try to fling yourself out the window, you must'a hit yer head while falling yesterday." The man says as he pats him on the head.

Gale shrinks into him, still processing the sudden situation he'd been faced with. The other guards release their grip on his legs. The first guard doesn't let go of his waist.

"Captain Biddick! Stop petting him! He's not a dog!" The girl stresses as she steps forward. She stretches out her hand, offering it to Gale. He stares at her hand, then looks back up at her. Where does he know her from?

"Ahem, you plannin' on sittin' in my lap all day, little lord? Not that I mind or anything, you're as light as a feather! Far better it for me to make a pretty boy such as yourself leave the comfort of my thi-."

"CURTIS BIDDICK."

The sudden scream makes the guard stop his rambling. He almost looks ashamed.

Almost.

The girl shakes her head and sighs.

"I beg for your forgiveness, my lord, Captain Biddick hasn't been educated on the proper manners he should use around nobility." She says as she throws another glare in his direction.

The man, Captain Biddick lets go of Gale's waist and raises his hands in mocking surrender.

Gale looks between the two and can't help but let out a chuckle. All eyes focus on him in an instant. Gale shakes his head. He grabs onto the girl's hand to pull himself up.

"There is no need to apologise, really." He says softly. He turns and helps the captain up. He smiles at him. Captain Biddick smiles back with a cheeky grin.

"Also, I think there's been a misunderstanding. I wasn't trying to jump off the balcony." He says as he turns to look at the girl once more.

She looks at him with a glint of skepticism in her eyes. He smiles and tries to reassure her.

"I'm telling the truth, I just....needed some fresh air. I was leaning on the railing, taking in the view. When I heard your scream, I was startled and my hand slipped." He says.

He doesn't mention the real reason he was on the balcony. If the prince wasn't supposed to be here, Gale wouldn't let anyone know.

"Your hand slipped." She says in disbelief.

"Yes. My name is Gale, by the way. It's nice to meet you all." He says as he looks at both the guards, captain Biddick and the girl.

That seems to make her straighten up. She takes a step back and gives a perfect curtsy.

"Of course, how rude of me. My name is Marjorie, my lord. I am to be your lady in waiting." She says. Not a maid then. A Lady.

"It's nice to make your acquaintance, Lady Marjorie." Gale answers politely. Lady Marjorie shakes her head and smiles.

"Please, behind closed doors, feel free to call me Marge, my lord." Gale nods. She points at the three guards next to them.

"These fine gentlemen are members of the royal guard. Benny DeMarco and John Brady. And you have already had the misfortune of meeting Captain Biddick." She says as she formally introduces them.

"It's nice to meet all of you, and please, Call me Gale, nobody has ever addressed me as a lord. Plus, I'm not even a Baron. That title still belongs to my father." Gale says.

They are all quiet of a moment. They look at eachother, silently communicating through their eyes.

Gale freezes.

Had he done something wrong? Marge seems like she wants to say something, but Captain Biddick speaks before her.

"Well aren't ya just an angel? Most nobles around here, walk with their head so far up their own asses , you'd think you're talking to the king himself in front of them." He blurts out happily.

"Curt!" Marge reprimands him once more.

Demarco steps forward and bows. Gale stops that immediately.

"No bowing, no curtsying, no... any of this. At least not unless necessary, please." It genuinely makes him uncomfortable.

DeMarco leans back and nods.

"The others call me DeMarco, you can do the same." He says as he shakes Gale's hand.

"And you can call me Brady! It's really nice to meet you, Gale." Brady says enthused. Gale shakes both their hands and smiles.

A hand wraps itself around his shoulders. He looks to the side and sees Curt's funny grin right next to him.

"You call me Curt from now on, Gale. Anything you need you let us know, yeah?" He says as he ruffles his hair again. Marge goes to tell him off again, but Gale shakes his head.

"So, why is it that you all suddenly barged into my room before?" He asks curiously. If he has still been asleep, the ruckus alone would've woken him up in an instant.

The cozy atmosphere suddenly disappears. Marge seems to pale, DeMarco and Brady look to Curt. Curt sighs and straightens up.

"You're being summoned by the Queen, Gale. Not good." Curt leans back and waits for Gale's reaction. He has none. Marge steps up.

"Is that a bad thing? I've spoken to the king already, I'm sure the Queen-." "The Queen isn't like the king Gale." Marge interrupts him. She paces around places her hand on her hips.

She has more influence at Court than anyone else. You need to be in her good graces!" Marge says, becoming more stressed by the minute. Gale tries to calm her down.

"I'm sure it'll be fine. She probably wants to talk about this engagement. That's good. I need to clear some things out with her as well. If anyone will hear me out, I'm sure it'll be her." Gale says confidently.

The looks the others give him make him falter.

Marge looks at him and squints. She sighs and nods. "Alright. We have less than an hour to get you ready."

Gale blinks.

"I am ready." He says.

They give him odd looks. Marge almost looks offended. DeMarco and Brady smile almost painfully. Curt full on laughs. Gale turns to him and raises a brow.

Curt shakes his head.

"Not tryin' to offend ya, Gale-io, but you can't meet the Queen looking like some type of forest rat." Marge gasps and frowns. Forest rat? He'd never heard that before.

"That's it! You have no business being in Gale's room, go wait outside, all of you." She says suddenly.

Curt laughs as he walks towards the bedroom door.

"We'll be waiting for you right outside Gale, take your time!" He says. Demarco and Brady Groan.

"Why do we have to leave? We didn't do anything..." Brady starts to protest as DeMarco drags him away.

"Out." Marge points to the door. Demarco nods a goodbye to Gale and leaves, closing the door behind them.

Marge sighs and relaxes. She turns to Gale and smiles.

"Now. To make you look presentable." She takes a step back and claps her hands twice. A side door, that Gale had assumed was a closet, burts open.

A bunch of maids pour in. Gale takes a step back. Where on earth did they come from? Had they been there this entire time? Had they seen him and the Prince? Marge can see the confusion on his face and smiles.

"The maids and butlers have secret corridors all around the palace, it helps them move around the palace grounds quickly and efficiently without bothering any of the nobles out there." She says as she nods towards the main hallway. Gale nods. Phew.

The maids bring in racks of clothes and a giant tub.

They all form into a line after setting everything down. They turn to him and Curtsy in creepy synchronisation.

Gale goes to tell them not to bow, but Marge grabs his arm and shakes her head. It would seem he wasn't aloud to speak to them as freely as he did with her and the others.

The maids leave, closing the secret door behind them. Gale looks at everything in the room.

"You are going to take a bath, and I'm going to pick an outfit that will make the Queen.....not chew you up upon meeting her." She says. Gale watches her for a moment. When she sees that he isn't moving she stops.

"What is it?" Gale feels embarrassed to say.

"I'm supposed to bathe with you just waltzing around?" He asks as though it's an obvious concern. Marge simply blinks at him. After a moment she starts to laugh.

"Oh Gale, you've been gone from High society for far too long. If it where up to them, the maids would have stayed and hand washed you themselves.

I sent them away because I knew you'd feel uncomfortable. Plus, I won't look." She says. Gale shivers at the thought of a bunch of probing hands touching him all over. He hates it.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Gale turns to take a bath and he hears her mutter something under her breath.

"What was that?" She spins towards him and smiles.

"They will have to change you though." She says. Gale looks at the clothes and then at her.

"I can change myself perfectly well." She thinks for a moment.

"I don't doubt that. I'll see what I can do, I'll try to convince them to let you change. And let them come in to fix any imperfections they may see, alright?" Gale nods.

"Thank you Marge, truly." He is grateful. She smiles.

"Take a bath, I'll be back soon." She leaves through the secret passage and Gale is left alone once more. He gets into the warm bathtub and sighs. He can finally sort out his thoughts.

He needs to find his mother and get out of here. He looks around the room. There are a few trinkets that catch his eyes. He could sell them off for some money.

There's sure to be medicine he can purchase in the city. As soon as he gets his hands on what he needs, he will take his mother and leave the kingdom. They'll go back home.

No.

Not home. They'll know to find them there. Gale frowns, where else can they go? He sighs in frustration and dips his head underwater.

Perhaps the Queen will listen to him and annul this ridiculous contract. Right now, it seems to be the only option. Gale hopes she'll listen to reason.

Both the King and the prince, however charming he may be, had refused to listen to him when it came to this engagement. He hopes the Queen is different.

The prince comes into his mind. Gale closes his eyes. He remembers his touch. On his cheek , on his neck. His lips on his knuckles. The feeling of his body pressed against his own. Gale shakes his head and stands up.

He towels himself down and looks at the clothes Marge had set on the bed for him. They look....fancy. Not at all like the clothes he's used to wearing. He touches the fabric and smiles. It's so soft.

He gets changed quickly. He looks in the mirror and nods. He looks presentable now , he hopes. Just as he puts on his boots, Marge comes back in. She smile and nods. A couple of maids trail behind her.

"They are going to fix your hair and straighten out your outfit." Marge sits down and watches them. The maids diligently get to work. They make Gale sit down.

One of them fixes his hair , while the other fiddles with the buttons on his vest. After a few minutes, they step back and curtsy. They turn to leave once Marge dismisses them.

Marge walks around him. Looking up and down. She grabs his shoulders and makes him stand up straight.

She comes back into view. Her eyebrows seem to crinkle for a moment. Then she nods.

"You look Perfect." She says happily.

Gale thanks her. They walk towards the door. Before she opens it, she turns to him.

"The Queen is, she can be..... difficult. But I'm sure that you'll charm her with your.....smile." She seems to be trying to convince herself as much as him. Gale nods. She nods back.

"I hope." She whispers. She opens the door, and Curt almost falls in. He'd been leaning on the door. Marge frowns at him. He just smiles. He whistles when he sees Gale.

"You clean up nice, Gale! The Queen is sure to love ya." He teases. Gale smiles.

"You look great Gale. Don't be nervous." Demarco tris to reassure him. Brady nods along, agreeing with him. He thanks them all. He steps out of the room.

He takes a moment to breathe. He turns to them and nods. They nod as they lead him towards his meeting.

Gale steels himself. He's got this. He can do this, he repeats this matta as they walk through the palace halls.

It's time to meet the Queen.

[loverrofmineee]

The Parting Glass - Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal x OC

Summary | AO3

Chapter 1- Brief Flirtations With Landings

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thorpe Abbotts was buzzing with a mix of excitement and worry as the first batch of American pilots would be landing later that day. The men and women of East Anglia had been anticipating this day for weeks, hoping that these men would help them to win the war. Sorcha’s bunkmates were included in this group, more on the excited side, as they were eager to meet the new men.

“-and American men are just so handsome in a way that the Brits aren’t. There’s a reason they have all the movie stars you know.” One of the girls, Aileen, spoke with great enthusiasm. She was a petite girl from Northern Ireland who had opted to work at Thorpe Abbotts to meet handsome American men, and also help the war effort.

“I understand that, but Brits have lovely accents that just make everything sound so much better than it is. The way they say darling is just so much more appealing than our boys.” Anika, another bunkmate, was quick to defend her position in the argument that had been going on for at least 10 minutes.

Sorcha remained to herself during her friend's verbal sparring, instead re-reading the most recent letter from her brother. He detailed his most recent mission, as they had just been allowed to start flying a little over a month ago, and the thrill had not worn off yet. Cormack was stationed in Kings Cliffe as a fighter pilot for the 61st Fighter Squadron. His position in combat often worried Sorcha, as was her right as the eldest sibling and the closest thing he had to a mother overseas, but she was glad her brother was enjoying himself, as war tended to leave men more desolate than how they began. A knock against the bunk door caused Sorcha to raise her eyes, to be met with the presence of Major John “Bucky” Egan.

“Morning ladies,” Egan said with an ever-present smirk in his voice.

Aileen, who may or may not have had a crush on the Major since he arrived, was fast to greet him, standing up from her seat, causing an unpleasant sound to emit from the wood scraping against the concrete. “Good morning Major!”

Bucky gave her a short glance over before addressing the rest of the girls, “Mind if I steal Miss Devlin from ya? The brass requested that she be my personal driver today.”

“And why would they do that?” Sorcha questioned giving Bucky a slight glare.

“Because I requested it.”

Bucky had a smug smile on his face after he spoke, enjoying the fact that he was making Sorcha annoyed. Ever since the two had met during Bucky’s first day on base, they continuously engaged in playful banter, seeing how far they could push each other. He enjoyed the challenge and viewed the Devlin girl as a good friend. Sorcha could say the same for Bucky, as he brought out a side of her she had planned to put away during the war but was quickly cracked open again due to the Major’s manner.

“You’re the worst.”

“I don’t think you really mean that. How could you not love a face like this.”

Sorcha just scoffed at the major’s words, gathering her things for the seemingly long day ahead of her. “I’ll see you later girls.”

“As always, it was lovely to see you ladies,” Egan said, shooting the girls a wink, causing a rapid flush to Aileen’s cheeks as she just waved, unable to speak.

The two friends made their way to Bucky’s jeep, given to him due to his status as Air Exec. Sorcha climbed into the driver's seat, barely giving Bucky time to get in before hitting the gas.

“Jesus Devs, it seems like you’re trying to kill me.”

