#croz is losing his mind

[disastrouscanasta]

rosie my strange boy

Stop equipping every character with therapy speak and instead consider placing them somewhere on this chart

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Until you come back home

John Egan X Reader

Summary: The many letters Y/n sent to her boyfriend.

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ going crazy/ obsessive behavior/ use of Y/n/ Swearing.

Word count: 800 words

8 months, 2 weeks and 4 days, that was the last time they saw each other. Before he went on this mission and got captured. Y/n was losing her mind, she needed him. Harry Crosby was trying to cheer her up, but the only thing she did was write letters for him. ‘’Are you going to send them to him?’’ he asked as he sat next to her. ‘’There’s so many, where can I start?’’ she whispers. ‘’You can’t keep sitting in those 4 walls forever. You can’t keep hoping he’s going to call’’ Harry Crosby says. She looked at him, she heard him, but she wasn’t going to listen. ‘’The wait is just cruel, I can’t keep living like this, it’s torture’’ she mumbled. ‘’Let’s send him the letters, it might cheer him up’’ he said. She nodded and started to date the letters.

‘’Mail! Cleven, Hamilton and, holy shit there’s a lot for you Egan’’ the mailmen said, handing the letters to the men. Bucky took the pile of letters and put them on the table. He looked at who sent them, it was all Y/n. He opened the first one.

Dear Bucky,

I hope you’re alive, I know you are, I feel it. I feel crazy without you, I’m up all night and every day thinking about you. I hope you can write to me, because not getting news from you is torture. I don’t understand what’s happening to me. Love, Y/n.

He didn’t believe what he was reading, he thought she wasn’t going to wrote to him. ‘’Who the hell wrote to you that much?’’ Buck chuckled. ‘’Y/n, she wrote all of them’’ he said. Bucky opened another one.

My love, I don’t want to live forever, I can’t live without you, I’m trying to hold on. I’m driving the girls crazy; I’m calling out your name all the time. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. I’m going to keep calling your name until you come back home. Y/n.

He looked around the room, his girl was going crazy, just like him. He wished he could write to her, but the Germans wouldn’t let him.

Bucky, did I lose you? Did I lose the love of my life? I keep getting up, calling your name all the time. I just want you to come back home. I’m barely eating, I can’t sleep. I’m going crazy without you. Croz took me out in London, he took me to my favorite restaurant, he thought that was going to cheer me up. It didn’t, I was looking sad in the nicest places in the city. I need to see you. I love you, yours Y/n.

He didn’t know how much letters he read in the last hour; she wrote a lot of them. Always saying the same time. She missed him, she needed him, she didn’t want to live forever, she didn’t want to live if life wasn’t with him. He didn’t know how much tears he shed reading this. He missed her so much; it pained him so much not being able to write back to her. He wanted to send letters, so many letters. He wanted to tell her so much, how he missed her, how he wanted to kiss her, how he wanted to hug her. He opened the last letter, afraid of what he was going to read.

Dear Bucky,

I’m sorry for all these letters, it’s the only thing I’ve been doing. Croz told me to send them all. I miss you so much, as you probably noticed in the previous letters. If Buck is with you, say hi to him. I’m waiting for your return, because like I said. If life is not with you, it’s not worth living. I don’t wanna live forever, hoping for your return. But I’m going to wait for you, I’ll wait every second of every day. I love you, John Egan, don’t forget that. In the meantime, I’m just going to keep calling your name until you come back home. Yours, Y/n.

He turned the letter to see his name written all over the back of the letter, he prayed that Crosby was taking care of her. He decided to do the same thing, calling her name until he came back home. ‘’Y/n, Y/n, Y/n’’ he repeated himself. He didn’t want to disturb the guys.

‘’Bucky, Bucky, Bucky’’ ‘’Y/n, Y/n, Y/n’’ they both said, miles away from each other, but they called each other’s name, until he comes back home.

[brotherwtf]

clegan band/orchestra au ⁉️

basing this a lot on my experience in the orchestra so buckle up squad

Gale is the principle cellist in the symphony orchestra and is a very well respected musician, he's been playing since he was 10 and has played in countless orchestras since then

John is the trombone section leader, a loud but very competent player who has been playing since middle school and started a jazz club in his high school

They went to the same college and ended up in the same symphony orchestra, almost never crossing paths

Gale prefers to play in all-string orchestras, he thinks "band kids" are too loud and obnoxious, so this was his first time playing in a full orchestra (band and strings)

John likes to rib the string players for being so uptight, always telling them to loosen up a little bit

He especially likes to tease Gale at rehearsals, pointing out the size of his instrument or that he needs a chair to be able to play properly, and Gale just glares at him and ignores what he says

From where John sits, he can perfectly see Gale playing, and has to admit he's impressed. He likes to see the furrow of Gale's brow and the way his fingers work lightly on the fingerboard (definitely getting some ideas from that one 😏)

Gale secretly likes the teasing, he had been raised in such a strict household when it came to playing music that he never really thought of it as fun, that really only came into his mind when he would see John at rehearsal

Gale starts to tease John back and they form an easy friendship

It's their first concert together when they realize, oops, this is the hottest guy ever.

They see each other backstage in their CONCERT BLACK (every musician is screaming their heads off rn) and immediately their brains just short circuit

Gale's black dress shirt hugs his waist so nicely, bro John is losing it, and the black slacks make his legs look MILES long

John just looks so BROAD in his shirt, material tightening around his shoulders and biceps whenever he moves, and the material of his slacks hug his thick thighs so well that Gale has to stop himself from drooling

Gale doesn't really have an excuse to crane his head over to look at John while he's playing but he chances a look between pieces and always finds John looking at him intently. He raises his eyebrows and smirks at him, making sure to flex his fingers before putting them on the fingerboard

They find each other after the concert and immediately jump on each other. John leads them to an empty practice room and they make out (and probably fuck) in there all night

bro they're so dumb I love writing about them. missing playing my instrument hours; open

some other mota band/orchestra hcs below the cut!

Curt plays the trumpet, a loud instrument for a loud personality

Douglass plays viola and EVERYONE bullies him, poor guy can't catch a break

Blakely probably plays the flute and likes to point at people with it and play jokes with them

Rosie plays violin and is the concertmaster (first chair violin) everyone loves and respects him

Hambone (my beloved) plays violin as well, he's first chair second violin

Croz and Bubbles both play clarinet, clarinet buddies they are two thirds of the clarinet section (who cares about the other guy)

Harding is their goofy ass conductor, I have a hc that he used to be a percussion player before he decided to conduct. Really likes playing movie music and romantic classical, likes to mix in jazz every so often.

