#A Light in the Window (1942) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mintyys-blog · 25 days ago

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BEFORE THE WAR— preserum! bucky barnes

WARNINGS: war, draft, pregnancy, character death.

Brooklyn, 1942

The streets of Brooklyn were alive with the sound of swing music drifting from open shop doors, the chatter of neighbors leaning out of apartment windows, and the occasional honk of a passing car. The summer heat had settled thick in the air, but nothing could stop the steady buzz of the city or the way Bucky Barnes walked beside you, hand tucked casually in the pocket of his slacks.

“You got any plans for the weekend, doll?” he asked, nudging your shoulder playfully as you strolled down the sidewalk.

You smirked. “That depends. You askin’ me on a date, Sergeant Barnes?”

His grin was instant, boyish and smug as ever. “Wouldn’t call it a date. More like me takin’ my best girl out to show her off.”

“Oh, is that all?” You shot him a teasing look. “And here I thought you actually wanted to spend time with me.”

Bucky laughed, the sound warm and familiar. He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “I always wanna spend time with you, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart still flipped the way it always did when he got like this—soft and sweet in a way only you ever got to see.

The two of you had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. Bucky was the boy who pulled your pigtails when you were kids, the one who taught you how to throw a proper punch when you got older, the one who made you feel like the only girl in the whole damn city.

And in return, you were his doll. His best girl. His soft place to land when the world got too rough.

“You wanna go dancing?” he asked suddenly.

You raised a brow. “Since when do you like dancing?”

“Since I realized it’s a real good excuse to keep my hands on you,” he said with a smirk, winking as he twirled you playfully in the middle of the sidewalk. You let out a laugh as you spun, the hem of your dress lifting before you landed against his chest.

Bucky held you there, his arms secure around your waist, his expression shifting from playful to something softer.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he murmured.

The question caught you off guard. “What’s gotten into you, Barnes?”

His grip tightened slightly, just for a second, before he forced another easy grin. “Nothin’. Just makin’ sure my girl knows she’s special.”

You narrowed your eyes, sensing there was more behind his words, but before you could press further, he kissed you—soft, lingering, like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

And for now, you let it go, letting yourself melt into him, savoring the warmth of his touch.

Because whatever was on his mind, whatever weight he was carrying, you knew Bucky would tell you when he was ready.

At least, you hoped he would.

Brooklyn, 1942

The summer heat had faded into a warm, breezy evening, and the lights from the dance hall cast a golden glow on the sidewalk as you and Bucky stepped outside. Music still pulsed from inside, couples twirling across the floor, lost in the rhythm.

Bucky had been quieter than usual tonight. Oh, he still flashed that signature grin, still twirled you around like you were the only girl in the world—but something about him felt… off.

You noticed it in the way he held you, just a little tighter than usual. The way he looked at you, like he was trying to burn the image of your face into his memory.

And now, as the two of you stood outside, you watched him as he exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off whatever thoughts were eating away at him.

“Alright, out with it,” you finally said, crossing your arms.

Bucky glanced at you, his easy smirk flickering across his lips. “Out with what, doll?”

“You’ve been actin’ funny all night. Thought maybe you were just distracted by how good I looked, but now I’m thinkin’ there’s somethin’ else.”

His lips parted, but he hesitated—just for a second. If you weren’t paying close attention, you might’ve missed it.

Then, just as quickly, he was Bucky again, flashing that boyish grin as he leaned in. “You do look real good tonight, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “Nice try.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. For the first time tonight, his mask slipped—just a little. “Let’s take a walk.”

That was never a good sign.

The two of you started down the quiet street, the sounds of Brooklyn still buzzing in the background. You walked in step with him, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, after a long pause, Bucky exhaled. “I got a letter.”

A chill crawled down your spine. “A letter?”

“From the draft board,” he said, voice quieter now. “They’re sendin’ me overseas.”

The world felt like it had been knocked off balance.

You stopped walking. “You— You’re goin’ to war?”

Bucky turned to face you, his jaw clenched like he’d been dreading this moment. “Yeah, doll.”

For a second, you couldn’t breathe. The noise of the city faded, replaced by the pounding of your heart.

“When?” you finally whispered.

“A couple weeks.”

A couple weeks.

You felt sick.

Bucky stepped closer, his hands gently settling on your arms. “I didn’t wanna tell you tonight. Wanted to give us one more night without it hangin’ over us.”

You searched his face, and suddenly all those little moments from earlier made sense—the way he looked at you, the way he held you so tight, the way he kissed you like he was afraid it’d be the last time.

Tears burned in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“What if—” Your voice wavered, and you swallowed hard. “What if you don’t come back?”

Bucky cupped your face, pressing his forehead against yours. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Your voice cracked. “People don’t come back from war, Bucky.”

“I will.” His voice was firm, steady. “I swear it, doll. I’ll come back to you.”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But the fear dug its claws into your chest.

Bucky pulled you into his arms, holding you against him like he could shield you from the world. You buried your face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of him, memorizing the way he felt.

Because no matter what promises he made, war changed people.

And you weren’t sure anything would ever be the same again.

Brooklyn, 1942

A couple of weeks.

That was all you had left with Bucky. The thought sat heavy in your chest, a constant ache that refused to ease. But you didn’t want to waste time crying—not when every second with him was slipping away.

So you made a choice.

If this was all you had, then you were going to make the most of it.

The next morning, you showed up at Bucky’s apartment bright and early, swinging open the door like you owned the place. His mother barely blinked—she was used to you by now.

“James Buchanan Barnes, get your lazy behind outta bed,” you called, hands on your hips.

A groggy groan came from the other room. “Doll, the sun’s barely up.”

“It’s almost nine,” you corrected, marching into his tiny bedroom. “And we got things to do.”

Bucky was still sprawled out in bed, shirtless, hair a mess, eyes barely open as he peered at you. A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Can’t we just stay here? I can think of plenty of things to do in bed.”

You threw a pillow at his face.

He laughed, rolling onto his back. “Alright, alright. What’s the plan, sweetheart?”

You hesitated for just a second, gripping the hem of your dress. “I don’t know yet,” you admitted softly. “I just wanna spend today with you.”

Something in Bucky’s expression shifted. He sat up properly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before reaching for your hand. “Then we’ll do whatever you want, doll.”

The two of you spent the day wandering through Brooklyn, revisiting all the places that held meaning.

You stopped by the candy shop on the corner where Bucky used to sneak you chocolate bars when you were kids. The owner still recognized him and slipped you both a piece, chuckling as Bucky winked and said, “Some things never change.”

You made your way to the boardwalk, where the two of you had spent countless summer evenings. The salty air, the distant laughter of children, the old wooden planks beneath your feet—it was all so familiar, so comforting.

“Remember that time you pushed Steve into the ocean?” you teased as you both leaned against the railing, watching the waves.

Bucky grinned. “He dared me to.”

“He almost drowned.”

“Nah, he was fine.” He shrugged. “Besides, I jumped in after him.”

You shook your head with a laugh.

Then Bucky’s voice softened. “We’ve had some good times, huh?”

Your chest tightened, but you smiled. “The best.”

He exhaled slowly, drumming his fingers against the railing. “I don’t want you to sit around waitin’ for me, doll.”

Your brows furrowed. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“I mean it.” He turned to face you fully. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. And I don’t want you puttin’ your life on hold for me.”

Your stomach twisted. “You promised you’d come back.”

“I will,” he said quickly. “But I don’t want you to be lonely.” He swallowed, his voice dropping. “If you meet someone—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, shaking your head.

Bucky looked at you with something between love and regret. “Sweetheart—”

“I don’t want someone else,” you whispered. “I want you.”

