#Brady Jo

[transfemmbeatrice]

taskmaster contestants ask you things......... TWO (part one)

[maxz-b]

here's part 8 out of ??? now

[winniemaywebber]

It's Been A Long, Long Time: Lover, Come Back

Harry Crosby x Jean Crosby

There's a surprise waiting in the mail for Jean Crosby - the news of her husband returning home a four week furlough. How ever much happiness this brings her, she must contend with the sadness of her best friend and roommate, Jo, who is facing the harsh realities of her own sweetheart, Rosie, reupping rather than returning home to her.

A warm evening breeze sweeps past Jean and Josephine as they begin the short walk home from the bus stop. It was finally Friday, the two girls looking forward to a couple days of rest over the weekend. They liked to keep one weekend a month free of any plans, where they could just laze about the house in their pajamas and rejuvenate before entering the workforce reality again on Monday morning - this weekend, the final one of June, was the one they’d chosen for the month, both of them greatly looking forward to it.

As they approach the brown brick house in the middle of a neat cul-de-sac, Jean spots the flag at mast on the mailbox. “Get the mail, doll,” she smirks, knowing Jo was practically chomping at the bit for the next letter from her love. Robert Rosenthal had just re-upped, separating the couple for much longer than Jo had initially envisioned, the subject always covered with disdain and sharp words whenever it was brought up. Jean knew by now to avoid it unless Jo herself sounded off about it.

With a heavy sigh, she silently hands the stack of mail to her companion after quickly rifling through it, hoping to spot that familiar scrawled penmanship on an envelope. “Not today,” Jo says through subtly gritted teeth, holding her hand out for the keys and unlocking the door before throwing her purse on to the telephone table. “It’s been two weeks, what on Earth could he be doing? Do you think the letter simply got lost?”

“No, dear,” she sighs. “You know mail has been a little slow lately, maybe it’s just taking its time to get here from England.”

“You don’t think…” she gulps, pausing with the fear that grips her throat, “you don’t think he’s the one that is lost, do you?”

“Goodness, Jo, darling,” Jean comforts, wrapping her arm around her friend’s heaving shoulders as she sits down on one of the dining chairs. “Sweetheart, you know Binger would contact us at the first sign of any trouble like that, hm?”

“I guess,” Jo shrugs. “Get it over with then. What do you have?”

Jean flips through the envelopes, spotting the only other handwriting that’s familiar to her. Jo sees it too, her eyes widening with fear as they fill with tears.

“Now, doll,” Jean says, trying her best to keep a calm voice. “I’m sure it’s just him writing to me to tell me the goings on on base. Breathe, Josephine.”

“Mhm,” she nods, her brow furrowed with the effort of speaking through a closed throat. Jean tears the letter from its envelope and begins to read.

“Mrs Crosby,

I’ll be on my way home to you next week. I’ll be with you for four weeks and I can hardly wait.

See you in New York.

Binger.”

Jean’s mouth drops open, trying to formulate words that won’t come out.

“Well?” Jo urges, eyes darting across her friend’s face to gauge any emotion. “What is it?!”

“He’s–he’s…”

“Spit it out, Mrs Croz.”

“He’s coming home!” Jean squeals, the information finally sinking in and causing her to emphatically jump up and down, her heels clacking on the kitchen floor. It’s when she stops to smile at Jo that she sees her face fall, hand on her chest to steady the ragged breaths she’s pushing from her body. “Jo? Oh, darling. Come here.”

“Should be me hugging you, not the other way around,” she sobs, dampening Jean’s dress. She gulps and sniffs, Jean pulling a chair from the head of the table to sit next to her. “I’m sorry, I really am happy for you, it’s just–”

“I wasn’t being fair,” she says with a shake of her head. “Being that excited wasn’t right of me.”

“No! You should be excited; you’re about to see your husband after two years. It’s just…I don’t know, Jean. I’m so…”

“Angry?”

“Yes!” she blurts out, wiping at her face angrily. “How could he sacrifice the future we’ve been planning together because he’s just so prideful? It makes me so mad. So disgustingly mad.”

“I know,” Jean soothes, holding Jo’s head to her. “But at least you’ll worry less with Bing around.”

“How?” Jo replies, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“He won’t lie to you. He’ll tell you what’s what. The truth about how Robert is truly coping.”

“That’ll help, I guess, but–”

“But you’d rather have him home,” Jean interjects. “To dance with at Minton’s and go home together.”

Jo nods sadly, fresh tears springing into her eyes. “I just want my Robbie home with me,” she weeps, whimpering like a small child.

“I know, darling. I know.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” Jo sniffs. “I really am happy for you, Jean. When will he be here?”

Jean pulls the letter out again, eyes rushing over the words. “Next week,” she nods. “Wants me to meet him in the city.”

Jo looks over at the note in her hand, scanning over it herself. She inhales, bracing herself for the reaction to what she’s about to suggest. “I’ll call Jules in the morning.”

“Whatever for?” Jean screeches, eyes narrowing.

“I can’t be here while you and Harry, you know…” she pauses, lips purse to try and hold in a juvenile giggle. “Make up for lost time.”

Jean releases the most girlish little giggle that causes Jo to break into the same laughter, the two girls holding each other as the amusement peels off them.

“While you’re correct - we absolutely will be doing that - it isn’t fair that you should have to go somewhere else. This is your home, Jo.”

“I’ll come right back after Harry has returned, mark my words. But, I don’t want to hear, well…all that making up for lost time!”

“No, no, I get it. You have to promise me you’ll come home though. Please?”

“Darling, I promise. Aside from Robbie, you are my person.”

“And you’re mine, too.”

***

With a heavy sigh, Jean exits her eerily empty house. When she had asked Jo to move in with her all those months ago, she could never have imagined an outcome where she was alone again after so long. Part of her understood why Jo had left, agreeing with the idea that the Crosbys needed some much deserved alone time after much time apart. However, the part that she hated was this; the underlying, constant loneliness until Bing was home with her again.

Josephine had kept to her word, calling Jules the day after the pair had received Jean’s good news. She had also received a call from Vika - the girl now an integral part of their little group since they’d met at the beach - offering Josephine a few nights at her family’s hotel.

“It’ll be like a holiday,” Vika had teased, sipping at a weak martini. “It’ll be fun, a way for us to get to know each other a little better.” Jo had agreed emphatically, Jean even spending a night there with her to have a little time with the girls before the big day.

Jean spots the girls waiting at the bus stop the moment the brakes of the vehicle hiss, them all waving at one another so enthusiastically that Jean is sure all their arms may drop off. They greet one another with a girlish, juvenile squeal, the girls pulling Jean into a tight embrace. Shouts of “Hi, Mrs Crosby!” and “Eeee, the big day is tomorrow,” echo across the busy city streets as they begin their jaunt to their favorite dress shop.

***

“Remind me again which ones you liked best in the magazine?” Jo asks as she picks through racks of beautiful dresses. She finds one that Jean falls in love with instantly: a mulberry swing dress with a sweetheart neckline.

“I don’t think I need to,” Jean exhales, taking the dress from her friend. “This is gorgeous.”

“So very you, my girl,” she smiles, going back to the rack in front of her. The hangars scrape as she leafs through, a furrow upon her concentrated brow. “Is it too premature to find one for when Robbie comes home?”

Jules seems to have the same idea, rifling through a discount rack at the back of the store as Jean scouts around to find where the dressing rooms are located. Jules holds a dress up to her body, sashaying this way and that in front of Vika.

“What do you think?” she asked, a worried tone to her voice.

“Hm, not really your color, Juliet. How about…” Vika rifles through the rack herself, finding a beautiful light green a-line dress that she knows will compliment her friend perfectly. “This?”

“Vika, you’re a dream,” she compliments, admiring how the color brings out her eyes. “Aren’t you looking for something?”

“Me?” she laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t have a sweetheart to dress up for, you know that.”

“Why don’t we find you one?” Jean asks, pulling the velvet curtain back on an unoccupied stall. “I’m sure one of the boys’ friends will be raring to have a date with you.”

“My goodness, yes!” Jo replies, eyes lighting up for the first time in a week. “Say, who was the man Olive mentioned in her first letter to you, Jules? Douglass and someone? Benjamin?”

“Bernard. Benny Demarco.”

“That’s the one!”

“I’m sure he’d love that. He’s with Johnny right now…” At the mention of his name, the reminder of where he is waiting out the remainder of this dreadful war, Jules suddenly lets out a little weep. “Sorry, girls, it’s just…sometimes I just forget and it all comes flooding back to me.”

“Oh, darling,” Jo coos, holding her. “I understand.”

“We all do,” Jean squeaks, making herself scarce behind the heavy drape. Once in there, she herself lets a thick cry escape her throat, covering her mouth to muffle the sound. Of course she understands; those endless nights without her husband, waiting for a phone call or a sweet love letter - though those had become scarce these last few months. She can’t stop the tears falling down her rouged cheeks, mascara falling down her face in thick, black trails as she pulls her chosen gown on her tense body.

“Jean?” Jo calls, her voice still wavering with emotion.

“Yeah?” Jean croaks in reply, her voice cracking again. “Be right out.”

Before she can wipe her face and make her exit, Jo scrapes back the curtain to find her friend in a hell of a mess: eyes puffy and swollen, lips red from where she had bitten them to keep the wails at bay, a stress rash attacking her pale neck. “Jean, whatever is it?”

“I don’t know, I just feel–I feel like an imposter. And I feel like I’ve let you all down and–”

“Oh my goodness, darling, come here.” Jo scoops Jean up from almost falling, sitting down with her on the dressing room floor.

“I feel like I’ve failed you all.”

“Now, what on Earth are you talking about?”

“Here’s me saying I understand how you and Jules feel, yet what are we here for? To find me a pretty dress for my husband’s furlough. I feel like I just should keep my mouth shut. I feel so unfair towards you both and–”

“Now, Jean, that’s enough,” Jo replies sternly. “You are not to feel this way, do you understand? We are so happy for you, can’t you see that?” Jean nods, sniffing and wiping her tears away. “Of course we are a little envious - as would you be if it was Robbie coming home, not your Bing. The same would be said for if John were still with the fellas and he got furlough. You see?” There is a pause as Jean nods along, trying to formulate a sentence without her voice faltering. “While I am excited to see Croz, I do wish it were Robbie. I keep thinking about the life we were meant to start and he chose–”

It is Jean’s turn to comfort her friend, holding her close as they both weep together. “Look at the state of us,” Jean laughs, sniffling. “What a sight.”

“Yeah, well,” Jo weeps, pulling a handkerchief from her purse. “Nobody else I’d rather cry with, hon.”

“Me, too.”

“You’re my other half, Jean. Robbie is absolutely my soul mate, but you? Well, I thank this ghastly war for putting us together. You’re my person, Mrs Crosby. I am so blissfully happy for you.”

“Ditto. Jo?”

“Yes?”

“Love you.”

“Softie…I love you, too.”

***

Jean almost collapses all over again when she hears the price of the dress. After she and Jo had calmed down, Jo had buttoned her into it. It had fit her like a glove, the material clinging to her perfectly. “Jean!” Jo had gasped, hands on her cheeks. “You’ve got to have it!”

Now checking out, the price had taken Mrs Crosby aback just a tad. Rummaging in her purse for extra cash, Jo pointedly lays down a stack of notes. “Had a bit of a whip round,” she winks, placing a hand on top of Jean’s to stop her panicking. “It’s from all of us.”

“Josephine!” she gasps, clinging to her. “And girls, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, doll,” Jules replies. “I know Harry will fall to his knees the moment he sees you in that. Dare I say, you won’t be wearing it for long.”

“Juliet!” Vika urges, giggling nonetheless.

“What? Am I wrong?”

“Let’s hope not!” Jean replies, taking the dress’ garment bag from the teller. “Come on, I need a drink.”

***

The girls arrive back at Vika's family’s hotel just before nightfall, Jean carefully uncovering the hidden martini ingredients from her suitcase. “Sure is hard to keep cocktail making quiet,” she laughs as there is a sudden rap on the door.

“Shit,” Juliet giggles, stashing the bottles under the blankets. The four of them laugh like schoolgirls at a sleepover, Jean laying across the smuggled alcohol as Vika answers the door, shushing her friends.

“You need to stop!” she whispers, trying to be stern but the tone is cracked with a fit of giggles, Vika covering her mouth to stifle the laughter. “Girls, stop it, I’m going to crack a rib!” She waves her hand in front of them all, them all hushing immediately.

“Mammi,” she greets, her voice going an octave higher.

“Ruthvika,” she says, nodding towards the girls. “Please remember to keep it down, yes? We still have guests.”

“Yes, mammi, of course.”

Mrs Patel looks between her daughter and the girls, beginning to speak in Gujarati as her glance carries on going between them all. “Okay?” she finishes, walking towards the door. Vika nods again, running to open the door for her.

“Goodnight, Mrs Patel,” the girls all chorus, their warmth seeming to envelope the room. Jean can see that Vika feels it, her body seeming to relax the moment they speak.

“Goodnight, girls,” she replies, smiling at them.

Vika closes the door before leaning against it, exhaling and holding her chest dramatically. “That was close.”

“Sure was, doll,” Jules giggles, the bottles clanging as she pulls the blanket back. “Now, who’s up for a drink? We need to have one for our Mrs Crosby, who we are so excited for.”

“We certainly are,” Jules replies, holding on to Jean’s hand and grinning at her. “We love you, Mrs Croz. Truly.”

“And I love you all, too. So much.”

***

“This is it,” Jo says, as she and the group hear the whistle of a train in the distance. “Now, have you got everything?”

“I think so,” Jean replies, her voice tiny, tight and anxious. She chews at the inside of her mouth with worry, the nausea beginning to settle in with each moment the train draws closer.

“Enough of that, Mrs Croz,” Jo scolds as she sees her friend's eyes glaze over and continuously bite her lips. “You'll make yourself bleed.”

“Speaking of having everything,” Jules perks up, “do you have a book for the journey, doll?”

“I don't,” she squeaks, remembering the rushed packing she had done days ago. “I didn't even think of anything like that.”

“Well, luckily for you, I did!” She triumphantly smiles, pulling a small paperback out of her purse. “Thought you'd enjoy this one. It's one of my favorites - Olive’s too.”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Jean reads, stroking the titled cover. “Thank you, Juliet. So much.”

“And this is from Mammi,” Vika joins, handing her a small paper bag. “In case you get hungry on the way.”

“Oh, girls. Thanks ever so.”

The four of them look between one another, an awkward silence hanging in the air as Jean and Jo catch each other's eye.

“Come on, Ruthie,” Jules says, taking her by the arm. “Let's go wait inside, yes?”

“Fantastic idea. Bye, Jean!”

With Jean and Jo left alone for the first time in days, it takes everything in Jean to not break out into sobs. A moment of silence passes between them, the pair seemingly lost for words for the first time their entire friendship. Jean opens her mouth to say something, distracted by Jo pulling her into a tight hug.

“Have the most wonderful time, Mrs Croz.”

“Jo…I–I'm so sorry.”

“Enough of that, darling. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But…”

“No buts, lady. I'll see you soon, okay?”

“I'll miss you so much.”

“I'll miss you, too. But, believe me, this is a good thing,” she sighs, pulling out of the hug, but keeping her hands on Jean’s shoulders. “For both of us.”

“All aboard!”

Jo hands Jean her suitcases, Jean planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Love you, doll.”

“Love you more.”

***

The train carriage feels stiflingly hot, Jean removing every layer she possibly can while trying her best to look calm. Her jacket is flung onto the seat next to her, followed by her silk scarf and pretty gloves, sweat dripping down her back and making her unable to get comfortable in the plush seat. She tells herself to try and keep breathing, taking shaky inhales and exhaling them as the train chugs on. Jean pays no mind to the scenery zooming past. It has all suddenly become so real, the reality weighing on her that she is about to see her husband for the first time in years.

Would he still love her? she wonders, as she pulls the book Jules gave her from her bag. Would he still think she’s pretty? Would he even be the same man? She wasn’t the same woman, that much was certain - she felt she had grown in great strides since he had shipped out, learning so much about herself in the time they had been apart.

The words begin to blur together on the page, Jean barely able to make a sentence string together in her mind by the time the train stops. The conductor calls out their location: “This is Grand Central Station. This stop is Grand Central Station.”

She feels the nerves bubbling up in her gut, the butterflies causing her to become weak at the knees and she hopes they can hold her up long enough to disembark the train carriage. As her foot touches the ground of the platform, she cranes her head up in the hopes of spotting Bing on the platform, the station seemingly the busiest it’s ever been on today of all days.