[winniemaywebber]

100 paired prompts - ¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea (or unsweet tea, really, it's your ball game) for Olive!

hi, friend! thanks so much for this and I'm sorry it took so long. It felt so good getting back to writing for my sweethearts! Under the cut to save space <3

As Dougie had stuffed the last wad of paper into a drawer, he had turned to Olive with a furrow in his brow.

***

It was in the run up to D-Day when Olive had found Dougie snoozing in a chair in the Silver Wings Club. James Douglass had forced himself out of his stuffy office for a drink, his desk surrounded by miscellaneous paperwork and important documents, the once companionable silence filled with Croz’s muffled tones into the phone across the room, a hushed voice requesting to speak to a Subaltern Westgate. 

“What the hell is a sub-el-turn anyway?”

“Subaltern, lover. It’s a rank.”

“I got that part, but why on Earth is he asking for one?”

“Jeez, not Croz married and in a situationship.”

“A–a what?”

“Never mind,” she sighs, giggling. “Maybe she’s got something he wants for whatever this is,” she gestures to the mess of papers strewn here and there on his desk. She lowers her voice to a soft whisper. “Can I know what’s going on yet?”

“Sworn to secrecy, baby doll. I hate to keep things from you, but this,” he gestures also, almost replicating Olive’s movements, “this is big stuff.” He kisses her before taking her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers. “I promise I’ll tell you when I can, okay?”

It’s when Olive comes back with a whiskey for him that she catches him dozing the first time, soft little snores leaving him for a moment before she pats him on the shoulder and hands him the glass.

“Baby, I think it’s time for bed.”

“No, no, not yet,” he protests. He takes her hand from his shoulder and kisses her palm, looking up at her with his sapphire blue eyes. “I want to spend some time with you.”

How ever deep Olive was with her conversation with Helen, she couldn’t help but notice him dozing again a few moments later, the whiskey glass nearly slipping out of his hand on to the polished floor beneath his feet. 

“Right, that’s it,” Olive urges, taking the glass from his hands. “Bed!” 

He opens his mouth to protest again, but is overtaken by Helen who speaks first. “She’s right, Douglass. Ev was sensible and went to bed hours ago.”

“Ugh, fine,” he whines, beginning to stand in order to leave. Olive kisses Helen on the cheek in farewell, promising to be back in a few moments to walk with her back to their hut.

“Are you taking me to bed?”

“Sure am. Thought it was time I returned the favor,” she replies, standing up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek before sitting in the drivers’ seat of the Jeep. She takes a long look at him, how his sweet face looks withdrawn, his eyes having lost a little of their usual cheeky sparkle. They arrive at the officer’s hut within moments, Dougie slowly exiting the Jeep due to his tiredness. 

“Tell you what,” she says, tucking him into bed. “After this is all over, why don’t we all go out? Take an evening, get off base.”

“That sounds wonderful, honey girl. I’d love that.” 

***

The days following this had been full of chaos - Harry Crosby had forced himself to stay awake for three days, working himself into a self induced coma. Initially being scooped up by Jack Kidd, the duty of getting the comatose man into bed had fallen on Rosie and Dougie, Tattie zooming them from their office to their barracks where they’d put him to bed. It was this whole incident that the group - Olive, Val, Helen and Tattie, joined by Dougie, Ev, Kidd and Rosie - were mulling over, cackles and yelps echoing across the pub. With drinks flowing along with the conversation, they seem to lose track of time before the landlord rings his bell, yelling “last orders.” 

Olive excuses herself and walks to the bar, getting a small measure of whiskey for Dougie when she has the spark of an idea.

“Sir?” she calls over to the landlord, his back turned to her as he pours the whiskey she ordered. “Are any rooms vacant tonight?”

“Yes, madam,” he says, turning away after placing the glass on the bar and fiddling with a small cabinet, handing her a key. “Last one. Top of the stairs, turn left, it’s at the end of the hall.”

“Thanks so much,” Olive smiles, digging in her purse for the extra money she now owes the man. She places the notes on the bar before nodding in thanks, returning to the group. 

“Darling,” Olive murmurs, sitting next to Dougie and handing him the glass. His eyes light up in surprise, his hand instantly finding her thigh and gently squeezing. “How would you feel about staying here tonight?”

“Can we do that?” he replies, his brow softly furrowed in question as his eyes soften.

“All paid for.”

“You’re a dream, Ollie. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiles, heart melting at the sight of his puppy dog eyes. “I thought we needed some time together, that’s all.”

“I agree,” he says, turning to her. His voice lowers, turning more towards her to keep this conversation just for them. “Listen, I hope you don’t mind…” he pauses, his eyes suddenly downcast. “But I’m too tired to…y’know. I’d just like to snuggle up. Is that okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Olive replies, confused. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, sweet girl. Why on earth would you think that, huh?”

“There’s a hotel room available and you don’t want to use every inch of it?”

“Next time, absolutely,” he laughs, that sparkle finally back in his spirit. “But not tonight. Right now, I just wanna hold you.”

“Okay,” she shrugs, gripping his hand as he turns back to the group, reigniting his conversation with Rosie. 

Olive turns to Val, who instantly spots the confused and upset look in Olive’s eyes. 

“What’s up, chickie?” she asks, patting Ev gently to have him untangle himself from her. “You look a little morose.”

“I’m fine, it’s just…can I ask you something?”

“Anything, doll,” she smiles, taking her hand. “What’s up?”

 “Does Ev never not want to…y’know…”

“Have sex? You can say it, Ol, it’s not exactly a taboo subject between us.”

“Right,” she giggles, breathing out a little from the comic relief Val has instantly provided. “It’s just that, well, Doug and I are staying here tonight, and he’s just told me he doesn’t want to do that and I’m just wondering–”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” she says, a softness accompanying her sternness, just one thing Olive loves about her friend. The niceness in serious situations, Olive getting a good talking to in the nicest way Val can muster. “There are plenty of nights Ev and I just snuggle down and talk.”

“Really?!” Olive replies, voice edged with shock.

“Oh, yeah,” she nods, taking a sip of her drink. “Sometimes he’s so exhausted, or one of us is so damn homesick that we can barely muster up the energy to do anything like that. We lay there and talk. Ol, it’s wonderful. Being with someone who wants to genuinely listen to you, not just use you for their own desires.”

“Oh!” Olive says, realizing exactly what Dougie is wanting. “Shit,” she exhales, clutching her chest in relief. “I thought I’d done something for Dougie to not want to–”

“Oh, hush up, English,” Val laughs. “You know that man worships you. We all see it.”

