#basilone

[mercurygray]

Merc all of these prompts are so cute 😭😭 could I have “ice hitting glass” for Cord?

Well, here it is - the teasered bit from yesterday! I took the liberty of combining this prompt with another from @basilone - "Soft humming for Cord & Bucky?"

It's a follow up to this piece.

--

She was glad the officer's club was quiet tonight.

There was something comforting, about being able to hear the ice in your glass, to actually be able to identify the song playing on the radio. There had been too much noise in her life, recently, and the relative quiet was doing her good. If it was quiet, she could hear herself think again, sort through the emotions of the last few days.

She had kissed Bucky Egan, and she didn't have a single idea about where that left the two of them.

Cord supposed she could have said that it had come on suddenly, a momentary lapse of judgement for a handsome face and a willing smile, but it wasn't that, not really. She'd been putting up with his face and his smile for the better part of two months now and maybe that was the real problem - that the way he'd worked his way in had been gradual and sly. His tricks had been seen so often that they were known and expected, and in the face of losing them, and losing him, she'd realized what it would cost her if they were gone.

The handsome face helped, too - that had to be said. And the easy smile - the ease of all of him! A man who did not get caught up in anything about other people's assumptions, who would finally kiss a girl he'd been wanting to kiss for months.

It had been one hell of a kiss.

She kept coming back to it, in the silence of the day - the warmth of his hands on her face, her waist, the way his head had tipped down to hers and her hands had been pinned in between them. With her eyes closed it was easier, somehow, to let him kiss her, pull him closer, fall onto his bed. He was everyone and no one all at once, and it was easy to get lost in the nearness of him until she'd realized that she was nearly half-way out of her uniform and wishing, desperately, to be out of all of it.

He made her feel like she was flying again - like between the two of them they were piloting something, each moving in compliment with the other, known and unknown all at once.

But it was one thing to kiss him like that in his barracks - in his bed - and another to own up to it where other people could see. He'd been ready for that. Was she?

(Who was she joking? He was always ready to kiss someone. What made her any different from a dozen other girls?)

"Lieutenant Callaway, I'm going to need you to dance with me." Cord looked up from her glass, her heart leaping far too high for the voice now saying her name. "You're far too pretty to leave sitting at this bar." Egan was smiling like this dance was a foregone conclusion. He was alone - no crowd of friends with him. That was something, at least. She wasn't sure she wanted an audience for this. And he hadn't used her first name, either. That was something, too.

She tried to think of cool things - ice cubes and snowbanks and polished chrome - and smoothed out her skirt, trying to remember the woman she'd been two days ago, before the mission and the landing and the yelling and the kiss. "I don't have much of a choice here, do I?"

"No," Bucky declared with his most earnest smile. "You do not." He held out a hand and she took it, hesitating for a moment. The club wasn't as empty as she thought, and Bucky was loud. But he was always loud - and she was always saying no.

Could they tell, just by looking, that something had changed? They had danced together before, more than once, but that was before, and this was after. It almost pained her, to let him take her hand in his own, their bodies close together, to have his hand warm and heavy on her shoulder when she wanted it around her waist. She didn't trust herself right now, but what could she do but follow?

She couldn't hear the music - she was too fixed on the sound of his breathing, the off-key way he was humming along, keeping time with the music. It was too good, standing here in his arms. After a while he stopped his humming and spoke. "Whatcha thinking about?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You just …feel far away, is all."

"I feel far away?" I'm right here and we're dancing.

He made a face. "Physical feedback is very important to flying a plane, Cordelia. A fellow's trained to notice these things. You're tense."

She did not know, in the moment, what she thought of him using her whole name. Well, he's not wrong. "I'm thinking about how everyone's staring at us."

He scoffed, pulled her a little closer. "Let 'em stare. We look good. They're all just jealous I'm dancing with the prettiest girl here."

