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

abbyromanoff · 1 year ago

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Can I request G!P Agatha Harkness x Reader? Smut 💜

Morning After

Pairings: Agatha Harkness x reader

Word count: 1942

Warnings: Agatha has a dick, pet names, begging, fluff, mentions of marriage, praise kink, degrading kink, shower sex, breeding kink, mommy kink, probably forgot some more

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

The blazing noise of the alarm rippled through your ear as your eyes slowly adjusted to the bright light from the window. Even with a curtain, it was brighter than the sun and burned your eyes. Agatha was still sleeping peacefully. She was a heavy sleeper and took forever to get out of bed in the morning. Her hair was sprawled out across the pillow as soft snores escaped her. She had always claimed she hated how you’d admire her in her sleep, even joking that you were a stalker. You knew she secretly loved it though, she loved everything you did.

“Agatha? C’mon, you need to wake up.” She groaned in annoyance but complied after a few minutes of struggling. She shuffled to face you before opening her eyes, hers meeting yours as a smile took place on both of your faces. Her gaze soon drifted downwards to your hand holding hers, bringing it close to her mouth as she left a small kiss on the ring you wore.

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.” It had been only 24 hours since the wedding and she still couldn’t get over it. You were her wife now. Her forever love. She didn’t want it any other way.

“Mm, I should be saying that about you, my love.” You moved on top of her body, your leg swinging around her waist and her arms going to hold you in place. You connected your lips with hers and wrapped your arms around her neck. Her hands traveled to your bottom and gave a small squeeze, causing you to giggle into her mouth and break apart.

“Good morning.” You whispered after a few moments of taking in one another. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her, she was too ethereal.

“Good morning to you as well, darling.” Even after nearly 5 years of being together, you never got sick of her pet names. It was a way of showing her love and you didn’t complain one bit.

“You ready for a nice day on the beach with margaritas and tanning and swimming?” You sang in an awfully happy tone. She laughed as you went on and on about all of the things you could do together, it was only your first day here and you already wanted to accomplish everything.

“Or,” She started, “We could lay in bed for a few more hours, get some good sleep, have breakfast sent up to us, and have some nice lazy sex.” You rolled your eyes and got off her, moving her hands that followed you off of your body and walked towards the bathroom.

“Or you could join me in the shower and get ready for a nice day at the beach.” And while she wasn’t the most ecstatic about the last part, she could never deny showering with you. She rushed out of bed faster than you’ve ever seen her do and tossed around the knob to the shower handle a few times before it turned on. You laughed quietly to yourself and quickly brushed your teeth before joining her under the warm water. She had always liked burning hot showers that would redden her skin, but you took colder ones, so you had to settle in the middle eventually.

The entire time you spent cleaning off your body she had her arms placed around your waist and her head resting on your shoulder.

“Baby, I need to wash my hair.” She grabbed the shampoo bottle and refused to give it to you as she squirted it into her palm and started rubbing it onto your scalp. You moaned as she continued to massage your head and you leaned back into her. She gulped when hearing your whimpers continue.

“Mm, right there.” She stopped for a moment and took a deep breath before mustering up the courage to continue. It turned her on so much hearing your moans, she could only picture hearing them in a different situation. She leaned closer into you and that’s when you felt it, she was hard. You rubbed yourself onto her for a split second, but it wasn’t enough for her, she grabbed your hips and pulled you into her. Your eyes widened at her forcefulness as she started kneading your breasts roughly. She tweaked and pinched your nipples as she humped you from behind.

“Agatha-”

“Shh, I need this, baby.” You found yourself guiding her length between your thighs and resting just below your center. Her tip prodded at your folds as she started a rhythm of moving back and forth. She released a low moan at the feeling of your soft skin and bit her lip as noises escaped you. Your abused breasts were finally let go moments later as she bent you over to hit the walls. Your hands pressed against the tiles and your head hung low. Agatha grabbed her cock in her palm, her free one interlacing with yours. She guided her length to your tight hole, slowly pushing in just the tip as you squealed at the stretch.

“I know, I know. I’ll make it fit, don’t worry.” You trusted her word and tried your best not to scream as she filled you up to the brim. Once she had bottomed out inside of you, she waited a minute. She didn’t want to start thrusting into you right away and hurt you. So she took the time to take in your warmth. Your walls clamped around her, you were so tight.

“Fuck, I’ve stretched this pussy out so many times and you’re still so damn tight.” She grunted out, clenching her teeth together as she tried her best to hold back.

“Y-you can move now.” She grinned to herself and slowly drew out of you, only to thrust back in seconds later. Your body moved with her rhythm, your tits bouncing and hips moving with her. She could barely even pull out, you were that tight.

“Aggie, please! Please go faster!”

“Aww, my little slut wants mommy to speed up? Is it not enough for you, hm? Is mommy not fucking you good enough?” You shook your head no and went to speak but were interrupted by a moan.

“N-no, mommy. You fuck me so well, so, so well!” She giggled and placed a hand on your back, admiring all of the scratches and hickeys adorning your body from last night. She had always loved marking you, it was a way to show off what was hers to idiots who didn’t understand that. Wanda was one of them. She just couldn’t keep her hands away from you, even when Agatha had specifically told her to step back.

The woman in mind made her jaw clench in anger, her pace now becoming unbearable. You ached for release, your body grappling in the pleasure she gave. You knew your wife wouldn’t let you go that easily, you were to work for it. She had always loved watching your body twitch and fold in response to her touch. Knowing how desperate and needy she’d make you turned her on more than you could ever think.

The glass has steamed up by now, the fog making its way around the room and covering it to create a misty glow. You were lucky you hadn’t been doing this at your house, you wouldn’t know how to handle looking at the water bill afterward.