It’s when she cuts through a group congregating around a bench that she spots him in the distance - his hair looks different: slicked back to the side, his usually tousled curls combed into some new found submission, not tumbling down his forehead carelessly like they used to. He stands taller, hands less fidgety and his aura less anxious. Jean finds herself frozen to the spot, jagged breaths leaving her parted lips as she takes him in for the first time in what feels like forever. She’s not even sure she recognizes him at first; his sweet face is a little more aged from the stress and horrors he’s endured since leaving for England. But it’s his eyes - those big, brown, downturned cow eyes that send her heart aflutter and make her brain register that it’s really him. Those same eyes light up in recognition, his mouth slightly agape as she sees his chest fall at the sight of her after all these years.

She begins to run, closing the smallest space that’s been between them in years and leaps into his arms.

“Darling,” she weeps, her throat closing as tears fall onto him. “Darling, darling,” she repeats, her arms wound tightly around his neck.

“Jean…oh, Jean,” he murmurs into her, holding her just as tightly. “Let me look at you.”

He places her down on the ground gently, as if he were touching a precious antique. “My goodness, Mrs Crosby,” he says, taking her chin in his hand. “I could just kiss the face off you.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she giggles, the sound cut off by her husband’s mouth capturing hers in a tender kiss, neither of them wanting it to cease.

“I love you,” he murmurs into her mouth, never breaking the affection. “I’m sorry I ever went away.”

“I love you, Binger,” she replies, kissing him over and over, not caring who is watching. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

taglist: @sagesolsticewrites @blakelysco-pilot @hephaestn @manonsmanicmind @derry-rain @bobparkhurst @archival-hogwash @lestweforget5 @butterfly9012 @ptvstvrrr

[therealslimshakespeare]

Tell us more about the “ Those who can” couples.

Who is the big spoon?

What is their favourite sleeping position?

What are their pet peeves?

What do they do to make their spouse feel better while they have a cold?

What is their favourite thing to do as a couple ?

Do they prank each other?

Their favourite thing to eat that their spouse finds disgusting

Who proposed and how?

I can’t think of anything else to ask 😆 If you have more things to add , please do! I really want to know more about them. Love you 🥰

Oh, oh this sparks such joy, I love asks like these. Even when I’m floundering over some aspects as I’ve not fully thought them out as yet. So these always delight me with giving these parts a bit more thought.

Who is the big spoon?

Gale and Maureen: oh I’d say Gale, 90% of the time. He loves holding her, winding his arms around her with hands folded and secure over her ribs, it’s just a very unified feeling for him and she fits right under his chin and she adores the feel of him pressed fully against her head to heel.

Rosie and Ida: these soft babes spoon facing each other, legs thrown over hips, arms slung around each other, forehead to forehead. Sometimes Ida ends up spooning him as she wiggles closers at night, hugging his broad back as she grew used to doing the same with Bucky in the stalag and it makes her feel more at ease than a man pressed at her back. Eventually that too, when it’s Rosie, becomes alright. But these two tend to face each other.

John Brady and Tilly Macon: no, you’ve not met them yet but they’re utterly adorable, longterm serendipitous penpals, and she’s the girl he asked to marry him one whole week stateside. Johnny’s the big spoon although this must be tempered with the admittance of his many nights per week he falls asleep with his head in her lap as she reads to him.

Bucky x Josephine: Jo 100% is the big spoon, there’s nothing more to say.

What is their favorite sleeping position

Gale & Maureen: he sleeps, like an angel, on his side, with his hands, folded beneath his head, pillow perfectly supporting his cervical spine, an orthopedist dream, meanwhile Maureen is tucked or clinging to any part of him she can get to, not unusual for her feet to be hanging off the bed so that she can burrow up into his chest, under his folded elbows 

Rosie & Ida: terrible insomniacs the both of them, usually fall asleep mid task, reading, Case files, stamp collecting, whatever it might be. I think this usually means Rosie falls asleep on his back, portfolio sliding off his chest, with Isa tucked under his arm.

John and Tilly: facing each other, clinging like twins, his chin atop her head or face in her boobs is legit their go to 

Bucky and Josephine: he conks out wherever, usually sprawled out like a spider, all over the bed, often face down on his stomach, like a madman, and Josephine, just sort of pillows her head on top of his shoulder blades, holding onto an arm

Pet peeves:

Gale and Maureen: hmm ok so if this is like a shared couple pet peeves, they get pretty annoyed at people who jump to assumptions when they know 7% of the facts. Both of them can be withering in such a scenario

Rosie and Ida: Waste. Waste of time, of energy, of sentiment, waste drives them both a little nuts and they’re not the funnest on vacation as a result

John and Tilly: the sort of people that can make the Rosenthal’s enjoy vacation, not because they themselves are such grand partiers or entertainers, they just bring a level headed peace to what could otherwise develop into a hysterics over beach chairs and hot dog condiment requirements. The Brady’s keep the small things small, and don’t sweat the little stuff. Which means they to get annoyed by people who sweat the little stuff, and being unabashed homebodies, will remove themselves from recreational hysterics

Bucky and Jo: selfishness in any form. Legit don’t have any room for that in the Egan house



What do they do to make their spouse feel better with a cold?

Gale & Maureen: hilariously, both of these babies get to an all time low level of pitiful when they’re sick. Gale will never admit it, but he will appear like he is dying -if stoically- from a small nose congestion unless he is pampered with all the stops pulled out. Which Maureen is more than happy to do for him. And the exact same goes for her.

Rosie x Ida: he’s a decent cook, particularly at nourishing soups, and he will compulsively change the sheets – moving her gently to the couch in between – in order to keep the room fresh and tidy so it’s a little less disgusting for her. She will make him take warm baths, bring him tea made to perfection and gives the best neck massagers that make him forget about anything unpleasant

Brady & Tilly: oh, they are so doting, this man would likely take off work, just tend to her, but if she insists that’s absurd then he will at the very least get up early to prepare the kettle, to bring her tissues, to have medicine and water by the bed, insists she use honey from the local farm nearby in her tea, and leaves her love notes scattered around and beneath her pillows. She makes his favorite recipes that his mama passed to her, watches his favorite shows with him, and often reads to him while running her fingers through his hair. Forces him to walk around a few times a day.

Bucky & Jo: he may not be the best caretaker, but he is an excellent listener, and he will give all his time. He is at her disposal, she just has to give the direction for what it is she needs. She, on the other hand forces him to actually take his medicines, warms up a pot of steaming water with mint in it, to make him hang his face over and breathe it in, and insists he actually lay down and actually rest -novel idea- since he feels like such trash. Only she could ever persuade him.

Do they prank each other?:

Gale x Maureen: she pranks him constantly, he does it every two years or more and yet is far more devastating at it 

Rosie x Ida: oh yes, of the competitive variety, not practical jokes so much is intellectual ones

Brady x Tilly: eh, no.

Bucky and Jo: yes, and only they find it funny

Their favorite thing to eat that the other finds disgusting:

Gale and Maureen: she eats fish eyeballs just to make him look at her like she’s lost officially lost it

Rosie and Ida: let’s just say she doesn’t assimilate to much of the Jewish tradition of cooking, ok? She tried desperately to be polite about it but at home? It’s rough. Meanwhile she grew an affinity for crawdads while living in Florida, and it makes Rosie shudder 

Brady and Tilly: his wife’s one flaw is her love of ketchup and how she tried to kiss him after imbibing it

Bucky x Jo: his wife enjoys vegetables and actually expects him to eat them, he swear cabbage gives him flashbacks 

Who proposes and how:

Gale x Maureen: not fully decided on this myself, but they have a talk in camp before his escape about being “it” for each other, that they love each other. I’m pretty sure Gale is the one to propose but it’s not a surprise sorta moment, it quite thought out and the wedding is very soon after coming home.

Rosie x Ida:: this man had to wage a field campaign to wear her down, to win her over and all the while she wanted it while also protesting that it would make them both miserable in the end yet he was having none of it. Shortly before going to Nuremberg he 100% pops the question in a well thought out but not overly produced manner, maybe a quiet dinner or over a drink while they’re working over hours in his cozy study. If she refused initially, he pops it again a few weeks later while flashing boat tickets for the both of them to go overseas and kick ass. By this point both their families are so invested in this happening, a quiet but inclusive ceremony isn’t hard to pull together in short order.

Brady and Tilly: sweet baby boy blurted it out at at the train station tey second his feet hit home soil and she gasped and said “yes yes one hundred times yes” and they got married two weeks later.

Bucky and Jo: she asked “so what are we Egan?” a month into dating and courting and after going home and talking with his mother, he bought a ring and caught Jo on her afternoon off and took her on a picnic and asked her to marry him.

Seeing as how I was SUPER long winded for all of this as is, I think I’ll chill out and not add more at this time but if you think of more, send them my way! I love these! ❤️

[jimothystu]

“The boys are heat!”

[crowley-the-1-true-king-of-hell]

A review of Spn 5x20 "The Devil You Know" as part of the Crowley tour

See the link for more information about what episodes are for what days

What I liked about the street light scene

Crowley being absolutely dramatic. I also really liked how Crowley briefly had a pleading look on his face when he said "please." Emotional vulnerability isn't something you see often in demons and I would have loved to see more of that. Although the vulnerability might have been fake, as I will talk about below

I also loved the humour in that scene. Crowley gives a dramatic monologue? and then he says he's under a spotlight, like he's performing on a stage. It's this crazy juxtaposition because Sam and Dean are treating this seriously like it's real life and Crowley is acting like he is under a spotlight and Dean had the audacity to give him bad reviews. When Dean gave him one star and a "holy crap we don't care" Crowley upped his drama game

Also lbr Crowley had a point that he didn't make Sam & Dean bring Jody and Ellen

I love how Crowley's expression doesn't change in the slightest even when Brady said Crowley would be tortured forever. You can just tell that even though Brady won't talk, Crowley is absolutely sure of himself as we will later find out

Dean being beat up as part of Crowley's plan. Oof. Ouch. I loved how Crowley was so determined for Brady not to suspect anything, that he wants Dean to look confused and unsure. That way Brady wouldn't see confidence on Dean's face and think there is something more going on. Crowley did this by giving Dean false information. Truly delightful. It reminded us that Crowley is still a demon even if he is on their side. Might also have been punishment for Dean not caring about his pain

It is so unfair we didn't get to see the demon hive fight. However given that his suit got ruined he did also get into close quarter combat. So we know he doesn't just have to rely on his powers. I believe the short middle age of Crowley's vessel as well as him being a salesman means demons tend to underestimate his fighting capability. This would also suggest that Crowley went to combat classes as a demon, and I find it so funny imagining Crowley doing weekly krav maga, MMA and other martial arts with other humans

Ah remember that expression Crowley had on his face when Brady told Crowley Satan would torture him forever? Well, it turns out that was Crowley being inspired by Brady's words about eternal torture. It shows us that Crowley is able to use rants from his enemy to inform and inspire strategic moves. He got information from Brady that Lucifer wouldn't let him die and he knew exactly what to do with it. This isn't the only time Crowley is able to do this

Mark Sheppard and Jim Beaver bounce off each other so well. All of their scenes together are amusing

I would give the Crowley parts a 9 out of 10. The missing star is because they didn't show the demon fight

[clemsfilmdiary]

The Night Strangler (1973, Dan Curtis)

8/4/24

[krlyrics]

Lyric CRAVITY - C'est La Vie

Album: EVERSHINEReleased date: 2024.2.26Lyrics by Jo YoonkyungComposed by Ryan Jhun, HUMBLER, Ryan Curtis, Jack Brady, Jordan RomanArranged by Ryan Jhun, HUMBLER, The Wavys Korean Lyric 때론 숨이 탁 막힐 듯 한Gimme all your timeSomewhere somehow너만을 향해 멈춘이 시선 넘친 마음이내 모든 삶인 걸믿게 돼 곧 넌하얗게 지울 상처 네 눈물감미로울 뿐인 taste내 몫인 게 당연해I’m kissing you 감지 마 두 눈거를 타선 없는 절경일 테니Falling down들여다 봐 봐 봐 our Babylon화려한 vibe vibe…

[tenth-sentence]

The children's surnames were changed to Hamilton-Byrne to further extend the bizarre Brady Bunch fantasy, and a fanciful flexibility was displayed with their first names.

"Zealot: A Book About Cults" - Jo Thornely

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Rating: Teen and Up

Warning Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Sam Winchesyer, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Gabriel, Jo Harvelle, OFC, Bobby Singer, OMC, Background Characters & Cameos

Relationships: Gabriel/Sam Wiinchester

Additional Tags: lawyer Sam, Detective Jo, Hunter Network is ran by Dean and Castiel,

On a cool night in Autumn at the foot of a shy-looking angel statue whose lips were slightly pursed holding calla lilies, there lay a man in a maroon jacket and black t-shirt wearing jeans and dark red cowboy boots–his wallet still in his back pocket and his cellphone in his maroon jacket. His eyes and mouth open wide, face pale with his arms strewn around him. If one were to look closely, his sternum revealed a small bloody wound, blood slowly soaking into the expanse of his shirt. The poor girl who found him holding a bouquet of roses in her hand, dropped them before she ran away screaming. Once in her car, she locked the doors before dialing 9-1-1. She was pale and in shock when the ambulance arrived followed minutes later by the local police.

When Homicide Detective Joanna Harvelle was called, she was asleep in bed with her long-term girlfriend, Jax. She quickly dressed, grabbed her gear, kissed her girlfriend goodnight, and left for the crime scene. She nodded at her fellow police officers before grabbing gloves and shoe booties. Upon crossing the “Do Not Enter” tape threshold, she surveyed the area for any obvious clues or oddities but nighttime made it nearly impossible to find any. Her partner, Detective James O’Malley, wanted to update her as she walked over to the victim but noticed her examining the statue and waited. Amelia Jones, the Lead Forensic Officer, was photographing the victim allowing Jo to see the body.

James began, “Victim is Jesse Seth Smith, male, 32, victim of a stabbing to the upper torso. Blade appears relatively thin and just barely pierced through the body, perhaps a small sword of some kind. He had his wallet and cellphone on him, so not a mugging.”

“Seems personal,” stated Amelia. “But that just seems to be from the facial expression and closeness of the attacker.”

“Hmm,” Jo hummed, noncommittally. She eyed his face. “Maybe it was just a surprise attack. It is night and other than noise, hard to see.”

Amelia and James nodded in agreement. “True,” said James.

The next day, Jo phoned Sam asking him to lunch to discuss a possible case for him. He agreed, excited to see one of his old friends. They met at their usual restaurant in a corner booth inside to allow for some privacy. Sam arrived first ordering drinks for them and waiting for Jo. When Jo arrived, she was hungry having missed breakfast as she tried to research the victim and studied the crime scene at the cemetery, which was not a big help.

She sat in the booth across from one of her closest friends and handed him the file folder of the case. The waiter came up asking for their order, and they ordered their usual meals.

Sam examined the case files and pictures as well as one picture of the statue. The statue reminded him of one of the few times he was in that cemetery.

Sam, Jess, and Brady stroll through Mercy Cross cemetery in their Stanford days. Sam and Jess holding hands with Brady as a tag-a-long to the side of Sam.

Jessica saw an angel statue in the distance and pointed at it. “That statue has a legend.” She continues once they are closer. “Some random artist claimed to have made the statue and moved it here but there was no evidence at the time but a legend was born from it. The legend says that if you kiss him ‘like a lover’ the statue wakes up. Thankful for being about to feel human emotions–the air on his skin, he grants you a wish.“

“That’s stupid”, Brady replies. His face scrunched and rolled his eyes.

Sam points at the statue and the amount of lipstick on it, “People kiss him like they’d kiss a man, but maybe, angels get kissed differently.”

Jess asks, “How you would kiss an angel?”

Jessica’s question lingers in his mind as he looks at the photos. “Can you send me a copy?” Inquired Sam. “I’ll forward it to Dean too.”

“Of course. I’ll email you tonight.”

“Thanks.”

That evening when Sam received the email, he forwarded the information to Dean who started research at the Men of Letters bunker library. That weekend Sam spent the weekend there as they researched angels, and various religious texts, and tried to identify who the angel could be.

Sam returns to the bunker that weekend to find it empty. He texted Dean asking if he was on a case. It was a few hours into his research on angels that he received a reply:

On a case with Cas. Weird shit. Should be back tomorrow. Will update then, Bitch.

Sam chuckled, grinning, and replied:

Ok. Tell Cas I said hi. Stay safe, Jerk.