Am I, Bucky? Because I've heard you say that to a lot of girls. "I just…don't know how I feel about…"

"About dancing with a man you hated two days ago?" He sure knew how to get to the heart of things, but he didn't seem as bothered by it as she. "There's a war on. We're all allowed to be a little stupid. And you're allowed to change your mind about people. About me." He took a breath and considered. "Unless you haven't changed your mind, and yesterday was a …misunderstanding."

The way her heart soared and fell on the way he said misunderstanding was hard to quantify. "No, it…it wasn't…that." Should she tell him? Would he understand? "You - Laura told you, about Jimmy. And I told you he wasn't my boyfriend, but I - " She hadn't said this part aloud, to anyone, and once it was out, in the air, it could not be taken back. "I wanted him to be. He'd always say he was dancing with the prettiest girl, too. But… never did anything after that. And I…I let myself…get caught up in it." I let myself think that he meant things that he didn't, and it hurt just that much more when he was dead, knowing that I cared so much more than he did.

He thought about this for a moment. "You're afraid I'm not serious."

"You're not exactly known for it, Bucky." Well, there it is. I don't like being a joke. And I was, to his friends - helping his mother with his things when I wasn't anything to him.

"Were you this cautious when you were flying?" There was an edge to his voice that she'd never heard before, an accusatory tone.

"No, I wasn't." And maybe I'm ashamed of that, a little. "But things changed." I'm not that girl now. I can't care that way again if I'm not going to get anything back and I'm still going to lose you in the end.

He took a breath and nodded to himself, working through all of this. "I got here in May, and one of the first people I met was this crackerjack brunette who was supposed to be in charge of our control tower. She was smart, and sharp, and I would have started something sooner but she didn't want to have a thing to do with me. And I didn't much like that, but it made me - made me see a lot of things about her that I might have missed, if she'd said yes right away." His eyes locked with hers. "When you say serious is that what you mean?"

The music had ended and they had stopped dancing, the announcer warbling something that she couldn't really hear. Tell me you're not going to drop me tomorrow, Bucky. Tell me you're not going to leave.

His eyes were dark and full of promises. "We're pilots, Cord. We've only got today to give. But I'll get you tomorrow, if I've got it. How much more serious can I get?"

She kissed him for that - for calling her a pilot. His arms instinctively wrapped tighter around her body, pulling her closer, and she felt herself melt into him, lose where he stopped and she began.

After what seemed like forever they broke apart, Bucky's broad grin unmistakable. "You want to finish this up somewhere more private, Lieutenant, or should we keep scandalizing the neighbors?" She had to hit him for that, but she could not stop smiling, even if she'd wanted to. "I'll punch the next guy who jokes," he whispered, glancing around the room, and she felt her heart thrill for it.

"Bucky."

But even when she was warning him, he was still grinning. "That's my girl."

See, he meant that, her heart assured her. His girl. And for the moment, there was quiet in that, too.

[shoshiwrites]

Jo/Bucky & dog?

He’s a dark-haired little mutt puppy with a mangled ear that wanders up to Jo somewhere in Germany, whining pitifully, until she kneels down and scoops him up in search of the nearest Clubmobile (this concludes the adoption process, whether she knows it at the time or not).

The G.I.s spoil him and the Red Cross girls coo over him and Jo sneaks him donut crumbs and leftover rations and he sits by her feet while she writes. She realizes he understands a bit of English too, when she talks in his other ear. 

By the time Bucky finds her again Lucky’s grown a bit, but he’s still scoopable. He’s a little bit of a guard dog to Jo until he realizes Bucky loves her just as much. John’s prepared to pull rank to get their dog home, but in the end he doesn’t have to (Jo wasn’t sure him being a major would get them too far, anyway, but she doesn’t tell him that). 

Sometime in the early ‘50s Bucky comes home with a beagle puppy in his arms, and Jo can’t find it in herself to say no (“I’m supposed to say no?” she’s asking, taking the pup from her husband). He catches baseballs in the yard and romps around with the kids and only rarely chews on Jo’s typewriter ribbons. They love him to pieces and it’s only fitting that Jo has a yapper dog in addition to a yapper husband.