The pair of friends smile at one another as they hear a record begin to play, Tattie Spaatz stood next to a record player and blowing smoke rings. “Come on, gang. One last drink and dance before we have to go back to real life.” She stubs out the cigarette, making her way back to the table, holding her hand out to Jack Kidd and pulling him out of his seat. 

“I don’t dance, Tat,” he complains, shaking his head.

“When you’re with me, Jack, you do.”

The other couples join them, leaving Helen and Rosie alone at the table. They see him stand and offer his hand to her.

“Just til Crank comes back, and I get home to Jo. Whadda ya say, Helen?”

“I say, I won’t tell if you won’t, Rosie!” she squeals, taking his hand and giggling. Olive sees Val whispering in Ev’s ear, obviously relaying the conversation that was just had, Ev looking pointedly at Olive and shaking his head, chuckling. 

“See!” Val yells across the room. “Even he thinks you’re being silly.”

Dougie presses his forehead to Olive’s as they move slowly on the spot, their noses touching. 

“What’s all that about?” he titters, his eyes darting in Ev’s direction.

“Just–I thought I’d upset you.”

“No, baby,” he coos, his hand now stroking her face. “Why would you think that?”

“You said you didn’t want to do anything with me and it confused me for a moment, that’s all. I haven’t been with anyone that actually wants me around to talk to, to actually listen to. It just shocked me, that’s all.”

“Babydoll,” he murmurs, his hand tipping her chin up to meet his gaze. “I always want to listen to you. And right now, I’d just like to go to bed and hold you. Is that alright?”

“Yes,” she whispers in reply. He kisses her gently, taking her hand in his.

“Let’s go do that then, hm?” 

He pulls away a little, the pair turning towards their friends to bid them goodnight.

“Goodnight, lovebirds,” Val calls, blowing them both a kiss as they ascend the stairs. 

***

The pair enter the room, which contains a double bed and a small desk. The bed is covered by an obviously homemade patchwork quilt, adding such a coziness to the room that Olive instantly feels herself getting drowsy. She pulls the blanket back before beginning to undress.

“I did not think this through,” Olive complains, quickly realizing that she didn’t bring pajamas. 

“Uhm, no,” Dougie laughs. “No, you didn’t.”

She laughs along with him, shrugging comically. “Guess we’re snuggling naked.”

“Oh, how terrible for both of us. Hell, in fact. The worst. Horrible, diabolical–”

“I mean, if it’s a no…” she teases, clambering into the bed. “Come on, sweetie. Come lay on me.”

He snaps the light off before joining Olive in bed, his head falling to her shoulder as he lays on his side and wraps himself around her, her hand running through his hair in order to soothe him to sleep. She pushes his hair from his forehead and kisses it softly, tenderly massaging his scalp with her fingers.

“Is it just the past few days, or is there something else bugging you?”

“There is something else,” he replies with a small sigh. “But it’s nothing new. I think I’m just homesick.”

“Tell me about it,” she soothes, feeling him relax against her even more.

“It’s so silly,” he begins, shaking his head.

“Not to me.”

There’s a pause, that final statement hanging in the air as he breathes deeply. She thinks he’s asleep when he begins to speak again, the sudden break in silence making her jump.

“It was hot here for the first time in I don’t know how long, and it just made me think of my mom.”

“Does she fix you something cool on a hot day? Something refreshing?”

“Big jug of sweet tea,” he sighs, almost humming in satisfaction as the words leave his lips. 

“Is it like iced tea?” Olive asks, the ever oblivious Brit, still getting used to American things.

“Similar. Just a hell of a lot more sugar. It’s delicious, cools you right down. It’s why I can’t get behind you all drinking hot tea all the time here,” he laughs. “I miss the good stuff.”

“I can understand that,” she giggles, kissing his forehead again as he nuzzles in. “Do you think I’ll like it?”

“The tea or Michigan?”

“Both, I guess,” she shrugs, a smile on her face. “Are you sure you want me to go with you?”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life, honey girl. You’re gonna love it. It’s small but super pretty, especially–”

“Especially in the fall,” she interjects, finishing his sentence. “I remember you telling me that the first time we met.”

“See, I’ve always known you were gonna come with me.” He pauses for a second, reaching in the dark for her hand. “Downtown is nice. Main Street has so much, there’s a lot to do. There’s a movie theater and a few stores. City Hall is there too.” 

“City Hall?” she asks, closing her eyes and letting his descriptions soothe her as much as her holding him is. 

“That’s where we’re gonna get married, the moment we’re able to.”

Olive’s eyes snap open and turn to him, glad of the moonlight streaming through the window so she is able to see his face. His eyes open to meet her gaze, the pair of them smiling at each other.

“Are you asking me?” she grins cheekily, winking at him.

“Well, I don’t have a ring. But I’d like to ask you. Soon.”

“Darling, you won’t even have to finish the question before I’m yelling yes.”

“I know,” he whispers, leaning up to kiss her tenderly on the lips. “I’m sleepy, Ollie.”

“I see that, sugar,” she coos, going back to stroking his hair.

“Will you sing for me?” He requests, closing his eyes and nuzzling into her neck, snuffling softly.

“Oh, of course.”

She clears her throat and begins to sing the record that was playing downstairs as they’d left their friends:

Now in a cottage built of lilacs and laughter

I know the meaning of the words "Ever after"

And I'll always see polka dots and moonbeams

When I kiss the pug-nosed dream.

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

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Prompt: “Shit. Shit, that’s a lot of blood.”

Pairing: Crubbles

[What's that??? Light angst???? In this economy???? While everyone is alive?????? ?????????]

It's supposed to be a friendly game of baseball, pilots versus navigators. Bubbles is pitching. Harry's at shortstop. Bucky gets up to bat, and there's a cheer as he points out to right field like he's Babe Ruth. 

Bubbles pitches. Bucky hits, and then Bubbles is on the ground, Bucky's grand slam hitting him right on the forehead. 

Harry is stuck in place for a moment, then the blood starts flowing, and he rushes to Bubbles, grabbing Bucky by the back of his shirt and yanking him away, seeing red in more ways than one as his mind focuses on the blood coming from Bubbles and identifying Bucky as a threat. 

"Hey! It wasn't on purpose!" Bucky shouts. 

Harry drops to his knees and reaches for Bubbles. Whose eyes are open but unfocused. And there's more blood pouring out of the cut on his head. "Shit," Harry says. "Shit, that's a lot of blood."

"I'm okay," Bubbles says, words a little slurred. He lifts a hand. Harry grabs his wrist before he can touch the cut. 

"Don't," Harry says, curling his fingers into Bubbles's palm to give him something to hold onto. "We need–"

"Here," Bucky says, dropping across from Harry and passing him a clean, damp towel.