Unfortunately, there was nothing in the former Men of Letters, North America division bunker that connected angels and kissing or much on relationships other than missions, duties, wars, and even being able to use certain humans as “vessels”. He’s been researching this on and off for the last three weeks.

After having lunch, he decided to change directions and delved into lore that included kissing—maybe it’s about the kissing part and not the divine aspect.

He began by dissecting the legend:

“If you kiss him ‘like a lover’ the statue wakes up, and thankful for being able to feel human emotions and air on his skin, he grants you a wish.”

“Nothing actually grants you wishes. There’s always a price,” Sam mumbled to himself. He tapped the pen on his lips as he skimmed through the card catalog.

“Kiss, kisses, kiss of death, true love’s kiss, Cupid’s kiss—Metamorphosis’ Psyche and Cupid’s love story, mmm, a kiss under the mistletoe, Aphrodite’s kiss, Angel kisses—doesn’t mean shit and useless information, Demon Deals and Kissing—probably already know but…eh, kiss of life, mmm, Rusalka’s kiss—hmm….ok, let’s see what I can find.” Sam goes and selects the books referenced in the various topics, then begins reading.

“Wait, kiss like a lover and the statue wakes up. Sleeping Beauty? Snow White? It’s a fairytale?” Sam hummed in thought as he contemplated changing directions. “Angels don’t kiss like humans. They don’t normally have bodies.” He continued going through the books.

“Rusalka’s kiss seems more like the Little Mermaid but more violent for all parties. Huh, kiss of death. Mmm, no.” Sam puts the book away.

“Metamorphosis didn’t help either.” He pursed his lips and tapped at them with his brows furrowed in thought.

“True love’s kiss isn’t real. Those are all in fairytales and some are…yuck.” He continued to read the books without much luck and decided to call it a night. Once the books were put away, he headed out to the cemetery to visit the statue.

He carefully dealt with the area to make sure he didn’t disturb anything before examining the statue. He took his own pictures all around the area and the statue. He stared at the statue’s lips—his heart rate picked up, his palms were sweaty and his eyes squinted, confusion crossed his face.

It’s a statue.

Sam’s hazel eyes never left the lips as he contemplated if he should try to kiss it. Nothing in the lore so far showed it’d come true, the legend. He shrugged, stepped in front of the angel, his thighs brushing the platform, and hesitated a moment before leaning forward pecking the statue's lips. Humming disapprovingly, he huffed and pressed his lips to the statue’s again, lingering and gentle. He stepped away and nothing happened.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, sighing heavily. “Do you even want to be kissed?” He asked aloud. He stepped forward and traced the tip of his index finger down the statue’s neck and bared shoulder. The urge to fix the angel’s tunic lingered before he pulled his hand away and shook it, the urge to cover and protect the angel feeling quickly faded. He pursed his lips, shook his head, and turned to head back to the car.

The research went on for nearly three weeks in between Sam’s day job before another victim was discovered near the statue. The next day, Jo advised Sam of the second victim and gave him the updated information as well as more pictures.

“It’s the same weapon,” stated Dean. He put a book down in front of Sam revealing an odd-looking blade. “Technically, a short sword, barely but it’s an archangel blade.”

“You think that could be the state of an archangel?”

“I mean it makes sense.”

“Which one?”

“Bobby knows more about angels than me and has more books on it than we do here. I’ll forward the info to him and see if he can find out which one it is.”

In the meantime, Sam and Jo would have lunch once a week to update each other on the case. The last time, Jo brought her girlfriend, Jax, with her. Sam, ever the gentleman stood and offered his hand as they arrived.

“Nice to meet you, Jax,” Sam said with a smile as they sat down in their, now, usual booth.

“Sorry to surprise you,” apologized Jo. “This is related to the case.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Oh.”

“Go ahead. I promise he will believe you, babe.” Jo took Jax’s hand under the table, squeezing it.

The waiter came up, a smile on his face. “What can I get for you folks?”

“Water with lemon, please,” responded Jax.

“Diet Coke,” offered Jo.

“Half and Half iced tea, please,” informed Sam.

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks,” the three said in unison.

“We can wait until after we order our food,” offered Sam.

“Probably best. I’m sure you’ll have questions,” advised Jax.

Sam smiled and nodded as they waited for their drinks.

When the drinks arrived, Jo stated they were ready to order and advised how the check should be cut.

“Of course,” confirmed the waiter.

Jo and Sam ordered their usuals. Jax ordered a muffuletta.

“Don’t think I’m kissing you until you brush your teeth and tongue, toots,” condemned Jo.

“Well, I better get them now, huh?” Jax playfully admonished. She leaned forward and chastely kissed Jo.

Sam looked at the case file, trying to not make it any more awkward, as his cheeks heated up. The two women were surprisingly loud in their small makeout session. Thankfully, the restaurant was always fast making their lunch

“Ooo, you go girls,” said the waiter with a wide, toothy grin.

The two women chuckled.

The waiter leaned over to Sam and squeezed his shoulder. “Ever the gentleman.Mmmm.” He winked at Sam as he headed back to the kitchen.

“Ooo,” teased Jo. “I think you just got hit on.”

Sam rolled his eyes and stabbed into his salad before taking a bite. Once he was done chewing and took a sip of his drink. He cleared his throat. “We’re here on business, Jo.”

“Maybe you should ask him,” recommended Jax.

He glanced at the waiter and then back to the girls. “If I did, it wouldn’t be in front of you two. You’d just make a huge deal of it.”

“It is a big deal though. I mean now that you’re fully authentic, Sam. You know there is nothing wrong with guys but I know you haven’t tried really dating one yet either.” She leaned toward him and whispered. “Fucking them isn’t dating, Sam.”

His face grew warm again as he took a sip of his iced tea.

“Aww, the baby gay is shy. That’s adorable,” whispered Jax.

“I’m not gay,” corrected Sam. “I’m pansexual.”

“You’re a baby gay, Sam. You’re new to this part of the community and you’re looking for men to try out as well as maybe have a romantic relationship. It’s ok. We all gotta start somewhere,” Jo tried to soothe him.

He scoffed, giving her one of his signature bitchfaces “Can we get back to the case, please?”

She grinned and nodded, then looked at Jax.

Jax put down her sandwich and drank her water before clearing her throat. “Jo says you deal with weird, crazy stuff, like supernatural stuff.”

Sam nodded, remaining silent.

“Well, I can–I can hear–,” She paused and took another sip before continuing. “Angels. They’re not spirits. I’ve tried everything I can to check, including going to other psychics who are more powerful than me.”

Sam’s face remained stoic and glanced at Jo. Her attention was fully on Jax with their hands beneath the table. Sam smiled slightly at this, happy Jo found her person.

“I can hear them, and sometimes, I interact with them. It’s rare but I did when I was much younger,” she explained. “The thing is I’ve researched angels as well as what I’ve heard. I’m a Pagan and a–”

“It’s ok,” cooed Jo. “You’re safe.”

“I’m a witch. I practice witchcraft but nothing bad. It’s more protection and helping people.”

“Cool,” replied Sam, wanting to show Jax she was safe with him.

“I’ve researched all the Abrahamic religions that I could get my hands on: Judaism, Christianity, Islam, even the Baha’i Faith. The polytheistic ones don’t view angels as angels. They exist but with different names as well as different sorts of references to them,” she advised.

He nodded. “Makes sense. I’ve done some of my own research but good points on checking polytheistic religions. I’ll add that to my list to check.”

Jax smiled, proudly. “Anyway,” she began again. “Angels don’t kiss like humans. They rarely come down to Earth without a mission.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Unlike humans—“ she took a deep breath. “Angels have soulmates. They have either other supernatural beings or humans they are fated to be with.” Jax remained silent for a moment before taking another bite of her sandwich.

Sam had a lot to think about. “Thank you for trusting me and sharing this with me. I really appreciate it,” he thanked Jax. “Thanks,” he said to Jo.

“Of course.”

The next day was uneventful until near dinner time when Sam received a call from Bobby Singer.

“Hey, Bobby, What’s up?”

“It’s an angel blade, specifically an archangel sword,” Bobby replied without explanation.

“What?”

“Your email about those murders. The statue in the cemetery is the Archangel Gabriel and the murder victims are being killed with an archangel sword. It sounds like maybe that sword and statue are tied.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Whoa.”

“Yep. I’m gonna take some pics of text and email them to you. I’ll include the book titles in case you got them, there in the bunker.”

“Thank you, Bobby. Really appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

What Sam never mentioned to anyone is that he drives by that cemetery every day to and from work. He decided to drop by and examine the area around the Archangel statue tonight but got a surprise instead: he stumbled upon victim number three. He quickly checks her pulse and finds none. It seems she’s been here for maybe thirty minutes or so if the temperature of her body reads right. He called Jo and waited for the police. He examined the woman: she was a voluptuous woman with beautifully soft brown hair in ringlets and tanned skin in a cute black dress ruined by the blood pooling on her chest and around her from the small wound in her sternum. He started snapping pictures of the woman and around the statue as he waited without touching the victim. His chest ached at the loss.

In the wooded area of the cemetery, a man in black stood in the shadows of the trees watching Sam, examining him.

Nearly ten minutes passed when police sirens were heard in the distance and Jo ran up to Sam a few minutes later, checking on him. Sam, of course, was fine and started updating Jo about what happened and why he was there.

The man in the shadows ran off, deeper into the woods, disappearing before anyone noticed.

About two hours later, the police were done and the Forensics team was done. Sam had given his statement to Jo and a few other police officers. The assistant coroner dropped by confirming the victim was dead before the ambulance carted her off to the coroner’s office morgue.

Sam headed home, took notes, and updated Dean on the third victim. Jo, later that night, texted Sam stating that Forensics confirmed the same weapon and confirmed that the police were treating this as a serial killer case since the m.o. is identical. Three victims make a pattern even though the victims seem to have no known connections.

At work the following day, Sam researched the victims in his own legal databases and with the courts where he found that all three were acquitted due to lack of evidence or witnesses for potential crimes that were committed.

The first victim, Jesse Seth Smith, in Jesse Smith v. City of Stanford, CA where he was charged with fraud. Somehow the evidence disappeared and the case was acquitted due to lack of evidence.

The second victim, Jonah Lawrence Tracker, in Jonah Tracker v. City of Stanford, CA where he was charged with identity theft and fraud; however, the person’s identity, Lawrence Jackson, he stole disappeared, so the case was acquitted due to lack of witness.

The latest victim, Michelle Amanda Jones, in Michelle Jones v. City of Stanford, CA where she was charged with aggravated assault had the case dismissed due to the victim changing their mind on pressing charges.

Sam’s gut told him this information was relevant but he did not know how.

That following weekend when Sam headed back to the bunker, he was greeted by Dean teaching Castiel to make bread. He grinned at his older brother and their best friend covered in flour. There was a fight at some point but they didn’t want to waste their dough, so it was extra ingredients instead.

“I ain’t cleaning that up,” advised Sam, chuckling.

“Of course not, Sam. Dean and I will be cleaning this up,” Cas stated matter-of-factly.

Dean quirked a brow at the angel and rolled his eyes before focusing on his little brother.

“How’s the research?” Asked Dean.

“Not sure. Bobby said the statue was of the Archangel Gabriel. I did research of the three victims legally and found each one was acquitted.”

“Ah,” acknowledged the Angel as he continued to knead the bread. “Perhaps the killer is seeking justice where there was none. Gabriel is known for being a quite righteous archangel who had a peculiar sense of justice.”

“Peculiar, how?”

“Such as if a criminal were to rob someone of their belongings, Gabriel would have their victim win the lottery, so the criminal would attempt to rob them, again only to arrange for them to be caught with all evidence needed or killed by their greed, such as literally choking on money or jewelry. If a criminal were to lie and harm another because of it, then he would probably make it to where the criminal would only be able to speak the truth until they received justice or be killed.”

“But that isn’t what the serial killer is doing, it’s more like sacrifices to the statue,” informed Sam.

“So, it probably isn’t Gabriel that’s killing people. Everyone has their own ideas or sense of justice, Sammy. Maybe, the killer wanted to exact justice themselves to ensure it is done or to honor the statue.” Dean offered.

Sam hummed. “Perhaps.”

Sam didn’t return to the statue until the following week. He dropped by the squad car with coffee and pastry snacks for the police officers watching the cemetery before he walked up towards the crime scene. The police had decided to close off the cemetery at night since all three murders occurred then. Thanks to Jo, he had special permission to enter the area to aid in the investigation. This isn’t the first time he has worked as a liaison with the police and as a defense attorney for the city. It was helpful to have good friends with the same sense of justice as he.

He remained vigilant entering the grounds. He had not forgotten about the person in the woods when he discovered the third victim. While he was armed with a gun under his suit coat and a knife at his ankle, he was unsure if he could handle a sword without one with him, but who carries one around with them?

Sam was correct to be wary as he approached the statue for he was being watched by the same individual in the woods next to the Mercy Cross Cemetery. He carefully approached it, reexamining the area and the statue itself.

“Why would anyone think you’re real, Gabriel?” Sam asked aloud. Of course, he received no response. He felt drawn to the statue, and his curiosity peaked. He reached out, his fingertips tracing the statue’s face and lips, lingering on the Archangel’s lips. “What am I to do with you?” He pushed away how he felt drawn to the statue, confusing as it was, until now. He still didn’t know why but even the pictures he had taken, didn’t do it justice. In person, it’s as if Gabriel is alive and just waiting for something.

A branch cracked to his left, he turned to look at it and was blindsided by a punch to the jaw, knocking Sam prone beside the statue. The man, dressed in a black shirt, matching jeans, and sneakers swung the sword down. Thankfully, Sam recovered quickly with his hunter reflexes and rolled away. “Fuck!” Sam exclaimed as he got to his feet, only to tumble back with the speed of his attacker. Sam saw the man’s face, his eyes glowed golden as he bared his teeth and growled.

“What the–?!” Sam started to crab walked back and rolled to the side. His attacker practically flailed the sword. He did the only thing he could think of and prayed:

Gabriel! GABRIEL! HELP! FUCK! If you’re awake, get your ass over here and stop this guy from killing me!

Sam’s hazel eyes remained on his attacker as he remained supine, working with all his strength and speed to avoid getting hurt. He noticed his attacker did not react as if he heard Sam’s prayer; however, a brilliant white-blue light blinded the area. Sam took advantage and got up, running into the woods as he watched the man with the sword stare at the once statue, now living Archangel Gabriel. He was a perfect, colored version of the statue:

Blonde hair swept to the side that complimented glowing golden tanned skin, matching golden eyes glanced at the murderer before looking to Sam. Gabriel’s skin seemed to be glowing from within emphasizing the white of the toga that fell to just below his knees. His feet were bare against the crunch of dead leaves and frost.

Sam felt his chest warm, a feeling of familiarity and safety enveloped him when he met Gabriel’s eyes.

Upon the first step Gabriel took towards Sam, the murderer fell to his knees. “My Lord!”

Gabriel turned back around, face slack looking at the bowed head of the human in front of him with a quirked brow. The Archangel noticed the blade in the human’s hand. “How the fuck did you get that?” Quickly, Gabriel bent down meeting the man’s eyes, aglow. “That, dickhead.” He wrenched the hilt from the human’s hand. “Is mine.” The human’s eye quickly went out, his hands covered his eyes and screamed as if in pain.

Gabriel suddenly snapped his fingers, everything stood still. The silence was deafening–no wind, no city sounds, no animals, nothing. He leaned forward, reaching out his hand, and rested it on top of the man’s head. The man’s form suddenly streaked with a golden glow as if lightning moving upward, as if crawling, into Gabriel’s hand.

Sam watched, this felt familiar too, but he couldn't remember why. The glowing gold streaks, like lightning, were gone nearly as quickly as they appeared. The man, the murderer, eyes rolled in the back of his head as his mouth fell open as if a silent scream before he fell unconscious on the ground. Gabriel stood there a moment, his head tilted staring at the man before turning back around. He looked back to Sam, silent.

Sam slowly approached the Archangel with a hesitant smile. “Thank you,” he quietly said. Gabriel nodded with a small smile on his pale pink lips. His golden eyes were soft as he looked up at Sam. Sam stuck his hands in his pants pockets, his shoulders high around his ears as he glanced down before stopping about a foot from the former statue.

Gabriel smirked, dropping his sword that Sam never heard hit the ground. When his hazel eyes glanced down, the sword was nowhere to be found. The Archangel shrugged at Sam’s squinting eyes. Gabriel glanced at Sam’s lips then his platform.