Send me a ship + a word, and I'll tell you the first headcanon that comes to mind!

[upontherisers]

Things you said at the kitchen table for Mahalia & Bucky? 💙

this was such a good prompt killy thank you thank you!!! tw for a brief death mention. prompt from this list. if anyone wants to listen along, i'd throw on halloween by phoebe bridgers.

“Where were you?” she asks from the table as he enters the kitchen.

He turns over his shoulder as he pours a glass of water so he can look at her in the warm light of the overhead lamp, all tucked into her Wayne State sweater, a few dark curls escaping from her headscarf and onto her forehead. Lucky guy, he is.

“Sal’s,” he says. “Donaldson said he was paying if the Yankees pulled through, so…”

She nods hurriedly. “Of course.”

“Thought we were gonna miss last call. They scored eight in the fifth then spent the sixth walking batters, and the Tigers can’t hit for shit so there was an hour worth of foul balls.”

From the sink, he looks out into the blue night and over the fence. The sky is covered in stars, and it’s so warm that he can see the green on the trees waving in the breeze — summer has arrived, rising up from the river and soaking into everything. The grass needs mowing and the garden needs weeding but it seems cruel now to cut down things at the height of realizing they’re alive. Maybe he’ll take Mahalia to the lake this weekend, or rent a rowboat on the river and watch her look over the side and marvel at the fish. Lucky guy.

“It cleared out during the eighth once it was clear which way it was going. Every seat had a view of home plate. You would’ve liked—”

A sniff interrupts him. Turning, he catches a shine on her cheek before she wipes it away, reaches for the cane resting between her thighs, and pushes back from the table as if to leave, but she stays seated.

“Mahalia?”

“No, it’s—I’m, I’m fine.” Her gaze is fixed on the small painted vase of wildflowers at the center of the table and he can see tears pooled above her bottom lashes — bright and golden from the glow overhead. A hand rests on the wood, flexing nervously.

His glass clatters into the sink and she jumps, tears running down her cheeks and darkening the cotton where they land. She gasps, surprised at herself, and swipes at her face with another sniff as he comes to a knee on the tile in front of her.

“Mahalia… hey, hey, hey.” He leans as she does, to the right, to the left, but she won’t meet his eyes, instead fussing at his collar and his hair with trembling hands.

“The radio,” she starts, “the radio said there was a fight. A man was killed.”

Resting her hands from his shirt, he takes them in his own and pushes his thumbs back and forth over her knuckles as she shakily exhales. “A fight?”

“After the game. They said a—a Yankees fan was drunk, they said they—they beat him to death.” Her voice cracks and the sound washes over him cold and stinging, like walking in October snow.

He kisses her knuckles and counts them, all ten, in his head. They’d left halfway through the ninth is what he hadn’t told her yet, worried about last call but the women at home most of all — Chip wanted to tuck in his girls one last time before sending them off to camp tomorrow and John was hoping Mahalia was still up so he could kiss her good night and look into her eyes and see that summer was getting to her, too. He didn’t mean it like this.

“I’ll call from Sal’s next time,” he says, but he doesn’t want a next time until he knows she won’t force herself to stay awake, alone in the dark, in a chair too stiff to rest in.

“Oh, don’t do that, I just—”

He cradles her face and she finally meets his eyes with tears tangled in the corners of hers. “They’re gonna have to do more than kill me, you know that?”

Her laugh is watery but real and the bubble of guilt in his chest pops as she pecks him on the lips and presses her forehead to his. It’s warm again, summer seeping through the tile below and rising to meet them. “How ‘bout the river tomorrow, you and me? You can see your fish.”

“You lie, John Egan,” she declares. “Those fish are nasty and smelly.”