“You feel so good around my cock. Could stay like this forever.” She threw her head back as you clenched around her repeatedly. Her hand came down to your ass, caressing the skin gently before a harsh smack followed.

Your moans only grew in volume. Agatha knew you were trying to say something, but neither of you could encode it under your mumbles.

“C’mon now, bunny, can’t you use your words like a big girl? Or are you just too much of a dumb little pup to speak?” You tried, you really did, but it was too difficult to speak as she pounded into you. Her skin slapped against yours so well and created a loud clapping sound that echoed across the entirety of the small room. Her hands felt so gentle yet so rough against your wet skin. Her tip hit that spot deep inside of you - it had you nearly screaming.

When nothing but silence met her, she sighed with disappointment, stopping her thrusts almost fully. “I should’ve known you couldn’t listen. You’re just a greedy slut, huh?” She slowed her hips and smirked as you cried out.

“No, no, no - don’t stop! Mommy, I need you. I need your cum..” She smiled at that, gripping your hair tightly in her hand and yanking you closer to her. Her mouth was right next to your ear now, her voice coming in a dark whisper. “Then work for it.” You moved back and forth slowly at first, shyly starting a small rhythm until it wasn’t enough. You needed more, but she wasn’t giving in.

“That’s it, love, keep taking me like the good girl I know you are.” She said, her arms brisking around you and pressing against your stomach.

“You feel that, mommy? You feel how deep you are?” She pressed against the bulge and groaned loudly.

“I know, baby, I know. Mommy must be making you feel so good. Maybe I’ll even fill you up, give you what you want and put a baby in you.” You nodded as a whimper flooded out of you.

“Mm, I can see it now. My perfect wife, pregnant with my baby. You’ll be so needy for my cock, and it would just be so rude of me not to touch my little princess.” Her fingers trailed down to your clit - you jumped at the contact.

“Mommy, it’s too much! I need your cum, I need it so bad!”

“Yeah? My dirty slut wants mommy’s cum?” You nodded once more and almost instantly felt her release painting your walls. You couldn’t stop yourself as you came on her length, your hands clenching into fists as you tried to grip onto anything for support. It felt like your legs were going to give out, they were jelly. Behind you, Agatha was biting her lip in order to suppress the moans that were begging to get out.

“Yeah, take it, baby. Take my fucking cum.” She said through gritted teeth. She kept thrusting into you, slowly this time. She didn’t want you to become too sensitive and actually hurt you, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she had.

“You did so well. So, so well for me, sweetheart.” You winced when she slowly pulled out of you, receiving soft apologies and a peck to the top of your head. Her juices trickled down your thigh and she watched with heavy eyes, completely mesmerized. Only when you had turned the water off and led the both of you out of the shower had she trailed her eyes away.

“You know, as great as this was, I still will be forcing you to go to the beach with me later.” You said once your breathing returned to normal. She breathlessly laughed behind you and wrapped the towel around herself, the bathroom floor being slightly wet due to the mist that had painted the room.

“Well, maybe I’ll fuck you again on the beach then.” She playfully smacked your ass as you walked out of the room, soon being joined by your wife as you sat down on the bed.

“Or, you could fuck me right here and then at the beach?”

“How could I ever say no to you?”

#Agatha Harkness #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #Agatha x you #agatha x reader #Agatha x reader smut #Agatha smut #Agatha x reader fluff #Agatha x fem!reader #Agatha Harkness x reader fluff #Agatha Harkness x reader smut #a talks

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blurredcolour · 5 months ago

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The Last To Know | Part One

The Last To Know Masterlist

John Brady x Pilot!Female Reader

The 100th Bomb Group comes together for the first time with all five squadrons in Walla Walla, Washington. Naturally, not everyone will get along, but after you and Brady get off on the wrong foot, every subsequent encounter only seems to solidify your dislike of the man.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Original Characters, Era Typical Sexism/Misogyny, Attempted Groping, Canon Typical Violence, Language, Enemies to Lovers, Weapons of War, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: This story contains an alternate universe where women have been allowed to fly in combat with the USAAF - in a very limited experiment. Brief references to Reader's family and backstory. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5278

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

November 1942

You should have known better than to expect anything different, even out here on the nascent base of Walla Walla, Washington, the buildings still reeking of sawdust, their rough pine construction hardly weathered in the five months they had existed.

“…there won’t be any burial costs because, those broads’ll just drive themselves straight into the ground.” The snide comment, unoriginal in any way, flew from the proudly twisted lips of a tall brunette holding court at the corner of the operations building.

His cheek bones were sharp and angled like the beak of a bird of prey and you were careful to study his face, and the faces of those men gathered around him, laughing richly or listening attentively as, encouraged by their reactions, he continued to spew his misogyny, yet to spot your approach. Each face would have a name to assign to it soon enough, and you would be certain to spread the word amongst your crew that they were not to be trusted. Not the rickety blond of middling height with his head thrown back in bright laughter, nor the broadly built man with jet black hair, and bushy mustache to match, who was slapping the speaker on his shoulder. Not even the slightly shorter brunette with a pipe clenched between two rows of perfect teeth, expression somewhat difficult to decipher – it may have been amusement or a grimace, but he was definitely not walking away or speaking up.

“You seem to have stalled, Lieutenant.” The unmistakable Texan accent of Gertrude Thornton sounded at your right elbow, and you turned quickly to salute her.

“Ma’am, just taking in the sights.”

She smirked slowly, returning the snap of her fingers to her brow, the weak grey light of the cloudy day still highlighting the silver First Lieutenant’s insignia on her shoulders, a bright contrast to the gold Second Lieutenant’s bar on yours.

“The sea of mud and fir trees, or our reluctant comrades of the 100th?” Proceeding toward the ops building, and thus the group, without hesitation, you were forced to match her stride to continue your conversation.