His throat bobbed, and for the first time, he looked truly lost. Like he didn’t know how to make this easier for you—for either of you.

Finally, he reached for you, pulling you into him. You melted against his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if holding on would somehow keep him here.

“You’re my doll,” he murmured against your hair. “Always.”

You closed your eyes, letting the moment sink in, letting yourself pretend—just for a little while longer—that time wasn’t running out.

Because soon, it would.

And neither of you knew what the future held.

Brooklyn, 1942

The night before Bucky was set to leave, Brooklyn felt different. Quieter. Like the city itself knew what was coming.

You sat on the fire escape outside his bedroom window, legs dangling over the edge as you stared at the twinkling lights below. Bucky was inside, lying on his bed, tossing a baseball into the air absentmindedly. Neither of you had spoken much since dinner.

Because what was there left to say?

You sighed, gripping the metal railing tighter. “I hate this.”

Behind you, the sound of the baseball landing in Bucky’s palm stopped. “I know, doll.”

You turned to look at him. He was watching you, blue eyes shadowed with something deep and unreadable. Slowly, he sat up and patted the space beside him.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

You hesitated before climbing back through the window, settling onto the bed beside him. As soon as you were close enough, he pulled you against his chest, his arms strong and steady around you.

For a long moment, you just lay there, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye to you,” you admitted quietly.

Bucky let out a slow breath, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm. “Then don’t,” he whispered.

You lifted your head to look at him, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… don’t say goodbye. Not like it’s forever,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll come back, sweetheart. No matter what it takes.”

Your throat tightened. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he insisted, voice firm. “Because I have to. Because I got somethin’ worth comin’ back to.”

You swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Promise me.”

Bucky cupped your face, eyes never leaving yours. “I swear it, doll.”

And for that moment, you let yourself believe him.

He kissed you then, slow and deep, like he was memorizing the feel of your lips. Like he was trying to leave a piece of himself with you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, desperately trying to hold onto him—to this moment—for as long as you could.

The night stretched on, and neither of you spoke about tomorrow.

Instead, you let yourselves pretend that the world wasn’t changing. That when the sun rose, everything would still be the same.

But deep down, you both knew better.

And as you fell asleep in his arms, you wondered if you’d ever feel this safe again.

The years had been kind to Brooklyn, but they had been cruel to you.

The war had taken Bucky, or so they said. When the soldiers returned, they came in droves, but Bucky wasn’t among them. No body to bury, no remains to mourn. Just the cold, harsh reality that he was gone. You never got closure. Never got to say goodbye.

You had held on to hope for months, years even. The letters you sent, the prayers you whispered every night, the way you clung to every scrap of news you could find. But eventually, you had to face it. Bucky was gone, and you were left to pick up the pieces.

And then you found out.

You were pregnant.

The news had hit you like a freight train, but even in the devastation, there was a flicker of hope. Bucky had left a part of him behind—your son, James.

Raising him without Bucky was the hardest thing you ever did. The little boy had his father’s blue eyes, his smirk, and his unshakable sense of loyalty. You saw Bucky in everything James did. In the way he stood tall, the way he cared for those around him.

But there were nights when you cried yourself to sleep, wishing more than anything that Bucky could be there. He should have been. He should’ve been there to see their first steps, to watch James grow into the man he was becoming. But instead, you raised him alone, pouring all the love and care you had into him.

When James was older, he married and had children of his own, carrying on the legacy you and Bucky had started. But your heart never truly healed.

Then, on a quiet afternoon, years after you had passed, James was sitting with his own children, when the doorbell rang. It was a sharp, unexpected sound, one that made him frown in confusion.

When he opened the door, there stood a man—older, with a rough edge to him, but his eyes… those were unmistakable.

“James Barnes?” the man asked, his voice low and filled with a depth of emotion that James didn’t understand.

James blinked, taking a step back. “Who are you?”

“I’m your… father,” the man said, and James felt the words hit him like a physical force.

His father?

The words barely registered. His mind raced. He was supposed to be gone. He was supposed to have died in that war all those years ago. Yet here he was. James had seen photos of him… he looks the same.

“You’re… you’re him?” James asked slowly, stepping back further. He couldn’t believe it. The man before him looked like Bucky, but younger. His features were weathered with time, but those eyes, the same shade of blue that James had inherited, were the same.

“I had to see for myself,” Bucky said quietly, as if just being in the presence of his son was enough to break down years of walls.

James’ heart beat wildly in his chest. It didn’t seem possible, yet here was the man who had never come back, the man who had vanished without a trace.

“Mom… Mom talked about you all the time,” James said, his voice thick. He shook his head in disbelief, his hands trembling as he spoke. “She never stopped talking about you. She never let me forget who you were.”

Bucky’s throat tightened, the weight of those words hitting him harder than anything else. He had no idea. He had no idea that you had held onto him all these years. That you had kept him alive in your memory for your son.

“You— you never told me,” James murmured, stepping back as if still trying to process.

Bucky swallowed hard. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t remember who I was for so long. But now I do. And I had to come back.”

He looked at his son, seeing the resemblance in the set of his jaw, the curve of his smile, and even in the way James stood—proud, unyielding. He was Bucky’s son in every sense.

“I never thought I’d see you,” Bucky continued, his voice barely a whisper. “But here you are. All grown up.”

James stared at him for a moment before stepping forward. “Come inside,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “I… I think Mom would have wanted you to meet your grandkids.”

Bucky nodded, his heart heavy with emotion. He followed James inside, unsure of what came next, but knowing that he couldn’t go back to the past.

What mattered now was the future—the family he had missed.

And as he stepped over the threshold, into a world he’d lost so long ago, Bucky Barnes found himself home at last.

As Bucky followed James inside, the sounds of children’s laughter filled the air. James’ home was warm, the kind of place that felt full of life—just like you would have wanted it to be. The walls were adorned with family photos, many of them capturing moments of joy you had never gotten to witness.

James led Bucky into the living room, where two young children were playing on the floor, their faces lighting up when they saw him.

“They’re mine,” James explained, his voice softer now. “My son, Ben, and my daughter, Emma.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight of them. Ben, a boy with messy dark hair and curious blue eyes, was standing at the toy chest, while Emma, a girl with your bright smile and Bucky’s cheekbones, was sitting beside him, her laughter filling the room.

It hit Bucky like a wave. These were his grandchildren. He hadn’t been here for any of it. For their births, for their first steps, for the bedtime stories.

James knelt down in front of them, his voice warm and affectionate as he called out to his kids. “Hey, you two. I want you to meet someone.”

Ben looked up first, squinting at Bucky with those familiar blue eyes. Emma followed his gaze, her eyes widening in curiosity.

“Kids,” James continued, his voice cracking slightly, “this is your grandfather. My father. His name is James—your papa.”

Bucky’s chest tightened at the word. Papa. He hadn’t thought he’d hear it, but hearing it now, spoken from his son’s lips, made his heart swell. He’d missed so much, but he was here now.

The kids blinked at Bucky, not entirely sure what to make of the stranger in their living room. But then Ben, ever the curious one, took a cautious step toward him.

“Papa?” the little boy asked hesitantly, his gaze flicking between his father and the man in front of him.

Bucky kneeled down, slowly, so as not to scare them, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. “Yeah, kiddo. I’m your papa.”

Ben’s eyes searched his face for a moment, before his lips parted in a hesitant smile. “You look like my daddy.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his heart swelling at the comparison. “I sure do, don’t I?”

Emma, ever the bold one, stood up and crossed the room, her little hands reaching for Bucky. “Can you play with us, papa?” she asked, her voice as sweet and innocent as any child’s could be.

Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He had missed so much of their lives, but seeing them—seeing his grandchildren—was the reminder he needed that he had something to live for.

With a soft laugh, he reached out, lifting Emma into his arms. “I’d love to, sweetie.”

As the afternoon passed, Bucky played with Ben and Emma, the sound of their giggles filling the house, and the weight of the years seemed to lift just a little. For the first time in so long, he felt at peace. He hadn’t come back to the life he’d lost—but in these little moments, with his children and grandchildren, he had found something that felt almost as important: a new chance.

James watched from the doorway, a small smile on his lips as he saw his father with his children. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotion—knowing that, despite everything, Bucky had come home.

“Mom would have loved this,” James murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Bucky glanced over at his son, the weight of the years and the distance between them settling in. He cleared his throat, trying to push the emotion down. “I know she would have. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for her.”

James walked over, his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

And as Bucky watched his grandchildren, his heart filled with a bittersweet joy. He was here, and he would be a part of their lives from this day forward. He would never make the same mistake again.

He had a family now. A family that was waiting for him to be the father and grandfather they needed him to be. And with a full heart, Bucky promised himself he would never let them go.

#avengers #x reader #reader insert #x female reader #the avengers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #winter soldier

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bey0nd-1he-stars · 1 year ago

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A line of beauty - Nikolai Lantsov

Masterlist

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Wordcount: 1942

Summary: Based on this request

Warnings: none

A/N: I'm so sorry I haven't posted anything in FOREVER but I really haven't been able to. Also, I don't know how happy I am with this but it'll have to do. I hope you like it nevertheless <3

Walking on the ship, Tolya led the three of you to the captain’s quarters. He knocked quickly three times and when a “come in” was heard from inside he pushed the door open and ushered you inside. You, Alina and Mal all stepped over the threshold and into the carefully decorated room. A mahogany desk stood in the middle of the room and behind it, lounging in an elegant throne-like chair, sat a young man. He raised his eyebrows at the three of you before taking a swig of whiskey from a carved crystal glass.

“And what brings the sun summoner and her friends to my quarters?” he wondered from behind the glass in his hand. You raised your eyebrows at his knowledge of your company and he smirked at your reaction. Mal met your gaze through a side glance but looked away when Alina started speaking.

“We need charter out of here immediately.” The captain nodded and threw a glance out the window and when you followed his gaze you saw the lights from the docks quickly getting further away. Nikolai noticed as you did your discovery and when you looked back at him he was already looking at you. You just gave him a nod and he smiled, standing up and walking past you with a promise to show you where you’d be able to sleep at night. Alina, Mal and you quickly went after him, letting Tolya close the door behind you.

You’d been on the Volkvolny for almost three weeks now and you, Alina and Mal helped the crew out wherever you were needed and on this particular night you’d been asked to join the night’s watch. You were standing on deck, a shawl wrapped around your shoulders. It was a calm night. Warm winds swept across the sea, soft waves crashed against the sides of the boat, the smell of fresh sea air filled your nose and billions of stars covered the dark sky above you. They reflected in the water making it look like you were sailing in an endless sea of stars. It was breathtaking. You stood at the front, keeping watch forward and at the same time enjoying the view and the peace and quiet.

The clinking sound of boots against the wooden floor pulled you out of your thoughts and when you turned around you were met by the now familiar sight of Nikolai in his teal coat making his way towards you. His steps were heavy and he had dark circles under his eyes, but tried to hide it away with his usual smirk, hoping it would make him look more awake and alert than he really felt like.

“Everything okay up front?” he came to rest his arms on the railing beside you and you turned back towards the sea with him. A small nod told him everything was in order and he let out a breath of relief, letting his shoulders fall slightly.

“Everything okay with you?” you spoke back with a hint of worry in your tone. Nikolai turned his head to meet your gaze, searching for something in your y/e/c eyes before giving you a stiff nod. With a gentle hand you pushed away a few strands of his hair from his eyes and his eyes fell close for a second, relishing in the gentle touch.

“You sure?” you mumbled and pulled your hand away. His breath got stuck in his threat for a second when your warm touch left him, leaving him speechless for just a moment. He nodded. Neither of you said anything else that night but you both stayed there, at the front of the ship, shoulders pressed together as you watched the stars fade into the morning glow.

Nikolai knew he’d fallen in love after you’d been a month and a half on the Volkvony. You had your hair in a braid tied up with a ribbon that day but the winds had been hard and when you had been wrapping up some lines of rope on the starboard side of the ship, a particularly hard wind tugged your ribbon away. You just barely missed it reaching out for it, watching as the silk slipped between your fingers. Nikolai saw it flying out to sea, carried away with the wind. He followed it with his gaze but when he blinked, he lost it. Instead he turned his gaze back to you and the sight took his breath away. Now your hair flowed freely, whipping around your face in the wind and dancing like wildfire. He couldn’t take his gaze away from you.

Tamar walked past you and noticed the chaotic state of your hair and said something that made you laugh. You threw your head back, eyes glittering and your melodic laughter carried on the wind. Your beauty had bewitched him and he found himself not minding it a bit.

“Welcome to the spinning wheel.”

You’d traveled on horseback since you came back to Ravka and now you were standing in front of two massive stone doors in the mountain wall. The top of the mountain disappeared into the clouds but you could almost see the outlines of it.

A few guards pulled a lever and the great doors opened themselves revealing a set of stairs carved out in the stone. You all jumped off the horses and walked inside with Nikolai in the front. He explained that this was one of his secret hideaways that he’d built when being Sturmhond. Now it was a grisha sanctuary and a secret base hidden away in the mountain and above the clouds. The only way to get inside would be by the mountain doors or flying. The air was his domain.

When you reached the top of the stairs Nikolai pushed a heavy door open and light flooded in through the opening. You had to shield your eyes for a moment when you walked in, but when you’d gotten accustomed to the blinding light, the sight of the Spinning wheel took your breath away. The place was fabrikator made. The whole building was made entirely out of glass, except for the floors. It let the sunlight in from all directions and it let you see across the sea of clouds. Nikolai smiled at your reaction, pulling you with him to show you around. He showed you your room where you’d be sleeping, the war room, his office, the great balcony and he even had a garden up here. It was overflowing in greenery, trees rising along the wall of the building, flowers thriving in every direction. It was messy, the garden unkempt but the grass was cut neatly. It was so perfectly Nikolai and that made it even more beautiful.

When Nikolai suggested having a ball it was the last thing you’d expected out of his mouth. You’d been prepared for a declaration of war against the Darkling or storming the little palace and taking it back. You’d been prepared for anything but a ball. That didn't mean you thought it a bad idea. All the people at the spinning wheel could probably use the distraction and a night of fun. So, a ball it was. Nikolai got some fabrikators to decorate the grand hall and a few of the grisha could assemble some kind of orchestra and fix the music. Everyone was invited so the only problem really was whatever were you going to wear?

After moments of trying and retrying a few different dresses you settled for a lightweight gown that flowed like a waterfall around you. I moved smoothly whenever you walked and it shined in the light. A few flowers from the bouquet that Nikolai had placed in your room matched the color of your dress and you carefully picked a few of them out and placed them in your hair. When you were happy with your look you walked out and set off towards the ball.

Nikolai had been mingling with Zoya, sipping lightly on a glass of champagne while making a bit of small talk, when the doors opened and you stepped through the door frame. If Nikolai hadn’t already fallen in love with you, he would’ve fallen then. You were breathtaking. The light from the chandelier made our eyes and dress sparkle and he found himself almost at a loss of words. Those who’d been dancing when you entered had slowed down to be able to take in the look of you.