Harry takes it and presses it to the cut. The towel starts to turn red more quickly than Harry wants. "Fuck," he says. 

"Head wounds bleed, Croz," Bubbles says, his words smoother. He looks at Bucky and gives him a loopy smile. "Wasn't a real hard hit," he says. "Just looked good because my pitch was so fast."

Bucky cracks a laugh and pats Bubbles on the shoulder. "Sure," he says. "Whatever you say, Bubbles." He glances over his shoulder. "Buck's coming with the medics," he says. 

"I don't need–" Bubbles tries to sit up and turns very, very white. 

"You're about to throw up," Harry says just as Bubbles says, "I'm gonna throw up." 

Harry pulls on Bubbles's arm and gets him on his side just as he loses his lunch. "It's okay," Harry murmurs, cupping Bubbles's shoulder so he doesn't flop onto his back. "It's okay. Get it out."

"Harry," Bubbles says, voice sounding wet and raw. 

"Right here," Harry says. "I'm right here." Bubbles is so pale but the long, thin scar from his temple to the edge of his jaw is bright pink. The scar Bubbles came back with after he went down and walked back to base. Back to Harry. Then he got sent to London and Harry couldn't go with him. Had to wait for Bubbles to come back to him again. "I'm right here," Harry says again. 

"Coming through," Buck says, and the small crowd around Bubbles and Harry parts for the medics. 

Bucky has to pull Harry away from Bubbles. He wraps an arm around Harry's shoulders from behind and digs his fingers into Harry's bicep, pulling his attention. "His pupils are even," he whispers to Harry. "He knows where he is. He knows who you are. He was able to make fun of me. I bet they don't even send him off-base."

"I can't–" Harry's throat gets tight, and he swallows hard. He can't look away from Bubbles, who is now on the stretcher and still watching Harry, too. 

"If they send him to Londong, it won't be for long," Bucky continues. "And I'm sure I can convince Jack he should have someone with him to keep an eye on him on the train."

"He'll send a medic," Harry says, the idea of Bubbles being away from him again clawing at his stomach. 

"No, he won't," Bucky says. "I'll make sure."

Harry watches the medics move away from him. He watches Bubbles do his best to keep watching him. "I need to be with him," he says, the words strangled. 

"You need to give Smokey a few minutes to check him out," Bucky answers. "You know that."

"Uh-huh," Harry says. "I know that."

Bucky gives him a hard shake. "I don't think you know that," he says. He gives Harry another shake. 

Harry's teeth click together, and the hard sound of it makes his panic go quiet. He takes a deep breath, then nods. "Yeah," he says, digging his heels into the dirt to focus himself. "I do know it. Really."

Bucky drops his arm and claps him on the back. "There you are," he says. 

Harry finally looks away from the departing stretcher and looks up at Bucky. "Sorry," he says. 

Bucky waves him off. "Don't worry about it," he says. "Your fella went down like a sack of rocks. It looked bad."

I need to be with him, Harry thinks but manages not to say. Bucky's right. It's bleeding because it's a head wound. Bubbles's pupils were even. He knew where he was. He knew who Harry was. He'll be okay. 

He'll be okay.

[bcolfanfic]

crying in your lover's arms < face buried in their chest, while their heart breaks at your every sob for rosie and aiden pls!

set in the side b of the yv au where croz commits bc i wanted angst. tw for loss from suicide. also yes whatever you think is going on with ev/helen and jeanie is going on. my beloveds...i digress <3

---

“Talked to Ev earlier." Rosie said, pacing the floor in front of the bathroom door while he brushed his teeth. His words were halfway garbled by the toothbrush sliding in and out of his mouth, but he talked through it anyhow. "Said Jeanie and the kids stayin’ with them is looking like it’s gonna be permanent, for now at least."

Aiden hummed from where he was sitting on the bed, putting his open book down in his lap. It'd been almost a week since Rosie had mentioned anything so much as tangentially related to Croz- leaving him torn between wanting to bring him up first and not wanting to push him.

Next week would be one month since it happened. He figured the lull in him talking about would end soon enough.

“That’s," He started, pausing when he actually processed what he'd said. But his opinion- theory- he thought, wasn't important right now. "Well what do you think?”

Rosie ducked into the bathroom to put his toothbrush away and came right back out, stopping short of getting into bed with a sigh. He bobbed his head from side to side, pushing a hand back through his hair. "She loves Helen- the kids are close. Think- think it’ll be good for them.”

It looked like there was more he wanted to say, but if there was it wasn't coming out now.

A small sigh left him and when Aiden opened an arm to him he crawled into bed. He pressed his side against Aiden's, messing with the other man's hand in his lap.

When he fell quiet for a minute Aiden squeezed him a little closer, brining the hand he used to do it up to to stroke his cheek with his thumb.

”Ev say how they're holding up?”

“JJ's not doin' good." Rosie said quietly, like if he talked any louder his voice might crack. "Givin' his mom a hard time, giving Ev and Helen a hard time. And how do you even discipline that?"

No fucking idea Aiden thought but didn't say. Even hearing the eight year old's name was enough to take him back to hearing him cry in the background of Rosie calling from the Crosby house that terrible afternoon, and seeing him curled up in his lap at the funeral.

Aiden didn't know Croz long enough to know him very well. But he'd seen enough of him to see him in every square inch of that little boy's face.

He realized he'd been letting his mind wander too much when he was snapped back to reality by heavy breathing next to him. Rosie was scooting to sit up a little, grabbing at Aiden's shoulder hard.

"Hey," He said and put his own hand over his, squeezing it twice. "It's okay- 'm right here,"

This is how it'd started the few times Rosie had cracked around him since that Wednesday night twenty-four days ago. He never said much of anything, just started hyperventilating as a prelude to further dissolving.

Moving his hand out from under Aiden's to grab at his shirt again, Rosie's grip faltered as a tremor ran down his arm and through his fingers. Grabbing at him gently, Aiden pressed his open palm against the back of his neck.

That was enough for him to lose the resolve he had left, stiffness evaporating from his shoulders and leaving him with his face pressed against Aiden's chest as a sob wracked through him.

He could feel the fabric of his shirt getting damp, and it made his chest just as tight as the sound of him sobbing did. Every few was punctuated by a hiccup that just made him sound so small, alongside what Aiden was worried was getting close to gagging.

"I know," He said softly, his own eyes stinging as he tilted his head down to breathe into the top of his hair. "It's okay, it's-"

"'snotokaydon'tsaythathe'sdead." Aiden heard from against his chest, and suddenly trying to hold back his own tears was of no use.

His face was wet as he tried to catch his own breath, going back to what felt like a safer ad-nauseum repetition of "I know" as he rubbed Rosie's back, letting his nails scratch him just a little.