Dark clouds, heavy with rain, scudded across the sky, promising this dry window would be brief. It came as no surprise when the collection of Second Lieutenants neglected to salute her, gawking instead as the pair of you brushed past them towards the door.

“Holy shit, that’s The Thorn.”

It was a good thing your back was now firmly to them, the eyeroll that overtook your features nothing short of inescapably exaggerated.

A pioneer of women’s aviation, Thornton was the only reason you, and the rest of the 280th Bomber Squadron, were training to serve in combat with the United States Army Air Forces. Dubbed ‘The Thorn in Congress’s Side’ by the media, courtesy of her incessant campaigning for a female’s right to fly alongside her male comrades, most just called her ‘The Thorn.’

To the two dozen of you who’d had the privilege of training alongside her in Randolph Field, Texas, earning your USAAF pilot’s wings, she was your champion and unquestioned leader. Even if they had assigned a man to lead your squadron.

“Has Dutch emerged with those crew lists yet?” Thornton’s question made you shake your head quickly, carefully navigating along the mud-slickened boards laid down to combat the ever-present muck below.

You were grateful for the boots and loose-fitting trousers of your training uniform, your skirted Class As safely tucked away in the bottom of your footlocker.

“No ma’am, I have not seen him yet.” You replied, looking up sharply hearing a chorus of raucous laughter sound as all six feet of the freckled, red-headed Dutch – Captain Leroy Barrett – spilled out of the ops building alongside a dark-haired, mustachioed version of himself. A rather stoic blonde officer, toothpick pursed between his full lips, followed behind, holding a promising stack of papers.

“Ah! Thornton!” Dutch hollered, wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes as he turned towards the pair of you.

Throwing up a pair of simultaneous salutes, which the still-giggling men casually returned while their comrade did a more precise job, Thornton cleared her throat.

“Any success with the crew assignments, sir?”

“Yes, in fact, Buck would you be so kind?”

“John Egan.” The dark-hair Captain quickly thrusted out his hand as ‘Buck’ sorted through his papers, and Thornton shook it firmly. “I’m a real fan, Ma’am. It’s a pleasure to be flying with your squad.”

“Likewise, Captain.” She nodded, offering your name in introduction.

You offered a polite smile and firm nod as you shook Egan’s broad hand.

“You and your ladies ever need anything, don’t hesitate to come to me or Buck…including if your CO proves useless.” His grin was nothing but trouble, alarm bells immediately sounding in your head, but all the same something about him instilled a deep sense of trust.

“Gale Cleven.” Buck spoke up once he set a smaller sheaf of papers in Dutch’s hands, his grip not quite as firm as Egan’s but just as warm. “And Bucky’s all bluster. We’ve known Dutch since we were just cadets and either of us would trust him with our life any day.”

“A ringing endorsement.” Thornton grinned and took the stack of crew assignments from Dutch. “I’ll see to it that these are handed out amongst the squad, thank you very much, gentlemen.”

Parting salutes exchanged, the pair of you turned to head back to the women’s quarters. Glancing back over your shoulder, you were startled to meet the light blue eyes of the silent brunette, gaze flicking to his mouth as he parted his lips to pull the stem of his pipe free.

Egan’s voice suddenly echoed across the clearing, each man raising his head in turn as his name was called.

“Friedkin! Pratt! Larkin! Brady! You boys looking for something to do?”

Four names, four faces. Four men to avoid.

The barracks of the 280th squadron were five long, squat, wooden buildings relegated to an out-of-the-way corner of the camp, one set of showers and latrines for the entire population of one hundred women. By the time you and Thornton returned to dole out the crew lists amongst the pilots, your boots were slick with mud that splashed up your trousers – a far cry from the red dust of Texas, and a clear indication of what the greatest enemy to cleanliness would be here.

“Lieutenant.” Thorton turned to hand you a list with your very own name at the top, a thrill unfurling through your abdomen not unlike that which you had felt when she had first appeared along the fence-line of your father’s farm looking for the local crop duster who was unrivalled in her accuracy.

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Oh don’t thank me, I just spoke the truth when Dutch asked me who I thought could manage it.” She winked one of her striking hazel eyes easily before proceeding into the officer’s quarters, calling out the rest of the pilot’s names.

The odds of making it here in the first place had been long, of even getting into a cockpit even longer if it had not been for your uncle’s early diagnosis of glaucoma and willingness to make you the successor to his business. You had never even dared to hope to be named as Pilot of one of the ten crews of the 280th – Co-pilot would have been more than tolerable. But you were undeniably delighted by this outcome.

Refocusing on the paper in your hands, you scanned down the other nine names on the list.

Co-Pilot: 2nd Lt. Andromeda Giannopoulos

Bombardier: 2nd Lt. Barbara Jones

Navigator: 2nd Lt. Regina Wilson

Flight Engineer: S/Sgt. Inez Veiga

Radio Operator: S/Sgt. Mildred Gaige

Ball Turret Gunner: S/Sgt. Minnie Jacobsen

Waist Gunner: S/Sgt. Dorothea Fletcher

Waist Gunner: S/Sgt. Velma Schroeder

Tail Gunner: S/Sgt. Juanita Torres

The name of your Co-pilot tugged a smile onto the corner of your mouth. Andie, as she had firmly introduced herself to you at basic training, had made you swear to never use her full name upon pain of death when you had accidentally come across some correspondence from her father – a first-generation sea sponge fisherman who had moved from Greece to settle in Tarpon Springs, Florida.

At least her secret remained safe with you.

The other eight women, most enlisted, would have trained at their various technical schools scattered across the continental United States and were thus unknown to you. For now. A few generous drops of rain splattered down onto the page, making you frown and quickly tuck it into your jacket pocket as you darted inside. Scraping the mud from your boots, you tucked your service cap beneath your arm and moved to find your cockpit mate, but suddenly found your path blocked by all five feet four inches of your closest friend, Constance Hart.