She’s smiling all the same as she rises and handles her cane to her side, starting down the hall to their room. “But yes,” she calls over her shoulder, “we can go to the river.”

[shoshimakesstuff]

@basilone's Darlene + Benny — read here.

[thoughpoppiesblow]

JJ! I know you have a few new OCs cookin', and am curious: what is Jackie's fave way to spend the day, and what is Nora's fave place in the whole wide world?

hi killy!! thanks so much for asking :) i decided to marinate on this for a little bit, so now i’m back with some answers!

jackie loves to just be. sitting and people-watching or reading in a café is endlessly fun to her, because it lets her slow down and settle in and really truly relax. as an officer, jackie has to move fast and think fast - which she can - but she prefers a slower type of life. she’ll always sneak her first coffee alone with the sunrise, rather than getting it with everyone else later at the officer’s mess.

nora’s favorite place is hard to pin down - she’ll say her college, because it sounds smart and normal, but really it would be her childhood bedroom. she doesn’t have a great relationship with her family by 1943, but she wants nothing more than to go back to a time when life was quiet, simple, and full of love. she wants to be quiet and settle, but believes that by being loud she can get rid of people before they have the chance to leave her.

[violaobanion]

Happy birthday to you! I hope you'll have the best day! 😊

aw thank you so much!! 🥹💓

[hephaestn]

Happy birthday! Wishing you good things for the new year of your life. 😊

thank you so, so much killy! ☺️🩵

[ronsenthal]

Happiest of birthdays to you, my friend! I hope the new year of your life will bring you many great things! 💙

Awww Killy thank you so much for your sweet words and for being such an inspiration and so supportive, I really appreciate it 💙

[sharkboyandlavalieb]

BAND OF BROTHERS vs THE PACIFIC

[sluttyhenley]

Okay, John, go pose with your wife! Let's make it official.

THE PACIFIC Part Eight

[mercurygray]

how to get home, for Cord? 💙

The days feel longer here.

It feels strange to say that, as they move into December and the dark descends before the sun's even had a chance to get her coat on, but wars don't run on business hours, and everyone can pull out their desk lamps and continue calculations well into the wee hours of the evening if that's what conditions demand. And the war demands a lot, always.

The new men coming in think that this is just the way that Thorpe Abbotts has always been - that the ops officers are seldom in the officers club, that that ground crew don't know your name. No one bothers to correct the impression, except perhaps Rosie Rosenthal, who even Colonel Harding will agree is in a class by himself.

Everyone is different after Munster, and none of the old hands want to correct assumptions. Harry Crosby is a loner, Ev Blakely tells fewer jokes, and Cordelia Callaway is an ice queen who's married to her job and never smiles.

Let 'em, Cord thinks to herself, finishing the last touches on the week's accident reports and watching out of the corner of her eye as a few new WACs go by, whispering. Why should it matter? She stands up and stretches, concious, as she has not been for a while, of the tension in her shoulders and the twinge in her jaw.

"Lieutenant Callaway, do you have a minute?" Cord looks up to see Fred Torvaldsen standing in the doorway, her homemade red scarf vivid against the blue of her Red Cross uniform and the gray outside. "I've got - something for you."

It's an odd request - Cord doesn't know the woman over and above a few cups of coffee, a good singing voice, and a heart for stray cats. (Anita spent a whole day talking about spark plugs before it was explained that she meant the Aero Club's new kitten.) A mittened hand holds something out - a letter. "It came to me, but it's - it's for you," Fred explains. "I think they wanted to - get it around the censor. I hope you don't mind I opened it."

The poor-quality paper is crumpled, the handwriting messy and rushed. There's only one person who writes like that. Cord finds herself leaning against the wall. (Fred, she notices, hasn't moved. How many letters like this has she delivered?)

Dear Cord,

I don't know what to say except I'm sorry.