“Before you go,” Sam began. Gabriel looked back to Sam, dark blonde eyebrows raised. “Could I, uh….” He pressed his lips together before he tried again. “Could I have a kiss?”

Gabriel grinned, teeth perfect and white like anyone would expect from an Archangel, and nodded.

Gabriel reached his hand towards Sam’s face. Sam walked straight to the Archangel whose hand cupped his cheek. The feeling of familiarity strengthened upon the touch. The warmth in Sam’s chest practically burned as if he desired the angel. He opened his mouth, which Gabriel took as an invitation, and pressed his lips to the human’s mouth.

The moment their lips touched, Sam’s eyes glowed a matching gold as memories played in his mind in mere seconds. Old memories of his love for Gabriel were finally remembered.

Gabriel gasped and pulled back at the recognition. “It’s you,” he whispered in relief.

Sam grinned, quickly catching the archangel’s hand in his own hand as he recognized his soulmate. “Gabriel?” Sam’s brow furrowed, mouth open, and took a step forward to reach grab his shoulder. Sam bent down and recaptured Gabriel’s lips with his, slanted. Their eyes fluttered closed as the two reunited. Gabriel’s hands pulled Sam down to him and wrapped his arms around his human’s shoulders. Sam’s hands slide down to Gabriel’s upper back, pushing the Archangel against his chest.

When Sam pulled back, he rested his forehead against Gabriel’s. “I’m so sorry it took me so long, Gabe.”

“No, no. You didn’t know,” Gabe soothed as tears fell down his cheeks. “All is forgiven, Love.”

Sam chuckled, wetly. “No wonder you were waiting for the perfect kiss.” He leaned forward and rubbed his nose against the Archangel, an affection remembered from millennia past.

Gabe grinned and sniffed.

Sam understood now–it doesn’t matter where you have to kiss your angel, so long as you kiss them with fondness and love.

@spnsabrielbang

Written by @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

Art by @bakh-meliorism

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: A murder has occurred at the foot of the legendary angel statue in Mercy Cross cemetery and Sam is called in for help from an old friend.

The inspiring art piece

[goodnightoilcountry]

jo's nhl fic rec list !

hi - welcome to my attempt at being a fic writer again. i have a wip list in the works but first things first: my fic rec list of all the works i've found and adored.

if you don't know yet, you will know soon that i am such a sucker for angst. i hope you find something new to love from the list below !

how to navigate

i update this list weekly (try to) and place all the new fic recs at the top under NEW.

when searching for a specific player, they will always be listed under their current team.

* updated sunday 17 november 2024 *

weekly note: very tiny, tiny update for this list this week but i hope it's enjoyable nonetheless 🤍

like my selection of fic recs? have a player who's not been featured? let me know and i'll go on a deep dive for you!

NEW

with or without you (jack hughes) by @nhlclover summary: jack grapples with overwhelming guilt after betraying you, struggling to reconcile his love with the mistake that threatens to destroy your relationship. word count: 3.5k

dress (juraj slafkovsky) by @nhlclover summary: caught up in a secret romance with juraj, you find yourself toeing the line between desire and discretion. total word count: 2k

all's fair in love and war (quinn hughes) by @nhlclover summary: trevor invites you to a lakehouse for the summer, attempting to set him up with his friend. however, the summer doesn't go to plan when you meet his older brother who captures your eye and flips everything upside down. word count: 11.6k

FIC REC MASTERLIST

total number of fics: 171

anaheim ducks fic rec list players: trevor zegras

carolina canes fic rec list players: andrei svechnikov - jack drury - pyotr kotchekov - sebastian aho - seth jarvis - tyson jost

colorado avs fic rec list players: cale makar - nathan mackinnon

detroit red wings fic rec list players: jt compher

florida panthers fic rec list players: matthew tkachuk

montreal canadiens players: juraj slafkovsky

nashville preds fic rec list players: brady skjei

new jersey devils fic rec list players: jack hughes - luke hughes - nico hischier

new york islanders fic rec list players: mat barzal - matt martin

philadelphia flyers fic rec list players: erik johnson - jamie drysdale

pittsburgh penguins fic rec list players: anthony beauvillier - michael bunting - sidney crosby

toronto maple leafs fic rec list players: auston matthews - mitch marner - william nylander

utah hc fic rec list players: clayton keller

vancouver canucks fic rec list players: arturs silovs - brock boeser - quinn hughes

ALL OUR WONDERFUL WRITERS

thank you to all the incredible fic writers on this godforsaken app ! i am always so in awe of how creative people are and am constantly inspired by your minds ! i can't wait to find more of you on here 🤍

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[deancasbigbang]

Title: twin flame bruise

Author: stayawake

Artist: NeverSleepUntilFive

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Present: Sam/Eileen, Bobby/Ellen, Layla/David, Donna/Doug Past: John/Mary, Ellen/Bill, Dean/Cassie, Dean/Lisa, Cas/Balthazar, Bobby/Karen Mentioned: Chuck/Naomi, Jess/Other, Brady/Ruby

Length: 55000

Warnings: None

Tags: Soulmate AU, Friends to Lovers, Poet!Cas, Bartender!Cas, Bartender!Dean, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - No Supernatural Elements

Posting Date: October 28, 2024

Summary: All Dean wants is a happily ever after with his soulmate. He meets Cas, an aspiring poet who ran away from his life as a law school student. Dean feels an instant connection with the guy despite the fact that they aren't soulmates. It's fine. They can maintain a friendship while Dean continues the hunt for his soulmate. Absolutely no flaws in that plan whatsoever.

Excerpt: “Who’s the dude behind the bar?”   Jo glances over her shoulder and then back at Dean. “New bartender. Castiel. He’s nice, but I don’t think he’s ever worked in a bar before.”   “Castiel?”   Jo just shrugs, walking over to the bar. Dean follows her and stops in his tracks when Castiel looks up at them. Dean’s drowning in a world of blue and he never wants to come up for air again. It’s not the first time Dean’s looked at someone and thought this could be my soulmate, but it is the first time Dean prays he’s right.   “Castiel, this is Dean,” Jo gestures to him. “He’ll be the one training you tonight.”   “Just Cas is fine.”   “It’s nice to meet you, man,” Dean says, holding out a hand.   A handshake may be a strange form of greeting between two bartenders, but Dean’s just looking for an excuse to touch this guy. He can picture it so easily, their hands meeting, and each other’s names appearing on their skin. It would be right, it would be perfect, and then one day they can tell their children the story about meeting in a bar.   Dean’s heard plenty of soulmate meeting stories and knows that the mark will appear on their left ring fingers within a few moments of the first touch, so it’s disappointing when he pulls his hand away and notes his skin is still blank.   He tries to hide his disappointment. Looks like this Cas guy isn’t his soulmate after all. Dean tells himself he’s fine with that, no matter how handsome this guy is.   He slips into bartender mode, dedicates downtime between customers to show Cas the ropes and narrates what he’s doing whenever he makes a drink. Cas stands back, quiet for the most part as he watches Dean. Dean isn’t a stranger when it comes to training new employees, but he finds himself continuously distracted because he just wants to keep looking at Cas. Something about the guy makes Dean want to never look away. Too bad they're not soulmates. He has a feeling he could spend a lifetime looking at the guy and it still wouldn't be enough.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[sagesolsticewrites]

Yes, Captain

John Brady x Juliet Thompson (OFC)

a/n: in honor of Ben’s post on his Instagram story yesterday… that cheeky lil shit was saying " I am the captain now" and all I could think was "yeah you are 😩🫡" here’s a thing I’ve been working on for longer than I care to say lmao

word count: 3.5k

warnings: mature content (fingering, oral [f receiving], unprotected P in V sex [wrap it before you tap it!], use of titles [Captain]), generally just John Brady being feral for his wife and Jules being feral in return 🤭 enjoy~

@winniemaywebber @ginabaker1666

Masterlist

“Honey!” Juliet calls as she scrambles to get the essentials into her purse, “Are you almost ready? We should’ve left—”

The reminder that they’re already running late for a 100th Bomb Group reunion dies on her lips as John steps out of their room in his crisp, clean uniform, medals and ribbons shining on his Class A.

“I’m coming, sweetheart, I’m coming,” John Brady assures his wife as he adjusts his tie, hat tucked neatly under his arm, “Is my tie straight?”

She can only nod, eyes wide as she takes in the glory that is her husband in uniform. It takes her a moment to remember how to speak— can you blame her?— but eventually a soft, appreciative “You look very nice, Captain,” slips out, a heated undertone weaving through the words, lingering on his rank.

She’s learned to read him very well over their months of marriage, and so she can see exactly what kind of effect her words have on him as he takes a shaky breath in and out, deft fingers fumbling with the knot of his tie.

Juliet can’t help but grin, a thrill running through her at the effect she has on him, until his hands are on her waist, pulling her close.

“You look lovely, Jules,” he says lowly, “But if you knew how much I wanted to rip this off of you…” His voice trails off in a warning as his fingers trace over the deep red fabric of her swing dress, and her breath catches, her knees turning into jelly as his lips just barely brush over hers.

“But I know we’re already running late,” he continues, all business as he pulls away save for the teasing glint in his eyes, “So that will just have to wait for when we get home.”

Her jaw drops as he slips his keys and wallet into his pocket, turning expectantly to her as he waits by the door.

“Johnny, that’s not fair,” she whines even as they step out into the warm evening, his arm draping easily around her shoulders.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, my love,” John grins, opening the passenger door for her to slide onto the bench seat before slipping over to the drivers side, “Now let’s go, I’m sure the ladies are waiting for us so you all can start your gossiping.”

“I never gossip, John Brady, and I have absolutely no idea where you got that notion,” Juliet says primly, the effect utterly ruined by the grin on her face that tells him she has plenty to tell her friends once they arrive.

“Oh! And did you hear—”

Whatever Jo heard, Jules will never know, because her husband chooses that exact moment to make eye contact with her from across the room and very deliberately adjust his tie, a dangerous heat simmering in his blue eyes that makes Jules grip the bar she’s leaning against just a bit tighter to hide the sudden weakness in her knees and down the rest of her drink in one gulp. 

Lord, this man was going to be the death of her. She had felt his eyes on her all night, anticipation straining between them like a string stretched almost to its breaking point.

She waits patiently for a break in the conversation to flag down the bartender for a refill when someone in a familiar dress jacket sidles up next to her, pressing a fresh lemon drop into her hand. 

“For the pretty lady.”

She turns, smiling at her husband.

“Thank you, Johnny.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He brings his hand to rest at the small of her back as he effortlessly joins the conversation while Juliet sips at her drink, his hand subtly drifting lower and lower as the night goes on.

As she sets the empty glass down on the bar, John catches her gaze with a regretful look.

“Sweetheart, I hate to do this, but… do you think we could slip out a little early? I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

“Oh honey, I’m sorry,” Jules pouts, doing her best to ignore the warm hand resting sinfully low on her back, “Yes, of course let’s get you home.”

They bid a quick farewell to their friends and the rest of the 100th crew— the knowing smiles of Olive, Val, and the rest of the girls going unnoticed as they hurry out— and as soon as they’re out of sight Juliet tugs him into a fierce, heated kiss.

“You,” she gasps into his mouth, “are an absolute menace, John Brady. Faking a headache, really?”

“Who, me?” He grins as he pulls away, hands remaining firm on her hips for the moment to hiss in her ear a teasing “Never.”

A soft, desperate sigh tumbles from Juliet’s mouth as John’s lips brush against the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“Johnny,” she breathes with a gentle, insistent squeeze of his arm.

He pulls back to meet her gaze, pupils blown wide and growing wider at her next words.

“Take me home.”

He ushers her to the car faster than she could’ve imagined, pulling her close so she’s pressed flush against him the whole drive home. John takes every shortcut he can remember at startling speed, though most of Juliet’s attention is on his hand resting possessively on her thigh, tracing patterns indecently close to her core but never touching it.

She’s pulled into the house as soon as the car is parked, John’s hands firm on her hips as he presses her back against the door.

“Johnny—”

She’s cut off by his lips crashing onto hers, stealing the air wholly from her lungs.

“Do you have any idea,” John’s voice is ragged as he drags hot, open-mouthed kisses across her skin, “what you’ve been doing to me all night?”

All she can do is let out a desperate whimper as he continues unraveling her.

“You in this dress,” he growls, bunching the offending fabric in his hands as he presses every inch of himself against her, and she lets out a ragged gasp as the heat building in her core intensifies, “Having to act like I didn’t want to drag you back home the second we got there, couldn’t keep my eyes off you the whole time…”

His mouth lands roughly back on hers, and Juliet reciprocates with equal enthusiasm as she clumsily fumbles with the buttons of his Class A jacket.

Her squeak of surprise is swallowed as John effortlessly lifts her into his arms, his mouth never leaving hers as her legs lock instinctually around his waist, her favorite red heels tumbling noisily to the floor at the action. He stumbles up the stairs, one arm supporting her while the other splays across her back, nimble fingers blindly undoing the buttons of her dress. Juliet’s hands slide up to bury themselves in his hair, nails raking sweetly across his scalp as her husband makes a swift ascent to their bedroom.

She’s pressed up against the wall in short order with a muffled gasp of his name, her feet settled back on the ground at the squeeze of John’s hands at her hips.

The sight that greets her as he pulls away is one that won’t be leaving her mind anytime soon.

Her husband’s pupils are blown wide, sweet blue eyes nearly black with desire, chest heaving, pulling air in through deliciously kiss-swollen lips that are now smeared with Juliet’s red lipstick.

“You look stunning, sweetheart. I don’t think I told you that enough tonight,” John murmurs tenderly, a timbre that has Juliet’s heart melting, then shifts into a low, heated tone as his hand slips around her back to continue his work with her buttons, “But this dress needs to come off now.”

She reaches back to help as he makes quick work of the fastenings, her dress and half slip soon pooled around her feet. Juliet steps out of them and nudges the clothing to the side, butterflies flurrying in her belly at John’s appreciative gaze dragging over her figure.

“See something you like?” She teases, fingertips gliding softly up and down his forearm.

“You know I do, Jules,” her husband breathes, yanking her close as his head dips towards her, his lips skimming across her cheeks to press a path of slow, hot kisses down her neck.

Her breath hitches as his lips move lower, dragging over the hollow of her throat, her collarbone, just brushing the edge of her brassiere, her head falling back against the wall with a soft thunk that’s just on the edge of her awareness.

Looking up at her through his lashes to scan for any hesitation, upon seeing none John makes quick work of her brassiere fastening, letting the fabric fall to the floor as his eyes soak in the view. The groan that leaves his mouth at the sight is nothing compared to the feeling of his mouth finally on her, tongue swirling hungrily around her nipple as she takes the Lord’s name in vain several times over, her husband’s name tacked on in a whimper at the end. His mouth drags over her for what feels like hours, leaving no inch of skin untouched as he carefully kisses his way down her stomach. Having carefully slipped her other undergarments off, his fingers linger delicately over the gap of skin just above her pantyhose, unclipping the thin fabric from her garter belt before carefully rolling it down and discarding it, repeating the agonizingly slow action on the other side.

Once both of his wife’s legs are revealed to him, John kneels between them and presses a gentle kiss to Juliet’s right knee, brushing a path up her thigh, soft whimpers and pleas tumbling from her lips as he works his way towards her core.

The pleas become louder and more frequent as he turns his attention to her other leg, repeating the process before pausing at the apex of her thighs… if only to tease her for a moment.

A whimper of “Johnny, please” tumbles from Juliet’s lips, a plea to get him to do something, anything to relieve the ache building in her core.

She lets out a cry as her pleas are answered, and…

She doesn’t mean to let it slip, truly. It was something she called him only in her head on especially lonely nights when he was away, and she had never really planned for him to know about it. But now she’s feeling positively drunk on the sight of John Brady in his dress uniform, silver bars shining on his collar, sinking to his knees in front of her, the intoxicating mix of her husband’s lips worshiping every inch of her skin, the soft mumbles of praise falling from his lips, and the careful control he’d nearly lost once they’d arrived home making her skin tingle, and it’s as she finds purchase in his hair to tug him closer that it spills out.

“Oh god, Captain—”

There’s a sharp inhale from between her legs, the proximity of it to a very sensitive part of her making her jolt as John freezes, dark blue eyes darting to meet her green.

Slowly, he leans back just enough so she can see his face, his expression unreadable.

“What did you call me, angel?”

Juliet’s mind is going haywire, alarm bells ringing as she imagines every worst possible scenario resulting from her stupid slip up.

“I—”

“Say it again.”

Wait… what?