I know and I hate that he left you like this he thought, swallowing the impulse crawling up his throat to put a voice to the anger that had been sitting in his stomach for nearly a month now.

xxx

[onyxsboxes]

Day 15 : Abstract abomination - Paranoia (mix of both and neither at the same time?)

---

He feels followed, he can hear noises behind him, coming from all directions and yet every time he turns around there's nothing, nobody behind him, the path is empty of life, the only movements those of the wind in the leaves of the trees. Unease settles in his stomach, the wind making everything stranger, whistling high and unnatural as the shadows move by themsleves. The only light is coming from his flashlight, the beam shimmering and moving with his every step. The orange-ish light barely illuminates the path to the barracks when the beam begins to flicker.

“No, no, no,” fear and panic seize him.

Okay, okay, you can do this Harry, you can do this, you're not far from the barracks, you're a lieutenant in the US Air Force, you can do it, you can walk the last meter to the barracks calmly and slowly. You can ....

What's that noise? It's getting closer and closer. It's so dark.

You can do it Croz you're a brave navigator, it's not a dark little path that's going to scare you. Right, right?

Crack

Fuck it, he doesn't want to die.

He starts running, running as fast as he can, trying to ignore the noises inevitably following him, just a little closer, just ...

There, the light from the barrack, he can see the guys inside playing cards, relaxed and safe, and he's so close.

He throws himself at the door, the metal biting into his shoulder, his hands shaking as he tries to open it. He glances back, trying to spot the presence following him in the darkness, failing. Just when he thinks it's the end, the lock opens and the door swings open under his weight.

He's safe, he's safe, he's in the barracks, with the others, it's okay, he can breathe.

“Are you okay Croz?”

Harry tries to catch his breath, too short as his mind still racing.

“There was, …. I'm …., dark…, I thought…, stranges …..”

“Whoa, catch your breath, in, out, nice and slow, Croz, nice and slow".

He catches his breath, his mind slowly resting from the adrenaline rush, as a scratching sounds at the door. It reverberates through the barracks and echoes in his bones.

No, no, no, he's safe, he's inside, this shouldn't be possible!

“Ah just in time” Harry watches in horror as Major Egan makes his way to the door, demeanor relaxed and calm even whenthere's this thing outside. He can't help the scream he lets out as Bucky opens the door, the colors fading from his face as the other man disappears from his field of vision.

He wants to shout “no, stay inside, it's safe, don't go outside, there's this thing” but he remains silent.

In the safety of the barracks, he can only hear half of what's going on outside.

“There you are, darling, …. you've taken your time, haven't you?…. Where have you lost yourself, little one? …. You're cold, aren't you? Come here, sweetie.”

And when Bucky comes back inside, Harry starts laughing. He laughs, he laughs, he laughs. He can feel the others' questioning looks, their doubt that “maybe he's finally lost his mind”, but he doesn't care because what he thought was an evil creature, lurking in the darkness, trying to do him harm, is actually a kitten, Gale, the Buckies Majors' kitten to be more precise.

He feels foolish and silly for panicking and losing his mind over a 6 pounds ball of fur. Maybe he'll keep that to himself (and maybe to Bubles and Jean, because he tells Bubles and Jean everything, they never judge him for being silly).

---

Poor Croz, for his defence, kitty!gale is a little menace 😅 (Word count: 600) Other MOTA drabbles - October's drabbles

[reallylilyreally]

not to be predictable but breathe through the bruises for the 'send me a fic of mine'

BRB quick reread... (here)

My favorite scene

OH MAN. Ask my to pick a favourite child, why don't you?! Made particularly difficult by the fact that this fic doesn't really *have* scenes? There are some, but it's mainly just, like, visuals.

I ADORE all of the Bucks & Marge interactions we get in this one, the little snapshots of their deeply batshit, deeply domestic set up. And I love with all my heart the repeating motif of the phone calls between Benny and Johnny, and the bruises, obviously, but I think the winner has to be a tie between this:

The 100th outdo themselves, and are all milling around in the hotel lobby a good ten minutes before they need to leave for the church. Blakely looks like death, Hambone has the beginnings of a black eye and there's a conspicuous bite/bruise peeking out of Dougie's collar, but they're all there, dressed neatly and fully conscious. Small miracles. Mothers' sons. Brady adores them, it's unbearable.

Marge's side of the church is full of her family and friends. Buck's side is full of bomber crews. Brady and Benny take the front row, with Crank and Jack next to them, and it feels strangely right. Hambone sits down on Brady's other side, and elbows him in the ribs.

“Douglass is over there by the big drapes,” he says, very quietly. “You give me the nod and I'll give him the signal and he'll set them on fire.”

Brady turns to stare at him, for a moment completely lost for words.

“If you think we need to stop the wedding,” Ham says, deadly serious. “If you think we need to stop the wedding, or if Bucky starts to lose it, you give me the nod and Dougie will set the curtains on fire and we'll cut this whole thing off at the knees.”

There is so much going on in Brady's mind in that second that he can't decide what to say first. Benny seems to have no such problem, leaning over Brady and punching Hambone hard in the shoulder.

“I will cut you off at the knees,” he says, voice dripping with sincerity. “You leave this wedding the fuck alone, Hambone, or I will ruin your fucking life.”

It's the most vitriol Brady has heard from Benny since the last time they tangled with the RAF, and he's a little in love with him, just for a moment. Hambone looks sufficiently cowed. Brady turns in his seat, finds Douglass, and fixes him with a very sharp look. Dougie puts his lighter back in his pocket, and sits down. Brady resists the urge to put his head down on Benny's shoulder and weep. He used to be a pilot. Now he's a babysitter. Benny fixes Ham and Dougie with one last glare of his own, and then turns away from them both so that only Brady can see the way his shoulders shake with silent laughter. 

and this:

He speaks to Benny on Fridays. When the time comes for him to call, Brady’s passed Croz’s 72 hours by a fair handful, and he’s seeing things that aren’t there. It takes him three tries to get the number right, his fingers aren’t following direction. There’s the distant hum of a Mig in the back of his mind, he can see the trails out of the corner of his eye. He’s in the teachers’ lounge. He’s in America, he’s indoors, there aren’t any fighters. There aren’t any fighters. A whole wing’s worth of dead boys are sitting on the sofas with the maths department. The phone rings six times.

“Benny,” he says into the phone. His tongue feels thick and heavy, he can’t make his hands work well enough to put pressure on his bruises. 

“Jesus, Johnny,” Benny says, “Are you alright? Are you drunk?”

He’s so tired he feels drunk. Feels wasted. Feels like he might die. “Just tired,” he says. “Haven’t slept since I got back.”