“Now what would I gain from that? No one else lets me drive their cars. If I lose you, I lose all the perks I gain on your behalf.”

Egan chuckled at the girl's words as they drove past the tarmac, soon to be filled with B-17s. In truth, both were looking forward to the amount of airmen landing today. Thorpe Abbotts had felt too empty for their liking, only filled with office staff and higher-ranking officers who had no time for anything other than planning missions. Sorcha understood their positions, as wartime was not a place for days spent lounging about, but she wished they’d at least loosen up a little bit.

“I’m excited to finally meet this Buck you’ve been talking about nonstop for weeks,” Sorcha spoke with a hint of enthusiasm, not trying to start Bucky on a tangent about his best friend that would go on forever. She thought it was cute how much he cared about his friend, friendships like theirs were what men needed during war, someone to have throughout the horrors.

“I think you’ll like him. He’s not as fun as I am,” Egan spoke with a teasing grin, choosing to keep his emotions hidden from the girl, “but he’s a good time. One of the best damn pilots I’ve ever seen.”

“Huglin will be happy to have him then. He’s been like a rubber band just waiting to snap this week,” Sorcha had already experienced the frenzy within the tower as crews took to the skies, casualties and loss alongside them. Colonel Huglin was a strict man, which was a fitting trait for his line of work, but he was strict on promoting no fraternization between the women and men on the base. That rule had been long gone since the beginning, but he liked to remind all new crews about his policy. “, but God bless him for taking the job. Lord knows we need someone like him.”

Bucky nodded in agreement as they watched the planes on the tarmac taking their spots, trying to find Cleven's plane. Sorcha had slowed down as they approached the busy landing strip, but the lack of speed annoyed Bucky, “C’mon Devs, no point in slowing down now. Buck’s fort is right over there.”

Sorcha laughed at her friend's enthusiasm, pushing harder on the gas pedal to get them where they needed to be. As they pulled up in front of Cleven's plane, Bucky practically jumped out of the moving vehicle, “May I remind you of your earlier complaints when you were halfway out of a moving car?” Sorcha chastised the man.

“Time and place Devs!” Egan called with a smirk as he walked up to one of his friends, “DeMarco!”

“Hey, Major!” DeMarco responded, holding the leash of a husky in one of his hands, the dog trailing behind him. The sight of the dog made Sorcha get out of the jeep, eager to meet the pup in front of her.

“Where did you get that dog, Benny?”

DeMarco grinned at Bucky’s question, eager to tell the story, “I won him at craps!”

“You took this baby above 10,000 feet.”

“He’s got a mask,” DeMarco explained, “It cost me three bucks. But boy, does he love to fly.”

Benny’s grip had loosened on the leash, causing the dog to run up to the Devlin girl leaning against the jeep. She was quick to pet it, giving the husky all the attention it wanted. The voice of another pilot caused her to look up, while still petting the dog. “He wouldn’t stop howling.”

“That’s because he’s part wolf.”

“That wolf is part dog.”

Sorcha let out a small bark of laughter at the man's comment. The men's attention had now shifted to the uniformed woman petting the dog, looking to Bucky for an introduction. “Gentleman, this is the lovely Sorcha Devlin,” Egan began, horribly butchering her name, as he wasn’t familiar with Irish pronunciations. “She’s been putting up with me while I’ve been waiting for your crews to arrive.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘putting up’ per say,” Sorcha teased as she rose to greet the men, “I was the one to give him a tour on his first day and now he won’t leave me alone.”

“If that isn't the story of my life.” The other pilot chuckled at the girl's words before walking over to shake her hand, “Major Gale Cleven, pleased to meet you.”

A teasing smile grew on the girl's face as Cleven introduced himself, happy to finally meet the man Bucky had been talking about for weeks. “Ah, so this is the famous Buck I’ve been hearing all about.” She glanced at Egan, watching him shift uncomfortably during the interaction, “I think we’re going to be good friends, Major.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Bucky spoke, looking between his two friends, “It’ll turn out bad for me.”

“Think that highly of us do you Bucky?” Cleven asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “I tend to agree with Miss Devlin here.”

“You can call me Devs, practically everyone here does since they tend to mispronounce Irish names.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Devs.” Buck smiled softly at the girl, appreciating that Bucky had found a friend to keep him company while waiting for the crews.

The loud buzzing of a plane broke the silence that fell over the trio, all glancing to see whose fort it was, as if Sorcha had any clue. “Well, there’s Brady,” Bucky spoke, answering the girl's silent question.

Sorcha watched as the plane flew further from the tarmac, seemingly having a mechanical issue on board. The bells signaling emergency personnel rang throughout the field, nurses and Red Cross aids rushed to their ambulances to respond to the situation. The girl couldn’t help but feel stuck in her position, as she had little to no medical training and wouldn’t be of help on the mechanical side, but she could never get used to the feeling of helplessness when it came to situations like this.

“We should head over,” The voice of Bucky snapped the girl out of her thoughts, “You coming, Devs?”

The girl just simply nodded her head as she climbed into the vehicle, letting Bucky drive this time. She listened to the men chat idly in the front as they made their way over to the plane in the field, counting the number of uniformed men there were. Sorcha prayed there had been no casualties, as it would likely send the new men into a spiral before they were even in the air. As the Jeep pulled to a stop, she made brief eye contact with one of the men, seemingly talking to his captain. Sorcha offered the man a small smile in hopes of quelling his obvious worries.

“Everyone okay?”

The two men responded with a brief “Sir,” before Bucky called the pilot, whose name was Brady, over. Sorcha suddenly felt an urge, whether it was maternal or sympathetic, to comfort the worried man a few feet away. She hopped out of the Jeep, going unnoticed by the men in the front, and made her way over.

“Hi,” She began, startling the man before her, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pop up like that.”

“Oh- oh no it’s ok, I was just…” The man trailed off, gesturing to the scene around them, obviously caught off guard by the woman in front of him. In an attempt to ease his nerves, Sorcha offered her hand for him to shake, “Apologies for the lack of introduction. I’m Sorcha Devlin, I work over in the tower as a navigation clerk.”

The man’s eyes lit up at her words, “Oh, that’s great. I’m Harry Crosby, but the guys call me Croz, no relation to the singer though. I’m um the navigator in Brady’s crew.”

“So we have something in common then!” Sorcha smiled at Croz, glad she had made him less anxious, “I should be seeing you around the tower then since you’ll be picking up your maps and such from my desk.”

Before Crosby could answer, Bucky slammed on his horn, gaining the pair's attention. “C’mon Devs, no flirting with the crews!”

“I’m not flirting Bucky, or are you just upset that you don’t have my undivided attention for once?”

“You wound me Devs, you truly do.”

Sorcha chuckled to herself and turned back to Croz, who had a questioning look on his face, “Devs?”

“You’re not the only one with their surname as a nickname. Honestly, these boys are lacking creativity.” Bucky’s horn beeped again, signaling that he was ready to leave. “I’ll see you around Croz.”

He gave her a small wave as she jumped back into the Jeep, Bucky taking off almost immediately. “So, making friends with the new guys already. What would Huglin have to say about this?” Egan teased as he drove.

“Oh shove off, the man was clearly going through a lot. Isn’t it part of your job to make the men feel welcome?”

“Not as welcome as a pretty girl would make him feel,” Bucky spoke, the joy of teasing his friend evident in his tone. Instead of responding, Sorcha sent him a sharp glare, not wanting to advance this particular conversation.

The three continued with small talk as they drove back to base, Sorcha learning more about Buck and Bucky through each other's teasing and stories. Buck Cleven was a charming man, to which no one’s surprise, had a girl at home waiting for him. Sorcha found the notion romantic, though she herself could not relate to the feeling. She had sympathy for the women who were forced to wait at home for their significant others to return. Sorcha had already dealt with this on a daily basis, and she had sworn to herself that she would never fall for a pilot. Her sole focus while on base was doing her job properly, and praying that her brother was ok.

As they drove closer to the barracks, Crosby was in the unfortunate position of practically being hit by Bucky’s Jeep, “Wrong side of the road, Lieutenant!” called Egan, reveling in getting to tease the new guys.

“Sir,” Croz started before glancing at Sorcha, adding a curt ma’am to his greeting.

Sorcha returned the smile as Bucky continued to speed away, “Welcome to England boys!”

[trzcinawtrawiewrites]

title: "those are the pearls that were his eyes"

December 25th, 1944. In a desperate move, German soldiers attack the American positions in Bastogne. Some members of Easy Company are separated from their allies and encircled, cut off from any help. With their time slowly running out, some tough decisions are going to be made, whether they like it or not.

December 26th, 1944. While flying home after another successful mission, four planes are hit by the flak, and their crews are forced to bail out over the frontline somewhere in Belgium. With crew members scattered in the snowy forest, not knowing if they are heading in the right direction, or straight towards the German positions, not everyone is going to get out unscathed.

So, it finally happened! Thank you so much to @hefkerut for being the best Beta Reader, and especially for letting me ramble about this for days on end. Wouldn't be here without you <3

[eternallytired17]

Last Line Tag

Thank you @johnslittlespoon for the tag!

“Son of a bitch, that’s hail!” Brady cursed as he broke out into a sprint down the path. The others laughed in his wake, but after a particularly large hailstone struck Crosby on the flushed skin of his cheek, eliciting a string of muffled obscenities as he held a hand to his face, they hurried after him.

A little excerpt from a (hopefully) short WIP I'm working on as part of the WOTA Summer Prompt Challenge, also partly inspired by a canon event I experienced last summer in southern Austria.

Tagging @swifty-fox, @air-exec, @c-goldthorn, and anyone else who would like to participate!

[love-studying58]

SURPRISE!!!!!!

A sneak peek into my fictional series ~ Defenders of the Sky

This snippet is told from Major John Egan’s point of view. This is not the first chapter.

Word Count: n/a for this post.

Author’s Note: All ideas are my own. I will be adding a consistent playlist of songs before each chapter for nearly all the characters I write about. Each chapter will consist of different point of views; multiple perspectives will be present depending on plot events.

Warnings: There will be future mentions of war, extreme slow burn, swearing, death, mentions of POW and concentration camps, nazi guards, historical inaccuracy/timeline inaccuracy, mentions of abuse, PTSD, a soldier’s mental anguish, killing, man/woman relationships, hurt/comfort, pov first person, language, mutual pining, gore, angst, alcohol, smoking, military terminology, sexual tension, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, death, violence, debilitating mental thoughts, eventual smut.

Thank you for all your requests. I am making an effort to write everyday, so patience on your part is greatly appreciated. I do not want to promise an eventual deadline for completion, but will keep you guys updated.

I do not own HBO, Band of Brothers, The Pacific, or Masters of the Air, nor do I own any of the characters. I mean no disrespect toward any of the actors on this show.

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged for upcoming posts. 🏷

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A rough voice accompanied by a tap on my shoulder rouses me. I groan inwardly, squinting beneath the unremitting beam of light. My whole body is tight from lack of sleep.

“Come on, Major. Breakfast is at four-thirty. Briefing at five-fifteen.” Of course, another mission. I hate the unexpected.

A momentary frisson of annoyance runs through me as I roll onto my back, “I’m up,” I mutter, dismissing the officer until he departs and the harsh, inciped, white light weakens.

I casually position my left bicep under the pillow and close my eyes again, but I know its imperative I get to the briefing as soon as I can.

My head feels thick because of drink, still. The enticement of dancing among young women and the ability to have as many drinks as I preferred felt to congenial. 

Thoughts of two nights prior flood my senses; my dance with Susan.

I liked her, particularly because of her attractive features; her dark mid-length hair and fanned out eyelashes. Her amber-flecked eyes were ones I could drown in. 

Are you sure you like her, just for that matter? The thought is morose. Have you ever liked a woman for more than her features? Was I ever honest, though?

The sobering truth is inconsequential; I’d rather find a distraction and swallow back a few drinks in order to keep my mind halted for a few hours. It’s because of this war. This war. Maybe it could be temporary. War is normal now, Egan, I surmised.

I notice a few of the other men are also awake; the rustling of cotton sheets and disgruntled murmurs are familiar to me now. Our mission won’t end unless our own plane gets blown apart or we land behind German lines; the frailty or mere occurrence of either happening, few cared to discuss.

Watch it, Bucky, Buck Cleven’s voice echoed in my head. He had been staring slightly at me with his usual, calculated, appreciation that night. It’s one dance; not a lifetime. I was too drunk at the time to apprehend what he meant; if it nuanced at teasing, I couldn’t decipher it. Buck’s personality very seldom suggested humour. She might not fancy you. Not even a wry joke.

My senses felt too relaxed and obstructed by the faint stupor of the alcohol. I had responded to him anyways, telling myself I could dance with her if I wanted to, Ah, come on Buck, for once, leave the dancing to me tonight. You’re too involved with Marge to have any fun.

Cleven had watched me, indignant, grinning with easy noncompliance.

I smirk. Good old Buck. Trying to deter my persistence; the only man I know who has a picture of his girl, Marjorie, in his left breast-pocket. Keeps her photo on the dash of his B-17. The only man who decides to dance with Meatball when he could be waltzing with some American Red Cross woman.