You moved with elegance and ease when you walked across the room, smiling at the festivities, ignoring all the looks she got. A slight blush dusted her cheeks when Nikolai caught her gaze. He set off towards her, meeting her halfway.

“Well, you certainly know how to stop a party,” he smirked at her, offering you his arm, inviting you to dance.

“What can I say? I like to make an impression,” you accepted his offer and he spun you around one time before gathering you up in his arms. His heat radiated off of him and it enveloped you in a feeling of comfort and love. He swayed you across the dance floor, the rest of the company were stunned by your beauty and grace. Nikolai smiled at that and chuckled softly.

“That I believe, love.”

You spent the night mingling with the other guests, laughing, drinking, talking. When the clock was almost hitting midnight and the moon shined brightly upon the spinning wheel, you went outside to take a breather. The air was chilly but fresh, the bleak light from the moon lit up the whole of Nikolai’s little garden. It was beautiful. The sound of the door getting shut behind you made you turn around, smiling softly when your eyes found Nikolai’s. The sound of the music from inside slipped through the wall of glass, but it was muted greatly making the night quite peaceful outside. You’d slipped off your heels when stepping outside and Nikolai spared them a glance, grinning at the sight.

Looking at you, Nikolai found he’d never set eyes on something so beautiful as you. You were swaying softly to the music from inside, the moonlight illuminating you and making your dress look like a waterfall of moonlight. For a moment, he was afraid you’d hear his heart skip a beat. Elegantly, you reached out a hand for him. In a few strides he was within your reach and he took your hand in his, pulling you in to meet him halfway. Wrapping you up in his arms, keeping you close and relishing in the feeling. A smile made its way to his lips. Your y/e/c eyes looked up into his, getting lost in the hazel that swirled in them.

“You are astonishingly beautiful, Nikolai,” the words left your lips before you could stop them. Nikolai felt his breath hitch in throat. He swallowed hard, taking in the sincerity in your words and in your eyes. His words melted on his tongue and he couldn’t find anything to say in return. He hadn’t heard those words from someone he cared about and finally hearing them seemed to have stopped his body from functioning normally. You smirked at the reaction.

“You don’t have to say anything back, Nik. I just wanted you to know that.” He only nodded and pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek before pulling you even closer to him. Finally he whispered out a quiet “thank you”, letting the words linger in the air along with the fog from his breath. It swirled up into the night, disappearing and fading into the clouds.

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #shadow and bone imagine #six of crows #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone netflix #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone x reader #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfic #king nikolai #prince nikolai #netflix shadow and bone #sab

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dykesynthezoid · 8 months ago

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I’m me so of course I haven’t stopped wondering why they chose to have Armand mention Now, Voyager (1942) of all movies bc as we know, these writers are a very intentional bunch. It’s funny bc I think the film almost reads as what Louis, Claudia, and Armand could’ve had if Armand wasn’t so unwilling to leave his pre-existing structures behind.

Bette Davis’s character is initially very quiet, neurotic, meek, shaped that way by her relationship with her controlling and emotionally and verbally abusive mother. It’s not until she begins traveling on her own that she’s able to escape this dynamic and start building a new identity for herself. She also ends up falling in a love with a married man whose wife is similarly controlling and cruel.

She even eventually forms a close bond with his daughter, whom she sees herself in:

The title of the film is taken from Walt Whitman’s poem “The Untold Want:”

The untold want by life and land ne'er granted, / Now, voyager, sail thou forth, to seek and find.

Perhaps the most Armand moment of the film, to me, is when Jerry, the love interest played by Claude Rains, passes Charlotte/Bette a cigarette, lights it, and says: “I wish I understood you.”

After he has left the table, Charlotte remarks to herself: “He wishes he understood me.” And finds herself looking at her reflection in the nearby window. “He wishes,” she says.

#the final note of the movie being charlotte sidestepping a question about her happiness.#bc she’s grateful to have what she has at all.#armand #the vampire armand #now voyager #iwtv #iwtv tv #loumand #claudia de pointe du lac #louis de pointe du lac

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virgil-anon · 7 months ago

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a touch of fate by virgil_anon on ao3

Summary: When Harry and Cedric touch the Triwizard Tournament Cup inside the maze, instead of taking them to the graveyard as the portkey intended, the magics of the ancient Goblet fought back.

Flung into the past, the two must work together to ever hope of finding their way home.

Relationship(s): Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter & Cedric Diggory, Alphard Black/Cedric Diggory

Snippet under the break!

The twenty-fourth of June, 1942, was supposed to be a quiet night. In the history books, it was widely regarded as forgotten and unremarkable. Now, a large boom and flash of bright blue light could be heard from miles away, lighting up every window in the castle facing the quidditch pitch, and half of the Forbidden Forest. The sound woke nearly everyone in the castle, except for Peeves and a handful of particularly tired house elves.

Madam Noreen Blainey rushed out of the infirmary, which was thankfully devoid of any patients this close to the end of term, throwing on her red mediwitch robe before quickly making her way down to the pitch. Along the way, Professors Dumbledore, Slughorn, Diggory, and Vassy, all the Heads of their respective Houses, met her on the lawn, carrying their wands ignited with lumos to light their way.

Once there, in the middle of the field, she found two unconscious students—one in red and one in yellow—clutching the Goblet of Fire between them like a lifeline.

Slughorn gasped. “That's the Goblet of Fire, that is.”

“Yes, we all have eyes, Horace!” Vassy snapped.

Noreen rushed to their sides, and thankfully Dumbledore cast two shining balls of light to follow her, each one hovering over a particular boy's head. Casting two quick diagnostic charms, both seemed to be in relatively good condition. The only current injury both boys had was a burn scarring into their palms, which she could tell was from the Goblet. There was nothing to explain why they were unconscious, although cuts, bruises, and dehydration showed they had been involved in rigorous activities prior to now.

However, the boy in red showed a concerning amount of malnutrition, something that had her frowning. He also had a scar on his forehead that never properly healed, Dark magic pulsing off of it like it was still alive.

Noreen pulled out her bag, where two stretchers were shrunken down. She pulled them out and resized them before gently levitating each boy onto the gurney. Glancing at the professors at her disposal, she ordered, “Diggory, Dumbledore, come with me for assistance. Slughorn, I'd like you to prepare your lab, I need you to brew a few things for me. And Vassy, please alert Dippet, I will need his involvement for what's to come.”

Vassy frowned. “What's going on? Who are these boys?”

Noreen shrugged. “I don't know, but I think they'll be able to tell us themselves when they wake up.”

Thankfully, the professors listened and followed all of her instructions. Slughorn levitated the boy in yellow, and Dumbledore handled the boy in red, both of their respective orbs keeping vigil over their heads. She grabbed the Goblet, although she didn't touch it, merely levitating it in front of her.

“Which potions do you need, Noreen?” Slughorn asked.

“A nutrition potion, the strongest pain relievers you can brew, and some of that magical burn salve,” she replied. ‘I fear my current stock won't do much to help their hands.”

Slughorn nodded. “Of course, I'll get right on that.” Without another word, he split off towards the dungeons. Vassy headed towards the Headmaster’s office, while the rest of them made it to the infirmary.

Noreen gestured to two beds closest to her own rooms, and each boy was gently laid down. She administered pain relievers and her current stock of burn salves with Diggory’s help, but it only did so much.

The fireplace lit up green, and Dippet stepped out with Vassy following close behind.

“My word,” he exclaimed. “What happened here?”

“We're not sure,” Noreen replied.

“I believe I have a clue,” Dumbledore murmured.