“At all?” Benny sounds horrified. “Jesus, Johnny, it’s been four days. You haven’t slept at all?”

He shakes his head, and then realizes Benny can’t see him. “Don’t think so. It’s alright. I’m alright.”

“You sound like you’re dying, Johnny.”

He feels like he’s dying. “I’m alright,” he says. “Are you?”

Benny makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds a little like Meatball sneezing. “Christ. I’m fine! Not sleeping great, but I have slept. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Staring at the walls, mainly,” Brady tells him. He makes the executive decision to not tell Benny that he’s seeing things he knows aren’t there. He’s pretty sure Curtis Biddick is lounging by the coffee pot. “I think Biddick is here.”

“Jesus Johnny,” Benny says, yet again, and there’s a note of real panic in his voice. “OK. alright, listen to me, Johnny. Can you listen to me? Is there anyone in the room with you who you know for sure isn’t dead?”

Brady looks. “Yeah,” he says. “Pretty sure.”

Benny breathes out. “Alright. You got anyone there with you that you trust?”

“You’re not here,” Brady says.

“Fuck,” Benny breathes. “No, fuck, I’m not. Just… Just sit tight, Johnny. Find someone for me to talk to, give someone the phone.”

Brady does not want to go near the maths department. Tipper, the English teacher who was a paratrooper, is standing next to Biddick by the coffee pot, watching Brady with his one remaining eye, and he takes the phone as soon as Brady holds it out.

He leans against the wall and waits for whatever it is that Benny is going to do now. Eventually, Tipper gives him back the phone.

“You with me, Johnny?”

“Always,” he says.

Benny breathes out, a soft noise Brady usually hears in the dark. “Good man. Now, you do what Ed says, and get some fucking rest.”

“I’m sorry,” Brady tells him.

“Shut up Johnny,” Benny says, “Do what you’re told.”

Benny hangs up on him, and Tipper prods him with his cane until he gets up off the wall and makes his way to his room. He’s forced onto his bed, and handed the still unopened bottle of whiskey that Benny sent him for Christmas. 

“DeMarco says you have to drink at least a quarter of that,” Tipper says. “And if that doesn’t work I get to physically knock you out.”

Brady stares at him. 

“Which I was about an hour away from doing, anyway,” Tipper continues. “You look like you’re dying. Drink your whiskey, lie down, go the fuck to sleeHardest scene to write

Hardest scene to write

Ooh it's been a while, i don't really remember? I always struggle with endings, i never know how to wrap them up, and this one was definitely no different. It's really hard to work how to turn something into a romance when neither of the characters have any idea that they're in love!!

Favorite character to write in the fic

Gotta be Johnny, because he's so incredibly neurotic and so incredibly brave, and he just loves so hard, he loves so hard it nearly kills him.

Favorite dynamic to write in the fic

John/John, for sure. Big brother Bucky and little brother Brady, who take it in turns being the one who isn't fucked up.

Why I chose that title

I wanted something short and rhythmic and reflective of the central motif, so it was always going to be about bruises, and i threw a bunch of shit out into the ether and that stuck!

A fun fact about the fic

I did not ship this when i started writing it, and I wasn't sure if I was gonna have it resolve romantically until riiiiiight up to the last minute. I am now, obviously, fully obsessed.

[meadow-dusk]

Rest In Peace, David Crosby

19 January 2023

Like so many, I'm shocked and heartbroken to have lost David Crosby today. I think a lot of people that knew his difficult history are surprised he made it to be 81 (I know he was). He lived a life of struggle, loss, and pain, but also one of great celebrations and successes, including a six-decade career as one of the greatest musicians of our time as a founder of The Byrds and the very first initial in Crosby, Stills, & Nash (& Young)...allegedly because it "rolled off the tongue" most pleasantly. 😉

For someone who always seemed to be on people's nerves, David Crosby did nothing but build up and celebrate those around him, very often musicians whose talent he would modestly deny that he himself could match. In CSNY, he struck me as the consummate hype-man: always grinning broadly behind his thick mustache, swaying his fringe and beads in time with the music, and eagerly chatting up an audience between songs as if literally allergic to dead air. He brought to the act some of the things that humanize them: "higher than three kites strung out in series," his ad-lib banter an insight into the simplicity of enjoying the process of making music together, avoiding formulaic repetition that destroys joy and instead experimenting with their craft like they had nothing to lose. David would tell you exactly what was happening, even if it was better you didn't know.

In the foreground, he was a live wire, but in the background, he shone steadily like a warm star. David was somehow in everybody's corner at the same time. More often than not, he held down the middle, a notoriously difficult harmony line, and made it sound not only easy but genius. Couched between the two bookends in the form of Stills and Nash, his rich, velvety tone never sat still for too long, creating complex moving intervals that he usually made up on the spot. His alternate guitar tunings only did more to amplify opportunities for that welcome weirdness, making it hard for anyone else to really capture what the trio could do together.

Though his history with addiction is often vulgarized, some of my favorite CSNY stories are linked to their friendship enduring in spite of it. In the mid-1980's, Neil Young incentivized David to get clean by promising to make another CSNY album only on that condition (and now we have American Dream). When, years later, David underwent surgery for complications due to drug use, Graham Nash tells:

The loss of David is another crippling blow in the community of artists that taught a generation to question the status quo. His observations on the world in the form of pieces like "What's Happening?," "Triad," and "What Are Their Names" raise the possibilities that our elders don't have all the answers, that society isn't as clean as it seems, and that we better find a new way forward if we can. The call for the revolution came with a soundtrack, and Crosby's prints are all over it.

Today he has left us, and it doesn't yet seem real. Tonight I grieve for him on behalf of the generation that embraced him and his message, and the people in his life who never got a chance to reconcile with him after their bonds had severed, for whatever reason. Assigning blame is silly and tiresome and misses the point. Instead, in David's memory, speak your mind, say you're sorry, tell the people you think are great that they are, and never be afraid to let your freak flag fly.

We love you, Croz. Rest easy until we meet again.

[itstheheebiejeebies]

@oatflatwhite I'm about to make you regret tagging me to share my WIP because I'm working on the most diabolical alt ending to You Can't Be Dead right now

He tucked the letter into his inner jacket pocket before heading out to his barracks. Please let it work. Please.

He parked his jeep outside and moved with single minded purpose. He didn’t pay attention to Ev and Dougie, who were waiting on his bunk, just walked right past them and put the letter into his bedside table. His eyes flutter shut in hope as he puts it in and closes the drawer.

When he opened them he’s in the same spot. Nothing’s changed. The day hasn’t restarted. Again.

No. No. He needed it to restart. 