Cleven was like that; polished, a man of integrity, one who kept his word. A reliable friend. A friend more than a mere acquaintance.

[xlysaxo]

જ⁀➴ honestly I don’t know what exactly I wanted to write; something that came randomly in my mind. I don’t even know how many parts it would have…and if it can be considered as a fanfiction because I write it in bullet points so yeah enjoy and ignore the typos it’s late lol

THE VIPER

Part 1/?

A Captain John Price Fan-fiction, enemies to lovers where he was the captain of the task force and she a criminal who espionage and obtaining secret information. He hates her and just want her to atone for the crimes she committed. But Price couldn’t deny that something between them makes their correlation interesting

✧༺♡༻∞ ✧༺♡༻∞ ✧༺♡༻∞

♫ Coming Down by Dylan Brady ♫

❥ Price and his team drinking alcohol in the famous usual pub, intoxicated their blood while celebrate their latest victory. It was crowded as ever but that didn’t stop the crew of the task force to talk and laughed like they were the only one here

❥ While she needed information, meeting someone in the back alley. Walking to her target, body language confident and infatuated with the information she needs

❥ Walking by the bar, where Captain John Price sits while listening to Soaps blabbering, he smells the vanilla with a note of bergamot and orange and his body reacts to that knowing smell that he hated so much

❥ His body stiffens and immediately looks behind him, wanting to know the reason why his heart is in rage

❥ Price sees the silhouette of her body walking to the back door and without thinking he stands up, getting confused looks by his team

❥ “Everything’s alright, cap?” Gaz voice filled with confusion as he looks at his captain, whose face looks like he would explode any second. “Just going for fresh air” he says like he was in a trance. “Oh, then I come too” Laswell grabbed her jacket but John lifts his hand above her hand. And without any words he’s following the vengeful smell

❥ Fresh air hugs her shoulders as she watched the man walking to the other street side while she clenched the usb-stick in her hand. The thing that would change the nation, the continent, no even the world is now in her hand and finally she can use it. She wants it so much and now the perfect opportunity lays in her hand. She go to the door again, as it suddenly opens. Did she forget checking if anyone was behind her?

❥ But then she saw him. Broad shoulders, a beard that makes him look older than he is and the unforgettable look in his eyes when he saw her and that silly hat

❥ It feels like hours while they looked at each other, not even surprised even though they didn’t see each other for years. But that feeling was still there

❥ He stopped breathing for a second, not wanting to poison himself by her smell. Then he breath in, but it’s still there and he hating it, hating her. Price wanted to grab her hand, turning her to him and make sure that it’s her. But he didn’t move even an inch

❥ “Captain” she greets him while passing through him, into the pub again

❥ He knew it by the voice and how she pronounced the word, getting goosebumps every time

❥ It’s her. The viper

[luminouslywriting]

what about buck, bucky, brady, and curt's reaction to the reader reading those hateful RAF pilots down? like with a smile and her face, utterly condescending, and not raising her voice making them look completely ignorant and stupid

Hi sweetheart! This one was super fun and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Reminder that my requests are open for both BoB and MOTA, so keep sending them in!

Cut for length, more under the cut!

Gale Cleven:

-Literally never been more in love with you IN HIS entire life haha....

-Like, we all saw how those guys got under his skin and how he wanted to throw hands immediately with them, and would have, had it not been for Curt. So if YOU'RE the one who's shutting them down verbally and reading them to filth??

-ICONIC of you, he's lovestruck, puppy-dog eyes/starry-eyed, and absolutely getting heckled by a drunken Bucky about the way that he's looking at and pining after you

-Absolutely makes a move on you after the whole fight because he's so confidence driven and ready to shoot his shot.

-Definitely leads to the world's best makeout session haha.

Bucky Egan:

-This drunken instigator friend?? This man?? He's WHOOPING and egging you on and literally so proud of you shutting those RAF pilots down.

-He's proudly bragging to everyone who will listen about what you said and literally remembers this moment for the rest of his life

-Probably gets really turned on by said events and is quietly attempting to figure out what to do

-But definitely ends up in some alleyway or closet with you and treating you to the prize you so clearly deserve

-The morning after, he's still so brazenly proud of you and definitely gives you a forehead kiss

John Brady:

-HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT—this man is silently SHOOKETH and watching with wide eyes and admiration

-Literally decides on the spot that you're the woman for him and he needs to treasure every second he can with you

-Goes from this point to try and figure out how he can ask you to be his girl and to go out with him

-DeMarco definitely hears way too much about this and is not getting paid enough to hear your praises

-Definitely wrote a letter home about this particular instance, so his family knows that SOMETHING is up haha

Curt Biddick:

-You're verbally shutting the RAF pilots down and he's out here punching them out

-It's quite a duo and he definitely wants to walk you back home/to the barracks

-Kiss his bruised hand, please—it'll be really soft and sweet. At which point he'll just kiss you because you were way more iconic and cool than he was.

-Asks you to be his girl that night

-And probably loudly tells this story for the rest of his life (shh, he never died, what are YOU talking about??)

[cetaitlaverite]

Call It What You Want

or: The Three Times They Lied to Each Other and the One Time They Told the Truth

Masters of the Air - John Brady x OC

informal part 2 to this short fic but can be read as a standalone. also features characters from my multi-chapter rosie x oc fic 'why all this music?' but, again, this can be read on its own. by popular demand, here is 6k words of millie and brady's clownery. you asked and i delivered (i hope). they're iconic your honour and sooo much fun to write. hope you loooooove <3

It took Millie several moments to calm her raging blush when she first caught sight of John Brady waiting for her outside the tower. It was impossible to look at him and not remember the way they’d kissed last night. She wanted to blame it on the darkness they’d been blanketed in when he’d first done it, wanted to blame it on the alcohol she’d consumed. But in the light of day as she watched him wander in idle circles in the grass, his hands in his pockets and his eyes squinted into the sunshine, she knew she’d be lying to herself to blame everything which had transpired between them on anything other than passion. Fiery hatred or fiery desire, it didn’t matter; both of them were impossible to ignore.

When her cheeks cooled down and she’d assumed some semblance of composure, Millie resumed her walk to work. Really, she lectured herself, he might not even be waiting for her. She wasn’t the only wireless operator who worked in the tower, let alone the only person who worked in there - he could have been waiting for anyone, one of his superiors included. But when she got close to the door he turned, as though sensing her, and straightened his posture. The way he was looking at her told her she’d been right; he was there for her.

“Harlow,” he greeted coolly.

“Brady,” she replied. “You’re not even flying today and yet you’re still here to lecture me on my skills as a wireless op. That’s true dedication, Brady, really, but I can assure you you’re the only pilot on this base who takes any issue with the way I do my job.”

Brady’s lips turned down in a sour approximation of a smile but he didn’t retort, as she might have expected. Instead, he said quietly, “About last night -”

Hearing him acknowledge it while the sun was high in the sky, while she was looking directly into his eyes and watching his lips move, while no single part of him was concealed by darkness and no single part of her was, either, was too much. Millie felt her stomach flip and her hands start to sweat. She hurried to cut across him, “Nothing happened last night.”

Brady raised his eyebrows at her. “Oh? So I must’ve dreamed that we kissed.”

“I’m sure it’s a dream you have often,” Millie replied. “Not to worry, you wouldn’t be the only one.”

He rolled his eyes. “We kissed, Harlow, and you know it.”

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. But, regardless, when he opened his mouth to reply she took him by the elbow and towed him behind her around the back of the tower, away from prying eyes and ears who may have been curious to know what the two of them were arguing about this time.

“So -” Brady began when they were alone.

Again, Millie cut him off. “We didn’t kiss.”

Brady scoffed. “We did. Twice, in fact.”

“Why would I ever kiss you?” Millie demanded, squeezing her hands into fists and tucking them behind her back. “I don’t even like you.”

Brady was smirking even as he rolled his eyes at her. “You don’t need to be so defensive about it. I was just coming here to say it’s never gonna happen again. So, you know, don’t get your hopes up or anything.”

He was so self-righteous, convincing himself he was letting her down gently. He’d come here thinking he was rejecting her?

“Don’t get my hopes up?” Millie echoed with a scoff. “How typical of you, to convince yourself that you’ve got the upper hand. What, did you fancy that I’ve been twirling my hair and kicking my feet, waiting for you to come ask me to marry you?”

Brady shrugged. “Something like that.”

“You’re a real arsehole.”

“But am I wrong?”

“Yes!” Millie cried. “If you remember correctly, you kissed me!”

“You kissed me after!” Brady exclaimed right back at her.

“A major lapse in judgement!” she defended herself.

“On my part as well,” Brady hissed.

Millie scoffed. “You grabbed my arm and took me away from the club -”

“To talk -”

“We could’ve done that outside the club! We didn’t need to be in some alley to argue, we do it everyday!”

“Maybe I didn’t want everyone overhearing!”

“Everyone’s overheard us a million times before,” Millie pointed out. Now her eyebrows were raised with palpable suspicion. “Why did you only decide it mattered last night? Hm? And only after you interrupted my dance with Benny?”

Brady stared her down. He had no answer for her. Millie could tell by the twisting of his lips and the way his fingers were twitching in his pockets, straining against the fabric of his trousers like he was pressing down on the keys of his saxophone, that he was fighting for a viable explanation.

Her eyes were dancing. Her smile was smug. “Because you wanted to kiss me,” she deduced. “Admit it. There’s no shame in it, Brady, you’d hardly be the first man who’s wanted to.”

“You’re so goddamn arrogant,” he snarled. “You’re the last woman on this base I’d want to kiss, Harlow. The very last.”

“Yes, because the ladies are just lining up for you, Brady, you miserable -”

“I don’t see anyone else tripping over themselves to fall at your feet,” Brady cut her off.

Millie raised her eyebrows. “Yes, you do.”

“So why don’t you go for them? Why do you spend all your time in the club staring at me?” Now Brady was smug, removing his hands from his pockets to cross his arms over his chest.

Millie scowled. “I do not stare at you.”

“You do.”

“Only if I feel you glaring at me.”

“I only glare at you when I feel you staring.”

“Chicken and egg,” Millie replied. “It’s beside the point. The point is, you took me to that alley last night because you wanted to kiss me.” Her eyes were penetrating, fiery, as they bore into his. “Admit it,” she said slowly, savouring the taste of the words.

“No,” Brady said lowly. “I didn’t want to kiss you, Harlow. In your dreams.”

“You didn’t want to,” Millie repeated, “and yet you did. You did kiss me. And you wanted to. Admit it.”

“No.”

“Admit it.”

“No.”

Millie took a step closer to him, craning her neck back to maintain the hold she had on his eyes. Her smirk was small and yet it was there, playing at the corners of her lips. Her gaze, she knew, was sultry. She’d perfected it a while ago.

Close enough that they could hold a sheet of paper aloft between them, Millie lowered her voice to only barely above a whisper. She gazed at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Admit it, John.”

She could only admit to herself that she’d wanted him to kiss her when he did, when he had her pressed up against the wall of the tower, one hand cupping her cheek and the other on her hip, tugging it towards him. Just like last night, his lips were fast and feverish, desperate against her own, like he was worried this would be the last time he’d ever get to touch her like this.

She couldn’t find it within herself to resent herself for kissing back. Just like last night, it was addictive. She’d never been kissed like this, never kissed anyone like this either. Kissing was something entirely other when it was done with John Brady.

His hands kept to modest areas but the heat they trailed may as well have been against her bare skin. As his hand slid up from her hip, past her waist and over her shoulder, up to the back of her neck beneath her hair, as his other hand slid down from her cheek and drew across to the centre of her back, encouraging her to arch up off the wall into him, the hold he had on her felt more intimate than anything she’d ever done with any other man.

It was just kissing.

Why did it feel like so much more?

When they drew apart briefly, so briefly, for breath, it was just enough time for Millie to gasp, “So you did want to kiss me!”

It was also just enough time for Brady to reply, “Shut up,” right before he caught her lips in another searing kiss, slower than the last and somehow more intense because of it.

Millie wanted to take advantage of their closeness and put her hands all over him the way he was doing to her, but she could not for the life of her seem to get her hands out of his hair. It was exactly as soft as she’d imagined - maybe even softer - and the way he groaned lowly into her mouth when she tugged on it just a little bit too hard was more intoxicating than any alcohol she’d ever consumed.

She knew she was making a mess of him. Knew that he’d have to go all the way back to his hut to redo his hair in the bathroom, return the strands to their rightful positions meticulously like he did every morning - as she imagined, at least. And it brought her joy to imagine him having to hurry back there to do it, lest he get caught and anyone ask why he looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge. He’d have an excellent time trying to explain this, she was sure; the way his tongue was licking hotly into her mouth, the way his hands were dragging reverently over her curves, the way he was pressing his body into hers - all of it would be a tough thing to explain to anyone without blushing.

The foggy haze smothering Millie’s critical thinking cleared only when she heard Freddie’s voice, presumably talking to Jem as the two of them walked to the tower. They’d been taking forever to get ready this morning so Millie had left ahead of them; they would know that something was off if Millie was later than them into work.