And that's it. That's all there is. Ten words that hit her like a ton of bricks. Sorry, Bucky? You're sorry? What does that even - sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry you're not here? Sorry you're alive and you didn't think it would be important to tell me? Sorry?

It is so maddeningly and frustratingly him that she can hardly think - the wall is holding her up and she wishes it were him. You're a thousand miles away and you're right here in this paper, and I miss you so much, Bucky, your shoulders and your smile and the way you make me laugh…

The words have been struck through, heavily, with a pencil, and as she reads them a fifth and sixth time, she can almost see him, hunched over a table in a chair that is too small for him, struggling with the words and then deciding they're not worth the paper they're written on, striking them out and throwing down the pencil and crumpling up the page. Underneath there are a few more lines, added in a script she knows is Gale's -

Sorry you haven't heard from him sooner. He's started this letter five times and I thought you ought to at least get one.

I think if he missed you less, he'd be able to talk about it more. He hasn't said your name since we got here.

We're all doing okay, and hope you are, too. Say hi to everyone for us. Gale.

That, too, is a new wave of tears - classic Gale. At least he knows how to get home. She hopes for a tearful moment that Marjorie Spencer has gotten the letters that she knows Gale has written like clockwork in his fine, neat hand. And she has ten words. Ten words, struck out for being written, and her name, and 'Dear', and all of that somehow not good enough to actually send. John Egan, if you were here I don't know what I'd do to you. Kiss you, kill you, or never let go of you.

She looks up, wipes her eyes on the back of her hand, and realizes Fred is still standing there, smiling faintly, a handkerchief in her hand. Cord sniffles and takes it, grateful. "There's paper at the club, when you want to write him back."

"No if?" Cord asks, blowing her nose and trying to find the ice queen again behind the hot tears on her cheek.

"No one I know cries like that over ifs," Fred replied with a little smile. "Mary's baking shortbread later. We'll save you some."

Later that night, when she has been installed in a comfortable chair with a cup of tea and three of the promised cookies, she finds herself staring at the paper feeling blank. "Well, what would you say if he were here right now?" Mary asks, sitting down with her own cup of tea and gesturing to an empty chair like it will somehow conjure the man.

Cord stares at the empty chair, and then writes down the only words she can think of, picturing him.

You stupid, stupid, stupid man.

The only apology I want is for not writing sooner - and for thinking that I wouldn't want a letter. What kind of woman do you think I am? Jack Kidd was kind enough to give me your jacket - the one I said I hated. It's in my room now. I'll return it to you when you get back - or not. The weather's been getting colder and a girl might need it…

[shoshiwrites]

posting the little snippet i started for a prompt to make up for all the tag memes i've been hiding from because i didn't have anything new 🙈

kindly tagged by @ktredshoes @softspeirs @mercurygray @tortoisesshells @basilone <3

[upontherisers]

19 & 23 for the OC asks? 😊

thanks for these killy!

19. most likely to be a cuddler

frankie wilson! frankie's preferred place to be is all over you. she doesn't believe in personal space. it's never too hot for her to sit directly on you or shove her way into your bunk on the ship ("frankie i'm sweating through my underwear get off me!") or do whatever she can to be right next to you. stage 5 clinger. idk how marcus gets any work done.

23. most likely to defend their friends in a fight

mahalia summerton. she once shoved a man with half a foot on her behind her so that she could break a guy's nose. do not step to her friends in her presence.

most likely to OC asks

[shoshimakesstuff]

Changes on our hands and on our faces, Memories are mapped out by the lines we'll trace.

Wishing you the happiest of birthdays @basilone! ♡

[tetragonia]

save me men in green dress... save me... men in green dress save me....

[hboww2rewatch]

Welcome to HBO's WWII Fandom Rewatch!

You are cordially invited to join us in watching Band of Brothers, The Pacific, and Masters of the Air in chronological order April 29 - July 14, 2024.

We will be watching three episodes a week and will have prompts to boost fandom creation as we watch together!