Her confusion and overactive mind must be crystal clear on her face, because John swoops in to distract her the best way he knows how.

He brushes his lips softly against her hipbone, scattering kisses all over her pelvis as he lifts his fingers to drag them delicately through her folds, angling to hit all the spots he knows she likes.

“Say it again,” he murmurs lowly against her skin once he’s got her writhing underneath him, two fingers pumping slowly in and out, a dark twinkle in his eyes, “or I stop.”

“Captain,” she gasps, feeling herself near that familiar precipice, “fuck, Captain please—”

His fingers crook just enough at just the right angle to have her gushing over his hand, her knees going weak underneath her.

There’s a moment of heated silence, blue and green gazes locked as Juliet catches her breath, a soft, helpless sound slipping out of her as his fingers slide out of her and into her husband’s mouth.

She’s frozen there until John speaks again, a low, dangerous tone she’s never heard before.

“On the bed, sweetheart.”

On wobbly legs, she does as he asks and perches on the edge of their ivory floral bedspread, eyes wide and heat building anew in her core.

The ache between her legs intensifies as her husband takes his sweet time carefully draping his jacket over the chair at Juliet’s vanity, making sure his eyes are locked on hers as he loosens his tie and tugs it off, his musician’s fingers making quick work of the knot and moving swiftly to the buttons of his shirt.

Once he’s stripped down to his undershirt, he makes his way over to his wife, gently prying her legs apart from where she’d pressed them together in an attempt to soothe the ache between them. Two fingers come up under her chin to tilt her gaze up, but she doesn’t feel him anywhere else, even as her body unconsciously arches towards him, needing his touch on every part of her.

A soft, trembling “please” slips out of her, barely a breath, but it gets a slow smile out of him.

Juliet feels fingertips skimming up her side and suddenly she’s being gently guided onto her back, his lips bumping just once against the corner of her mouth as he murmurs against her, “Let me take my time, darling.”

And take his time he does, his mouth dragging over her skin at a snail’s pace as the ache between her legs grows.

“Johnny,” she whines impatiently, grinding her hips against nothing as he hovers just out of reach, lips pressing a slow path down the valley between her breasts, “Please, need more—”

Her plea turns into a despairing wail as his mouth leaves her entirely.

“Try again, sweetheart,” he says lowly, “Otherwise I start all over.”

Her mind is terrifyingly blank for a moment, and then—

“Captain,” she sighs desperately, “please.”

She can feel his predatory grin against her skin as his lips return to her, the murmur of “good girl” sending a fresh wave of heat through her core.

Her breathing becomes heavier, the sighs and soft moans more frequent the lower her husband’s mouth travels. Her hands fist into the bedspread as his lips brush her lower belly, her hipbone, skimming down to her inner thigh, and she fears she may actually tear a hole in it if she doesn’t get what she needs soon.

Leaning her head up slightly to watch, the planned plea dies on her lips as darkened blue eyes lock on hers. With a wink, he maintains eye contact for as long as he can, then her mind is overtaken by relief as his mouth finally reaches her.

“Oh, god—”

He makes short work of making her fall apart on his tongue, large hands pressing down on her hips in an attempt to keep her still as she bucks into his mouth. His tongue drags hungrily through her folds, the occasional gentle suck at her clit drawing out incoherent gasps of “yes” and “Captain” and “right there” from Juliet’s lips, the words running together into a wordless cry as she reaches her second orgasm of the night.

Gasping, Juliet returns to her body, a shudder running through her as something brushes just outside her core. Tilting her head up, she realizes it’s still her husband, mouth glistening as he presses a series of kisses to her inner thigh, her hipbone, working his way back up her body until he captures her lips in a sloppy, heated kiss.

A moan erupts from her throat at the taste of herself on his tongue, the sound promptly swallowed by John’s eager mouth on hers. With fumbling fingers, Juliet tugs his undershirt out from the waistband of his slacks, her hands slipping under it to blindly map out the expanse of his back.

John reluctantly pulls his mouth away from hers, lips kiss-swollen and shiny as he reaches to tug the white fabric over his head, tossing it to some unknown corner of the room. He slides off of Juliet to undo his belt, giving her time to appreciate the view of his muscled torso as the belt joins the clothes scattered about the room, his slacks hitting the floor soon after along with his boxers.

Juliet catches her lip between her teeth, her eyes dragging hungrily over every new inch of exposed skin. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t utterly melt at the sight every time. 

There’s a glint in John’s pretty blue eyes as he moves to hover over her once more.

“See something you like?” He murmurs, mimicking her own words from earlier.

Juliet tugs him down for a hungry kiss, her breath hitching as his hips settle snugly against hers.

“Yes, Captain,” she grins against his lips, rolling her hips in a practiced motion against his own.

“Shit, Jules,” John gasps, huffing out a laugh. He pulls back just enough that their noses brush, maintaining eye contact with his girl, “You ready?”

At her eager nod, he shifts his weight onto one arm, rewarded with a stuttering gasp as he drags the head of his cock back and forth through her folds, a delightful high-pitched sound escaping his wife as it bumps her clit once. It catches at her entrance and, with practiced ease, he slowly presses into her, Juliet’s head falling back with a moan as she adjusts to his size.

He waits for her nod to begin rocking his hips back and forth, slow thrusts that allow her to feel every inch of him, that soon have long, breathy moans falling from her lips.

“M—” 

Whatever his wife was about to say, it’s cut off as another moan spills out of her.

“What was that, honey?” He gasps, bumping her nose with his.

It takes her several tries, but eventually a plea of “more” tumbles from her lips, a whine of “faster” on its heels.

John grins, “of course.”

Meeting her eyes, John’s hips snap into hers with military precision, the utterly perfect staccato rhythm of his thrusts drawing out cries of “yes, oh my— right there, don’t stop—”

He lets out a sharp gasp of his own as Juliet’s nails rake down his back, building towards her third orgasm of the night.

She tightens around him, nails digging into his skin as she reaches her peak, his rank tumbling from her lips in a broken moan. John follows suit not long after, his hips stuttering against hers before spilling into her with a groan muffled in her neck.

They stay there for several long moments, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his as they catch their breath. Her husband pulls back to meet her gaze, falling in love with her all over again at the sight of her dark curls splayed out atop the bedspread, the rosy flush in her cheeks, the satisfied glow in her sparkling green eyes.

He dips down to capture her lips, muffling the whine that escapes her as he slides out.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He pants softly, brushing a damp curl from her forehead.

Her gaze is so fond he feels his heart might burst as she replies with a smile, “I’m perfect,” adding teasingly, “Captain.”

He chuckles, brushing a kiss to her cheek as he moves to stand, making his way over to the bathroom.

“Hey, you started that.”

“So I did,” She’s beaming as he emerges from the en-suite with a warm, damp washcloth, though it falters slightly, “You’re sure that was okay? I know it was kind of a surprise—”

“It was,” he acknowledges, moving gently between her legs to clean up the result of that particular surprise, “But I promise, sweetheart,” — there’s a glint in his eyes as he meets her gaze — “it was a very good surprise.”

“Well,” her smile turns the tiniest bit shy, “I’m glad.”

She takes the cloth from him, sitting up to toss it into the hamper before standing, incredibly aware of her husband’s gaze following her.

“I’ll be right back,” she assures him with a laugh as she slips into the bathroom, emerging fresh faced and makeupless, her hair tucked up into a silk scarf.

She joins her husband under the covers, both forgoing pajamas for the night in favor of the skin-to-skin contact Jules tends to crave after lovemaking. She lets out a contented sigh as her husband’s arms wrap around her and pull her close, pressing a kiss to where she can hear his heartbeat under her ear.

“Goodnight, Jules.” He murmurs into the crown of her head, squeezing her the tiniest bit tighter for a heartbeat.

“Goodnight, Johnny,” Juliet murmurs, eyes already drifting closed.

The "I love you’s” are unspoken, but no less true as the Bradys drift off to sleep in a sweet tangle of limbs.

[blakelysco-pilot]

These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)

From the Love Letter Series Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

The realities of Rosie's choice to reup for a second tour hit hard for Jo when Harry Crosby is granted furlough. She must learn to navigate the ugly emotions that come with the situation while simultaneously being there for Jean who is going through her own set of emotions at her husbands temporary return. With the help of friends, Jo is able to find the brighter side of it all, with a renewed hope for her future. Meanwhile, Rosie must deal with the guilt of his decision.

Read part 7 Here Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist

It comes in many forms; jealousy isn’t always the green eyed demon that’s depicted in books and movies. Sometimes, it comes as pain. As sadness. Desire, strangely enough. Jo could feel the emotions taking turns, and after they had all run their course, guilt would take over.  

The guilt that she was a terrible friend to Jean, who was over the moon with the news of Harry’s impending furlough. Her best friend who had desired no more than to be in the arms of her husband for the duration of his time away at war, was getting her wish. So then why was she having to remind herself every day to be happy for her? Because it was Harry on his way to New York, and not Rosie? Because she couldn’t understand how after devoting himself to the cause, to signing up for a second tour of duty, didn’t he also deserve a moment of reprieve in the safety of his own home. 

The last letter she had received from him had come shortly after the mail that had included news of Harry’s temporary return. It was clouded in sadness, despite his happiness for his friend. She could feel his desire to be home, the emotions palpable on the page. So much that she hadn’t told Jean of the letter. She had simply read it in the quiet of her room at night, hoping to keep her tears from falling too loudly. 

Could she stand to be here while Harry was home? To see them reuniting, softly, sweet nothings whispered to Jean in passing, her gentle laughter as Harry pulled her into a hug just because he was close. Because he could. She had decided she would leave for the duration of Harry’s furlough. She could return to her parents for the four weeks, but something in her kept saying that four weeks would crawl if she were to go home. So, she had resolved to call Juliet Thompson in the morning. Her friend upstate was still on summer holiday, and she had a feeling she could use the company as much as she could- John Brady was still being held POW, and whenever the thought crossed her mind, Jo couldn’t help but feel guilt all over again. Rosie was safe in England, and she was beyond grateful for it. 

The next morning felt like you could cut the tension with a knife. The days to Harry’s return were drawing near, and while Jo tried her best, she could feel the inevitable dark cloud looming overhead; she had begged for it to not creep in onJean’s good mood, but when she joined her friend for coffee, it seemed it was looming over both of them. 

“Sleep well?” Jean looked over from the stove where the coffee was perking, a half smile on her face. 

“Alright, all things considered.”

“Humid last night…” Jean mused. 

“Slept on top of the duvet again.” Jo half laughed, knowing even if they weren’t tiptoeing around the inevitable, she’d have been a tad grumpy over the heat. 

“Me too…” Jean turned, bringing the now finished pot to the table, placing it on the trivet. “Not even a breeze.”

“We want a breeze, we need to go back to Brooklyn, Jean.”

“That’s a hike,” she had set about pouring their coffee, hands staying busy. “Don’t know how you did it for so long before moving in here.”

Jo blanches at the mention of her living there, still not quite sure how to tell Jean that she’s going to be leaving while her husband is home. Guilt, again. 

“Jo?”

“Hmm?”

“You haven’t touched your coffee, are you okay?”

“Oh, yes…no… I’m fine.”

“Yes no?”

“Jean… I think it's best that while Harry is home, I’m not here.”

“What! Josephine, this is your home!”

“When Harry is away, yes, but your husband is coming home, Jean, and that does not require a third party awkwardly bumbling around.”

“You could never,” Jean practically cried from her seat across from Jo. “You would never be an awkward third party to me, or Bing! We both love you Jo.”

“I love you both terribly,” Jo was trying so hard to keep the tears at bay. “But he’s your husband. You both have been apart for so long, Jean. You deserve privacy.”

“But…what if he doesn’t…” Jean burst into tears, the Harry that had left for the war was someone Jean Crosby wasn’t sure she knew anymore, and it scared her. 

“Oh honey, no, don’t think that! You know Harry is so thrilled to be coming back to you, even if it is only temporary.”

“I’m not sure what to do anymore… I’m a wife but; I haven’t felt like one in so long.”

“You will both just have to take some time to get reacquainted.”

“And you? Will you go back to your parents?”

“I think I’ll call Jules first, and pay her a visit if she’s up to it.”

“Oh she’d love that!”

“Besides, the idea of four weeks at home with my parents after being here seems dreadfully boring.”

“Your mother would dote on you being home, you know that.”

“Dote or smother?” Jo raised a challenging eyebrow at her friend, their laughter somehow finding a place amongst their tears. 

“Maybe a little bit of both.” Jean agreed, knowing that Jo’s mother would undoubtedly be worried from the moment she left the house each day to the moment she came home from work. 

“We still have some time before Harry gets here,” Jo gave Jean’s hands a squeeze. “Why don’t you come with me to see Jules, and we can sneak Vika away from the hotel for a day and go shopping.”

“Wonderful!”

“We can get you all sorted out for your husband, Mrs. Crosby.” 

The phone call to Jules had been easier than Jo initially thought; already missing John Brady terribly, she understood Jo’s feelings on not wanting to encroach on Jean once Harry arrived, and was happy to have the company of a friend nearby. She was thrilled to know Jean would be accompanying Jo on the journey up, and to make the two days with Jean enjoyable for all, she had called Ruthvika and asked if the three girls could stay at the hotel, promising Vika a weekend of fun and martinis. Jules’ childhood friend had been more than happy to set up a room for the girls, and even happier to know she was included in the slumber party. This would be good; it would be a bit of sunshine after a dark cloud, laughter and friendship, and just what Jo knew she needed. 

My dearest Robbie,

My sweetheart, I miss you, and I hope you’re taking care of yourself over there. We’re in quite the heatwave here in the city, and from what you’ve told me, English summers are cooler than here at home, so with that, my love I envy you. It's not all bad, though. Jean and I have taken many trips to Coney Island on the weekends, and we brought your sister with us this last time. The fourth of July fireworks were spectacular as always, and I was so glad Jeannie was able to come with us for that. 

I’m sorry to say I haven’t seen much of her since you’ve left, and even less so after I moved in with Jean. She calls on occasion, and I know she’s keeping busy with school. Your mother says she’s trying to distract herself with you being away and so, she buries herself in her coursework. I do know how that feels. Work helps to serve as a distraction during the day, but when the day is done, and Jean and I have both gone to bed, I feel that is when I miss you most. We all miss you something terrible, and in our own different ways. 

I wanted to let you know that I’ll be heading upstate for a little while, to spend some time with Juliet and Vika. I must admit, I’m not very proud of myself, but it appears I have a bit of a jealous bug as of late, hearing that Harry is on his way home to Jean for a furlough. So, to make myself scarce and not be in their way, I’ve decided to pay a visit to Juliet for two weeks, before she has to return to her classroom to get ready for the school year ahead. I will go back to my parents for the second half of the time; I do miss them and I would love to see your mother as well. 

I think being away from Jean and Harry might be for the best. Please, don’t misunderstand, I cannot wait to meet him, he’s not only my best friend's husband but he's your best friend as well, (we won’t tell Pappy I said that) so that makes him special. But Robbie, what have we done so wrong to not be granted the same good fortune? Why is it not you coming home? You’ve sacrificed so much, giving more of yourself and your life to this damn war, and yet, they can’t let you go, can they? Haven’t you done enough? Haven’t I waited long enough? Your mother and sister, don’t they deserve to have you home too? 

I feel so guilty for feeling this way, but I can’t help but want the same happiness and excitement that Jean is feeling. I regret waiting so long to tell you I love you, Robbie. Why did we wait so long? We could have been spending time in each other's arms long before, and yet we were both too stubborn to admit how we felt. Do I sound silly? I’m sure I do, all of this griping and crying when you’re over there fighting and missing home. I should be checking on you and asking how you are, and instead I’m staining this paper with tears and going on about how envious and sad I am. 

Please, love, tell me how you really are over there, or I will have to seek out Val for the truth. Has it been terribly difficult now that the invasion has passed and the fighting is well underway? I know you’re working and fighting hard, as are the rest of our friends that are with you over there. 

Love, have you written to your mother lately? I know she’s missing you as much as I am, if not more, and would do with knowing that you’re alright. Last week she was worried they weren’t feeding you enough, and had it been anyone else who said that, I may have rolled my eyes, but the way she said it had left me in stitches, Robbie. You know how your mother can be. She comes by at least once a week with my mother to check in on me and Jean, and they bring covered dishes and baked goods that they’ve managed with the rations. I think they’re afraid Jean and I are only consuming martinis. They’re half right, and I will only admit this to you, a chocolate chip cookie does pair best with the infamous Jean Crosby martini. 