“Thornton didn’t call your name, but no one has you on a list.” She tilted her head, untameable mane of blonde curls swaying as she cracked her gum sharply between her molars. “I mean if you need a ride, you can always fly with me but…”

You watched her warm brown eyes narrow in suspicion as you began fishing around in your pocket before they shot wide upon your retrieval of your crew list.

“Hon, I knew it! I knew they wouldn’t just give us nine crews.”

The fierceness with which she pulled you into a hug drove home how very accurate Andie’s bestowal of the nickname ‘Lionheart’ on the petite woman really had been. In fact Andie was responsible for at least half of the nicknames amongst those of you with wings pinned on your uniforms and you fully expected that trend to continue with the enlisted girls as well.

“Well done to you, too, Lionheart. Though I do beg for mercy on your crew.” You pulled back with a smirk of affection, earning a loving whap on your shoulder as she giggled.

“You’re one to talk, try not to terrify them on the first day, hmmm?”

“If you’re going out there, take a raincoat.” You nodded as Lionheart moved towards the door and she waved back in thanks before you continued on in your search for your Co-pilot.

You found her tidying her rack, tightening the corners on her sheets with barely concealed aggression, and you swallowed in empathy. Andie had arrived at Randolph Field with only a few months of flying under her belt – had not even earned her civilian wings yet. Not at all unheard of for the men squawking about outside, but for this experimental squadron, Thornton had traversed the country to find women with experience who also met the strict USAAF age and physical requirements. She was green, young. If the hundred of you could make this a success, she would surely have her own plane before long.

“Hey there, Andie.” You spoke softly, watching her face snap up from her one-sided battle with her bedding, her gorgeous Mediterranean features making you feel extraordinarily plain as always.

“Well–” She let out a tremendous exhale and sat down heavily onto her cot, swiftly undoing all her hard work in one motion as the sheets wrenched from their corners. “– guess if it’s with you, it won’t be quite so terrible.”

Huffing a soft laugh, you nodded. “Look forward to flying with you too. What say you we go invade the rest of the barracks and find our crew?”

A small smile twitched onto her lips, a tiny spark that quickly grew into a blaze. Andie’s hand shot up, her fingers beckoning demandingly.

“Let me see that list.” She eyed you expectantly, a devious edge to her grin and you slowly surrendered it, watching her peruse the names rapidly. “Plenty to work with here…. Barbara? Crying out for a proper moniker, that one.”

Pleased she seemed to have found some satisfaction in plotting their nicknames, you watched her rise to her feet, walking towards the door together with your raincoats. Securing the cumbersome olive drab fabric around your bodies, naturally, brought the rain to a halt and you sighed deeply, shaking your head as you walked along the slick boards to the next building.

Two eager faces lifted from where they sat on the ends of their racks, the rest of the building already emptied as the other crews seemed to have collected their Navigators and Bombardiers. Glancing over Andie’s shoulder to confirm the names, you looked back to the hopeful women.

“Jones and Wilson?”

The speed with which they shot to their feet was nothing short of endearing and you nodded to them softly, offering your name. “Pilot. This is Andie, Co-pilot.”

“Nice to meet you, Babs.” She grabbed the hand of the willowy brunette Bombardier, shaking it firmly before turning to the Navigator with glossy dark hair and an hour-glass figure. “Gina.”

The women exchanged a curious glance and you shrugged softly. “Most of us have found it easier not to fight it, only seems to make her more determined. We’re just on our way to find the rest of our crew, care to join us?”

“Oh absolutely.” Babs gushed enthusiastically as Gina nodded with a polite “Yes, please.”

Your duo growing to a quartet, you thus moved onward, heading for the furthest of the barracks buildings. There you located the shortest member of your crew, Minnie Jacobsen, whom Andie gleefully dubbed ‘Mouse.’ It was had to deny how clever that particular one was. The pair of waist gunners, Schroeder and Fletcher – nicknames to come, apparently, were picked up in the fourth building. There you also found Torres, the tail gunner, who introduced herself as Nita, clearly in no need of Andie’s assistance.

The last two members of your crew were located in the barracks situated dead centre in the row, Flight Engineer Inez Veiga – thenceforth to be known as Ivy thanks to the amusing phonetics of her initials and Radio Operator Mildred Gaige – a simple Millie. Finding yourselves collected for the first time in an empty building, with its neatly spaced rows of beds and footlockers, cast iron woodstoves at either end for heat, you looked them all over slowly, feeling the gravity of this moment.

Their expectant faces turned to you, driving home how much they would rely upon you for direction throughout this endeavor.

“Ladies,” You nodded firmly, clearing your throat to steal a moment to pluck up your courage. “We have the opportunity to prove to our country, to the entire world, that a woman’s place can be in combat same as any man. To succeed, we have to fly faster, find our targets with more accuracy, and eliminate all threats to our squad without hesitation. Where they are satisfactory, we must be excellent, understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Came a chorus of sharp replies, though several sets of eyes betrayed the nerves lurking beneath and Lionheart’s warning against intimidation whispered back through your brain.

“The Army Air Forces have trained each of you in your role, you have proven yourself, earned those badges on your chests. I have every faith that we will make the finest crew they have ever seen.”

The smiles that earned brought a flutter of relief to your gut, solidified by Andie’s nod, before the sound of your name had everyone turning towards the door to see Ruby Keever eyeing you expectantly.

“Thornton is gathering the 280th in one of the classrooms, bring your crew.” She nodded firmly, ordering you as though she was not the same rank as you, before slipping back out into the once-again driving rain.

“Good ol’ Keener.” Andie chortled, earning more than a few laughs from her new audience.

“One of these days, Andie, I’m going to accidentally call her that to her face.” You huffed and affixed your cap onto your head before covering it with your hood, leading your crew out into the ugly weather.