Carefully, this time, and with significantly less force, Millie placed her hands on John’s chest and pushed him back. When he started to speak she covered his mouth, narrowing her eyes to make him remain silent, and the two of them listened to Freddie and Jem talking about breakfast before they disappeared into the tower, their voices fading away.

Millie kept her hand over John’s mouth for a few more beats, just to be safe, before finally letting it fall away and sighing. Leaning back against the tower once more, her breaths came heavy, her chest heaving. Still, she found resolve enough within herself to murmur, “Tell no one,” and with that pushed herself upright, skirting around the side of the building and heading into work. She would tell Freddie and Jem she’d been in the bathroom, she decided. There was no reason for them to suspect a thing.

*

If anyone asked Millie why she was taking so long getting ready tonight, she’d have no real excuse. They all went to the officers’ club often and, yes, they put effort into their appearances, setting their hair nicely and straightening their uniforms and freshening up their makeup after the workday, but no one went to this length. Millie had taken a shower and brushed her teeth and redone her hair and makeup entirely, had put on a fresh pair of tights and the pair of fancy earrings her parents had gotten her for Christmas which she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to wear. She repainted her nails and put on hand cream, plucked her eyebrows and shaved her upper lip.

If anyone asked, she would have to lie.

“Someone you’re trying to impress, Mils?” Jem asked when Millie finally emerged from the bathroom. It was only she and Freddie left in the bedroom of their hut, sitting on their respective beds with their shoes on and their eyes bored, as though they’d been ready and waiting for a while.

“Got all sweaty today,” Millie explained, trying to be casual about it. “Tried to keep my face away from the shower water but when I washed my hair it ruined my makeup so I had to start again.”

“Are you wearing new earrings?” Freddie inquired curiously.

Millie felt herself blushing. She prayed she’d put on enough makeup to hide it. “Got them for Christmas,” she confirmed. “Mum wrote me in her last letter asking if I’d worn them yet and I lied and said yes, so I thought I should probably put them on.”

Freddie smiled, accepting this readily, innocent little flower as she was. “They’re pretty,” she offered. “They make your eyes strikingly green.”

Millie smiled back at her. “Thanks, Fred. And you’re gorgeous as always. You too, Jem.”

“A compliment from Millie Harlow?” Jem gasped in mock shock. “What’s the matter, Mils, you got an upset tummy? Are we all set to be smelling the contents of your stomach when we go to bed tonight?”

Freddie scoffed. “Jem, that is vile.”

Millie just rolled her eyes. “D’you want that drink I owe you tonight, Jem, or do you want me to conveniently forget that it’s my round?”

Jem clamped her mouth shut immediately. “I want that drink,” she said as she rose from her bed.

Millie smiled smugly. “Yes,” she said, “that’s what I thought.”

Millie didn’t speak during the walk to the officers’ club. Her mind was filled with thoughts of one man, of his stupid smirk and his stupid soft hair and his stupid saxophone, which he was no doubt set to spend half the night married to. She tried to imagine what he might say to her, how he might look at her, whether he might try to get her alone. Did she even want him to get her alone? Did she even want to talk to him?

All too suddenly, Jem was pushing into the club and holding the door for Freddie and Millie behind her, then leading them to the bar.

“I’ll have a pint, thanks, Mils,” Jem declared, draping herself over the only available space at the bar with a twinkle in her eye.

Millie rolled her eyes. “I know what you’ll have, you little ponce, because you have the same thing every night.”

“Lemonade, please, Mils,” Freddie added.

Millie scoffed. “No, Fred. Wine or nothing.”

“What is your problem with me and my lemonade?!” Freddie complained, pouting.

Millie simply laughed, leaning past Jem when Atley the barman approached to take their order.

They’d gotten to the club too late tonight to secure themselves a table, so, once they all had their drinks, the three of them found an empty patch of wall to lean against and surveyed the room and its occupants.

Millie kept her eyes carefully diverted from the band just in case Brady was looking at her. She didn’t want to seem eager.

“Your makeup looks nice tonight, Mils,” Freddie spoke into the brief quiet which had fallen. “Did you get a new lipstick?”

“Borrowed Jem’s,” Millie replied easily, taking a sip from her beer.

Beside her, Jem sputtered. “Disgusting.”

“We’re all friends here,” Millie dismissed her.

“It suits you,” Freddie said. “A paler shade of red, no?”

Millie smiled at her sidelong. “I think so. Thanks, Fred.”

Freddie hummed her acceptance of this thanks.

Millie couldn’t take it any longer. Her eyes sought Brady of their own accord, as though they were being pulled there by magnets, and she met his gaze instantly. She had no idea how long he’d been watching her but she liked to think it was a while.

As such, she refused to be the one to break eye contact. She raised her eyebrows at him, a subtle smirk tugging at her lips, before lifting her glass to her lips and taking a slow sip.

Even from all the way over here she could see the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

Her smile was sweet when she lowered her glass.

Brady looked away, turning back to his sheet music.

If Millie didn’t know better, she would have thought she could spy a pale blush in his cheeks.

Millie kept an eye on Brady the entire time the band was playing, trying to force herself to find his saxophone playing unattractive and failing miserably. She only half-listened to the conversation going on around her, mumbling yeses and nos when asked any questions, smiling and laughing when she thought it was appropriate. When some of the other airmen joined them briefly she greeted them warmly but couldn’t help the glances she shot over their shoulders at their fellow pilot where he was playing with the band.

No one noticed, she thought. That was, until she caught Benny DeMarco smirking.

“Something catch your eye, Mils?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet enough that no one else acknowledged their private conversation.

Millie was starkly conscious of the burning in her cheeks. “What?”

Benny shrugged but there was an amused smile playing at his lips. “You just seem awfully interested in the band tonight. ‘S all.”

“I’m not,” Millie replied hastily. “I just - Brady, he - he’s -”

“Staring?” Benny finished for her.

“Yes.” She tipped her chin up defiantly.

“That makes two of you,” Benny observed.

Millie took a long sip of her beer to buy herself time - so long, in fact, that she ended up finishing it. When her glass was empty and she had nothing else to distract herself with, she finally replied, “If you’re trying to imply something, Benny, why don’t you just come right out and say it?”

Infuriatingly, Benny laughed. “Something you want me to say, Mils?”

“Not sure what you mean.”

“Yeah,” Benny said easily. “Funny. Neither was he.”

To anyone else, the timing would have been coincidental. Well, to anyone except Benny. But, secretly, Millie knew exactly what she was doing when she declared she was getting another drink about halfway through the last of the band’s songs.

She was still waiting to order when she felt someone come up on her other side at the bar. “Harlow,” he said.

“Brady,” she replied without turning to look at him.

He laughed. “You spend the whole night staring at me from across the room but won’t even look at me when I’m right beside you?”

“How would you know what I’ve been doing all night,” Millie replied, “unless you’ve been staring back?”

He scoffed but left that line of debate alone.

“Not dancing with any of your thousands of suitors?” he ventured instead.

Millie smiled to herself, tracking Atley as he moved around the bar, preparing drinks for other patrons. “Jealous, are we?”

Brady scoffed lowly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Still smiling, Millie shrugged. “It wouldn’t matter much to me.”

“I think it would.”

“Think what you like, Brady.”

“Do you wanna dance?” he asked suddenly.

Millie’s eyes shot to his. She blinked at him. “You mean, with you?”

“No,” Brady drawled, “with Meatball.” He rolled his eyes at her. “Yes, with me.”

Millie fought to keep her voice level. “Why would I want to dance with you?”

Brady didn’t take the bait. “I don’t know, Harlow,” he replied simply, staring at her hard, his gaze smouldering, “why would you want to dance with me?”

Swallowing hard, Millie searched his face for a sign he was making fun of her but she came up empty. For once, he looked entirely in earnest. And the longer she took to answer, the more he started to fidget. He was uncertain, she realised. Nervous, maybe.

He thought she was going to say no.

“One dance,” Millie decided, putting both of them out of their misery. “And if you step on my toes you’re dead.”

“Worry about yourself, Harlow,” Brady replied easily, offering his palm to her. “I’ve seen you dance, you’re no Rita Hayworth.”

“And yet, you still want to dance with me,” Millie teased, laying her hand in his. Instantly, he curled his fingers around hers.

“Charity work,” Brady said as he started to lead her to the dance floor.

Millie rolled her eyes.

The two of them had never danced together. The first time they’d even touched had been last night, and they’d been completely alone. With everyone around, in the midst of a sea of couples, it should have felt awkward, uncomfortable, clunky, trying to figure out how they fit together as dance partners. But it didn’t. They slotted together as naturally and as easily as puzzle pieces, the wrong ones forcibly attached for so long that the right ones clicked instantly.

The song was slow. For better or for worse, that gave them time to talk.

Millie could not, for the life of her, keep her eyes off his lips.

“What were you and Benny talking about?” Brady asked when they started to sway together.

Millie let out an amused huff of breath. “None of your business.”

“Did he ask you to dance?”

“No.” He was asking me about you.

“Something about you looks different.”

Better? “New lipstick.”

“Right.”

“I borrowed it from Jem.” Silly thing to say. Why would he care?

“It’s - uh -” He cleared his throat.

Millie’s eyes drew up his face until she could meet his gaze. “It’s what?”

“Nothing,” he decided.

Millie nodded. His gaze was intense. “So you hate it,” she said.

He shook his head. The hold he had on the small of her back tightened slightly. “I don’t hate it,” he assured her softly.

If they had been alone, the both of them knew they would have been kissing by now. How quickly they’d fallen into a routine. This time yesterday they’d only ever dreamed about it, and only late, late at night when it was impossible to hide anything from yourself. Now it was something of a habit, unavoidable when they were in each other’s presence.

It was all either of them could think about.

 “I, uh,” Brady began. He tilted his head down closer to hers, speaking so softly his voice felt like feathers. “I’m flying again tomorrow.”

Millie nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of her head. “I know,” she replied. “I work here.”

“Right.” He smiled and breathed a laugh.

Millie smiled right back at him.

“Good luck,” she offered quietly. “On your mission.”

“Thanks.” He nodded. He was staring so deeply into her eyes she felt like she was under a microscope. “I might - uh - I might get you on the radio.”

Millie laughed softly at this. “Only if you’re unlucky.”

He didn’t laugh with her, only kept on gazing deep into her eyes. “Yeah,” he breathed after a moment, when the joke had already passed.

It was impossible not to kiss him when he was looking at her like this, so Millie looked away. She set her eyes over his shoulder at the group of friends she’d left behind, watched as Jem joked with Benny and Freddie played with Meatball, as Dougie leaned lazily against the wall and Hambone came ambling over.

Millie and John were quiet for the rest of the song. Neither of them noticed, but they curled into each other more and more as time wore on, like a pair of mourning doves.

When the song ended and the next was ready to start, they untangled themselves from each other. They gave each other a nod, all formality as they tried to think up something, anything, to say, and parted ways without saying a word. They had only agreed on one dance, after all.

*

“Harlow,” Brady said as he came up behind her. “Can we talk?”

Silently, Millie sighed. She didn’t turn to look at him. “About what?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re talking,” he said. “In private.”

Millie knew exactly what that meant. They’d done this enough times by now to establish a pattern.

“I’m not in the mood to talk in private with you right now, Brady,” she said quickly, coolly. Freddie was having nightmares again - she hadn’t had nightmares since she’d first transferred to Thorpe Abbotts - so Millie had been up half the night trying to soothe her back to sleep. And Jem wasn’t very well - she’d gone home for the weekend and come back with food poisoning. Not to mention the fact that all this sneaking around was starting to make Millie anxious. She and Freddie and Jem didn’t keep secrets from each other, it wasn’t how they operated. It had taken a lot of courage for Freddie to tell them about Daniel, to open herself up to reliving the trauma of losing her soulmate if just so that Millie and Jem could know her entirely and understand her entirely, too. It felt wrong, after that, to hide this from them - from Freddie especially. She’d never had a friend like Freddie. It wasn’t right that she comforted Freddie about nightmares about her lost love, listened to her recount the gory details of his death and how she’d found out while she assured her everything was going to be okay, all the while sneaking around behind her back with a pilot of her own.

It felt wrong. Dirty. Millie wasn’t sure how she’d even gotten herself into this situation in the first place.

Brady wasn’t so easily dismissed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, falling into step beside her. When she didn’t spare him a glance he hissed out a sigh between his teeth and took a gentle hold of her elbow, tugging her behind him into the alley between buildings. Just like that very first time. The way it had all begun.

“Is this going to keep happening between us?” Millie demanded before Brady could get a word out. “You ask me to talk, in private, we fight, we kiss, and then we pretend to hate each other again. Is this the way it’s always going to be?”

Brady looked bewildered, like she’d just thrown a bucket of ice water in his face. He blinked at her for a few moments, his mouth half-open as he processed her words, and then he clamped it closed and said, “I’m only following your lead, Mils. You don’t exactly go out of your way to give me the time of day when we’re with everyone else.”

Millie rolled her eyes and turned away from him, staring at the patch of sky visible between the edges of the two buildings. “I won’t let you make me into an idiot, John,” she told him firmly. “Men have messed me around before and I won’t let it happen again.”

