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saturnwisteria · 4 months ago

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library books that’ll never be returned, for someone of your own choice (perhaps your OC? 😊)

Yesterday I was telling myself I'm probably just not the OC writing type, and then today I was seized by the throat and wrote this straight through for 5 hours. Thank you for the prompt!

Yeva Rosova woke before dawn with everyone else, even though she would not be flying today. The flak that had bit into her shoulder on the last mission had made sure of that. It stopped her from sleeping on the side she favored, and if being grounded hadn't made her restless enough, then being thrust out of sleep by the sensation of coals burning under her skin, to find she had unconsciously rolled over onto her bad arm, would do it.

It wasn't that she was bitter about being grounded; no, that she understood, because Yeva was not a pilot, and therefore actually sensible about the fact that her injury, although not serious, would still prevent her from doing her job to the best of her ability. So no, she was not bitter, but it would not have been inaccurate to say that she was more than a little peeved to not be going up with her crew.

Especially in the wake of the last mission. The absence of Major Cleven could be felt around base like a deep contusion: invisible on the surface, but felt with every movement. No one would say it, but the ache was impossible to ignore with Major Egan's dead eyes haunting them all.

She drained her coffee to the dregs, twirling the grounds in the mug like her mama used to. She didn't really believe in scrying truth from the remnants of a person's drink, but she had woken up already forlorn and found herself craving the familiar.

That feeling disappeared quickly.

For a moment, she's a little kid again. Little Yeva who waddled after her мама on house visits, who was shy and quiet but not scared of the sickness that filled the room. Who stared with big dark eyes at yellowed skin or inflamed joints or angry abrasions slick with pus and plasma and didn't flinch, but crept closer. She watched with fascination when her mother would pull out the glass jar full of fat, crawling maggots and place them on a patient's crowded lesions.

Sometimes what her mama did would work, sometimes not. Occasionally, Yeva would walk into the house, hand clutching her mama's tightly, and she would know nothing could be done. It was a smell in the air, thick breath and dry skin and the tang of ointment; or maybe it was the family's desperation that would linger visibly in the room, casting a cloak over her eyes. Either way, Little Yeva was never wrong.

Death did not scare Yeva; she had known it too often as a child to think of it as anything other than a forgiving figure. Now, it stood silently in the corner of every room. In the interrogation hut, spacious where it should have been crowded. In the barracks, solemn gazes where there should have been rowdy laughter.

She saw it on the hardstands, lurking under the bellies of countless forts, shadowy hands stretching out along their wings in anticipation of the moment where they would be allowed to tug them down, down, down.

Most of all, she saw it now in the dark shapes hunkered at the base of her mug, portents of the future, reflecting bad omens on the horizon. She slammed the mug down and stood up quickly, a few members of her crew looked up at her in question, but she waved them off. If she doesn't speak it, it can't come true.

That was not how tasseography worked, but perhaps her superstitions would cancel each other out.

She found Addy smoking outside, eyes trained on the lightening sky. Yeva walked over to stand next to her, and when Addy nodded in greeting, Yeva leaned wordlessly into her side. It was a little awkward, given that Addy was a few inches shorter, but Yeva didn't care. It seemed Addy didn't either, as she crossed her arms over her chest and allowed Yeva's arm to slide deeper against her side, bringing them closer.

Yeva "Bones" Rosova and Addison "Guts" Guthrie had met in basic. They had both gone to the recruitment station intending to join the Army Nurse Corps, and both had made a last minute decision upon hearing the news that a select few branches were opening a limited amount of active combat positions to women. Both of them, it turns out, had wanted to see what the world looked like from above the clouds.

They had landed in the 100th Bomb Group, in the 418th squadron, in separate crews but together nonetheless. Addy as a tail gunner, and Yeva as a top turret gunner/flight engineer.

In a few minutes, the mess hall would empty and trucks would begin to fill with crews ready to fight for yet another day. Yeva tries to ignore the feeling stirring in her gut, the sensation that something bad is about to happen.

Her mama had loved to tell her that she had been born with a sixth sense, a secret knowledge for knowing when something was amiss. Yeva had cherished this attention when she had thought she would be following in her mother's footsteps as the village's 'barefoot doctor.' She had clung to it as her secret weapon through training, where she proved again and again to be adept at quickly identifying issues and failures and finding solutions. And when she had finally started flying real missions, and the problems had turned from textbook to reality, she had found that more than once, following a hunch had saved her ass.

Now, watching Addy take a final pull before crushing her cigarette with her toes, Yeva despised this gift for the first time in her life.

The mess door flew open, and airmen began to file out, heading toward the trucks waiting on the tarmac. Addy stood up straight beside her, stretching out her arms above her head, before turning to Yeva with a signature Addison Guthrie grin; sweeter than honey and warm enough to melt the frosting off a cupcake. It sent a fresh wave of curdling worry through Yeva.

"Well, here we are," Addy said.