After the excitement of crew assignments, the afternoon of lectures on decorum and the importance of the 280th as female ambassadors into the male-dominated world of combat was a stark change of pace. Having spent months in Thornton’s periphery, absorbing every bit of knowledge she saw fit to impart in your presence, not much of it was new, but she was a passionate speaker. And while some of it was tough medicine – fraternization discouraged, becoming ‘in the family way’ meaning immediate discharge, remaining civil and lady-like no matter what conditions were thrust upon you all – she still found a way to engage with each of the women gathered before her from all different walks of life.

“In four minutes I will be releasing you to enjoy your first meal in the mess. The enlisted women share their mess with men of the same rank while us officers are in a separate mess with those of our rank. I am not sure how things were handled at your various technical schools, but I recommend entering in groups, ensuring your lead and tail person are on alert for any…unwarranted attention.”

How things went in the mess had varied wildly in your experience. At first, it had been akin to running a gauntlet, swatting and dodging hands, procuring your food from the chow line to then retreat to the safety of assigned tables. Once the novelty of the female pilots had worn off, so too had the unwanted attention. It was honestly a matter of training your male colleagues. Desensitizing them.

“Tomorrow, weather permitting, we will begin training flights. To my knowledge, there are only fifteen B-17s on base at present, so there will be a rota drawn up that is fair to all squadrons. Those not flying will have classroom instruction or base duties. That is all for today ladies, thank you kindly for your attention.”

Smothering your disappointment at the typical Army lack of equipment, you parted ways with the enlisted women in your crew, watching fondly as they walked off in a tight group towards the mess.

“Lieutenant.” Thornton’s voice startled you for the second time that day and you bit back a curse at how inept you surely appeared as you saluted her. “Would you mind being our mess tail this evening?”

“Not at all, Ma’am.” You nodded, watching the officers flock toward her, patiently waving them ahead of you, including Lionheart who winked at you.

“You watching my rear?”

Rolling your eyes you shuffled after her along the somewhat drier boards, sliding your hands into your pockets for a modicum of warmth against the cool breeze that had picked up. “Safe with me, Lionheart.” You muttered, half in jest, half in earnest.

“’preciate it you know.” She giggled, stepping into the humid, bustling officer’s mess.

It was already packed, the men nearly all seated and tucked in, though all eyes were now raised to focus on your group. Stopping to pull the door shut against the wind, you were two steps behind Lionheart when you spotted the encroaching hand of some unknown Lieutenant, reaching to grab a handful of her rear end where she stood waiting in line.

Lurching forward to seize his wrist in an excessively tight grip, you turned to meet his dull brown eyes, wide as saucers.

“You’d be wise to keep your hands to yourself, Lieutenant.” You muttered coldly, tightening your hand about his wrist for emphasis before dropping it carelessly.

Turning your back to him, you met your friend’s startled face and offered her a wink. “Safe with me.” You whispered, pressing your lips together as she barely contained her giggles, quickly moving forward to close the gap with the end of the line.

“Cuddly as a cactus, that one.” The bitter voice of the would-be groper was almost inaudible over the general din of the room.

“Honestly, pal, you’re lucky she didn’t box your ears. Woulda deserved it, too; tryna to play grab ass with a lady you don’t know.” The scolding, delivered in a brash New York accent, almost made you look over your shoulder fondly. Somehow you resisted the urge.

Slowly undoing the snaps of your raincoat against the warmth of room, you looked to the side as it felt like someone was watching you. While you were aware more than several someones were, this gaze was somehow particularly aggravating…Meeting the blue eyes of that Brady from before, though he held a spoon between his lips this time rather than a pipe, his was expression just as indiscernible.

Lips hardening into a thin line, you firmly looked away, focusing intently on the way Lionheart’s hair had yet again escaped its pins to brush against the collar of her raincoat.

“You need to fix that mane before Thornton gives you a uniform violation.”

She sighed dramatically, twisting the errant locks up and ruthlessly shoving a few spare pins in to hold it. “Thinking of shaving it all off, what do you think she’d say then.”

“She’d probably have a stroke, I think.” You smirked and shuffled forward to grab two trays, handing her one once her hands were free.

“It would just be so much simpler though, wouldn’t it? I envy their haircuts, I do.” She muttered, collecting her mashed potatoes, thick stew, and pudding of a questionable consistency.

“Twice as many girls envy your hair.” You assured her. “Maybe you should start braiding it instead of using pins.”

Lionheart glanced back at you, eyes bright with the idea. “Say that’s a swell thought, wanna help me out with that tonight?”

“Sure, just keep your eyes front on the way to your seat, would ya?”

Settling into the crowded table, you allowed the conversation of the surrounding women to flow over you as you ate, suddenly realizing just how hungry you were. Despite the occasional lump, and the fact that it had not quite set, the pudding was a nice treat, a pleasant way to finish the meal before you all headed back to barracks to battle back the mud that had been tracked in throughout the day. Once your boots were polished to gleaming and set at the end of your bed, you worked with Lionheart to devise two braids to contain her hair that could then be pinned up off her collar.

Sliding, at last, beneath the rough sheets, the cumulative effort of the day allowed you to overlook the inconsistent construction of your mattress, sleep coming quickly.

The first morning of one hundred women attempting to prepare for the day using one shower house and one set of latrines was admittedly less than smooth, your eyes meeting Thornton’s several times in the midst of the uncontrolled chaos until she eventually had to send half the girls back to their barracks to finish their hair and makeup without mirrors.

“Keever, I need you to make a shower schedule. Half in the evening, half in the morning. Ten-minute intervals or we’ll never be on time.” She turned to her incessant shadow who was already bobbing her head eagerly and jotting down notes on a small notepad you had not even seen her procure.