Dippet turned towards him. “What is it, Albus?”

The Transfiguration Professor levitated the Goblet of Fire. “We found the boys clutching this. Look at the date.”

Everyone stepped closer, gasps ringing out when Noreen made out the letters in the lamplight: 1994.

By Merlin and Morgana both, she needed a drink.

#anyway check out my fic #tomarry #harry potter #tom riddle #tomarrymort #voldemort #harrymort #tom marvolo riddle #ao3 #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #virgil anon on ao3 #cedric diggory #fanfiction #archive of our own #alphard black #time travel #hogwarts 1940s

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gingerbredman1989 · 1 year ago

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A 1942 style oil-on-canvas painting depicting four heavyweight bodybuilders sitting in a downtown diner late at night, viewed through the diner's large glass window. The bodybuilders, each with distinct physical features and attire, display an air of relaxation and camaraderie. The light from the diner spills out, illuminating the dark, deserted urban streetscape outside. The scene combines a touch of realism with a sense of moodiness, characteristic of early 20th-century paintings, capturing the contrast between the lively interior and the quiet, empty street.

ChatGPT with DALL-E

#chatgpt #dall-e #ai generated #ai image #ai muscle #ai bodybuilder #1942 diner

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cmspeirs · 3 months ago

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You’ll only know peace | Part 3

Chapter 1

{Band of Brothers, Ronald Speirs x OC}

Overview

July 1942

Elaine sat quietly on the train to Camp Toccoa, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels beneath her mixing with the distant hum of conversations from other passengers. Her long and light brown hair was tied neatly into a low bun. Usually, her soft curls fell gently down her shoulders, and she knew she would miss the feeling of the blowing wind in it. She absently stroked the tight braid at the nape of her neck, her eyes fixed on the endless patchwork of fields that blurred past the window. In her hands she held a letter from home. With a deep sigh, her brown eyes slowly wandered down to it.

Our dearest Lainey, she mouthed quietly as she read the first words. It was a letter from her parents. Only her brother used to call her that name, and she hated when they used it. That name made her feel vulnerable; soft. And from now on, she would have to make sure to not let those feelings get a hold of her. From now on, she had to remain strong, and that's the one thing she always knew how to do. She got back to the letter her dad sneaked into the pocket of her jacket before she got on the train.

"We couldn't be prouder that you've chosen this path. Your courage to accept the army's call fills us with pride, even if it's tinged with the fear that any parent would feel. I know your mom is proud too, you just have to get her a bit of time. She is just worried, dear. She wouldn't survive losing you too."

Elaine sighed softly and kept on reading.

"Every time she prays, she is asking that you're gonna be protected. I know your decision was not a lighthearted one, and I am once again more than impressed about what a strong soul you have become. Always keep your head held high and remember all the things I taught you, my dear. You've always been the strongest.

Breathe in, count, continue.

We love you the most,

Mom, Dad and Ruby.

P.S: Ruby says that when she grows up, she wants to join the army too. Let's hope your courage won't make both my daughters wear weapons."

Elaine chuckled slightly as she read the last sentence. Her thoughts wandered back home to Wilmington, Delaware. Her sister Ruby always looked up to her. I hope that too, dad, she whispered while folding the letter and putting it back into her pocket.

As thoughts of home crept in, a wave of grief welled up within her, a familiar ache that reminded her of all she was leaving behind. She shook her head and quickly recalled what was laying in front of her. Damn program, she thought.

As the army became more involved in the war, they began recruiting women for jobs like nurses, mechanics, pigeoneers... basically everything where they wouldn't have to fight. The pay was good, and her family needed it - she grew up in a household deeply affected by the great depression. They never had much money, and as much as her parents were trying to give her the love she deserved, they couldn't. Elaine's childhood had been marked by a profound loss, one that shaped every decision she made. She had a twin brother, Johnny, who was her closest companion in their early years. They were inseparable, two halves of the same soul, until illness struck them both when they were just fourteen. Their parents, already struggling to make ends meet, couldn't afford the best treatment. Johnny, always the quieter and frailer of the two, succumbed to the sickness. He was too weak to make it; she wasn't. The memory still haunted her, a silent reminder of the fragility of life and the reason she had to learn how to be strong – to survive when others couldn't.

In the years that followed, Elaine carried the weight of her parents' grief in silence. Every glance they cast her way seemed to carry a mix of sorrow and longing, as if they were searching for the son they had lost in the daughter that remained. Her father, a stern man shaped by his own experiences serving in the First World War, became even more rigid. It was as though he was preparing her for a battle; one that neither of them knew was coming. He pushed her to be strong, to be resilient—to survive at all costs. And so she did, because she had to. But the scars of those years lingered, hidden beneath the surface, driving her to find a purpose that would make sense of all the pain.

At sixteen, driven by a need to escape the shadows of her past and a desire to make her parents proud, she joined the Army nurse program. It was her way of finding purpose in a world that had so often felt purposeless.

Only a few months after joining the program, she received a letter from the army. She would be transferred to the 506th PIR. She would be joining the Airborne.

———

"The Airborne?", one of her friends in the program asked. "Why would they send you there?". "What even is the Airborne?", another nurse asked. Elaine stared at the neatly folded letter in her trembling hands, feeling the weight of the words pressing down on her. "I don't know", she whispered as she continued scanning over it. "It says, and I quote, due to the lack of medical forces, the u.s. army had to resort to spare units, just like the nurse program, to fill out any missing recruitments. We are honored to announce that you have been chosen to integrate into this new path of making your country proud." Elaine swallowed and looked up to the other nurses again. Audrey, who grew to be her best friend, walked over to them and waved with something in her hand. "I got one too", she said casually as she approached. Elaine watched her in disbelief and concern, but Audrey just shrugged her shoulders.

"It's an experiment", Audrey scoffed. "They're training them as paratroopers. I read about it; the training is said to be harder than any other one in the army. They want to build the most elite unit... they want them to be the best... basically", she began to explain.

Elaine still looked at her in disbelief. "They must've mistaken us", she said quietly. Another nurse stood up. "Most elite? The best? And they can't even find themselves some medics?", she mocked. The room filled with quiet chuckles. Audrey, sensing Elaine's turmoil, walked up to her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Lacy", she spoke quietly - most of her friends addressed her by her second name. "What are you gonna do?" Elaine looked up to her friend. "I don't know."

———

Now, just weeks after receiving that letter, she found herself on a train bound for a future she hadn't imagined. Was she ready to step into a world so far away from the one she had known? A world where the stakes were life and death, not just for her patients, but for herself as well? Determined to prove herself, Elaine braced for the grueling training ahead. She wanted – she needed – to succeed, yet beneath her resolve, a gnawing fear took root, whispering of the unknown challenges she was about to face.

A woman in the army?, she thought, and her breath hitched. After all, she was still only a seventeen-year-old girl. The sound of people rushing through the train tore her from her thoughts. Lost in her reverie, she almost didn't notice the landscape shifting outside the window. But as the train began to slow, the sight of Toccoa's small station pulled her back to reality – it was time.

#band of brothers #band of brothers hbo #easy company #hbowar #101st airborne #band of brothers imagines #eugene roe #ronald speirs #band of brothers fanfiction #fanfic #wwii

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mimisempai · 1 year ago

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It's ours now

Summary

A good book, in the comfort of his armchair, a cup of tea prepared by Crowley, make Aziraphale have a moment, realizing that this is his life now.

Notes

Where Aziraphale realizes he no longer needs to hope the evening will last... because Crowley will never leave.