We are leaving for upstate tomorrow, so I will post this first thing on my way out the door and hope it finds you soon. I’m counting down the days until this war is behind us. Until we can begin our days next to each other, and end them the same way. There is a future waiting for us, I just wish I knew when we could begin living it. Come home to me soon. 

My heart is yours forever, with all of my love always 

Jo

They packed light; still summertime and incredibly warm, they were able to get away with comfortable sundresses, and some swimsuits. They didn’t need much when they were together- Jules had said it’s the company that counts most. Vika had been a lifesaver and secured a room at her family’s hotel for Jo and Jean for the two nights that Jean would be with them before returning home. Not one to miss out, Jules had stayed as well. Squeezing into one of the beds with Vika while Jo and Jean occupied the other, it had been a slumber party just like the night at Jean and Jo’s home. Four friends laughing until their stomachs hurt, it had taken a visit from Vika’s mother to quiet them down, Jean rushing to hide the evidence of martinis that were scattered around the room. 

It had been so much fun, that Jo had begun to forget why she had made the journey in the first place; until there were three, and they were waving Jean off from the train platform, two with tears in their eyes. The realization of not knowing when their boys would be home striking hard and fast. 

“Two weeks and you’ll be back in the city, right?” Jean looked absolutely riddled with fear as she stood with her bag on the platform, Jo doing all she could to reassure her. 

“Yes,” Jo sniffled, wiping at her eyes and trying in vain not to smudge her makeup. “I promise.”

“Please, Jo. Promise you’ll be there to meet Binger.” Jean gripped her hands so tightly, her eyes wild and nervous. The last time she had seen her so scared was when news of Bubbles’ death reached home, and worry for Harry had begun seeping in like a crack in the roof. 

“I’ll be there,” she winked. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. I’ll ring Jules once I’m back home. Bing doesn’t get in until tonight… gosh I’m so nervous!”

“You’re going to see that man and forget all about how nervous you were. Now go, before you miss your train.” 

“Jo…”

She pulled her into a hug so fast, and so fiercely, that Jo barely had a moment to catch her footing before hugging Jean back. This friendship, forged in a dark time, was more than two women finding companionship while their men were away fighting. This was sisterhood, and as an only child, Jo had never known it before. The closest person in her life had always been Rosie, and now that his role in her life had shifted, Jean had seamlessly filled in that space. 

“I will see you soon, yea?”

“Yea… yes, yes you will. I’ll have a martini waiting for you.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” Jo grinned, pulling back to give her friend a smile. “Now go on, otherwise Harry will have my head for making you late.”

“Your Robbie would never forgive him.” Jean laughed, wiping at her eyes just as the conductor hollered for All Aboard! 

As the train pulled away, Jean Crosby waving from the window of the car, Jo felt herself become utterly depleted. The sadness that she had tried to ebb away at home, not divulging all of it for fear of guilt, slammed into her full force, and had it not been for Jules and Vika wrapping her up in their arms, she’d have collapsed on the spot. 

“Come now, let’s get back to the hotel,” Vika urged her, gently steering her out of the train station and back towards the car. “Mammi can make us some chai, and we can have a rest.”

“I feel terrible…”

“Terrible, sick?”

“Terrible like I’m riddled with guilt and anger and sadness.”

She doesn’t catch Vika looking over at Jules, knowing that this is more than what Mrs. Patel’s chai can fix, because only Jules knows how she’s feeling, and only Jules can be the one to talk this through with her.  

The hotel is quiet when they arrive back, and Mrs. Patel is at the front desk, a smile on her face as she watches her daughter and friends walk in, but the smile soon fades as she sees the look on Vika’s face. 

“Did Jean get off alright?” She asks, nerves lacing her normally stoic and motherly disposition. 

“She did, Mammi,” Vika replies kindly, joining her mother at the desk while Jo and Jules take a seat on the sofa meant for guests. “Can Juliet and Josephine use the apartment for a little while? I think they…well, Jean’s husband coming home hasn’t been easy for them.”

“Of course, you take them up. I will be behind with some chai and bhel puri.”

“Thank you Mammi.”

The pair on the couch sit quietly as Vika approaches, her voice soft as she speaks to both of them, but her eyes trained on Juliet. 

“Jules, why don’t you two go up to the apartment?”

“Is that…okay with your mother?”

“It’s fine,” Vika’s eyes softened at Jules’ worry over possibly invading the Patel’s personal space, the phrase bundled in her simple question. “Mammi is going to bring up some chai and snacks.”

“Oh Vika, that’s not necessary!” Jo turned to her friend, knowing full well that the hotel needed their full attention. 

“You and Jules need a moment, and I can cover the desk while Mammi is gone.”

“Yes, now you two go right up, and I’ll follow in a moment.” Mrs. Patel is standing next to them, and suddenly it’s as if their own mothers are there, ordering them to eat. 

Nodding, Jo follows Jean upstairs to the apartment, and once inside, she takes in just what it is that makes her friend Vika who she is. The decor, the smells, the homey feel, and photos. It’s all very like Vika, and Jo somehow feels like she’s invading a space not meant for her at all, despite the protests of both Vika and her mother. 

“Jules…”

“It’s just us, Jo. You can say whatever you need to.”

“I just,” the words felt trapped, caught in her throat with no way out unless she forced them up and out into the space between them. “I’m so angry!”

“You’re angry at Rosie?”

“So angry! He should be home, he flew twenty five missions. He was safe, and The Brass pulled the rug out from under all of them!”

“So that’s what happened…”

“Everyone after him needed to fly thirty missions, but his crew was safe at twenty five. He could go home, and he didn’t… he stayed… he signed up for a second tour.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s too good, and doing the right thing is what Robert Rosenthal does, and he can’t help himself. People are dying and can’t fight for themselves, so he’s doing it for them.”

“Oh Jo…” Jules rushed towards her friend. Instantly, her arms are tight around her friend as Jo  finally allowed herself the chance to let go of everything that had been welling up. Things she knew she couldn’t say to Rosie’s mother, or her own mother. Things that somehow, right now, only Jules could understand. 

“Harry getting a furlough…” Jules started, the words dying halfway as she felt Jo shudder a deep breath. 

“When Harry got a furlough, I just… I wanted to be happy for Jean. I am happy for Jean! But I also wish it was Robbie coming home instead.”

“Honey, you’re allowed to feel angry about it,” Jules took a step back, taking Jo’s hands and giving them a gentle squeeze, leading her towards the sofa in the living room. “He’s been gone so long, and all you want to do is start a life that this war has put on hold for you, and you can’t.”

“Jean was so happy, and there I am playing pretend happy over coffee and then feeling guilty, while the poor thing, she’s so nervous that Harry won’t feel the same for her-”

“Oh I doubt that!”

“That’s what I told her,” Jo shook her head, the beginnings of a melancholy smile taking hold. “But since Bubbles’ death, Harry’s been…distant.”

“Oh you don’t think…”

“I don’t know. And if Robbie knows anything, he’s not saying.”

Jules was quiet for a moment, taking a seat on the sofa wordlessly. She seemed far off, her mind somewhere else entirely; if Jo had to wager a guess it was on a certain pilot serving the rest of his war as a prisoner in Germany. 

“I haven’t had a letter from Johnny in a few weeks…” the words are nothing more than a broken whisper. 

“Jules, honey…”

“I know that letters aren’t as frequent now that he’s,” she stopped herself from speaking the rest out loud, Jo not needing to hear it to know what she was thinking. “Olive writes, and promises updates, but I can’t help but be constantly worried.”

“When did you last hear from him?”

“The start of June, and now, August is on the horizon and I’m scared, Jo.”

She’s beside her in an instant, her arms mimicking Jules’ earlier movements, pulling her close and hugging her tight. Somehow, Jo thinks she can will all of their broken pieces back together just by being there for each other, in hopes that if they love their boys enough from a distance, it will help bring them home faster. 

“Oh Jules, I’m sure Olive would have written if anything happened.”

“I know,” she sniffled, swiping under her eyes quickly. “No news is good news and all that.”

“And bad news travels fast.” 

“Yes, you’re right,” she took a deep and shaky breath, exhaling forcefully to try and clear the fog that seemed to have settled around her. “I just… I miss him so much Jo. I don’t have to explain to you how that part of it feels.”

“We worry for different reasons but we worry just the same.” 

The door of the apartment opened then, and both girls looked up through bleary eyes as Mrs. Patel stepped into the living room. She was holding a tray from the hotel, complete with two steaming mugs of chai and a bowl filled with snacks for them. Her gaze, normally hard and all business, seemed to soften at the sight of them. Crossing the room quickly, she placed the tray down on the table beside the sofa before coming to stand in front of them. Wordlessly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a simple white handkerchief, handing it to Jules. 

“Thank you Mrs. Patel,” Juliet accepts the handkerchief and gently dabs at her eyes, careful not to get too much of her makeup on the clean, white fabric. Afraid to leave a stain, a reminder of this moment. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to get this dirty.”

“That is what the washing is for, Juliet. Go on, both of you.”

Nodding, Jules continues to wipe her tears before passing it to Jo, who is in the same state as she is. Quietly letting the pain escape like rivers down her cheeks. 

“Thank you for being so good to Ruthvika, ” Mrs. Patel speaks quietly, unsure of what she should exactly be saying, but knowing that she must offer something to her daughter's oldest friend, and now, Josephine. “Remember, we must continue to fight here every day; our own wars, they are painful, but keep hope, both of you, that they will come home to you safe.”

They were words that only a mother could speak. And because only a mother could offer that comfort, when she leaned forward to pull both girls close to her for the briefest of moments, it was the gauze over a wound that had spread so deep, neither Jo nor Jules were sure it would ever heal. Hope, it seemed, would fill the deep, painful space over time, and it would close the gap until one day, hopefully, the wound did not exist at all. 

——————————————————————————————————

It felt longer coming home from upstate this time. Jo had attributed that to not having Jean for companionship. But she was in her home, now with Harry, who had arrived in New York safely, two weeks ago. The jealousy had seemed to fizzle and sit on the backburner of her heart now. Jean deserved every moment with Harry; but Jo couldn’t help the sadness that crept in when it was quiet, knowing that Rosie was still over there.

It had been a wonderful two week reprieve with Juliet, but now Jo was back home in Brooklyn. She had called Jean to let her know that she was coming back, and was promptly given a date and time to meet her and Harry for dinner and drinks. She was excited on one hand, to finally meet not just Jean’s husband but Rosie’s closet friend. 

When the taxi pulled up to her parents home in Flatbush, she quickly paid the driver after he had pulled her suitcase from the trunk. The gentleman tipped his hat and drove off quickly, leaving her standing on the sidewalk, gaze fixed on the house. With a deep sigh, she made her way up the steps to the porch and pushed the door open. Once in the foyer, she dropped her suitcase to the floor and swiftly removed her gloves and hat, depositing them on the credenza by the door. 

“I’m back!” She called, stepping further into the house. She could hear her mother rustling around, before she appeared in the foyer with an almost frantic look in her eye.

“Josephine!” Hugging her tightly, she stepped back, appraising her daughter and sensing the sadness immediately. “Sweetheart, welcome back!”

“Thanks,” she forced a grin, thankful her mother chose not to ask if she was okay. She knew there would be minimal gossip and cocktails that night, however. “Are you okay? Mom, you look worried.”

“You have a visitor. A gentleman is waiting in the living room for you.”

“Oh god, is he, is it… did something happen to Robbie?”

“He says his name is Mr. Lewis?”

“Lewis?” the name rolled over in her mind for a moment, before it dawned on her. “Pappy!”

Jo rushed from the foyer into the living room, any ladylike behavior thrown out the window as she came skidding to a stop in the doorway. There, on the sofa, sat a man who had been described to her in numerous letters from Rosie. The only person she had ever trusted sitting in the Co-Pilot’s seat of Rosie’s fort, and in his own words Rosie’s best friend. 

“Hiya Jo!” Pappy grinned, standing from the sofa as he saw her.

“Pappy! Oh my- what are you doing here!”

“Rosie sent me,” he grinned, coming to greet her properly, the pair finally able to put names to faces, more than just a picture on Rosie’s side table on base or a name in a letter. “He thought with Croz home, you might need some cheering up.”

“You came all the way here just to cheer me up?” that couldn’t possibly be right, could it? Had Rosie sent him all this way just to keep her company for the second half of Harry Crosby’s furlough? 

“Well, you’re Rosie’s sweetheart, plus Val would give me a wallop if she knew I didn’t come see you when you needed it. She sends her regards by the way, boy, wait till you meet her! Have you met Croz yet? I’m sure he’ll want to meet you too, you’re very popular amongst the Riveters crew you know? We all-”

“Pappy, slow down!” she laughed, and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t have to force the sound from her chest. 

“Right! Sorry, but I am really glad to finally meet ya!”

“I’m so glad to meet you too.” she grinned. 

Guiding him back down to the sofa so they could talk. She just caught her mother peeking around the doorframe, a smile giving way as she noticed Jo’s own. 

“How did he even get in touch with you so quickly, the mail takes ages these days!”

“He’s a big shot Major now,” Pappy chuckled. “You know him, he finds a way.”

“He does find a way, doesn’t he…” she mused. 

“How have you been doing? Your mother said you were upstate?”

“Oh! Yes, well with Harry home, I didn’t want to impose on them by staying with Jean-”

“Oh right, I forgot about that! Rosie did tell me you had moved in with Croz’s wife!”

“Yes, a few months ago, and we took jobs on the switchboard at the War Department.”

“Look at you! That’s great!”

“It’s been a lot of fun,” Jo nodded, and she realized she rather liked talking with Pappy. “So, when Harry sent the date of his arrival, I went upstate to visit with John Brady’s girlfriend, Juliet.”

“How’s she? Must be worried sick over Brady…”

“She’s handling it as well as can be expected, but she gets letters when the mail is cooperative, and Olive sends mail to her in the inbetween.”

“Cousin Olive,” he sounds almost wistful. “I miss her…”

“Wait, she’s your cousin? Robbie never mentioned that…”

“Well, we’re both Lewis’.”

“Does that automatically make you cousins, Pappy?”

“Sure it does! Make your own family, right? That’s what we’re all doing to get by.”

“You’re right about that. And how have you been doing since coming home?”

“Oh, my Ma is fussing over me one minute and the next she’s praying I meet someone and get married so I can be her problem.”

“Well, this is New York, you never know. Your mother might get her wish.”

“Rosie would love that wouldn’t he, hell, I’d love it if I were closer.”

Pappy stayed all afternoon, happy to chat with Jo and enjoy some lunch with her and her parents, before they moved outside to sit on the front steps. It was just bordering on early evening and the kids who lived on the block were still running through the streets, soaking up every second of the summer they could. The fire hydrant on the corner was spraying water, turning her little corner of Flatbush Brooklyn into a water park. 

They had skirted around talk of the war and Rosie in detail, but now the sun was setting and Pappy would have to leave, and Jo wasn’t sure she wanted him to before she was able to ask him what she needed to. 

“Pappy, where are you staying?”

“Oh! With Rosie’s Ma actually, yea, just down the block.”

“Of course you are,” she shook her head, a smile on her face at Robbie's generous heart. “You went there first, right? Before coming here I mean.”

“Oh sure, yea I didn’t want her getting worried. She’s sweet, I see where Rosie gets it from…”

“His father was kind. Robbie gets his determination from him; but his heart, his love of jazz, the kind look in his eyes, all that comes from Mrs. Rosenthal.”

“He’s alright, Jo, you know?”

“Are you saying that to placate me, or is he really alright?”

“I mean it, he’s really alright. And he’s not alone either…”

“I don’t like the idea of him flying without you, Pappy.”

“I considered it, ya know?”

“Staying?”

“He told me to go home, in the end when I couldn’t make up my mind, he did it for me.”

“And now?”

“Some days I wish I had stayed, finished what he and I started,” Pappy pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering one to Jo first, who politely declined. “And then I think of guys like Nash and Speas who didn’t get to come home, and I think I gotta grab it while it’s hot.”

“I don’t resent you for coming home, I hope you know that.”

“Oh, I know, I wouldn’t be here if I thought you did.”

“I just always felt like he was safer with you in that plane, and you with him,” she sighed, taking the cigarette from Pappy and taking a long pull. “This damn war.”

“He’d balk at you if he saw you do that.”

“Then it’ll be our secret.” Jo grinned, passing the cigarette back to Pappy. 

They sat quietly while Pappy continued to smoke. The playful shrieks of the kids playing filled the companionable silence. She thought of a day when Rosie would be next to her, pressed shoulder to shoulder and her hand in his, possibly watching their own children play in the street. 