“Then what do you want from me, Mils?” John demanded. He reached for her hands but she wouldn’t let him take them. “You’re so goddamn difficult to read,” he said. “One second I think you like me, the next I think you’re about to knock my head off my shoulders. One second you act like you wanna dance with me, the next you’re dancing with Benny.” He shook his head with a low scoff. “You want me to show up at your door with roses when you won’t even make it clear to me what you want?”

Millie ground her teeth together and crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn’t think, for a moment, how on earth she wanted to reply. She could be vulnerable or she could be venomous, could pour her heart out to him or make him out to be delusional. She didn’t know which was wiser.

“I hate roses,” she said after a beat. “They’re cliché. And prickly. Any man who gets me roses is a man who doesn’t really know me - or really like me, more to the point.”

John didn’t say anything.

Millie’s heart was pounding in her ears as she ventured, “A man who was really after my heart would know to buy lilies.”

John was quiet for a moment. And then: “Lilies?”

“Orange lilies,” Millie confirmed softly. “They’re my favourite.”

She wasn’t looking at him, but she felt the change in the air around him when his posture loosened and he started to smile. “Of course they are,” he said.

Finally, she turned back to him, but only to narrow her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s so like you,” he said, grinning. “Red roses are everywhere. I can’t remember the last time I saw an orange lily.”

“Maybe you just weren’t looking,” Millie said.

John was still grinning, shaking his head and laughing under his breath. “Do you know how long it’d take a guy to find you orange lilies?”

“If he really liked me, he wouldn’t mind, would he?” Millie fired back, tilting her chin up defiantly. “One day I’ll meet a man who would welcome the challenge because he just wants to make me happy. Don’t concern yourself about it, I’ll find him.”

His smile became strained, hard. “I’m not concerned about it,” he informed her evenly.

“I know you’re not,” she replied. “You’re content to kiss me in dark alleyways like some sort of -”

“Why do you always insist on arguing?!” Brady demanded, cutting her off. “Just when we’re making progress! You shut me out at every available opportunity, send me mixed signals and then complain that I’m not dropping to the ground and shoving an engagement ring in your face!”

“I wouldn’t want you to shove an engagement ring in my face, Brady,” Millie hissed, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “Forget I ever even said anything. I’d be embarrassed if anyone found out I’ve been entertaining your little charade.” She was being spiteful and she knew it but she was embarrassed, so embarrassed, that he was calling her out on her vulnerability. She’d tried to hide it, tried to be casual, but he could see right through her - of course he could! He always did. And now he was making fun of her for wanting more from him than whatever casual arrangement they’d fallen into. It was clear to her now that she’d misread him, had taken for granted that good Catholic boys only ever behaved as such when in reality they only behaved that way with women they were serious about.

Brady’s smile was bitter and full of disbelief. “Mils, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” she snapped. “You won, Brady. You made me into an idiot. Thanks a lot.”

“I didn’t make you into anything,” Brady disagreed. “All I’ve ever done is try to be nice to you -”

“Oh, is that what all this was? You were just being nice? Taking pity on me? God forbid you ever actually listen to a word I say, Brady, but for the last time, you are not the only man who has ever shown an interest in me, hard as that may be for you to believe! Your charity work is over. Congratulations, you passed with flying colours.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?!” Brady demanded as she started to storm away from him. His footsteps were loud and echoing as he followed after her.

“Just leave me alone, Brady, for god’s sake,” Millie said over her shoulder. “Go back to ATA-Alice or literally anyone else, I don’t care. Just leave me alone.”

Brady slowed to a stop, watching in utter bewilderment as Millie turned the corner and stomped off elsewhere. He really and truly had no idea what had just happened. But did he ever, really, with her? She was as infuriating as she was fascinating. He couldn’t stay away from her if he tried, and he had no interest in trying.

*

There was a rose waiting for her on her desk on Monday morning. A single red rose, all by itself, and Millie wasn’t sure whether to smile or scowl.

“Idiot,” she muttered, and the smile won out.

“Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer, Mils,” Freddie remarked as she took a seat at her own desk. “Did they leave a note?”

“No,” Millie said, still staring down at the rose. Tentatively, she reached out and picked it up, bringing it to her nose to smell.

“Who’s buying you roses?” Jem asked as she took her seat on Millie’s other side.

Millie smiled to herself as she set the rose back down and sat down in her desk chair. “No idea.”

Work that day could not have dragged on any longer. Millie felt like she was being suffocated by the many, many hours which stretched out before her. But, eventually, all the ATA pilots and all of the outgoing planes returned - those which were ever going to return, that was - and she was dismissed.

The other girls went straight to dinner.

Millie knew where she’d find the mastermind behind the stupid rose.

“Save me a seat!” she called over her shoulder to Freddie, Jem, and the rest of the wireless ops. “I’ll only be a minute!” She’d deliberately spilt water on her blouse right before the end of the workday to give herself an excuse to head back to the nissen huts. She wasn’t sure whether she’d really only be a minute. She didn’t think so.

True to prediction, John Brady was dawdling in the grass outside her hut when she approached. He didn’t see her just yet, his hands in his pockets and his head tilted back as he squinted into the sunlight, but she stopped a few metres away so she could really look at him.

He had no business being as handsome as he was. All boyish smiles and innocent blue eyes, biting wit and soft, fluffy hair. How was she ever supposed to come up against him in any significant way when he looked the way he did, said the things he did, acted the way he did? She’d been powerless from the start.

“You,” she called as she finally set her legs back into motion, “are such an arse, John Brady! Even when you’re nice you’re an arse!”

John was grinning when he turned to her. He shrugged. “A little birdie told me you like roses.”

Millie rolled her eyes and gave him a gentle shove when she came to a stop before him. “Shut up,” she said.

She kissed him, then, and couldn’t have given any logical reason for why other than she wanted to. She really, really wanted to.

He certainly wasn’t hurrying to make any complaints.

They wrapped themselves up in each other immediately, instinctively, like this was where they belonged and every second they spent apart was a second the world was off kilter. Anyone might have walked by for any reason and yet neither of them paid the outside world any mind. All of their attention, focus, thoughts were solely on each other.

When they pulled apart they were breathless, so close their chests pressed together as they breathed.

John was smirking. Because of course he was.

“If I knew I was gonna get a kiss anyway,” he said, all cocky and pleased with himself, “I wouldn’t have run around the whole of East Anglia trying to find these.”

He stepped away and Millie reached for him. His smile was soft as he took hold of both of her hands and pressed gentle kisses to the backs of both of them. Then he disappeared behind the door of her hut and emerged a moment later, still smiling, with a bouquet of orange lilies in one hand.

Millie’s smile ached in her cheeks. “You didn’t,” she said.

John shrugged. “I like to think I have my moments.”

“Where did you find them?” she demanded, accepting them from him and cradling them to her chest like a puppy.

John was grinning as he watched her. “Some East Anglian town. I couldn’t pronounce the name even if I remembered it.” He breathed a laugh. “But I thought they might make you happy, so they were worth the trip.” You were worth the trip. Worth an entire weekend pass spent looking for one bouquet of flowers.

Millie was still smiling wildly as she stepped back towards him, still cradling her flowers close to her chest. “Did they take you long to find?”

“A little.” He shrugged. “I didn’t mind.”

Her smile turned sheepish. “I feel like I need to make a confession.”

John’s heart dropped. “Oh.” She had a boyfriend. Or she had a husband. Or she didn’t even like him in that way. Or the flowers were fakes. Or -

“I actually love roses.”

His jaw fell open.

Millie was grinning. “Oops?”

“Millie Harlow,” John said, fastening his hands on her hips and tugging her to him, shaking his head with a wide smile on his lips, “you are such a pain in my ass.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked. She transferred her bouquet into one hand so she could wrap her arms around him, then smiled as she pushed up onto her tiptoes and nudged their noses together. “The feeling’s mutual.”

[msmargaretmurry]

For the author ask game, 1, 3, and 16, please!

as per your other message i know you saw i answered #1 here but linking it in case anyone else missed it and is curious! ❤

3. what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

oh front to back for sure! if it's a non-chronological story, sometimes i'll leave some scene placeholders or wind up rearranging the order a bit, but mostly i just start at the beginning and write straight through. also i'll sometimes jot down snippets of scenes when they come to even though they come later in the story, but i only let myself write the very minimum of those because i don't want to get too in the weeds of something i haven't written the leadup to yet. my writing process is very much about building on the story as i write it, so it's hard for me to skip scenes or write out of order!

16. are there any characters who haunt you?

i'm not sure if this means characters i've written that i can't stop thinking about, or characters that i haven't written who won't leave me alone 😂 for the former, yeah, i still think frequently about my main guys from both the next next one and head above water (and also my non-main guys, the wonder twins from tnno and brady & quinn in haw). for the latter, i am deeply haunted by eldest daughter quinn hughes in the cisswap i'm working on, because i have so many thoughts and feelings about the fic and (sorry to keep returning to this theme but it's true) no time to write lately 😭 i am a little bit haunted by john hayden, who i always kind of thought i'd write something long and feelingsy about but it just never happened, and i am pretty haunted by elias pettersson, because the elias/brock futurefic that lives in my head would be so good if i ever wrote it.

on the non-hrpf front, i'm kind of haunted by sam and peter from american vandal because i'm still mad at netflix for cancelling that show and want a long plotty fake season three fanfiction where they kiss SO badly. i've poked around at ideas to just write it myself over the past few years but it just hasn't materialized. i also recently finished reading he who drowned the world so i am DEEPLY haunted, not by a particularly character, but by how badly i want a good long messy reincarnation fic. now that i think about it, i think i'm often more haunted by story concepts than specific characters?

and you said: "I see you already answered #1, so if there's another question you haven't been asked yet and want to answer, pretend I picked that number instead! :)" which i appreciate so much!! ❤ my brain is so mushy though that i read through the list of questions and was like "oh god idk which one" so i am just going to answer the two, but ofc am happy to answer more from the list if anyone asks!

[precious-little-scoundrel]

The Passion of Johnny 🥀

Summary: Bucky Egan takes it upon himself to give some wedding night advice to his dearest and most cunty, capable and very Catholic captain. Did it have to be five minutes before the aisle walk? Did it have to be by the stale communion wafers? Did it have to have include practice fingering? Brady has so many objections but better to get this over with than have it bleed into Egan’s best man’s toast…

Requested? OH YES ✔️

Circa: late summer 1945

Warnings: so much innuendo and dirty talk, this is sex Ed, after all. Catholicism but it’s not really impacting shit beyond vibes, and a decent amount of homoeroticism…it’s war buddies in a church y’all. That’s a staple. Brief illusion to past male SA.

Full credit to my babe Ashely who more than co-wrote this, she was possessed by the spirit of Bucky Egan in our chat and out came this, I have merley sprinkled verbs and adjectives and cohesion throughout her masterpiece. And to Christi who added copious devastating one liners throughout and held my damn hand while I choked on this hotness

They’re in the back of the church, in the vestry room, attending to all those last minute wedding details -the ring checks, the tie-fixing, the last minute dizzy spells. And once left alone with him, Bucky spots the lump in the groom’s pressed slacks from across the room. He snickers. Ah this'll be fun. “C'mere kid...come talk to me.” he cajoles, “Ya fast? Ya loose? Feel like throwing up?”

Bucky claps him on the back extra hard and Jack coughs dryly, hands falling from his tie.

“Listen,” Bucky goes on without being answered, “good ole Father Peter Paul Frank whoever is gonna get up there and try and tell you all about marriage and devotion and all that jazz...and he means well. sure... but I wanna make sure this marriage starts off right...so let's have a little chat. I ever steered ya wrong, huh?”

“Bucky, I uh...kinda wanted a minute alone.”

Bucky racks his eyes over the pristine and quite filled out uniform. “Yeah trust me I got eyes kid, we can get you all settled so ya don't make a complete fool of yourself in front of the entire church.” Bucky for his part is smoking in church, after having lit a cigarette off the candles, and Brady supposes this talk is necessary. Not he thinks, for the education Bucky so benficently seeks to relay, but rather to stave off the likelihood of all these tips and tricks of the trade coming out in a groomsman’s toast.

Bucky’s rowdy, handsy behavior normally never bothered him. Until now. Every back slap and chest shove and cheek pinch has him feeling funny, tingly, oddly eager and terribly alive. Johnny shouldn’t have spent all night trying to tug one out in vain, now he’s a goddamn confused mess. But he knows he wants to please Bucky, unfortunately always has and in lieu of a father in his life today -though god knows this dangerous, grinning man is no replacement- he acquiesces. Jack takes a seat in this same room he did as a child to review his catechism and Ten Commandments, and marvels how despite all the partying of last evening and the week before, with booze and anecdotes and bawdy jokes flying like flack, Bucky would wait until they’re beside the stale, surplus communion wafers to discuss conjugal functions.

He's absolutely sweating and that makes sense, it’s August. But Bucky is clapping him on the back again, beginning the talk like they didn’t already do this routine, “Ya look great kid.” He compliments. “Almost as handsome as Ida.”

It’s a very sincere compliment, Jack knows this, and it makes him roll his eyes all the harder although his cheeks burn.