On Ao3

Rating G - 1942 words

It was an autumn afternoon, and although the street was visibly bustling, the sounds outside were muffled by the windows of the bookshop. However, Aziraphale, comfortably seated in his armchair and engrossed in his novel, would hear nothing.

So he couldn't help but jump slightly when two hands rested gently on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Angel, I didn't mean to startle you," Crowley said softly before leaning over and planting a light kiss on his temple.

Aziraphale shook his head and replied, "Not at all, my dear. I was just so absorbed in my reading that..."

"...that the outside world no longer mattered," the demon finished for him.

Aziraphale replied sheepishly, "That's about right."

Crowley smiled indulgently and replied, "Don't be embarrassed. It's just like watching you eat, it's always interesting to see you engrossed in something you love."

Then he straightened up and, pointing to the angel's cup, asked, "I see it's empty, I'll make you another one."

Aziraphale smiled and replied, "You really would be an angel to do that for me. "

Crowley grabbed the cup and replied with a playful smile, "I don't think so. You're the angel, remember?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and replied, "Idiot."

He heard Crowley chuckle slightly as he left to prepare his tea.

But after the demon left the room, Aziraphale didn't return to his reading. He didn't know why, but at that moment he had a strange feeling.

Like a revelation.

There was nothing remarkable about the moment.

It was an ordinary day.

A good book.

His old armchair.

A kiss on the temple.

It was perfectly ordinary.

Yet for Aziraphale, it felt extraordinary in that moment.

No miracle, no matter how great, had given him the sense of fulfillment he felt at that moment.

"Your tea, Angel."

Crowley's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Thank you."

Crowley pressed a light kiss to his lips before turning to leave.

Aziraphale didn't know what motivated him, but he grabbed the demon's sleeve and held him back without saying a word.

"Angel?"

Aziraphale asked in a shy voice, "Would you mind staying with me for a while?"

Crowley, looking confused, replied, "Of course, but I thought you were reading."

Aziraphale shook his head and replied, "I don't feel much like reading now that you're here. I'd much rather spend some time with you and just talk or whatever."

Crowley smiled as he gently replied, "If you let me get a cup of coffee, I'm all yours."

Aziraphale didn't have time to react because Crowley had already crossed the few meters that separated him from the entrance of the bookshop and was leaving it to go to Nina's coffee shop.

Following him with his eyes, Aziraphale realized what was causing him to feel this moment of fulfillment.

Or rather who.

Crowley.

The fact that Crowley was here.

Not for a visit.

Not for a few hours.

Not for a fleeting moment.

But living there for what seemed like forever.

With him.

It wasn't like all the times they'd always had to part.

Both going home.

Alone.

All the times he'd wanted to ask the demon to stay a little longer, just for a drink, just to talk a little more.

Aziraphale grabbed the bottle of wine and filled Crowley's glass, saying without looking at him, "I...I knew you would come through for me."

He couldn't help but give him a slight sideways glance before adding, "You always do."

The demon picked up his glass, raised it to his lips, and replied, "Well, you said 'trust me.'"

Aziraphale retorted, just before taking a sip, "And you did."

Turning his head toward him, he added, "You could've walked away. If you were truly as evil as you like to paint yourself, you would've done that."

As always, Crowley protested, but this time Aziraphale sensed he was more measured in his response than he had been earlier in the evening, "Nah. That's the trouble with you. You don't see things in black and white."

Aziraphale looked at him a little stung as he continued, "Sometimes you've just 'gotta blur the edges."

For the first time, Aziraphale also tempered his answer, "Well, maybe there is something to be said for the shades of gray."

Then, smiling slightly, he moved his glass toward the demon's, who toasted with him before replying, "Well, shades of... dark gray." and taking a sip.

Aziraphale, not to be outdone, replied, "Shades of a very light gray, I'd rather fancy."

They each took a sip, Aziraphale glancing back at him furtively.

They continued to chat until the bottle was empty.

Crowley had long since placed his hat on the table and removed his glasses. Aziraphale felt comfortable, his mind a little clouded by the alcohol, but not too much.

The candles, which had shrunk in size, still radiated a warm glow.

The angel had to admit that he didn't want the evening to end at all, so he felt a twinge of regret as he saw Crowley take his glasses and place them on his nose.

The sign of departure.

Aziraphale couldn't ignore the disappointment he felt. But he also knew that he had no right to ask the demon to stay.

So, with a heavy heart, he watched as he put his hat on his head, tightened his tie, and buttoned up his jacket.

The demon stood up and said in an unusually soft tone, "Angel, after this more than eventful evening, I think it's time for me to go home."

Stay!

But, of course, the angel said nothing and simply nodded before escorting Crowley out.

As he headed for the Bentley, Crowley turned back to him and said, "I'll see you when I see you!"

Aziraphale nodded and smiled, but his heart wasn't in it. He stayed on the doorstep until the lights of the Bentley had disappeared into the night.

How many times had they been to the restaurant since then, and Aziraphale always wished the evening would never end.

Wishing that the moment would never come when Crowley would pull up in front of the bookshop.

Wishing that the moment would never come when Aziraphale would have to get out of the car and go home.

Alone.

Never knowing when they'd see each other again.

The piano played a gentle melody as the waiter filled Aziraphale's glass.

As he filled Crowley's glass, the angel took hold of his and said softly, smiling, "I like to think none of this would have worked out if you weren't just a little bit good person."

Crowley, smiling a little, replied in kind, looking at him, "And if you weren't, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing."

There was something different in the demon's smile, and Aziraphale instantly rediscovered the atmosphere of that evening in 1941.

The same soft, intimate atmosphere.

The one that made him want more.

The demon added, "Cheers. Then, taking his glass and raising it to the angel's, he continued, "To the world.

Aziraphale, raising his glass to the demon's, repeated, clinking their glasses, "To the world.

As they continued to eat and drink, they chatted as usual about anything and everything, laughed a little more at the expense of their camps, and Aziraphale felt full of a new exhilaration in the face of this new life.

A little scared, of course, but Crowley was there, so all would be well.

It was only when they noticed that the last tables had emptied that they realized the day was well underway. Crowley asked him softly, "Lift home?"

Aziraphale nodded, a little disappointed because he knew the moment he loathed was coming.

They were now parked in front of the bookshop.

Aziraphale knew he couldn't very well ask the demon to stay for a drink when they had just left the Ritz.

He looked at him and then, trying to keep his tone cheerful, said softly, "See you soon."

Crowley replied, "See you soon, Angel."

When?

But Aziraphale didn't want to seem clingy, so he shut up and opened the car door before getting out. Then he gave Crowley a little wave through the window before heading for the bookshop door.

But he couldn't help himself, so he turned and saw Crowley watching him.

He hesitated for a moment.

He could still invite him in.

But what would he think?

By the time all the questions had crossed his mind, the Bentley had started.

Too late.

Aziraphale watched the car drive away and returned to the bookshop with the same disappointment in his heart.

"Angel?"

Once again, deep in thought, Aziraphale was jolted out of it by Crowley approaching, coffee cup in hand.

He said quietly, "You're back."

It wasn't a question.

It was just an acknowledgment.

An amazed acknowledgment.

Crowley chuckled slightly and raised an eyebrow, observing, "You seem surprised."

Aziraphale grabbed his cup of tea, got up, and headed for the sofa, Crowley following, coffee in hand.

They both sat down and the angel resumed, "I think I just realized how utterly real this all is."

Crowley frowned and asked, "Did you doubt it?"

Aziraphale shook his head and replied, "It's not that. It's just that today, for some reason, I realized how real our life is now. After all this time. I don't have to make excuses to ask you to stay. I don't have to ask you to stay. Because you're here. You're living here. Here with me. It must sound ridiculous, I know..."