He opened the drawer and slammed it shut again.

No change.

He kicked the table sending the photos he’d had on top skittering to the floor. With a sweep of his hand the rest of his belongings followed.

“Jesus,” Dougie’s almost too quiet to be heard, he’s frozen in shock. He’s never seen Bubbles like this. 

Ev strode over and wrapped his arms around Bubs from behind trying to keep him from destroying everything, but he thrashed and squirmed. He didn’t want to be held, he didn’t want comfort. He just wanted Croz. He wanted his best friend to be at his side alive, even if it would only be for a few hours. He could handle living the rest of his days as one singular day if it meant he got even a scrap of Harry back. He’d relive the same conversations a hundred thousand times if he got to hear his voice again. He’d kill to see his face light up when he asked about the snow globe that was supposed to bring him luck and bring him home. He was supposed to come home.

“Bubs, Bubs, please,” Ev begged him to calm down.

Finally it was like his strings were cut and he dropped, bringing Ev down with him.

He held Bubs tight against him as he sobbed like he was dying.

“No, no. Ev, let me go. Just let me go. Please,” Bubs shoved at his arms with no real power.

“Bubs, please. You’ve gotta. You’ve gotta pull it together, just a little,” Ev tucked his chin into Bubbles’ shoulder and held tighter as tears cut lines down his own face. “Okay? Please? We can’t lose you too. Please, Bubs. We can’t. We just can’t.”

“Just let me. Please, I can’t. Not without him,” his fight returned, his hits got harder again as he shoved and punched and scratched to get Ev to let go. His mind had been made up about what he wanted to do. He wouldn’t face another day without Croz.

“I know, God I know. But you’ve got to try. Do it for us if you can’t do it for yourself.” He turned his face towards Dougie, “James, go get Smokey, ask him to bring a sedative.”

Dougie’s eyes went wide, “You sure?”

“Go. Now.”

James ran out, hopping into Bubs’ jeep outside and sped across base to the infirmary.

Ev held tight to his navigator. He only had the one left and he refused to lose him too.

He accepted every hit Bubbles had to give him, if he’d done better Harry would be here. He knew that. So he’d take every single hit. He’d hold Bubs until he was black and blue if it meant he’d still have Bubs to hold in his grief in the future. If Bubs would live to yell at him another day.

“I’m not letting you go. HIt me as much as you need to. I’m not losing you too,” He grit his teeth against the pain of the hits and steeled his resolve.

Faster than he should have James pulled back up with Smokey and the two saw that Ev was barely able to hold onto Bubbles.

In seconds Smokey assessed the situation and determined Blakely’s request for a sedative to be the right one. He crossed the room and readied the syringe for injection.

“No, no,” Bubs cried as Smokey gave him the sedative.

His navigator went limp in his arms, and as much as he was relieved the hits were ending and that Bubbles was safe for now, he couldn’t stop the bile coming up over what he’d just had done. Vomit filled his mouth, he swallowed it back down, but the taste lingered.

“Jamie, help me get him into bed.”

“Major, I have to insist we take him to the infirmary.”

“Is that medically necessary? Please, he’s just. He lost his best friend. That’s all this is. It just hit him hard. He needs some time off to recover, that’s all. We’ll stay with him. Please, you know how things like this go if it becomes more than it is.”

“You two promise that one of you will always be by his side? That if he’s not any better after getting some rest that you’ll bring him by?”

“Promise,” James was quick to reply, suddenly scared for Bubbles.

“Yes, sir. We’ll be here for him.”

Smokey looked between them and then back at Bubbles. “Go on and get him into bed. Come get me immediately or get him to the infirmary if he’s as bad or worse upon waking.” He gave them a hard look. “Don’t let crew loyalty get in the way of his health or your safety. I’ll make sure he’s grounded for a few days no matter what. Chick will understand.”

“Yes, sir, thank you” the boys chorused before getting Bubs into bed.

James pulled Bubs’ shoes off as Ev worked his belt free. They worked in tandem to get him situated, and in no time at all he was under the covers sleeping soundly. If they didn’t know better they’d assume it was just a normal sleep.

James sat down on the bed next to Bubs’. “I’ll take first watch. Go get yourself fixed up. Some of those hits looked bad.”

“I’m fine,” he didn’t look at James when he said it, just kept staring at their navigator.

“No you’re not, and that’s fine. But you need to take care of yourself to be able to take care of him. So go. Please, Ev. Just. Let me worry about one of you at a time.”

Ev looked up and saw tears forming in Jamie’s eyes. He moved over to the other side of the bed to kneel in front of him, his ribs protested at the movement, but he didn’t show it. “Hey, hey, I’m alright. I’ll go take care of it in a moment, okay?” His thumb brushed away the tears that had gathered on his lashes. Dougie leaned his face into Ev’s touch without thought and Ev cupped his face more fully.

“I’ve never seen Bubs like that. I thought….”

“I know, but we’ve got him. He’s gonna be alright, or as alright as any of us are anymore.”

“We can’t lose him too. We… Ev what do we do if we lose him too?” The tears that had been threatening to fall had spilled over, dampening Ev’s hands.

“We won’t. We just won’t let it happen.”

Tag you're it @sidleckie @impalachick @hellofanidea

[garpond]

See like personally I can't see any of those mpreg scenarios happening to Croz because to me there's just no way Croz would ever voluntarily try to carry a baby to term. Like if there was ever a guy who would abort that thang instantly it's him. Like the only pregnancy situation w him I can picture is that during the Byrds Roger gets him pregnant and he immediately goes and gets an abortion without telling him and when Roger finds out he FLIPS the fuck out absolutely losing his mind like "LIFE BEGINS AT CONCEPTION DAVID" and croz is like "your mom suck me good and hard thru my jorts" and that's the real reason he gets fired from the byrds

[sherlockmonkeesstartrek]

Party Fic Part 3

I know I keep saying if you guys like it, I’ll post more, well I’ve been writing so much of it, I just want to post it all the same, even if it’s shit. So yeah, here is part 3, it’s smutty and does contain some pretty old-fashioned (perhaps slightly offensive) views on homosexuality, but as was the 1960s, so I apologise in advance (for the bad views on being gay, not for the smut. That I am very not sorry for)

The kiss had gone on a lot longer than expected. Everyone watched for longer than they meant to. It was getting to some people, turning them on. As a group of guys, most of which had not seen a chick since the start of the day where some may’ve rolled out a bed they shared with wives or fans or actual groupies. That was too long for many of them.