“Ya nervous? Yeah? Good. You should be.” —this is followed by a signature cheek slap. “-you’ve got maneuvers to learn.”

Jack’s eyes grow a little panicked. More than nervous then. He wasn't this hard before. But the more Bucky talks about ‘maneuvers’ he's getting almost fully so. Frantically smashing the front of his pants down, groaning, “Bucky, stop. I beg you, stop. I'm about to walk down the aisle!”

Another cheek smack. “Don’t fuckin' roll your eyes at me kid, where else ya gonna learn this? The goddamn Padre? Now listen up, those two fingers, raise your fingers, those two- what the hell is that one even doing? -not like that, c'mon take this seriously.” Bucky presumptuously adjusts Jack’s long, elegant fingers, “You ever felt a cat's tongue? You know how it's sorta rough, like sandpaper? Well there's this spot inside her, it's gonna feel sorta like that, only softer. And that's the magic spot, kid. I'm telling ya, aim for that spot and you'll be golden.”

Brady, he was pleased to see, was no longer rolling his eyes. The pupils, however, had taken over the blue. "Can I- can i get to it with my tongue, Bucky?"

“Uh, no, my dear young novice, but that shouldn’t stop ya from trying. Never stop trying to get at it with whatever, anything God or your job gives ya. Christ kid, you even seen a pussy before?"

Brady manages nothing more than a big swallow, "She showed me hers."

"She showed you- when?"

"Last Wednesday."

"She showed you her Tussy Muzzy last Wednesday? Holy hell, Miss Tilly!" Egan whoops loudly before Brady shushes him with a few scowling smacks to his chest. "Well, tell me, wha'd she say when she showed you her pussy?"

Brady begins to retract, "Sir I can't

-I can't say,"

"Oh listen up, listen up good and hard, right now. What a lady says? She means, and you should always listen to her, but she never says it when she means it. So you gotta remember it and file it away. To use against her later. Nicely, of course. Jack? Wha'd she say?"

Brady, with eyes heavenward and looking like all he was missing were the drops of blood, "She said she wanted me to take her and that it -it-it was throbbing and -fuck uh, that- that it would be mine Saturday, uh that’s today, that it’d be mine anyway? Oh Fuck."

Bucky, he sees, is eating this shit up. Bucky practically whoops again, right here in church. “Miss Tilly.” he murmurs in the most salacious voice ever. “Goddamn.” he utters, “GODDAMN!” a second time much louder.

Brady stares at the embroidery on the chapel cloth. Green and gold stitching interweaving to make leaves. Eternal life and shit.

“Well,” Bucky is rallying, “since ya seen one -fucking idiot not touchin' it when you could’ve…First rule of marriage: don't go turnin' down offered pussy. And you heard her, none of that timid chivalry shit, you take her, you hear me?”

“I’m hearing you sir.”

“Didn't think she was the type.” he whistles, still stuck on the fact that Miss Tilly Macon with her straw hats and white gloves begged Jack Brady to take her in a car seat just days before, “Right, well, tell me, did ya get a good look? Was she shiny?”

“It... glittered.” Brady spaces out recalling the petals of it in the red glow of the stop light.

“Well that’s good, we’ve got something to work from kid. Alright, that cat tongue I told ya about? Can’t get to it with your tongue, gonna need your fingers. Now c’mere, closer, come here dammit. Yeah ok, so,” Bucky holds up his palm, like he’s gonna swear an oath, “you're gonna find the spot and when ya do, you’re gonna rub and rub and keep rubbing -go on, try, try it against my hand, c'mon Jack don't be a prude"

Egan watches as Brady shamefacedly begins rubbing between Bucky's thumb and forefinger with surprising skill. The kid’s a natural. “Damn, fixing my headache, ok yeah like that uhuh.”

“It’s just the C major cord.” Brady rebuts with a small eye roll that morphs into a cringe in expectation of another loving slap.

But Bucky holds his peace and bites his lips, and Brady wants to please him so, he lets Bucky ramble on and do his odd little puppet show with his fingers.

When that is over, Bucky turns and casts about for his next prop before grabbing a stack of charity bibles, cigarette still hanging out of his mouth. He begins stacking the Bibles and pretending his fingers are now Tilly and Jack and the Bibles are a makeshift bed. Like Johnny doesn’t know what human limbs look like. And Brady, he knows he’s lost a great deal of mental capacity since seeing Tilly’s scared parts, -running into doorframes and spacing out during planning, to the point where Ida and Eugene think he needs to be shrinked- but this feels more than a little silly.

“Well that’s that part. But, back to the beginning.” Bucky straightens from his demonstration, puts one leg up on the desk and despite the absence of his animated fingers, the Bibles look terribly suggestive stacked there on the mahogany edge, “First thing,” he is pointing at Jack, “when you get upstairs, ya ask her...if she's ever had an ice cream cone in July.” Bucky is nodding with a big smirk that Brady feels like he should answer, “Know what I mean huh?”

Brady shakes his head and rubs his neck bashfully, to be perfectly honest he has suspicions but this is Bucky, and it’s safer to admit he hasn’t a goddamn clue. "I'm gettin' that the ice cream cone ain't literal.” He ventures.

“Trust me,” Bucky insists, “all this boring church business... the dancing, the punch, I'll make a nice little speech that won't make your ma keel over...soon you'll be the god damn ice cream cone right there in those nicely pressed pants.” Bucky saunters over to where Jack is sitting on the table top part of the desk, takes the back of his hand and whacks Jack's noticeable bulge. “There's your ice cream cone kid.”

Jack jumps back startled on the desktop, and Bucky cackles, muttering something about Goddamn Prudes and Jack has to keep shushing him.

“Anyway...so she gets a couple licks... and then..” Bucky is pacing and wagging his finger, “…you get a little taste of your own... real important now... work the tongue in that pretty little hole and get her started…”

Jack is about to hyperventilate at this point as Bucky starts throwing out more ice cream analogies. Lots about cream. And licking. Something about cherries. Then somehow baseball works it's way in. Predictably. So many bases, first and second and bats and stroking and more cream. There is a fly on the rim of the gold chalice, at least it’s stopped it’s buzzing little circles.

“Ya got stamina buddy boy?” -Jack has got no idea how to answer that. “Ya don't wanna be the husband who blows the second ya slide into home.”

“Trust me...after last night…” Jack grouches, letting the details slip through in his angry belligerence at his own stubborn erection.

“That sucker is from last night?” Bucky howls. “You friggin Catholics don't even wear rubber socks either do ya?” Bucky is rubbing his hands together, Brady feels half sick, half close to coming untouched from all this talk about condoms and such, “I'll be uncle Bucky before the year is out and the first one better be named after me!” Bucky crows, then softens as he sees Johnny’s overwhelmed face, “It's gonna be great kid, I'm telling ya.. worth all that Nazi camp bullshit.” He sniffs roughly, “Plus..uh, ya know Tilly seems like a swell girl...makes a decent meatloaf I heard...sickness and health all that jazz…” He comes closer and claps Jack on the shoulder a few times.

Brady feels the overwhelming and embarrassing need to assure him he’s always welcome to the meatloaf.

Bucky acknowledges this with a soft, saddened smile before his beautiful, capable hands slide up Brady’s stiff shoulders and come up to cradle Jack's sweaty, rosy face, “Damn proud of ya kid.” he swears gruffly, “Think of me when ya slide in tonight... Lord knows I'll be wishing I was there…” Bucky whistles but it doesn’t feel crass, not the way it did even ten minutes ago. Brady has a lump in his throat and a stupid desire to say ‘same’ but he doesn’t because it must be some sorta fucked for him to long after a man he fought for, a man he got ready to die with, a man he’d gone to hell for, a man who he’ll still be obeying. Even tonight of all nights. Maybe the camp fucked him up worse than he knew. Or maybe it’s just Bucky and how Bucky’s always been, how he’s always been around Bucky -always his aggravated fool.

Whatever Tilley will prove to be for Jack, she’s not that. And that’s as it should be. Still, he feels like meatloaf is a small thing to offer as those hands finally slide away.

💋 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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[rayman-25]

Podcast Adventure le film II et l'arc 1 : Teenage Years VO VS VA

Si le film marche, on aurais la possibilité de faire une suite de la fanfiction, ainsi que le premier arc de Podcast Adventure.

Le deuxième film se déroule après l'arc 1 donc en printemps 2014. Comme dans les Simpson, Bob l'éponge ou Pokémon, les âges reste les même. Il se déroule la moitie de la saison 3 d'Amphibia, la saison deux de Luz à Osville et entre la saison 1 et deux de Dead End : le parc des paranormal.

Durant l'arc 1, il se déroule après le premier film et les spin-off. Le premier épisode se déroule après l'Ecosse, tandis que l'épisode 2 et 6 se déroule avant le premier film et comme je l'ai dit : il se déroule à New-York et à Royal Wood

On auras aussi des nouveaux personnages des autres franchise.

Résumé :

Résumé de l'arc 1 :

VO et VA :

Univers TMNT

Léonardo : ? (VA : Nicolas Cantu)

Donatello : ? (VA :Micah Abbey)

Raphaël : ? (VA : Brady Noon)

Michelangelo : ? (VA : Shamon Brown Jr.)

Splinter : ? (VA : Jackie Chan)

April O'neil : ? (VA : Ayo Edebiri)

Bebop : ? (VA : Seth Rogen)

Rocksteady : ? (VA : John Cena)

Baxter Stockman : ? (VA : Giancarlo Esposito)

Univers The Loud House

Lincoln Loud : Nathalie Bienaimé (VA : Ashleigh Ball)

Lori Loud : Caroline Mozzone (VA : Catherine Taber)

Leni Loud : Claire Baradat (VA : Liliana Mumy)

Luna Loud ! Adeliene Chetail (VA : Nika Futterman)

Luan Loud : Leslie Lipkins (VA : Cristina Pucelli)

Lynn Loud : Marie Facundo (VA : Magali Rosenzweig)

Lucy Loud : Magali Rosenzweig (VA : Jessica DiCicco)

Lola Loud : Jessica Barrier (VA : Grey DeLisle)

Lana Loud : Frédérique Marlot (VA : Grey DeLisle)

Lisa Loud : Caroline Combes (VA : Lara Jill Miller)

Lily Loud : Caroline Combes (VA : Grey DeLisle)

Clyde McBride : Audrey Sablé (VA : Brandon Mychal Smith)

Charles : Antoine Schoumsky (VA : Dee Bradley Baker)

Cliff : Dee Bradley Baker

Walt : Dee Bradley Baker

Géo : Dee Bradley Baker

Lynn sr Loud : Philippe Roullier (VA : Kyle Hebert)

Rita Loud : Emma Clave (VA : Cristina Valenzuela)

Ronnie Anne Santiago : Leslie Lipkins (VA : Cassie Glow)

Bobby Santiago : François Creton (VA : Carlos PenaVega)

Sid Cheng : ? (VA : Marissa Lenti)

Carlotta Casagrande : Kelly Marot (VA : ?)

Carlos Casagrande : Frédérique Marlot (VA : ?)

Univers Gravity Falls

Dipper Pines : ? (VA : Justin Roiland)

Mabel Pines : Caroline Combes (VA : Kristen Schaal)

Jesus « Mousse » Ramirez : ? (VA : Alex Hirsch)

Wendy Corduroy : Prunelle Rulens (VA : Erica Lindbeck)

Stanley "Stan" Pines : Alain Eloy (VA : Alex Hirsch)

Stanford "Ford" Pines : ? (VA : ?)

Robbie Stacy Valentino : Sébastien Hébrant (VA : Brooks Wheelan)

Dandinou (Waddles VA) : Dee Bradley Baker

Univers Podcast

Marc Christivoirien : Dipper Crypte (VA : Mekai Curtis)

Jean Christivoirien : Dipper Crypte (VA : Deven Mack)

Alice : Diane Dassigny (VA : Shannon Chan-Kent)

Univers Kirbendo

Thomas « Kirb » Kirbendoworld : Kirbendo (VA : ?)

Manu : Emmanuel Gandon (VA : ?)

Wistone : Emmanuel Gandon (VA : ?)

Farod Games : Farod (VA : ?)

Jacksepticeye : Alexandre Nguyen (VA : Jacksepticeye)

Univers Amphibia

Anne Boonchuy : Julia Khaye (VA : Brenda Song)

Hopediah "Hop Pop" Plantar : Patrick Waleffe (VA : Bill Farmer)

Sprig Plantar : Maxime Donnay (VA : Justin Felbinger)

Polly Plantar : Nancy Philippot (VA : Amanda Leighton)

Mrs. Boonchuy : Micheline Goethals (VA : On Braly)

Mr. Boonchuy : Frédéric Clou (VA : Bradley Cooper)

Univers The Owl house

Luz Noceda : ? (VA : Sarah-Nicole Robles)

Edalyn "Eda" Clawthorne : ? (VA : Wendie Malick)

King Clawthorne : ? (VA : Alex Hirsch)

Bobou (Hooty VA) : ? (VA : Alex Hirsch)

Camila Noceda : ? (VA : Elizabeth Grullon)

Vee / Number 5 : ? (VA : Michaela Dietz)

Hunter dit le garde dorée : ? (VA : Zeno Robinson)

Raine Whispers : ? (VA : Avi Roque)

Darius Deamonne : ? (VA : Keston John)

Eberwolf : Kari Wahlgren

Univers Dead End

Barney Guttman :? (VA : Zach Barack)

Pugsley : ? (VA : Alex Brightman)

Patrick Gutttman : ? (VA : Kate Higgins)

Saul Guttman : ? (VA : ?)