Restricting yourself to brushing your teeth and a simple refresh in the sink, you returned to barracks to tidy your hair and dress for the day. You even had time to spare to help Lionheart with her new hairdo, which earned an approving nod from Thornton in the breakfast line.

As you were eating your cloyingly thick powdered eggs and toast, a ripple of groans began to echo across the room. Raising your head, you noticed stacks of papers were being passed around, reaching the ladies tables last. Scanning your eyes over the schedule for the next five days, you were pleased to see that the 280th was going to be flying that very afternoon – you could only assume the groans were from the boys in the 349th, 350th, or 351st as they would not have their chance until tomorrow or later.

That morning, while the 418th were breaking in the brand-new B-17s, the ambiguous words ‘base duties’ lay next to your squadron while the rest would be ‘enjoying’ classroom instruction. Base duties, as it turned out, entailed a lot of manual labor and organization of the piles of newly arrived equipment while awaiting your flight time of 1300. It was difficult to keep your eyes from drifting up to the surprisingly clear sky where the great looming shadows of planes enviably circled overhead, practicing their combat formations. You could only hope they 100th would soon have enough planes for all of you to be up there perfecting your hard-won skills…

Eating a light helping of the porkchops and rice at lunch, you were more than a little eager to get back into the cockpit, smiling warmly to the enlisted women of your crew as they waited eagerly outside the hangar.

“How’re we feeling ladies?” You asked as you, Andie, Babs, and Gina joined them.

“Well when I saw that list, I was fit to be tied Ma’am. Sure wish we could have gone up first, but second’ll do!” Mouse exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet, barely able to contain her excitement.

“Second is certainly better than fifth.” You nodded in agreement and waived them inside the hangar as Dutch called for the squadron to gather round.

A large blackboard had been wheeled out into the empty space, a list of maneuvers to be practiced on the left and the last names of the ten Pilots on the right, all in an untidy hand.

“Alright ladies, listen up. Today’s flight will be below 10,000 feet, no masks required. We will not be carrying any ordinance, simply practicing combat formations and two, maybe three runs over the bomb range if time and weather permit. Just dipping our toes in the water as a squadron at this point.

I’ll be flying with Thornton in the lead, the rest of you will follow in this order. This is nothing new for any of you but the first time you are doing this with your crews – gunners you will be expected to take your positions following takeoff. Any questions?”

After a lull, several of the pilots shook their heads, feeling confident in having committed flying order to memory. Your plane would take off third, flying opposite Lionheart’s just behind the lead plane in the typical V-shape formation once assembled in the air. Dismissed to board and conduct your pre-flight checks, you were more than a little annoyed to find there was an audience of men lining the hardstands – clearly brimming with curiosity, and surely sharing Friedkin’s doubts about the entire squadron’s flying capabilities.

The hulking planes loomed ahead, bristling with machine guns, widely believed to be the safest aircraft in the sky. A ‘flying fortress’ that, thanks to the Norden bomb sight, could fly well above land-based defences. It was these very attributes that Thornton had weaponized in her battle against Congress and the USAAF, winning this experimental exception for women to fly into combat in this aircraft only. For now. The need to achieve their goals, exceed their expectations so that more progress could be made, was not lost on you.

Tossing your flight bag into the bottom of the aircraft, you gripped the sides of the hatch and easily swung yourself upwards, legs first, after it. Navigating through the cramped, narrow passages, you settled into the lefthand seat and affixed your throat mic and head set before nodding to Andie on her arrival. Running through the pre-flight checklist with her, you slid open your window to communicate with the ground crewman, starting up each engine one at a time before he pulled the chocks.

Rolling out to line-up on the runway felt like the most normal thing you had done in the days since you left Texas, wending your way up here on a series of passenger trains only to find yourself in unfamiliar landscape and a fresh crop of unfriendly faces. Thirty seconds after Lionheart successfully took to the air, you received the signal from the man on the ground, sliding your window shut and pushing up on the throttle as Andie rattled off the ever-increasing speed until the airlift swept the plane smoothly into the sky.

It proved a beautiful day for flying, not too rough, not too many clouds. You and Andie began to build your cockpit partnership, and the hand-offs with Babs during the practice bombing runs were effortless. It honestly came as a surprise when Dutch called an end to the practice run over the radio, the entire affair having been so enjoyable, the squadron lining up for an even-more well attended landing. Sliding from your aircraft with a grin on your face, you noted the familiar faces of Friedkin, Larkin and Pratt, gathered conspiratorially, wearing broad smirks. That Brady fellow was there too, but accompanied by an unknown blond with glinting gold in his smile and a shorter man with tousled dark hair barely contained beneath his cap.

In fact, it seemed impossible to get away from that Brady fellow as, apparently a member of the 418th, you would have to endure his presence during classroom hours as well. Taking a seat as far from him as you could, flanked by Lionheart and Andie, you diligently focused on the instructor at the front of the room.

“Point of review, what is your best option if your engine catches fire?” The middle-aged Lieutenant Colonel raked his eyes over the class.

The answer immediately popped into your head, a steep dive to attempt suppressing the fire, but you hesitated to raise your hand. On more than one occasion, you had been advised to give other students a chance to answer. That perhaps you took up too much air in a classroom. And so you held your tongue, silently counting to ten.

You reached ‘eight’ before the instructor raised his eyes a few rows back.

“Yes, please state your name before you answer.”

“John Brady. Shut off the fuel and feather it, sir.” He spoke confidently, accent so mild as to be indiscernible.

You furrowed your brows as you disagreed and raised your hand immediately.

“Yes, name and answer.”

Giving your name, you swallowed. “I would put the plane into a steep dive to suppress the fire and level out once it was extinguished.”

There was an almost inaudible scoff emanating from the direction of one John Brady and you straightened in your seat.

“So that I could finish my mission, sir.” You added firmly, earning a nod of approval from the instructor.