They had done the same when they were young. Her father and Mr. Rosenthal would pop the fire hydrant open and they would run in the cool water while the August sun beat down on the street, Rosie’s curls plastered to his forehead, his blue eyes rivaling the clear skies they played under. As they got older, he had picked up a paper route for the summers and Jo would ride on the handlebars of his bicycle, much to her mothers dismay, and help him deliver papers to the neighbors before seeking shade on the front porch of her home. Now, she was on the same porch, and the person next to her was doing their best to fill the void of her usual companion. 

————————————————————

Pappy had proved to be excellent company, not just for Jo but Mrs. Rosenthal as well. It seemed Rosie’s mother perked up quite a bit at having a young man to dote on as she would with her son. Pappy brought a sense of humor back to their block, and had Mrs. Rosenthal cooking up a storm once again, the need to feed him until her heart's content much as it was before her son left for war. 

Jo had been at the house for dinner almost every night, after spending the days taking Pappy around New York City. 

The phone had rang in the middle of breakfast, Mr. Harris stood to pick it up, allowing his wife and daughter to continue their conversation. When he stepped into the room with a smile on his face, Jo knew it was for her. 

“Josephine, it’s Jean Crosby.”

“Oh! Wonderful, thank you!”

“Jean!”

“Jo! Oh how are you, I miss you!”

“I miss you too, dear, how’s Harry?”

“Oh he’s wonderful…actually that’s why I called.”

“Oh?”

“Is tonight good?”

“Oh, tonight is great actually!”

“Wonderful! Binger will call the Stork Club and reserve a table, is that okay? I know you don’t want to go to Minton’s without-”

“The Stork Club is perfect Jean, thank you. Tell Harry to make it for four.”

“Four?”

“Yes, Pappy’s here!”

“Pappy?!”

“Yes! Robbie sent him!”

“Oh what a sweet gesture! Well I can’t wait to meet him, and I know Bing will be happy to see him.”

Jo could hear Harry Crosby in the background of the call asking Jean who their fourth was for dinner, before she told him to hush while she was on the phone. 

“What time tonight, Jean?”

“Seven thirty, unless you want to make it eight?”

“Seven thirty is fine,” Jo agreed. “I’m taking Pappy to Coney Island, but we’ll be back in plenty of time.”

“Where’s he staying?” Jean suddenly asked. “Surely not with you!”

“Oh no, with Robbie’s mother. And boy is she loving it!”

“I bet!” Jean laughed. “Well listen, I’m going to run, because Harry is looking for breakfast and I’m afraid he might burn our kitchen down if I leave him a moment longer. I’ll see you tonight dear, and I can’t wait!”

“Oh me too, Jean! Now go feed your husband, and I’ll see you later.”

Hanging up the phone she went back to join her parents at the table, her toast now a bit cold, but she wasn’t bothered. Not when she had a full day ahead of her. 

“Going out tonight?” Her mother grinned. 

“Yes, Harry’s making a reservation at the Stork Club for all of us,” she spoke from behind her coffee cup. “I’m so looking forward to finally meeting him and seeing Jean.”

“You and Jean have missed each other,” her father nodded, inserting himself into the conversation. “I could hear it in her voice when I picked up the phone.”

“I have missed her. Please, don’t think I’m not happy to be home with you both, but it's been so lovely living with her.”

“I think it’s done you a world of good with Robert gone. Naturally when he comes home, so will you, but right now, this is what’s best for you Josephine.”

“Your father’s right,” her mother placed a hand over hers, giving a gentle squeeze. “Then again, once Robert comes home, hopefully it won’t be long until you two are starting your life together.”

She was halfway through formulating a response when there was a knock at the door; using it as her escape from any more talk of her and Rosie’s future, she quickly jumped up to answer it. Pulling back the door, she found Pappy on the front porch with Mrs. Rosenthal behind him. He was dressed in civilian clothes for the first time since he had arrived, and grinning cheekily at her. 

“Heya Jo!”

“Pappy,” chuckling, she couldn’t help but shake her head as he stepped inside the foyer. “Good morning.”

He gave her a gentle hug, before allowing Mrs. Rosenthal to greet her, the older woman scooping Jo up in her arms for a hug, the two of them saying so much without saying anything at all. 

“Hello dear,” she grinned, hands still holding Jo’s shoulders as she appraised her. “Did we interrupt breakfast?”

“No more than Jean Crosby did just a moment ago.” Jo laughed, closing the door and guiding them both inside. 

“Is she getting on well with her husband at home?”

“Oh yes, it seems that she’s doing just fine.”

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Rosenthal smiled. “I’ve had some mail from Robert…”

“Oh? Is everything-”

“He’s fine, dear. Missing you, but otherwise fine.”

“Well, I miss him too,” she pouted slightly. “There’s been no mail from him.”

“The letter I got was weeks past the date at the top, so just hold out hope, yours should be on its way.”

“Don’t worry, Jo,” Pappy chimed in. “He’d never forget about ya.”

“Thanks Pappy…” she gave his arm a gentle squeeze, righting her before turning towards the kitchen. “Coffee?”

The trio entered the kitchen to find Mrs. Harris already preparing a fresh pot of coffee, her father standing to greet Pappy with a handshake before gesturing for him to have a seat while Mrs. Rosenthal took up her regular spot at their table. It was all very domestic, and not lost on Jo how lucky she was to have the family she did; both blood and chosen. 

“Pappy, we have big plans today.” She grinned, sitting back at her place to resume picking at her toast. 

“We’ve had big plans all week!” He laughed. 

“I’m taking you to Coney Island! Because everyone should be forced to ride the Cyclone at least once in their life.”

“…Forced?!”

“Well, Robbie forces me on it every year, and secretly I love it, but don’t tell him that. So now, I get to do it for you.”

“I’ve heard horror stories about that thing from Val!”

“Oh don’t be a baby, it’ll be fun! Jean Crosby even rode it with me!”

“She did?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Fine… if Jean Crosby can do it.”

All three of the parents in the room laughed as Pappy’s face blanched, the airman taking a cautionary sip of his coffee to settle his nerves. Surely, if Jean Crosby could do it… and he’d hate to have to tell Rosie he chickened out on the Cyclone. 

_________________________________

The Stork Club was bustling as Jo and Pappy walked in. He had handled an afternoon on the boardwalk like a pro, and she’d be sure to tell Rosie all about it in her next letter, but now he was back in his uniform and she was dressed for a night out and he was guiding her inside and towards the bar so she could try and locate Jean. 

“Oh! I see Croz!” Pappy was waving his arm in the direction of Harry Crosby, and when Jo turned she spotted Jean, on the arm of a handsome man, dressed in the same uniform as Pappy. 

“Croz!” 

“Pappy! Jean didn’t tell me you were the fourth!”

“Surprise,” Jean grinned, arm still looped through her husbands. “When Jo told me this morning I decided to keep it a surprise.”

“Well, this is great,” Harry beamed, giving Pappy a firm handshake, happy to see a familiar face. “What are you doing in the city?”

“Rosie sent me. He thought Jo might need a friend.”

“And now I have three.” She smiled, Jean now standing with her, the two girls’ arms linked as they watched the boys catch up. 

“Josephine,” Harry turned to her, and she just felt Jean nudge her forward to say hello. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally meet you.”

His uniform looked almost identical to the one she had sent Rosie off in at Grand Central all those months ago. Olive green shirt and jacket, tie, khaki slacks, and crush cap. Harry was sporting oak leaf pins on his lapels, along with multiple other citations and pins that he had served long into this war. She imagined that Robbie's uniform looked much the same these days, save for his flight wings indicating him a pilot, while Harry’s was a globe for navigators. 

Harry Crosby had big, brown cow eyes, and a gentle smile about him. He was every bit of how both Jean and Rosie had described him; Jean going on about how handsome he was and Rosie describing him as terribly capable but riddled with nerves. He was fiddling with his fingers, his hat tucked under his arm as he watched her step forward. Harry quickly handed his hat to Pappy and pulled her close for a hug, shocking her only slightly before she felt a sense of familiarity and comfort fall over her. 

“Thank you, Jo, ” He whispered to her before stepping back. “I can’t say it enough.”

Before she could ask what he was thanking her for, he stepped back, taking her hands and continuing to talk to her. 

“You two really have looked after each other haven’t you.”

“That’s what friends do,” she smiled. “And I should be thanking you for doing the same, Harry.”

“Oh, it’s Rosie who looks after me, really.”

“Still, you two keep an eye on each other and it just makes me feel more at ease.”

“Well, the feeling is mutual,��� he grinned, releasing her hands and moving to wrap an arm around Jean’s waist. “Now, let’s go sit and we can exchange stories. Somehow I have a feeling you two girls have gotten up to quite a lot.”

Dinner was delightful, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. Friends, the really good ones,  it seemed, were the key to getting through tough times, because they would laugh with you, and let you cry on their shoulder if you needed it. Jo had done just that with both Jo and Pappy, as well as Jules and Vika earlier on. They had let her get it all out, those bottled up feelings, and she felt grateful for it. Lighter and less tense, she was able to enjoy happy moments like this. 

She was sitting next to Jean, the pair quietly conversing while Pappy and Harry spent some time catching up on the goings on at Thorpe Abbotts; it was something that both girls knew was meant for their ears only, so they took the time to chat amongst themselves. 

“Has it been alright, now that he’s home?”

“We’ve had a lot of good, long talks.” Jean nodded, sipping her martini with a slight frown. 

“What? Something wrong?”

“Mine are better.” She rolled her eyes slightly, making Jo laugh. 

“Yours are dangerous,” she corrected her friend with a gentle slap to the wrist. “But they are the best I’ve ever had.”

“But yes, Bing and I have done a lot of talking.”

“Just talking?”

“Josephine!”

“Well, he is your husband, I would hope you’ve done more than talk.”

Jean fixes her with a stare, eyebrow raised and mock challenging as she sticks her tongue out in the most Jean Crosby way possible, causing Jo to fall into a fit of laughter so loud, that both men turn to look at the girls. Jean is quick to wave them back to their own conversation, while Jo composes herself. 

“Did you have to do that?”

“Yes,” Jean grins. “It’s entirely too fun to watch you fall into stitches like that.”

“Now, tell me,” Jo rights herself again, placing a hand over Jean’s on the table. “You and Harry, you had a good talk?”

“We did. He told me about… her.”

“Oh Jean!”

“There was an affair,” she nods. “A woman in London, and while I understand he was coping with Bubbles, and then all of his friends being captured, Jo, it hurts.”

“It’s allowed to be hurtful and understandable. So much of life is.”

“He said he’s ended it, now coming home if even for a short while, he doesn’t want to see her again.”

“Oh Jean, I don’t know what to say.”

“You’ve listened for months while I cried over his distance, and that’s all I could have ever asked of you.”

“Well, then I should be thanking you too, and apologizing for being such a grump the last few weeks.”

“You were not a grump!”

“I was an absolute grouch, and it was not like me. I misplaced my feelings over Robbie being gone on your happiness.”

“Josephine…”

“Speaking of your happiness,” she grinned. “Looks like he’s trying to catch your eye.”

“Oh, Binger can wait just a second.” she pulled Jo tightly to her, the two women sharing a hug that spoke volumes. 

There was no animosity, and no one upping the other. They were best friends, getting through the hardships of war together. Harry would be gone in another few days, and so would Pappy, and they’d both go on together again. There would be days at work and dinners from the automat, weekends with Juliet and Vika up in Victor, and nights spent in the quiet of their house with just the radio on while they sipped martinis. In between all of that, there should be two men to join in the simple moments of their lives, and one day they would be there, it was only a matter of time. 

She knew, deep down, Rosie being in England was where he was supposed to be right now. If he had come home, he’d have been restless and unsettled, and neither of them could start a life properly that way. She knew that. As Jean said, we understand but we hurt, and that’s what all of this had been. Hurtful, and confusing but understanding. A part of her life that she needed to go through in order to get to the next part with the man she loved. It was just another chapter, the ticking hand on a clock, a turn around the sun. 

Pappy’s laughter pulled the two girls apart, and they found him doubled over while Harry sat patiently waiting. 

“Are you finished now?” Harry glared at him. 

“No!” Pappy wheezed, reaching for his napkin to wipe at his eyes. “Tell me again how you face planted and Tattie had to put you to bed!”

“Pappy…”

“Oh come on! Croz, that’s funny!”

“Not for the fellas who had to haul me out of Operations.”

“Who did?” Jean posed the question to him casually, already knowing the answer from Val’s letter but wanting to hear her husband admit it. 

“Rosie and Dougie…”

“Oh Dougie must have loved that!” Pappy roared with laughter again. 

“He grumbled about me being heavier than I look for a few days after I woke up.”

“Slept three days straight through the landings. Only you Croz.”

“Yeah, yeah, only me.” He shook his head, letting Pappy get his licks in while he could before turning the conversation somewhere Jo would appreciate. 

“You tell Jo about how Rosie was up in the sky humming Artie Shaw over the radio?”

“He did what!” She crowed, eyes wide in amusement knowing just how much he loved his jazz. 

“I hadn’t… that one was rough.” 

“You don’t have to,” Jo replied, understanding. “He says a lot of those early flights were rough, so-”

“No, no, if you want me to tell you I will!”

“He conveniently left out how he hummed his way back home, so…”

“It was our third mission, ever. And I won’t go into too much detail but, we ended up alone in the sky, and I guess to distract himself or us, he starts humming.”

“Artie Shaw, you said?”

“Over the radio, all of us heard it!” Pappy chuckled. 

“The Chant, right?”

“How did you! Jo!”

“I’ve known him my whole life,” she laughed. “And I know what makes him tick.”

“Well, on that note, how about a dance ladies?” Harry posed the question to both of them, but he and Jean exchanged a quick glance that Jo didn’t miss. 

Harry was at her side just as she stood, extending his hand to her just as she caught Pappy leading Jean to the dance floor, the two chatting idly. 

“Harry? No, go with your wife, I know she’s missed you.” Jo tried to convince him, but he looped her arm in his and carried on walking. 

“Promised Rosie I’d give you a good spin on the dance floor, and while I may have two left feet, a promise is a promise.” 

“Oh goodness, Harry, you can tell him we danced, it’s really alright.” She laughed, letting him lead her regardless, Pappy and Jean fumbling along next to them in a fit of their own laughter. 

Harry spun her through the upbeat songs, and took Jean in his arms during all the slow ones. They had carried on this way for quite a while, before returning to their table for a drink, both Pappy and Harry having removed their Class A jackets. How they had lasted as long as they had, especially in July, was unbelievable. The Stork Club was beginning to empty out, and as Harry and Pappy flagged down their waiter to settle the bill, Jo and Jean excused themselves to the ladies room to freshen up. With a bustling restroom filled with women reapplying lipstick and powder to their noses, both Jo and Jean were back at their table in no time. Harry and Pappy were fussing over the bill, the two of them doing quick math before placing some bills on the table just as the girls sat back down. Jean gently nudged Harry, drawing his attention to her as she gestured to his jacket with a nod of her head and a gentle smile. His eyes lit up before he reached behind to the jacket draped over the back of his chair, digging into his inside breast pocket, pulling out an envelope that Jo had become very familiar with over the course of the months Rosie had been gone. 

“Before I forgot,” Harry handed the envelope to Jo, a smile on his face. “Special delivery.”

The front of the envelope didn’t have her address on it like all the others she had received before. No, this one had Rosie’s handwriting scrawled across the front and the words My Dearest Jo to indicate that it was for her. 

“Oh Harry, he sent this with you?”

“He wanted you to have one that didn’t go through the APO review before going into transit,” Harry explained. “You didn’t think Pappy was the only surprise, did you?”

“You’ve been holding on to this the entire time you’ve been home?”

“Well, I had assumed I’d meet you a bit sooner but when Jean told me you were upstate with Juliet…”

“Harry…”

“She explained it to me, and it’s alright. I understand.”

“I shouldn’t have-”

“No, don’t say that,” Harry frowned, placing a hand over hers as Jean and Pappy looked on. “I know that me coming home wasn’t easy for you, and I know that Rosie taking on a second tour has been even harder. I hope you know we all gave him an earful when he signed those papers…”

“I’ve got it on good authority, from multiple sources.” She chuckled, swiping at her eyes to stop the tears. 

“Val.” Harry and Pappy said at the same time, the woman’s name punctuated with a laugh. 

“She keeps me informed,” Jo grinned. “Thank you, Harry.”

“For the mail?”

“For everything.” 