Crowley chuckled softly, "After everything we've seen? No, it's not ridiculous. In fact, I'm surprised because I thought I was the only one who felt this way. All those times I didn't want to leave. When I hoped you'd ask me to stay. When I wished I'd had the courage to ask you if I could stay."

Aziraphale sighed, "All the time we wasted when all we had to do was be honest."

Crowley took the angel's hand, intertwined the fingers with his own, and said softly, "I don't know. Maybe neither of us was ready. But what we didn't do in the past doesn't really matter, does it? What matters is that we're here now, right?"

He lifted the angel's hand and, bringing it to his lip, said, "Now I can have the nerve to do this."

He planted a kiss on the palm of the angel's hand, then continued, smiling slightly, "And then this..."

He pulled the angel toward him, and as Aziraphale pressed against him, he wrapped his hands around him as Aziraphale slipped his arms around his waist, snuggling a little closer to him.

The angel sighed contentedly and added, "And this, too."

Crowley hummed into his hair and planted a light kiss on it.

Aziraphale looked up and added, "I see what you mean. We probably weren't ready for any of this."

Crowley replied softly, "But we have plenty of time for that now," then bent his head and kissed the angel's lips tenderly.

They remained entwined like this for a few moments, then Aziraphale straightened and grabbed his cup, taking a sip before asking the demon, "Do you have something to do?"

Crowley shook his head, "Nothing," then took a sip of coffee as the angel replied, "Perfect.

They stayed there, chatting as they drank.

It wasn't a fancy restaurant.

It was the old bookshop sofa.

It wasn't champagne or wine.

It was just tea and coffee.

But when the cups were empty, neither of them would have to find an excuse to prolong the moment.

Because this was their life now.

Simple and ordinary.

But it was real and it was theirs.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers

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artheoryandcriticism · 3 months ago

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Nighthawks (1942) by Edward Hopper

Hypothetical Questions and Explorations

What if the diner were full of people?

A lively diner would shift the tone dramatically. The loneliness and isolation that define the painting would disappear into a more shared atmosphere. The empty streets would look less eerie, emphasizing urban liveliness rather than desolation.

What if the scene took place at dawn instead of night?

Dawn would introduce a sense of hope. The light of morning might make the diner feel like it’s for the community of working people rather than a place for the lonely.

What if the figures were looking at each other instead of away?

If the figures interacted, the painting’s sense of isolation would soften. The figures might suggest shared experiences, connections, or even conflict, making the narrative more dynamic.

Inferences about Time and Place

Without external research, Nighthawks appears to depict an urban American setting in the 1940s, represented by the architecture, clothing, and design of the diner. The men wear suits and hats, while the woman’s dress shows 1940s style. The lighting—artificial, harsh, and yellow-green—symbolizes the rise of technology in urban life, reflecting the stress and personal struggles of the individual in America.

Imagining as a Figure in the Painting

If I were the woman, I might feel the discomfort or disconnection. Am I here willingly with the man beside me, or is our silence a sign of our problems? The empty streets outside adding to my tension of being the only one alone in the night adding to my vulnerability.

Personal Reflection on Nighthawks

To me, Nighthawks speaks of urban isolation and the complexity of human connection. The lighting creates a divide between the diner's inside world and the streets' dark emptiness. The glass window creates a barrier; the viewer is left outside, unable to enter this world fully. The colour palette, with its dominance of cool greens and warm yellows, evokes comfort and unease.

Suggested: https://youtu.be/ILGT25hA6xA?si=Z4ZSl0OfjqQIAhV3 (virtual 3D representation of Edward Hopper’s Nighthawk).

The placement of the figures—together yet apart—makes me wonder about their stories. The man and woman share closeness but seem emotionally distant, while the lone man’s hunched posture makes him look tired, isolating himself from the rest of the customers; perhaps it's the own feelings of the artist, representing himself as being alone in this world. The waiter, positioned slightly apart, bridges the gap between the customers and the viewer, yet he, too, seems locked in his own role.

Nighthawks remind me of moments of isolation in busy places, where silence feels heavy and reflective. It captures the stillness during chaos and how loneliness is a common experience in modern life.

#art #artwork #edward hopper #loneliness painting #eerie art #eerie #40s style

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hinkel-im-home · 6 months ago

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Chapter Seven

September 15th, 1942

“Put your window up, Laurie.”

Astrid threw Diane a withering look through the rear-view mirror. The September air was still heavy and tainted with the heat of August, blowing warm wind across the girl’s face, but she knew better than to argue at a time like this. In the passenger seat, Eva’s eyes followed the rolling green countryside, her stress evident in the way her hand covered her mouth and her leg bounced erratically. Diane tore her eyes away from the road for only a second to glance worriedly at the woman beside her. The pair appeared so wildly out of place, it was almost comical.

Diane’s face was still dusted with murk and dirt from sitting in the high grass all morning, scouting the area surrounding the safe house. Her simple cotton dress, which had once been a light shade of blue, was now grey and torn in several different places from an unlucky encounter with the police the night before, and without any clothes to change into, the Frenchwoman had been have to be constrained to stay out of sight for the rest of the mission. In contrast, Eva’s hair was curled and styled so it sat in elegant, onyx waves on the nape of her neck, and there was the slightest dust of powder across her nose and cheeks to brighten her complexion. Her own dress was a dark emerald rayon that hugged her hips — it was ornate with diamond-shaped buttons that ran until the waist, where the fabric hung loose and hit just above the knees. She looked nothing short of beautiful.

Eva screwed her eyes shut and released a heavy, shuddering breath, and Diane tightened her grip on the steering wheel at the sound.

“It’ll be fine.” Her tone was final, like she was trying to convince herself, too. Eva didn’t answer.

From the backseat, Astrid leaned in, resting her elbows on the headrests behind the two. “I can’t believe this,” She muttered, “I want to know whose idea this was. Who makes operatives retrieve their own fucking files?”

-> Read more: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54271477/chapters/150001495

#band of brothers #hbo war #original characters #ww2 #oc x canon #timeaftertime #bob fanfic #band of brothers fanfic

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fall0utboi12 · 1 year ago

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Constabulary, 1942

When Jäger was 18 he tried out for the Constabulary but it doesn't go as planned.

“We regret to inform you that-”

Jäger crumpled up the letter without reading the rest. He failed his entry exam for the Constabulary. His father had been so proud of him for trying out, turning his life around to do better. How was he supposed to tell his father he failed?

He wasn’t.

Jäger has a sudden idea. It wasn’t his best idea, and was more likely to fail than it was to succeed. He tossed away the letter in the outside bin before going inside to prepare his plan.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was around midnight when he arrived at the Constabulary. He crept through the shrubbery surrounding the building as cover from the flood lights. Soon he was under the window of the captain’s office. He peeked through the window, making sure the office was empty before picking the lock. He pushed the lower pane up and crawled through. There was a row of filing cabinets behind the large desk. He started going through, looking for his file. He finally found it under J, labeled “Jäger, Stefan”.

“Aha, there you are.” He laid it out on the desk, quickly finding his test inside and pulling it out.

Going through the desk, he found a stack of blank test books and an answer sheet that he then used to fill out a new one and signed with his name. He marked the questions to make it look graded with a passing grade and slipped it into his file. All that was left was to leave a note saying to send out an acceptance letter under the guise of a mistake concerning his previous letter.

At the sound of footsteps, Jäger grabbed his former test and quickly climbed back out the window and ducked down. Voices drifted from the window as the captain entered the office.

“And then- what’s this?”

Jäger peeked through the window at the scene. The captain was reading the note while looking through his forged exam. The man hummed as he looked through.