“Fine answer.” He declared before belatedly adding. “Both of you. It was a bit of a trick question, as it would truly depend on any number of factors, which option you as the Pilot choose. However, it is important to remember that you have more than one at your disposal.”

Instruction continued for another three hours that morning, your fingers cramping from the extensive notes you added to the margins of your training manual. As you were dismissed for lunch, you waived off the pats on the back you were getting from your squadron-mates, collecting your cap from where it hung on the back of your chair. Standing stiffly, you turned to meet the icy glare of Brady, starting a little at the intensity of it.

The nerve of that man, to be caught dead in the company of men like Friedkin and his goons, and then to glare at you for providing an alternative answer in class? Narrowing your eyes in kind, you sharply turned to follow your friends from the room, entirely decided he was the worst that the USAAF had to offer.

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

Read Part Two

The Last To Know Masterlist

Tag list: @luminouslywriting, @dustofbrokenheart, @precious-little-scoundrel

#john brady x reader #john brady x you #john brady #ladies who brady #mota fanfic #mota au #masters of the air #mota

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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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latibvles · 4 months ago

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playing pretend.

who up mourning that this is the last prompt. it’s me im up. anyways for Dress Uniform we’re going all the way back to Wendover. It’s December, 1942, and John Egan’s about to find out that he is in fact, a very good actor.

—

The frigid air reminds him vaguely of Manitowoc.

Of course, it would get much colder, snow piling up against the door. He’d help his dad dig out the pathway leading up to the house, the sidewalk, the driveway. And he remembers steam puffing up around their mouths, how he’d take his dad down in the snow to save his sisters from the “dragon” and how powder would cling to his curls. It’s something sobering, warming — he’s not drunk, not enough to have much trouble finding his way.

Wendover isn’t big. There’s base, and there’s the town, and the local bar. On a weekend, they might’ve taken a bus into Salt Lake City, but it’s Thursday, so they all settled for this instead with no practice flight tomorrow. He could take his chances walking back alone, and he doesn’t hate the memories that are choosing to accompany him. He likes the cold, for the most part.

He shoves his hands into the well-worn pockets of his dress uniform, hums under his breath as he takes in the windows with their lights off. If he had a watch, he’d check the time, but he doesn’t. Bucky just knows that it’s late, because he’s never been the kind of guy to call his nights early.

The song they’d been singing in the bar has wormed its way into his thoughts and he’d have to pester Brady for the name of it tomorrow.

He’s halfway between bar songs and shoveled snow when he hears hurried footsteps behind him. He doesn’t have much time to turn around before he’s being swathed by the scent of a peachy perfume, arms hugging one of his and he’s met with slightly frizzy hair, and eyes boring into his own; hazel ones, alight with something indiscernible. He knows her face, because it’s hard to forget something that pretty, but he and Lieutenant Savorre hardly ever spo—

“There you are!” She practically chirps, jovial. If it weren’t for the fact that he can’t smell anything on her breath he’d ask if she was drunk. She’s not though, as she tilts her head up to sear a kiss against his cheek that’s warmer than the whiskey in his blood. Her breath ghosts against the shell of his ear, making him shiver.

“Sorry for the trouble, Captain, but those boys back there have been trailing me for the past block. Could you play along?” Bucky hears it, then. The loud laughter, and as he turns his head he catches glances of the group in his peripheral vision. How they double over one another and stumble, loud and reckless in the quiet. They aren’t Army, not by the way they’re dressed. If Savorre’s scared or nervous, she doesn’t show it. Her lips are pressed into a tight smile as she looks up at him and they keep walking.

Bucky’s never been much of an actor, but he figures he can try.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he leans forward, daring to press a kiss to her hair and Savorre bows her head to let him, like they’ve practiced this before. “Took you long enough.”

“Got caught up with a friend,” Savorre’s reply is breezy as she lifts her head once more. “Missed you like crazy though.” Bucky swallows, harder than he means to, at how easily the words come to her. And if it weren’t for the clamor behind them, he could easily forget that she was just saying it to say it.

“Like crazy, huh?” he counters with a grin of his own. Savorre’s nose scrunches, her eyes narrow.

“Don’t tease me.”

“Can’t help it,” he counters. She huffs, and he chuckles. “C’mere.” Bucky moves his arm from her grip to drape around her shoulders, pulling her into his side and dunking himself further in the scent of her, the warmth of a body pressed against his own. Her hand finds his heart through his jacket, hand curling against fabric.

She’s too good at this.

Savorre keeps looking up at him, laughs at the jokes he comes up with and counters his quick remarks with her own. His thumb presses into her shoulder as he tries to make sense of their predicament. Or rather, the fact that this is the most they’ve really spoken since meeting a couple weeks ago. And he can’t help but be mildly surprised at how easy she makes this all look: she laughs and lightly pats at his chest and bats her eyelashes like she really is his “sweetheart.” It’s impressive. It’s off putting.

He glances behind them momentarily as he leans down as if his plan is to whisper something salacious in her ear.

“Bank left,” he mutters, and Savorre giggles and gasps out a “Sir!” that sells as he veers down a sidestreet with her in tow. They move a few feet behind and Bucky looks behind them to watch the group of boys stumble past, paying them no mind.

Savorre untangles herself from him with a soft sigh, straightening out her jacket and he watches for a moment. His well of words has run dry and all he can really do is stare as she rights herself; straightening her tucked in tie and rumpled collar, before her gaze drags up the length of him to settle on his face.

“Sorry for the trouble, sir. I hope I’m not uh– in trouble for that.” Bucky balks at her.

“What? No. I’m not—” he pauses, before waving his hand dismissively. “Stays between us. That happen often?” Savorre looks a little caught off by his question, before she presses her lips into a line.