You can find the episode schedule and prompts below the cut. Individual posts can be found here and here if you prefer shorter posts.

If you are unable to watch the show at the same time as the schedule, no worries. While we are personally planning to liveblog together the episodes per the schedule, we understand everyone has lives outside of tumblr. Watch whenever you are able - our goal is to bond over our love for these shows and experience them again together. Pop in when you are able! :)

Please tag all your posts during this event with #hboww2rewatch and give us a follow for all updates on the rewatch.

Please reblog this post to spread the word!

Schedule:

We are tentatively planning to watch Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturdays, but that is not set in stone - watch when you are able during the week!

Week 1: Mon April 29- Sun May 5

The Pacific E1  (Dec ‘41- Oct ‘42) The Pacific E2  (Oct ‘42) The Pacific E3  (Dec ‘42- Fall ‘43)

Week 2: Mon May 6- Sun May 12

Masters of the Air E1  (Spring ‘43) Masters of the Air E2  (Spring ‘43) Masters of the Air E3   (Aug ‘43)

Week 3: Mon May 13- Sun May 19

Masters of the Air E4 (Oct ‘43) Masters of the Air E5 (Oct ‘43) Masters of the Air E6 (Oct ‘43)

Week 4: Mon May 20- Sun May 26

The Pacific E4  (Dec ‘43) Masters of the Air E7  (march ‘44) Band of Brothers E1  (June ‘44)

Week 5: Mon May 27- Sun June 2

Masters of the Air E8  (June ‘44) Band of Brothers E2  (June 6, ‘44) Band of Brothers E3  (June 7, ‘44)

Week 6: Mon June 3- Sun June 9

The Pacific E5  (Sept ‘44) Band of Brothers E4  (Sept ‘44) The Pacific E6  (Sept-Oct ‘44)

Week 7: Mon June 10- Sun June 16

Band of Brothers E5  (Oct ‘44) The Pacific E7  (Oct-Dec ‘44) Band of Brothers E6  (Dec ‘44)

Week 8: Mon June 17- Sun June 23

Band of Brothers E7  (Jan ‘45) Band of Brothers E8  (Feb ‘45) The Pacific E8  (Feb ‘45)

Week 9: Mon June 24- Sun June 30

Band of Brothers E9  (April ‘45) The Pacific E9  (April-June ‘45) Masters of the Air E9  (Feb-June ‘45)

Week 10: Mon July 1- Sun July 7

Band of Brothers E10  (May-Aug ‘45) The Pacific E10  (Aug ‘45) Saving Private Ryan (Bonus event)

Week 11: Mon July 8- Sun July 14 - post rewatch events to encourage fellow fans!

Reblog people’s creations

Leave comments on fics

Consider making a new friend in someone else who participated

Prompts:

Week 1: Mon April 29- Sun May 5:

Heading Out

First Fight

Friends

Orange

Week 2: Mon May 6- Sun May 12:

Crash

Crew

Superstition

Blue

Week 3: Mon May 13- Sun May 19:

Dancing

Reunion

Kinship

Red

Week 4: Mon May 20- Sun May 26:

Recuperation

Camp Life

Training

Green

Week 5: Mon May 27- Sun June 2:

Tuskeegees

Parachute

Injured

Purple

Week 6: Mon June 3- Sun June 9

Reunited

Replacement

Airfield

White

Week 7: Mon June 10- Sun June 16:

Typewriter

Loss

Cold

Pink

Week 8: Mon June 17- Sun June 23:

Shelling

Translation

Wedding

Brown

Week 9: Mon June 24- Sun June 30:

Discovery

Humanity

Celebration

Yellow

Week 10: Mon July 1- Sun July 7:

Bonding

Adjustment

Sacrifice

Dress Uniform

Black

Week 11 Mon July 8- Sun July 14:

Favorite Crew

Favorite Company

Best Friendship

Humor

Underrated Character

Character + Quote

Headcanons

Crossover

Something Missing