“Angela,” He called as a woman poked her head through the doorway. “I need a letter for Stefan Jäger, it seems there was a mix up and an acceptance letter needs to be sent.”

“Right away, Sir.” She said and left.

Jäger proudly smiled to himself. He crept back through the shrubs to the darkened street.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was two days later when the letter arrived. Jäger went for the mail and plucked out the letter. A smile spread across his face as he read it out. He bounded back into the house and into the kitchen where Emilia and his father were having breakfast.

“Papa, look!” He waved the letter around.

“Alright, Stefan, let me see.” He chuckled and took the letter. He read over it as a large smile spread across his face. “This is amazing!”

His father hugged him tight. He pulled back after a moment and ruffled his son’s hair.

“I’m so proud of you.” He tilted Jäger’s head down to press a kiss in his hair.

“Papa!” He whined.

“What’s going on?” Emilia glanced up from her breakfast with a deadpan expression. “Oh did you pass? Good job, Stefan.”

“Thanks, Em.” He rolled his eyes.

“Alright you two.” Their father playfully reprimanded.

Jäger sat down at the table to eat his own breakfast. Their father joined them as they continued talking about his acceptance into the Constabulary. If his father never learned of the reality of his acceptance, well what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

#we happy few #whf #whf oc: jäger #💊 memories

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hisinfernalmajesty666 · 1 year ago

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Nighthawks d.1942 by Edward Hopper

📍Art Institute of Chicago.

Edward Hopper was an American Realist painter and printmaker. He studied illustration before transferring to the New York School of Art to realise his dreams. Despite this, it would take almost twenty years for his art career to take off. The early 1930s were a period of great success for Hopper with sales to major museums and retrospectives. He continued to be active during the war years and through the 50s and 60s and remained successful despite the emergence of new art movements.

American Realism was an art, music and literary movement that depicted contemporary social realities and the lives of everyday people. As a literary movement, it began in the mid-19th century and as a visual art in the early 20th century. The birth of Realism was France in the mid-19th century as a response to rapid industrialisation. It took on a uniquely national schism when applied to American art. Realist art has a tendency to subvert or completely overlook Academy standards. American Realism, though various means, became an important tool in shaping America's self identity.

The painting portrays four people in a downtown diner at night viewed through the large diner window. The three customers are lost in their own thoughts, yet congregate together. Its composition and lack of real narrative give it a feeling of timelessness and universal quality that transcends any specific locale and Hopper's understanding of light playing on simple shapes gives the painting its beauty, as the diner emits an eerie glow. There is no entrance to the diner, and we, the viewer are shut out from the scene by a wedge of glass. Hopper denied that he deliberately infused the painting with symbols of human isolation and urban emptiness but acknowledged he perhaps did so subconsciously.

#nighthawks #edward hopper #painting #art #art history #american realism #realism

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thepastisalreadywritten · 9 months ago

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CARENTAN-LES-MARAIS, France (AP) — Together, the collective age of the bride and groom was nearly 200.

But World War II veteran Harold Terens and his sweetheart Jeanne Swerlin proved that love is eternal as they tied the knot Saturday inland of the D-Day beaches in Normandy, France.

Their respective ages — he’s 100, she’s a youngster of just 96 — made their nuptials an almost double-century celebration.

Terens called it “the best day of my life.”

On her way into the nuptials, the bubbly bride-to-be said:

“It’s not just for young people, love, you know? We get butterflies. And we get a little actionalso.”

The location was the elegant stone-worked town hall of Carentan, a key initial D-Day objective that saw ferocious fighting after the 6 June 1944 Allied landings that helped rid Europe of Adolf Hitler’s tyranny.

Like other towns and villages across the Normandy coast where nearly 160,000 Allied troops came ashore under fire on five code-named beaches, it’s an effervescent hub of remembrance and celebration on the 80th anniversary of the deeds and sacrifices of young men and women that day, festooned with flags and bunting and with veterans feted like rockstars.

As the swing of Glenn Miller and other period tunes rang out on the streets, well-wishers — some in WWII-period clothes — were already lined up a good hour before the wedding, behind barriers outside the town hall, with a rousing pipe and drum band also on hand to serenade the happy couple.

After both declaring “oui” to vows read by Carentan’s mayor in English, the couple exchanged rings.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Terens said.

She giggled and gasped, “Really?”

With Champagne flutes in hand, they waved through an open window to the adoring crowds outside.

“To everybody’s good health. And to peace in the world and the preservation of democracy all over the world and the end of the war in Ukraine and Gaza,” Terens said as he and his bride then clinked glasses and drank.

The crowd yelled “la mariée!” – the bride! — to Swerlin, who wore a long flowing dress of vibrant pink.

Terens looked dapper in a light blue suit and matching pink kerchief in his breast pocket.

And they enjoyed a very special wedding-night party:

They were invited to the state dinner at the Elysee Palace on Saturday night with President Emmanuel Macron and U.S. President Joe Biden.

“Congratulations to the newlyweds,” Macron said, prompting cheers and a standing ovation from other guests during the toast praising French-American friendship.

“(The town of) Carentan was happy to host your wedding, and us, your wedding dinner,” he told the couple.

The wedding was symbolic, not binding in law.

Mayor Jean-Pierre Lhonneur’s office said he wasn’t empowered to wed foreigners who aren’t residents of Carentan and that the couple, who are both American, hadn’t requested legally binding vows.

However, they could always complete those formalities back in Florida if they wished.

Lhonneur likes to say that Normandy is practically the 51st state of the USA, given its reverence and gratitude for Allied soldiers and the sacrifices of tens of thousands who never made it home from the Battle of Normandy.

“Love is eternal, yes, maybe,” the mayor said, referring to the newlyweds, although his comments also fittingly describe the feelings of many Normans for veterans.

“I hope for them the best happiness together.”

Dressed in a 1940s dress that belonged to her mother, Louise, and a red beret, 73-year-old Jane Ollier was among spectators who waited for a glimpse of the lovebirds.

The couple, both widowed, grew up in New York City: she in Brooklyn, he in the Bronx.

“It’s so touching to get married at that age,” Ollier said. “If it can bring them happiness in the last years of their lives, that’s fantastic.”

The WWII veteran first visited France as a 20-year-old U.S. Army Air Forces corporal shortly after D-Day.

Terens enlisted in 1942 and, after shipping to Britain, was attached to a four-pilot P-47 Thunderbolt fighter unit as their radio repair technician.

On D-Day, Terens helped repair planes returning from France, so they could rejoin the battle.

He said half his company’s pilots died that day.

Terens himself went to France 12 days later, helping transport freshly captured Germans and just-freed American POWs to England.

Following the Nazi surrender in May 1945, Terens again helped transport freed Allied prisoners to England before he shipped back to the U.S. a month later.

Swerlin made it abundantly clear that her new centenarian husband doesn’t lack for rizz.

“He’s the greatest kisser ever, you know?” she proudly declared before they embraced enthusiastically for TV cameras.

“All right ! That’s it for now !” Terens said as he came up for air.

To which she quickly quipped: “You mean there’s more later?”

Source: Japan News

youtube

Historic marriage: He's 100, she's 96 | War II veteran Harold Terens and Jeanne Swerlin in France

9 June 2024

#Harold Terens #Jeanne Swerlin #D-Day #D-Day 1944 #Normandy #France #World War II #World War II veteran #war heroes #war veterans #Allied Forces #Carentan #Elysee Palace #French President Emmanuel Macron #U.S. President Joe Biden #Mayor Jean-Pierre Lhonneur #Youtube #wedding #love

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