"Here we are," Yeva replied, taking the moment to memorize Addy's face. Deep grey eyes shining, brown hair pinned back, pale lips stretched wide in a smile that revealed both the dimple in her left cheek and the gap between her middle teeth, which Yeva had always found charming. Makes me look like the hillbilly I am, Addy would always say, purposefully making her West Virginian accent thicker.

"Guts!" Lieutenant Hoerr called from over by the trucks, "Time to load up. Get it moving!"

"Looks like someone's sour about getting kicked from their seat." Addy sighed, adjusting her jacket collar, and the lilac scarf tied there. Yeva's heart thrummed as Addy started to turn away.

"Wait," Yeva blurts. Addy looks back at her, soft smile still in place, and so fucking beautiful it threatens to steal the breath from her lungs. She wants to say, don't go where I can't follow. She wants to say, I don't know how to do this without you. Instead, she takes her own scarf out from her pocket, light pink and white stripes, and holds it out.

"Here, take it. So part of me can come with you," she says in a rush. Addy stares down at the offering, an emotion Yeva doesn't recognize flickering in her eyes, before she takes it, holding it gently I'm her hands. Yeva expects her to fold it up and put it in her pocket. Instead, she reaches up and unknots her own scarf, pulling it off, and ties Yeva's scarf in its place. Tucks the ends down into her jacket, the fabric resting just above her heart.

And then she leans over, loops her own scarf around Yeva's neck, and ties it up, hands resting on Yeva's shoulders to admire her work. "There," she says, "Now you'll have a little piece of me, too."

"Guts, come on, let's go!" Gangwer yells from where he sits, the rest of the crew of Mlle Zig Zig waiting for her. Addy laughs, and then pulls Yeva into the tightest hug she's ever had. It makes Yeva's arm twinge, but she's sure as hell not about to complain. It lasts for all of a second, and then she's jogging away.

"I'll see you later!" She shouts over her shoulder.

All Yeva can do is believe her.

●●●

Addy doesn't come back. Save for one crew, no one else does, either. Yeva wants to curse the entire world, to punch the walls until her knuckles crack and bleed, to cry until there's no emotion left in her.

She doesn't do any of that. She sits on the floor in front of Addy's bunk and stares at the contents of her trunk.

There's a couple letters, one addressed to her daddy, another to one of her brothers. Yeva sets them aside. She doesn't know for certain that Addy is dead, but if she is, it's better to grow accustomed to the idea, rather than deny it now and have it break her later.

There's the pretty blue dress she'd wear to go dancing the couple of times they'd had leave. Yeva runs her fingers over the fabric, soft and well-worn. Underneath that is a stack of books, taken from her hometown's library. Addy had offered to pay a fee, since she'd be gone for so long and these were her favorite stories, but the librarian had told her to just take them. Bring 'em back after you win this war. Teach these men a thing or two while you're at it. Yeva wonders who will return them now.

Tucked away in one corner is her embroidery kit, threads in a rainbow of colors lined up neatly next to two wooden frames. Yeva's hand comes up to the scarf at her neck, runs her thumb over the little blue flowers that Addy had embroidered in the corners. She blinks back the tears that spring up.

She can't do this. She can't write to Addy's father, she can't return her library books, she can't look at the things she left behind. Not when she's become one of them.

Yeva closes the trunk, rubs the numbness out of her legs, and goes outside. The night is cool, the air carrying the song of crickets and night birds. She leans back against the barracks and stares at the sky that Addy disappeared into.

Wherever you are, she thinks, fingers tracing the edges of the little blue flowers, I am still with you.

#aaand cut! if you got through all that: thank you and i love you #if ur name is cari: these are my bob medic OCs that i decided to thrust into a mota au. bc i like planes too much to not #i tried very hard to evenly introduced both yeva and addy since literally no one but me knows them. did it work #oc yeva bones rosova #oc addy guts guthrie #ask me about the nicknames. i could not throw it in without it sounding clunky but theyre literally so cute 2 me #mota fic #my fic #i think thats all folks

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ratguy-nico · 1 year ago

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And here it is Genuary Prompt Family and Alternative Universe. People you don't know how happy I'm with how this turn. This is what I mean when I say sometimes I get bless by the drawing gods.

You already knew about this one so I hope there wasn't much expectation, cause even if I'm proud I know is not perfect and could be better. But Im really happy I swear.

Y comenzamos con las ilegalidades. This is a little out of the rules cause I don't know if Genie's really the main focus, in my defense I got distracted.

This is a heavily reference to the episode "Sliding Bobs" from season 6 (one of my favs seasons) and well I got over carried with the dynamics between all the characters XD

I hope you can still enjoy my baby boy (and yes in this alternative universe Gene is a cis boy, the horror, oh and Tina is ace)

And why does he have that face? He's experimenting every multiverse at once. He's seeing different universes with thousand of version of himself, one is a genderfluid musician, other is Bruce Willis in that movie, one is a butler and another one is him with wieners for fingers. So yeah he's having a blast.

Oh and I don't know if the joke is right, I tried to say he is a sad wiener I didn't want to use the word hot dog one cause is long and two for the wiener a.k.a penis joke. I know Gene would like it.

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