Univers Legend Quest

Teodora Villavicencio : ? (VA : Annemarie Blanco)

Univers Super Mario Bros le film

Univers Miraculous le film

[loverrofmineee]

The Parting Glass- Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal x OC

Summary | AO3| Previous Chapter

Chapter 6- The Parting Glass

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The month after the men’s return from Algeria was difficult for the tower girls. Sorcha had returned from her weekend in London to an inconsolable Aileen, who broke down in sobs as soon as they laid eyes on each other. Curtis Biddick was gone. Though Sorcha had only a few interactions with the man, she felt a pit in her chest at the news. Lilibet, along with the others filled Sorcha in on what happened during the mission, reassuring her that Buck and Bucky were still alive and well. As the weeks passed Aileen took turns seeking comfort in each of her friends, often spending long nights discussing her time with Curt as well as all the promises they made each other. Sorcha spent many nights alongside the younger girl, listening to all she had to say, never judging her for how she dealt with grief. Aileen seemed to improve over time, though the innocent girl they knew months prior was gone.

“Are you still writing Doug, Devs?” Anika asked as the girls stood on the grass outside the tower, anxiously awaiting Dye’s arrival. It seemed that the entire base had managed to crowd around the tower and hardstands, praying that Dye would make it back on his 25th mission.

“Yep,” Sorcha replied, popping the p as she stared at the sky, “he said he’s doing well and everything. He’s been writing Cormack as well, giving me updates that the kid refuses to tell me.”

“I still cannot believe nothing happened between you two.” Shiv shook her head in a mixture of confusion and slight disappointment.

Once Sorcha had departed from London, she and Doug exchanged information, writing to each other every so often. Their relationship was purely platonic, much to the dismay of the girls. His letters brought a sense of comfort to her as he wasn’t someone directly on the base, and provided a new perspective to Sorcha in a way others couldn’t. It was nice to be known as someone else, not being viewed as an overprotective sister or a woman amongst the crowd at the base.

“Devs!” Bucky's voice called from his Jeep, Buck sat beside him like always

“What do you want, Egan?”

“The boys have been wondering if we’re gonna reprise our act tonight.” Bucky’s classic smirk started to creep on his face as he toyed with the toothpick in his mouth.

Sorcha raised an eyebrow at the man, glancing at Buck to see his reaction, “What ‘boys’ have you been talking to? ‘Cause I’m sure Buck isn’t one of them.”

Her comment elicited a low chuckle from the man, “You’d be right with that, Devs. You’d probably scare all the new recruits.”

“That’s what I live for, Buck!” Bucky retorted, sending his friends an offended glance, “C’mon Devs, you know you want to.”

“I’ll get back to you when I’m a few drinks in.”

Sorcha’s response seemed to satisfy Egan, giving her companions a short nod and wave before speeding off again. The loud buzzing of a B-17 sounded from afar, accompanied by a barrage of flares. A chorus of cheers rang across the field as Dye’s fort approached the tower, everyone overjoyed that one of their men was finally going home. Sorcha embraced Lilibet in a fierce hug as tears fell from their eyes. Though they barely knew the man, Dye’s return signaled hope and a wave of emotion over them. It was incredibly morale-boosting that Dye had made it to 25, proving to the men that it could be done. Dye’s return meant things were finally looking up at Thorpe Abbotts and maybe some good could come out of the war.

“I’m assuming we’re all going to the party tonight?” Shiv asked as she let go of Anika and Aileen.

“Who are we to say no to a good time?” Aileen piped up, causing the girls to beam at their friend.

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If anyone were to pass by the women’s hut, they would have thought the party for Dye was being held there. Shrieks of laughter and giggles mixed with the record playing in the back corner bounced off the metal walls, creating a symphony of girlhood. The girls had assumed their usual stations for the night applying the military precision they developed to the stages of going out. Per custom, Sorcha was on hair, tightly wrapping strands around curlers, always eliciting complaints from her friends.

“God, Devs! Could you be any harsher?”

“I don’t see you complaining when one of the boys compliments you.”

Shiv let out a small groan as Sorcha released the curler, a perfect spiral flowing down her back. “It’s not the only reason they compliment me.”

“Keep this up and I’m sending you out with the rest left in.”

Aileen erupted into a fit of giggles at the older girl’s words, causing Lilibet to smudge the lipstick she was applying. “Jesus,” Lil groaned as Aileen continued to laugh, “Could we shelve the teasing for later? I’d rather not go out with one of you having half a head of curlers and the other with lipstick all over her chin.”

“Sorry, Lil. We’re just having some fun! Aren’t we, ladies?”

“Why of course, darling,” Shiv put on her horrible posh accent as she spoke, annoying Lilibet further, “As proper young ladies, we wouldn’t dare look a mess in front of the boys.”

Shiv’s dreadful impression set Aileen into another fit of laughter. While Lilibet attempted to remain stoic, she only needed one glance at Sorcha’s beaming face to join in. The women's laughter meshed together to form a harmonious sound, their joy infectious to one another.

Once the laughter had subsided and the girls resumed their tasks Shiv dared to change the conversation, “Speaking of boys…” eyes darting between Aileen and Sorcha as she broached the topic, “Are you two lovely ladies up to a dance tonight?”

Normally the women’s attention would fall on Sorcha at the question, but this time it shifted to Aileen. The younger girl sat silent for a moment before speaking barely above a whisper, “I- I think I could be up to it.”

“No one would push you, darling.” Lilibet put a hand on Aileen's shoulder as a form of support.

“No, I know…” Aileen trailed off as she searched for the eyes of others, gauging how they felt. “I know I’ll have to move on at some point. It just feels like I’m betraying him somehow.”

Sorcha was quick to rush to the younger girl’s side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as tears started to fall from Aileen’s eyes. “Sweetheart, it’s a natural feeling to have. There’s no point in not feeling it, but on the other side is good. Curt wouldn’t want you to be so hard on yourself.”

“She’s right,” Shiv kneeled at Aileen’s feet, grasping her hands as she spoke, “If anything, Curt would want to be hard on you.”

“Shiv!” Lilibet chided as a small smile crept upon her face.

“What?! I had to hear from the guy twenty-four-seven about how perfect and stunning Aileen is. Honestly, you know I’m not wrong.”

This reasoning elicited a sigh from Lil, giving up on trying to convince Shiv to be more appropriate. “So what do you say, Aileen?” Sorcha extended a hand to the girl, “How does a dance sound?”

After a short moment, Aileen took her friend's hand and stood up. A smile was plastered on her face as she rose to meet Sorcha, “Doesn’t sound too bad. Though my first dance won’t be with you.”

“What, why?”

“You always try to lead!” Aileen giggled in Sorcha’s face, “I love you, Devs, but you need to loosen up.”

“Nice to know Aileen is back.” Shiv chuckled as she took in her friend’s expressions. “Now, can we get going? Anika shouldn’t be the only one having fun.” Each woman gave an enthusiastic nod to Shiv’s plan, putting the finishing touches on before heading out of the Nissen hut.

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The sounds of Glenn Miller's In The Mood could be heard as the women approached the officer’s club. Men and women were constantly flowing in and out, some wanting privacy, and others returning to the party. A wide smile crept upon Sorcha’s lips as she entered, arm-in-arm with Aileen, Shiv and Lilibet right on their heels. The group immediately went to the bar, starting what would be a long night of drinking.

Men and women were packed around the bar, making it nearly impossible for Sorcha to order, but she managed to push her way through. “I’ll take two martinis and a whiskey.”

The bartender gave a quick nod of acknowledgment to her words, before promptly serving the drinks. Sorcha gave him a quick thanks as she struggled to get through the crowds without spilling the beverages. “It’s like a madhouse over there!”

“Well, we thank you for going to war for us.” Lilibet smiled as she accepted her martini, handing the other to Aileen.

“Anything for you, my dear.” Sorcha mimicked Lili’s posh accent, causing Aileen to giggle.

“You’re not drinking tonight?” Lilibet pointed at Shiv as she sipped her drink.

A sly smile made its way onto Shiv’s face, “I’m planning on scoring drinks off of the new guys. It’s a pretty easy task, just bat your eyes, and make them feel like they’re the only man on earth.”

Aileen was the first to protest Shiv’s plan, “Well that’s just- that’s just mean, Shiv.”

“You could join me if you want,” Shiv stated cooly “With that face and accent of yours, I’m sure you could find a couple of men who’d be begging on their knees to buy you a martini.”

A rapid flush came to Aileen’s cheeks at the compliment and light innuendo, “M’not sure if I'm that type of girl.”

“Oh, of course, you are sweetheart,” Lil stated, her tone making the reassurance seem more like a simple fact. “Doesn’t matter how you go about it, any one of these men would be lucky to even speak with you.”

“C’mon, let's size up the lads for tonight.” Shiv’s statement grabbed each girl’s attention, their eyes scanning the room for any potential candidates for Aileen. After no less than five seconds Shiv pointed directly at an officer who had just come into the room, “That one there, with the atrocious dance moves.”

Sorcha’s eyes caught onto his figure, Shiv’s words about his moves ringing true. She watched as he spun around, hands in the air, the teasing cries from who she assumed were his friends falling on deaf ears. An airy laugh escaped from her lips as she watched him, sipping her whiskey to cover it up.

“I don’t think he’s my type,” Aileen stated bluntly, “I wouldn’t be able to dance with him, it’d look like a complete mess on the floor.”

“Don’t be too hard on the poor guy, it's not his fault he’s not a good dancer.” Lilibet held back giggles as she spoke, also finding hilarity in the situation.

“Looks like his luck is about to get worse,” noted Shiv as the girls noticed Buck and Bucky approaching the men. Sorcha let out a small groan as she watched the brief conversation, feeling a smidge of empathy toward the men who had to endure Egan’s teasing. She continued sipping her drink while sizing up the room when Bucky’s sharp voice rang through the hall.

“Devs!” Sorcha’s eyes snapped up to meet her caller, shades of light embarrassment covering her face. Buck, alongside the new recruits, were all staring at her, each giving a quick one-over of the woman who apparently had the Major’s interest. She made quick eye contact with the pilot her friends were just ruthlessly teasing, offering him a small smile before her attention shifted to an approaching Bucky.

Buck's low laugh came as he watched his friend converse, still beside the men from his prior conversation. One of the crew gained the courage to speak up, “Is that the major’s girl?”

“Something like that.” Buck gave little time for the men to respond before bidding them farewell and joining the growing group around Bucky and Sorcha.

“Buck!” Sorcha cried as the man approached the group, “Please tell me you weren’t harassing those poor recruits?”

“I told her-”

“Oh be quiet,” Sorcha shushed Bucky with a wave of her hand, eyes focused on getting the truth out of her friend, “This one’s a liar when it comes to telling me anything. I trust you more than him.”

Buck’s lips turned up at the sight of his friends arguing, finding himself more on Sorcha’s side than his nickname companion. “Normally I’d agree with you, Devs. But in all honesty, he’s telling the truth.”

A bark of teasing laughter spilled from Bucky’s mouth as he was proven right, breaking into a little dance to deepen the annoyance etched on Sorcha’s face. She turned to him, giving a light shove to his shoulder enough for the man to stumble over. A chorus of laughter erupted from the circle, all finding a brief moment of joy in another's small misfortune.

“Remind me why I hang around you?”

Sorcha was still giggling into her palm as Bucky regained balance, annoyance plastered across his features, though his eyes betrayed him, a sign of mischief below the surface. “Because you love me.” The circle suddenly went still at Sorcha’s words, though her tone was airy, they wondered if there was any punch to her assumption.

“Oh really?” teased Bucky with a lift of his eyebrow and a smirk, “M’not sure if that’s true, Devlin.”

“Ooh, using my full last name, someone’s feeling serious.”

“You wanna talk serious, how about letting me have a dance?”

Those around stood with bated breath, the women excited to see Sorcha put the overconfident Major down a peg, while the men wondered if Bucky was about to be outright rejected. Their eyes moved back and forth between the pair, analyzing Sorcha’s contemplative face versus Bucky’s unfailing smirk. Sorcha eventually gave in, offering her hand, which Bucky grabbed immediately. The two found their way onto the dance floor, nearly the whole room spectating them as they swayed to the sounds of Duke Ellington.

“M’ surprised you didn’t turn me down, Devs,” Bucky spoke over the music, not caring who heard their conversation.

“Everyone’s made their assumptions about our pairing,” Sorcha shrugged as she spoke, eyes scanning the crowd, feeling every pair of eyes on her and the Major, “Truth be told, no one’s asked me to dance in a long time.”

“What about that English guy from a while back?”

Sorcha was quick to hit Bucky on the arm, not surprised he had mentioned Doug, but shocked at the casualness in his voice. As if they weren’t having a highly public conversation, “I guess he counts, but it’s not the same as dancing here. In London, no one knew me besides Cormack. Here, everyone knows everything about everyone. Plus, my slim chances have been ruined by you.”