_________________________________

Pappy had dropped her back off at her house after they had all left the Stork Club, before bidding her goodnight and turning to go back towards the Rosenthal home. Turning towards the living room, she expected to see her mother waiting up for her, but found that both of her parents had gone up to bed. With the living room vacant, she pulled Rosie’s letter from her purse before placing it on the table, and removed her shoes before curling up on the cushions. Carefully, she slid her thumb under the back of the envelope, and pulled the paper from inside. Unfolding it, she found Rosie’s handwriting scrawled across, his message to her waiting. 

My dearest Jo,

I know that by the time you get this, Croz will already be home, and I hope he’s gotten this to you in one piece, and himself to Jean. I also hope Pappy has gotten there safely and proven good at cheering you up. I thought he might be a nice change in pace for you right now. 

Honey Pie, I’m so sorry. I’ve hurt you without even realizing how badly at first, and I don’t know how I could ever ask you to forgive me. I’ve been selfish in staying to fight, when we could be together at home, starting our life. I thought that by fighting, staying here, I was doing the job I needed to keep you safe. It was also selfish, in part, because I thought if I left, I’d be restless. And you didn’t deserve me like that. You didn’t deserve to start a life with someone who felt like he should still be in the fight. As it turns out, I’m restless here most days, thinking of what we could be doing at home. 

I’ll admit, when Croz got furlough, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Of course I’m happy for my friend, our friends if you include Jean, but part of me wondered why it wasn’t me. I’ve served twice over now, and yet somehow they can’t see fit to let me go for a few weeks. It’s rough, knowing that he gets to return to his wife, my crew is all home, and the other fellas here have their sweethearts. Sometimes seeing Ev Blakely and Dougie with Val and Olive stings, no matter how good they are and how much they make space for me in their circle. There are others who’s special someone isn’t here, and we lament on occasion, but I'm not nearly close to anyone the way I am with the fellas in Ops, and the Red Cross girls. 

I wish you were here with me, in that navy blue jumpsuit slinging coffees with Val and Olive, yelling at us all for crowding the truck, helping to wrangle Meatball until Benny DeMarco comes back. But then, I know you’re safe at home, you and Jean looking after each other, your parents and my Ma all close by. I think that’s where I find I’m more grateful to have you, sweetheart. Safe. 

I suppose I should update you on the goings on here, so that you know how our friends are doing as well. Val and Olive are just fine, keeping every fella in line and then some. It’s enjoyable to share an office with Ev Blakely; he’s mostly quiet while we work, unless Val stops by with coffee and a bit to eat for the pair of us. She often joins us for a while before going back to the Clubmobile. The same for Olive and Doug. Those two girls are never far apart, if one’s visiting so is the other. Dougie shares an office with Croz; it stresses him out. Dougie is usually very relaxed, but being office mates with Croz tends to work him up. Helen, Nash’s old sweetheart, has started corresponding with one of the fellas in the Stalag- Charlie Cruikshank. Everyone calls him Crank, but she has a special nickname for him that no one will divulge to us fellas. All I know is, she seems happy, and that’s good, because losing Nash tore her up. Red Cross Tattie is seeing Air Exec Jack Kidd- but no one is supposed to know. Jack’s not that great at locking his door. Poor Doug got an eye- and an ear- full last week. See honey, you’re not the only one who can gossip. I do alright from over here. Oh! Can’t forget Meatball- husky fur everywhere but, when it’s cold out, he’s great for staying warm. We shuffle him back and forget between our racks and the girls so that everyone gets a turn. Turns out, the dog likes sleepovers with the girls best- Val paints his nails with her red varnish! Not sure how much DeMarco is going to like that when he’s back though.

Speaking of our friend Harry, I need to apologize twice, because though I’m sure you know by now, I’ve kept this from you. It was not the easiest of positions to be in, because he trusted me, then again you have stood by Jean this entire time. There was someone in London, and I hope he’s confessed to her by now. He confided in me on New Years, and then Doug and the others saw him with her in London while on a weekend pass. I assume that’s part of what had Doug so stressed out, Croz was using the phone to make calls to her and arrange meetings when days were particularly rough. I hope you know that I would never step out on you, you’re it for me my sweet girl, and you always will be. 

I’ve often pondered what our life might be like when this is all over, Jo. It’s a pretty picture that I like to conjure up when the days are particularly dreary. You and me, in a house all our own, with a front porch to sit on, just like we do now, watching the neighborhood kids. Maybe we’ll be watching our own kids play in the street, and I’ll be the dad who’s opening the fire hydrant for them to keep cool in the summer. We’d have our friends, and maybe spend summers at the Cape with them. Go dancing at Minton’s on Saturday’s, or have Jean and Croz over for dinner. Curl up on Sunday’s and drink coffee in bed, spend the day tangled together lazily. I can’t wait for all of those days, honey. I can’t wait. 

Promise me you’ll keep your chin up, and that smile on your face. I know it’s hard now, and hopefully, Pappy’s been good company. You’ll have to let me know what adventures you two get up to while he’s there. If you do anything, I’m begging you to take him on the Cyclone. It’s a right of passage after all, and somehow, I imagine it would be quite comical. He’s a good friend, Jo, and he cares about you as much as he does me. He’ll be there to listen when you need it. 

I love you honey pie, and I’ll be home soon. I promise. Sending millions of hugs and kisses and all of my love. 

Yours forever,

Robbie

His signature and declaration of love were blurred as tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over and onto the paper. Holding his letter close to her chest, where it was free from the salty reminders of his absence, only then did she allow the tears to fall. Quiet sobs in the empty living room, praying to whoever was listening, begging, for him to come back to her. 

_________________________________

“Mail call, fellas!” 

Rosie looked up to find Tattie Spaatz in the doorway of his and Ev Blakely’s shared office, a handful of envelopes in her hands as she leaned against the doorframe. Blakely looked up, pulling the cigarette from between his lips and resting it in the ashtray on his desk before taking the offered mail from her. 

“Thanks Tat,” he nodded, passing Rosie’s over to him. “Dougie’s off with Olive so, if he’s got anything you can drop it here, his office is locked.”

“Oh, even better, thanks Ev. See you later Rosie.”

“See ya Tattie…” Rosie half waved as she walked out the door, looking up from the papers on his desk just in time to see her casually stroll into Jack Kidd’s office. 

“They’re at it again…” he shook his head, Ev’s laughter filling the silence. 

“Yeah well, whatever she’s doing got the bug out of his ass.”

“You sound like Val.”

“Who do you think said it first?” Ev grinned, picking up his mail.

“Anything good?” Rosie nodded towards the envelope in his hands, his own mail resting next to him on his desk. 

“My mother, more than likely with a few sentences for me and three pages for her future daughter in-law.”

“Aren’t all our Ma’s like that…”

Blakely didn’t respond, instead leaving Rosie to open his mail while he set to reading from his mother back in Seattle. Slipping his thumb under the back of the envelope, he pulled out a letter written in Pappy’s messy scrawl, but legible at the very least. 

Hey pal! 

How’s it going over there in East Anglia? Have you single handedly won the war yet, or did Harding tell you to save some Krauts for the rest of the crews? I’m just kidding, I know you’re up in Operations with the other guys, so hopefully the paperwork isn’t putting you to sleep yet. 

I’m back at your Ma’s house. Croz and I took the girls to the Stork Club for dinner and some dancing, and before you ask yes, I warned your girlfriend that I have two left feet. She seemed happy to go out, and I think a little relieved to meet Croz. She’s trying really hard to be brave, but pal, she’s ready for you to come home. And don’t worry, Croz delivered your letter- I left her to read it after I dropped her back off at her folks house. You weren’t kidding when you said the same block! She’s practically across the street from your Ma’s house! Oh, and thanks again for letting me stay at your place while I’m here. Your bed is pretty comfy for a big shot Major. That’s payback for having to ride the Cyclone, by the way! She dragged me on that thing, and said that if Jean Crosby could do it I could too. Didn’t have it in me to tell her no, but dear god, how could you make that girl ride it year after year! 

I don’t think I need to tell you, but just to make sure we’re all on the same page I’m going to do it anyway. Jo is amazing, and she’s so much more than how you described her. And she loves ya. I mean, she really truly loves ya! That kind of thing isn’t easy to find, so, would ya finish this damn thing and come home to her? She deserves to have at least that much. So do you.  

Anyway, take care of yourself Rosie. Give my regards to everyone still over there with ya, especially Cousin Olive. 

Your friend and Co-Pilot

Pappy Lewis

The paper fell to the desk with a sigh, Rosie’s head falling into his hands almost as fast as the paper from his grip. How could he be so stupid? Sure, Pappy was a great friend and he trusted him to be the friend Jo needed during Croz’s furlough, but Jo had a friend. She had Jean, and she had the girls here who wrote to her, and Juliet upstate. What she needed was him, and he dropped the ball. 

“God damnit…”

“Rosie? You okay pal?”

Looking up, he found Blakely putting his own mail back in its envelope, turning in his chair to face him fully. He deftly pulled the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it quickly, focusing his attention back on him. 

“Rosie…?”

“Yea, I’m just…” he swiped a hand down his face with a groan, trying to find the words to actually make sense of it all. He couldn’t. “No, Ev. I not okay.”

“Alright, well, what’s eating at ya?” The smoke billowed from his lips as he spoke, swirling around both him and Rosie. Though he wasn’t a smoker, Rosie found it oddly comforting as it wrapped around him. 

“Pappy sent a letter. I asked him to go out and look after Jo while Croz was home, I had a feeling she wasn’t going to take his furlough all that well, and it turns out I was right.”

“Couldn’t have been easy, what, with Croz being home and you-”

“I should be home already, Ev.”

“Do you regret it? Reupping?”

“They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, right?”

“Jesus, Rosie,” Ev exhaled, turning to knock the ashes off the end of his cigarette. “What did Pappy have to say?”

“He took her to the Stork Club for dinner and dancing with Croz and Jean. She made him get on the Cyclone. I should be taking her to the club for dinner and dancing and dragging her on that damn ride.” 

“Pal, I know we all tried to talk you out of it before you went in to see Bennet, and I’m not going to sit here and tell you that you should have listened to us. It’s not going to change anything.”

“There’s a but coming,” Rosie raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ve known you long enough, Blakely.”

“There is a but coming, you’re right. When you do get home, make sure that girl knows how sorry you are, and how much you love her.”

“Gonna marry her.”

“Good, put a ring on her finger. Shit, pal, if I could run away from all this with Val right now, I wouldn’t stop to question it. I’d just go.”

“I’m a bonehead. At least that’s probably the word Croz would use.” 

“Want me to call you a bonehead?”

“No, please. I feel bad enough.”

“Don’t feel bad, you can’t beat yourself up too much. You’ll never get out of your own head if you do.”

“Thanks, Ev.”

“I know I’m not Croz, but we're friends so don’t ever feel like we’re not.”

“Sometimes it's easier to talk to him,” Rosie sighed. “His wife isn’t here, Jo isn’t here, we just have that to gripe over. You and Doug…”

“I get it, Val and Olive are here, and it seems like it’s a million times easier, but I’ll tell ya what, there was a time it wasn’t.”

“Bremen?”

“Bremen, and everything before Bremen. Africa especially.”

“Biddick…”

“Yeah,” Ev sighed. “I always worried something would yank me from her too soon. Then Curt went down and I realized I could just as easily have been the one to go down, and leave her without so much as a warning. Jo doesn’t see all of this, so she’s protected. Val sees bodies carried out of the hospital, and most of her friends covered in blood when they’re pulled out of a fort, or limping into Interrogation. I wish she didn’t have to.”

“I see your point. Sometimes it’s not always greener on the other side.”

“It is, and it isn’t.”

“Jo is protected back home, just wish I was there to protect her.”

“Soon enough, Rosie. Soon enough.”

“Thanks for the chat, Ev.”

“Anytime, Pal,” Ev stood from his seat, and clapped a hand on Rosie's shoulder. “Now come on, I’ll buy you a drink at the club.”

“And Val?”

“She’ll meet us later, I think she’s up in Harding’s office working on some stuff.”

Quickly, they shut off the lights and locked the office, leaving their paperwork for the next day. Rosie stuffed Pappy’s letter into his jacket pocket, following Ev out the door and through Operations until they were outside. Neither bothered to attempt to bid Jack Kidd goodnight. 

The air was cool, and the lights that illuminated the walkways were just flickering on as they turned towards the officers club, already filling up with replacements spilling from the mess halls, and the odd crew they were friendly with. 

“You think he told Jean?” Rosie turned to catch Blakely’s gaze as the other man lit up a cigarette. Realization dawned on him when he figured out what exactly Rosie was hinting at. 

“He’d be stupid not to.”

“I only just told Jo, though I’m guessing she had an idea.”

“When did Croz tell you?”

“Remember New Year’s Eve? Before you and Dougie came into the racks with the bottle of Vat 69 I’m still not sure how you got your hands on.”

“Ohhhh yeah!” Ev grinned. “Wait! You knew from then?”

“I did…”

“He’s your guy for this stuff isn’t he…” 

“Isn’t Doug yours?” Rosie replied. 

“I’m Doug’s,” Ev laughed. “You want good advice, come to me. You want someone to tell you it’s okay to bring a donkey home from Africa, you go to Doug.”

“I will, uh, remember that.” Rosie laughed. 

He couldn’t change any of this, and his decision would be something he’d live with for the rest of his life, but support made it easier. Jo had support at home. She had her parents, and his Ma, Jean Crosby and now Juliet and Vika upstate. Rosie had Croz, and though Ev Blakely had always been a friend, he realized this was the first time the two of them had gotten deep and shared the realities of war together. He had envied the man for months that Val was here with him, not realizing just how hard it had been for the woman to watch him fly off and potentially never come back. How rough it was on him to leave her on the ground time after time. To have pulled her through the aftermath of the Africa mission, while his crew had simply stood down and been meant to watch it all unfold. 

These were the realities of this war. You missed people, you lost people, you made mistakes and you learned lessons. But, you also made friends, and sometimes if you were lucky those friends became your family. Rosie hadn’t realized it at first, but his family was growing both back home, and here at Thorpe Abbotts, and it all came down  to one person.

My dearest Jo…

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

Tag List: @winniemaywebber @sagesolsticewrites @bobparkhurst @rosiesriveter @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd @roosevelt-stalin-cocacola @justheretoreadthxxs @claireelizabeth85 @hephaestn @ktredshoes @barrykeoghussy @peachessndreamss @hellfirequinnie @spinteresting @prettyinlimegreenboots @manonsmanicmind @precious-little-scoundrel @beingalive1

[therealslimshakespeare]

https://www.tumblr.com/precious-little-scoundrel/758345404332081152/httpswwwtumblrcomprecious-little-scoundrel75

Like for me, the reason for loving these vibes even though it’s SO premature is literally just because it’s so important to me to see someone like Ida forge these lovely female friendships for herself. I know her and Tilly were sort of bound to be close but I love them all the same. And again, I love hearing you talk about the progression of her relationship with Lu and healing her internalized misogyny. For her to be someone so special to Lu when she herself battles with stuff like that is so cool. And I think post-war, having a friend like Jo who is similar to her in some ways (such as her ambitions) but who is separate from the horrors she endured would be so special for her.

Awww yes! Yes. Ditto

[tapedsleeves]

get rec'd - just so so so late

hi. it's me again, hargaret. It's been a while.

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to climb two mountains by @gaybroons

tyler myers / quinn hughes / nikita zadorov, E, 2191

read the title. you know what this is about. it's really really hot & well written DP.

i'm ready to journey again by thunderingskies

quinn hughes / elias petterson, E, 12192

Quinn and Petey were hooking up and it takes a long time for Quinn to realize that his feelings go way beyond that. This fic is just. oh man i love a good fwb to lovers fic and this one is *chef's kiss*

from this day forward series by @wymgreenteam

Nico Hischier / Jack Hughes ( / Jonas Siegenthaler), E, 91664

This series is based on a Swiss Royal Nico, arranged marriage to Jack & secretly in love with them both Jonas (in the sequel). Listen. This fic has everything. Enemies to lovers. Best friends to lovers. Polycules. Angst. I love it so so so much and reread it regularly. It's one of my favorite comfort fics.

take my hand, take my whole life too by @thatsnotbuddies

Jack Eichel / Noah Hanifin, T, 1817

jack and noah get vegas married. this fic is SO soft and SO lovely.

soft as it began by @droumack

nathan mackinnon / jonathan drouin, E, 41499

Nate & Jo get drafted together as mates - but Nate insists at first that it's platonic. I really liked this one as well, this author really has a way with angst that i really really dig.