“Sometimes, in Texas.” She shrugs, looking at the main street. “Usually we… travel like a pack but my partner had to make sure our Radio Op got back safe and I was handling something with the bar owner.” She reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He doesn’t miss it — the way she keeps the details vague and he isn’t going to press her for them. But he does smile a little bit.

“Your partner, that’s—”

“Neumann, yeah. Tiny one, black hair,” Savorre demonstrates by holding her hand near her mouth and Bucky can form the image pretty quickly. It was hard not to stare at them.

“I don’t think she’s a fan of me,” Bucky admits and Savorre chuckles at that. He’s pretty sure this is a real laugh of hers, and she shakes her head a little bit.

“Everyone thinks that. It’s just her face. Promise she hasn’t said anything bad, sir.”

“So you girls talk about us?” Savorre rolls her eyes, but he doesn’t think it’s malicious as she raises a brow towards him.

“If you’re hoping for the inside scoop all I can offer is that we’ve been calling you ‘the tall one’, so don’t get too excited,” Savorre smiles a little, like it’s the secret he’s been waiting to be let in on. Maybe it is, because he’s been curious about all thirty of them since he met the pilots on the runway. He presses a little more.

“If I’m the tall one then what’s Kidd?”

“That’s classified information for the 349th to know and for neither you or Kidd to ever find out.” Bucky kisses his teeth, makes a hissing noise as he puts a hand over his heart as if he’d been wounded. She laughs again, with a slight shake of her head and a roll of her eyes.

“Y’know Savorre, they say secrets are poison to a marriage.”

“So now it’s a marriage? I thought it was a rescue mission.”

“Well I’m hoping if I promote myself I’ll get clearance to know what it is.” Savorre makes an ‘ah’ noise, then hums, like she’s really considering it. Makes a point to take her chin between fingers and stroke it pensively, staring up at the cloudy night above them before clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

“Sound argument, sir, but no can do. Plus I’d have to be the one to promote you anyways if that’s how you wanna play it.”

She’s got him there. There’s a glint to her eye — something like mischief — and Bucky’s pretty quick to decide that he likes talking to her and wants to do it more. Mostly because she’s funny, which he didn’t know, and in part because somehow she’s made the idea of Jack Kidd being called anything besides Jack or Kidd seem like the most interesting thing in the world. It feels like a game in some respects and Bucky likes a good game.

“You can drop the sir,” Bucky offers. “...when we’re offbase.” An olive branch, or something like it, he watches the way her face softens up some in surprise, before she tilts her head and furrows her brows.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s just us. Bucky works fine.” Savorre looks like she’s contemplating it for a moment, her expression virtually unreadable. It’s always been pretty easy for him to decide who he does and doesn’t like; it’s easy for him to file Savorre into the prior category as opposed to the latter. She nods, slowly, mutters his name under her breath before fixing her gaze back on him with a smile; warm, friendly.

“This isn’t just a way to get yourself on the fast track to promotion, is it?” Bucky scoffs in mock offense.

“Y’know, if you weren’t smiling all nicely I’d be offended by that.” He whines. Savorre snorts a little bit, which he doesn’t expect.

“Well then sorry, Bucky, and you can call me Viv when it’s just us. If that’ll make it up to you,” She offers and he nods. Viv. And then it’s almost like an immediate switch; how she rocks back on her heels for a moment, looking away from him to one of Wendover’s low rows of businesses and houses. “And thanks again for… playing along. I wouldn’t’ve done that if I had another option.” She sounds almost apologetic and Bucky rejects the unspoken apology with a wave of his own hand, a shake of his head.

“Anytime,” he assures, before amending the statement. “Well, maybe not anytime but if you need a bailout I’m not… it doesn’t bother me.” Viv nods, and he takes her in a little bit. The pinkened state of her cheeks and tip of her nose from the December air, and the progressive softening of her features.

She’s not readable, at least not in any way he understands quite yet. But she’s not stiff either, or rigid. The only other time he’s ever gotten some kind of read on her was when she’d breezed past him with two other pilots to go greet Veal with a “What took you so long?” and a smirk that reminded him of just about every other pilot he’d met, including himself. Maybe she didn’t have sharp edges, but she wasn’t shy or meek about anything.

She’s not shy or meek now either. Maybe comfortable, which feels like some kind of reward for him.

“I might give some of mine the heads up on that,” she admits. “If you don’t mind. Some of them are too shy about that kind of thing and don’t know how to ask.” It doesn’t sound like a complete thought, more like she had more to say but is withholding it. He decides not to pry into it.

“I don’t mind,” he agrees, instead. They lapse into silence for a moment, stiff with that uncomfortably frank knowledge that, yeah, this isn’t the first time any of them had been followed around. Bucky decides, quickly, that he doesn’t like it: the silence and the knowledge. He can do something about both, thankfully enough. “So can I keep walking you back or do you plan on leaving me in the dust?” Viv makes a noise, somewhere between amused and disbelieving.

“Yeah you caught me, I was planning on running for the hills ‘till you opened your mouth.”

“Yeesh, am I that bad of a husband?”

“Well I wouldn’t know. You promoted yourself pretty quick — and it still doesn’t count.” She walks towards him, and then brushes past, and he turns on his heel to follow her, falling in step pretty easily.

“I’m taking that as a ‘No, Bucky, you’re great and also terribly funny. An absolute catch.’” That makes her snort again and she reaches to lightly shove at him, but he doesn’t move much as she shakes her head.

“Sure, Bucky. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

#*wdawe #ch: vivian savorre #ship: viv/bucky #masters of the air oc #john egan x oc #mota oc #mota fic #bucky egan #bucky egan x oc #yeah bucky gets promoted to major like a month after this I think #which surprised me because I thought it was earlier but womp womp

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dykesynthezoid · 5 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 · 4 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 · 11 months 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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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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cmspeirs · 8 days 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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