Bucky feigned a look of innocence before spinning Sorcha around, “Me!? What have I done?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Sorcha’s voice as she spoke, “Maybe being a woman associated with ought to do it?”

“The boys should know better. I can’t be tied down, especially not by you.”

A gasp escaped Sorcha’s lips as Bucky teased her, “Believe me Egan, I wouldn’t dream of tying you down. It’d be like having an untrainable dog in the house.”

It was now Bucky’s turn to look offended, “You wound me deeply, Devs.” True to his words, Bucky started to slip from Sorcha’s light grip, dramatically collapsing to the floor. An embarrassed flush rose in Sorcha’s cheeks as she attempted to manage Egan’s dramatics. If people hadn’t been watching them before, they were now, as Egan flailed on the ground, theatrical cries falling from his mouth. The giggles Sorcha tried to stifle were now flowing freely from her lips, her laughter infecting those around her. Between giggles she struggled to get Buck’s attention, his name coming out in strangled cries. Soon enough, he got the hint to come retrieve his friend and pull him from the floor.

“You two caused quite a scene.” Chastised Buck, though his face betrayed the seriousness of his tone.

“It’s what we do best,” Bucky wrapped an arm around Sorcha’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, “Who else would entertain the troops?”

“I’m sure we could find someone else.” Shiv’s voice broke into the conversation, the rest of the group from the bar joining. “Sorcha could do a solo show for all the men.”

Lilibet choked on her drink at Shiv’s words, “I’m scared to ask what your definition of a ‘solo show’ entails.”

Shiv was quick to defend herself, poising herself as a proper young lady, “I’m appalled you’d even say that, Lil. Am I not a woman of respectable stature? There are impressionable young women here who could be corrupted by such words.” Shiv covered Aileen's ears at the latter statement, to which Aileen protested.

“I’m only a few years younger than you!”

“Exactly my point, my dear. We must shield you from these Brits and their dirty minds.”

It seemed as if a permanent look of offense was painted on Lilibet’s face as Shive spoke. She was used to the girl’s teasing but wasn’t inebriated enough to bear this level. “You in the mood for another drink, Devs?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Shall we leave this lot behind?”

Sorcha gave a light nod before she looped her arm through Lilibets, the rest of her friends too engrossed in a new conversation about who Aileen would dance with to notice their departure. The two made their way back to the bar, which had become less crowded over time. As soon as they turned around from ordering their drinks, Bucky and Aileen were found on the floor, alongside Benny and Anika, as well as Shiv and one of the new men. “Seems like they’ve all found what they’re looking for.” Lilibet nudged Sorcha’s shoulder as she sipped her drink.

“Aileen looks happy,” Sorcha smiled at the image of her friends swaying along to the slow tune playing, “She hasn’t been the same since Biddick. It’s nice to see her genuinely smile again.”

“She deserves it. We all deserve something like that.” Lilibet’s tone was laced with wistfulness as she spoke.

Sorcha leveled a glance at her friend who seemed lost in a faraway place, “Thinking about Andrew?”

The mention of her boyfriend snapped Lilibet out of dreamland, remembering where she was, “I miss him dearly. We got to call today, and I know it’s a blessing to even be able to hear his voice, but it’s not the same.”

A downhearted smile crept onto Sorcha’s face as Lil spoke, feeling partially sympathetic to her friend. “I know I can’t entirely relate, but you know I’ll listen to you babble on about Andrew for as long as you need to.”

“Oh, Devs,” Her eyes were filled with motherly emotion, wrapping an arm around the younger girl, “One day, hopefully sometime soon, you’ll be granted with feeling the way I do. I pray you’re not in the same situation as I am, but I know you’ll open your heart to love. When that day comes, you’ll find the man most deserving of your love in the same way I’ve been granted it.”

Tears threatened to spill from the corner of Sorcha’s eyes as Lilibet spoke. She quickly grabbed a napkin from the bar and lightly dabbed at her eyes, focused on not ruining her makeup that took hours to do. “You and your romanticism.”

“I know somewhere, deep down in that heart of yours, you want the same thing for yourself.” Lil leveled a serious look at her friend, her eyes soft as she spoke, “The girls and I rib you for it all the time, but know we just have your interests in mind. There’s no need to give your love to others without getting any back.”

“I have you though,” Sorcha spoke through a teary-eyed smile

Lilibet tutted in disapproval at her friend, “That’s true. But unfortunately, I'm a taken woman.”

“I could take Andrew in a fight.” Sorcha retorted matter-of-factly, a serious look on her face.

Her words caused the Brit to dissolve into a fit of giggles, gaining attention from others at the sudden outburst. “Oh, I would pay good money to see that.”

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What was once a lively celebration eventually faded out, and only a few men and women were scattered around the officer’s club. The usual suspects of Sorcha’s makeshift friend group were chatting around the bar, while Sorcha and Aileen sat in front of the piano. Aileen’s mood had shifted along with the party, her liveliness replaced with melancholy. Sorcha had opted to keep her company, needing respite from all the socialization and attention she had gathered over the night. The women sat shoulder-to-shoulder, Aileen playing a light tune as Sorcha faced her friends at the bar, all in light spirits. A soft smile found its way onto Sorcha’s face as she took in the scene. A new body made its way into her eye line, the pilot with the bad dance moves. She watched as he made his way over to Buck and Bucky, wondering how he had the courage to speak to the majors not once, but twice in the same evening.

“You’re quite the observer, aren’t you?” Aileen's soft voice broke Sorcha out of her thoughts, her fingers still moving over the black and white keys.

“What are you talking about?”

Aileen shot Sorcha a knowing look but didn’t answer her question. Instead, she started to play a familiar tune, causing Sorcha to perk up. The beginning notes of The Parting Glass sounded from the old piano, starting soft and slow. Aileen continued playing the melody, waiting for Sorcha to start singing along, nudging her to begin. At the younger girl’s pleading eyes, she gave in, softly singing, as if Aileen was her sole audience.

“Of all the money that e'er I had I spent it in good company And all the harm I've ever done Alas it was to none but me And all I've done for want of wit To mem'ry now I can't recall So fill to me the parting glass Good night and joy be to you all”

As she sang, Sorcha’s voice carried across the club, catching the interest of a few bystanders, though most heard her voice as background. Aileen shared a large grin as they sang, once again forgetting they had an audience outside of themselves. Sorcha felt an overwhelming sense of calm wash over her as she sang. She felt as if she were home, though the meaning of home had changed since she arrived at Thorpe Abbotts.

“Of all the comrades that e'er I had They're sorry for my going away And all the sweethearts that e'er I had They'd wish me one more day to stay But since it falls unto my lot That I should rise and you should not I gently rise and softly call …Good night and joy be to you all”

Sorcha’s eyes began to water as Aileen played the final notes, laying her head on the younger girl’s shoulder. A silent understanding passed through them, both knowing the meaning the song held to one another. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Bucky’s voice rang out, “Aileen! Get over here!”

Aileen looked between Sorcha and Bucky, trying to see if it was ok to leave Sorcha alone. “Go ahead,” Sorcha urged as she cleared her eyes, “I’m all good over here.”

“You’re a saint, Devs.” Aileen chirped before hugging Sorcha and rushing over to the impatient Major.

Sorcha let out a soft chuckle as she looked to the ground, shaking her head at her friend’s behavior. As she lifted her gaze, Sorcha was met with a pair of stunning blue eyes, a soft look within them. She recognized him as the officer who had been floating in her eyeline all evening, “That was beautiful.”

Hints of scarlet painted Sorcha’s cheeks at the compliment and the handsome man who it came from. For the first time all night, she was able to get a good look at the man who had been briefly occupying her thoughts. He was movie-star handsome, she thought. His hair seemed gelled to perfection, falling into place with his pristine uniform. A bashful smile played on his lips as he awaited Sorcha’s response.

“Thank you,” She spoke in a soft voice, feeling uncharacteristically embarrassed, “It’s not a crowd favorite song, but I think it’s lovely.”

A pensive look crossed the man's face as he took in Sorcha’s words. It seemed that he was truly thinking over her statement as opposed to letting it pass by in the air. The two remained in a somewhat awkward silence before the man spoke again, “Robert Rosenthal,” He stuck out his hand before adding, “Though most people call me Rosie.”

“Rosie.” Sorcha let his name spill from her mouth as her lips quirked into a smile. She took his hand, shaking it for a moment too long. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but part of her was intrigued by the man before her. So what if it wasn’t proper to let a handshake linger? There were worse things that could happen. “Sorcha Devlin. Though everyone here calls me Devs.”

“Not too creative, are they?” Rosie laughed, Sorcha’s heart fluttering at the sound.

“I fear they haven’t spent enough time working on their nicknaming skills.” Sorcha agreed, “They must have something else going on to keep them busy.”

Rosie let out another chuckle, a permanent grin etched onto his face. “Unfortunately they didn’t cover nicknames in training.”

“Well, that's a shame. Makes a girl wonder what you’re learning back in the States.”

“You should write to the higher-ups,” Rosie began as he unconsciously sat beside Sorcha, feeling the need to be closer to her. “Get them to add something in the handbook about creativity and nicknames.”

All of a sudden the piano bench felt smaller than before. She felt her stomach flutter as Rosie sat beside her. Sorcha could feel the heat radiating off Rosie and could smell his cologne, and God was it an enchanting scent. Sorcha could feel herself getting lost in his presence, demanding herself to snap out of it. She finally turned her gaze back to his blue eyes, ones that were already looking back at her. A shy smile played on Rosie's lips as he gazed at her, awaiting a response.

“I- I’m sure we could make that work.” Sorcha stuttered. Unknowingly her face scrunched up as she wondered why she was acting so strange. Ten minutes ago she had been fine, standing beside Lilibet and entertaining Bucky, but as soon as Rosie appeared, all her banter and charm faded away.

“Is everything ok, miss?” Rosie’s voice was laced with concern. His mind replayed their brief conversation, analyzing every moment to see if he made a mistake. Surely he didn’t say something out of turn or offensive?

Sorcha nearly got whiplash as she looked at the man beside her, frantic hazel eyes meeting soft blue ones. “I’m so sorry. I just- got lost in thought for a moment.”

“No need to apologize,” Rosie’s soft smile aided Sorcha’s embarrassment, the flush from her cheeks fading away, “Just wanted to make sure everything was ok.”

“It is,” Sorcha responded earnestly. Her racing mind had slowed as she gazed at Rosie. Somehow this man who she had just met found a way to calm her constant nerves that were kept below the surface.

“So, Rosie,” Sorcha began, loving how gentle his name was. It was a name she believed she could never get sick of saying. “Tell me about yourself.”

Rosie contemplated the question for a moment before turning to face Sorcha, nearly going speechless at the soft look painted on her face. How he had managed to be sitting inches away from a stunning girl like her was beyond him. “Well, I’m a pilot.”

Giggles flowed from Sorcha’s lips at his statement. “I figured as much. Why else would you be here?”

It was now Rosie’s turn to be embarrassed, internally cursing himself for starting with something so obvious. “Maybe I'm just a fan of England. You know, I hear they have absolutely lovely weather.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it. Makes me miss New York weather, as finicky as it is.”

The mention of New York piqued Rosie’s interest, eyebrows raising in surprise. “You’re from New York?”

“Born and raised.” Sorcha beamed with pride, “As much as I love being over here, I miss the place.”

“I know how you feel.” Rosie sighed, “I tell ya, there’s no place like Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn’s nice enough, but I’d argue the Bronx is better.” A teasing smile was placed on Sorcha’s face at Rosie’s look of offense.

Rosie let out a scoff at her statement, matching her smile as he crossed his arms. “I think we’re gonna have to agree to disagree.”

“I’d have to disagree with that statement.” Sorcha shrugged, not wanting to give up her position on the matter.

Rosie was about to speak again before a feminine voice cut him off. “Devs!” He turned his head to see the group of women Sorcha had previously been with, all looking at him with analyzing stares. He would be lying if he said they didn’t intimidate him, knowing that women often convey unspoken thoughts through stares.

“Duty calls,” Sorcha sighed, wishing she could spend more time sitting on the tiny piano bench with Rosie, “We’ll finish, or really start our debate another time?”

“I’ll prepare my opening remarks,” Rosie said with a wide smile, once again sending flutters through Sorcha’s body.

Sorcha stood up, sparing another glance at Rosie over her shoulder. To her surprise, he was already looking at her with a grin, that damn grin that she had quickly grown to love. He sent an awkward wave her way, causing Sorcha to giggle.

“Seems like someone had a good night.” Aileen teased as she looped her arm through Sorcha’s.

Sorcha couldn’t help the smile that threatened to lift the edges of her mouth, a very visible blush exploding on her cheeks. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, her short encounter with the pilot was highly enjoyable. Rosie seemed unlike any other man she had met on the base. He held a gentleness that Sorcha found comforting. In nearly every other social encounter, she analyzed everything to make sure she was acting according to her own social rules. With Rosie, all anxiety faded away. Maybe her friends had been right to encourage her to step outside their small group, though she would rather die than confess it to them.