 For example, Croz, known for his insane sex drive, stared at the two men in the middle of the garden and wished he had some’s lips right now. Not to kiss. No, he wanted a mouth around his semi-hard dick. He was also pretty high, high enough to lose inhibitions almost completely. It seemed that it was the only way to get these guys to loosen up, to be out of their minds. Otherwise, they had images to put out, ways they wanted everyone else to see them. They would never kiss another guy, never have even a remotely sexual thought about anyone in their band, not even to win a challenge, even in they did have a secret crush on them. No, the only way they’d ever act on impulses like that was if they knew most people there wouldn’t remember the next day. That, or everyone else was doing it. Since the latter was not yet true, Croz would blame it on the former.

“Willie,” He tapped Nash on the shoulder, “You wanna beat these Beatles?”

Unsure, the English member of Crosby Stills and Nash looked back at his friend sceptically, “How?”

“Get your lips ‘round this.” He grasped the crotch of his jeans that were becoming a lot less roomie for him. Visibly so too. Nash could not believe it. He could not fathom the idea that Crosby actually wanted a blow job… from him. Ok, so it wasn’t the want of the act that surprised him. It was the fact that he’d turned to Nash for it.

“You’re serious?”

“Can you think of another way to one up that?” Oh, he was deadly serious. Nash felt a shiver down his spine, followed by an odd, hot feeling. He cursed himself for smoking too much pot, because he was totally considering it. He convinced himself it was only to beat the Beatles at their game. They’d been the ones to make it up after all. He’d always wanted to prove himself to them, and prove how good a friend he was to Croz. A friend though? The definition may’ve been a stretch as he turned 180 degrees and let his hands run up to the zipper of Croz’s jeans.

It struck him then that he’d never done this before. Well, no shit. He didn’t go around sucking guys off. He’d not been into guys and doubted very much that he’d ever be in a situation where he might need to know a couple of tricks. He wasn’t so much concerned by the eyes he could feel on him, as much as he was with wanting to be good at the act, both for Croz, and just to prove a skill that not many of the guys would know.

Everything was linked back to proving themselves.

Still, as the kiss went on and heated up, Nash pulled down Croz’s fly and sought out his member from his pants. In his hand, it was half hard, hot, thick. He gazed at it, feeling just slightly overwhelmed. Then he realised that he’d felt the same since he’d met Croz, as though he was in just a tad over his head. As he had done when he’d first sung with Croz and Stills, he sucked in a long breath, thought about what he was going to do and decided that it was now or never.

Meanwhile, he had several spectators. The kiss had been well and good to watch, but Graham Nash going down on David Crosby? That was a whole other sight, one that most of the guys hadn’t actually been privy to. Well, of course not with these two particular participants, but any participants, they’d not seen two guys in the flesh getting it on. It was certainly a jump from merely a kiss. A huge one. And no one, not one person was complaining.

Stills looked on with a huge grin on his face. He felt like a naughty school kid looking at a porno magazine. He felt the same guilt. He was actually enjoying it.

He rolled his eyes and glanced over at Peter Tork. He knew something interesting about the kid that no one else did. Peter had fucked a guy before. He’d said he didn’t enjoy it, but the way his eyes glistened, staring over at John and Paul, Stills wasn’t convinced. Maybe he’d just said it because it was the thing to say. Being gay was still seen as something to cover up, whether it was legal or not now. Well, in the UK, it was legal. In their home states, it would be totally wrong.

So, as Stills’ mind rationalised it, if he was going to experiment with a guy, he might as well do it now, while he was in England, at a nice big hippy party where it seemed everyone was having the same thought.

“Pete.” He called over to his friend once again. The blond monkee peered over, slightly reluctantly at first, but the grin on Stills’ face was enough to convince him it was worth tearing his attention away. “Come here for a sec.”

Most of the Monkees watched as Peter crawled on his hands and knees to Stills. They were curious. They’d always known this one side to Peter, this musical side of him, the talented one, the hardworking one. They’d only just become a little more aware of his hippy side, the side that filled himself full of drugs and hung out with his musician friends he’d somehow picked up along the way. It was as though they could collectively tell that they were about to see another side of him with Stills, since they’d been friends before the Monkees even started.

“You kinda into this stuff?” The younger of the two asked. Peter shrugged, casting a nervous glace over at the two men by Stills’ side, Nash and Crosby, the former of which had his face buried in the latter’s crotch. He couldn’t really deny that it was kind of turning him on. And neither could Stills. “You wanna have a go?”

“You don’t mind?” Peter asked quietly.

Stills shook his head, “I’d rather be with someone experienced.” He quipped, which got him a slight, fond punch from Tork. But since the answer was yes, he wasted no more time joking about it. Peter, already up on his hands and knees, straddled the younger musician and kissed him, sloppily.

“God,” Clapton’s voice rung out amongst the party, “Doesn’t it just look like Tork’s finally getting to fuck himself?” He nodded at the two similar-looking musicians locked in a heated kiss, grabbing at one another to feel their hot flesh beneath their hippy clothes. George Harrison, who seemed hardly fazed by what was going on around him, least of all John and Paul making out close by, cast his gaze over at the Monkee and Stills were up to. A light laugh escaped his mouth.

“I never knew Peter was so narcissistic.”

“No no,” Croz interjected, slightly breathlessly, “It’s Stephen who is.”

“Oh, so it’s Stephen fucking himself.” Clapton reiterated, “Lucky guy.”

“Lucky, yeah?” George chuckled.

“Well, why not? He knows what he likes. It’s got to be the best sex of his life, no?”

George shrugged, understanding where Eric was coming from.

“But it’s always nice to be with a someone who has to learn you. I mean, it builds a bond, between people, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, Guru Harrison’s speaking, guys!” Clapton announced mockingly. It got no attention from the guys busy with each other, though it did get a few snickers here and there. Proudly, he looked back at the Beatle. However, George smiled back with narrowed eyes. Oh, Eric was about to get it, in more ways than one.

“So, you’d rather fuck yourself instead of me?”

“Why, are you offering? Thought you wanted Ringo.”

“I do, but as Stephen said, I can have both. Get your butt over here.”

Clapton did not believe he’d ever been commanded by anyone in quite the way George just did. If he had, he doubted he’d ever been so obedient as to comply, but it is often said that guys think with their dicks. His had overrun his brain, quite enjoying the submissiveness he’d usually never allow himself to seem. He stumbled on his knees over to the Beatle and waited to be told what he wanted done.

Ringo watched as the two guitarists bypassed the snogging stage, unlike Peter and Stephen or John and Paul, and went straight to cupping one another’s hardness as casually and blissfully as though they’d done it many a time before. The oldest Beatle felt himself blush, partly out of embarrassment, as he was watching something, well several things that were totally taboo, but also because he was pretty jealous. He loved George, more than he could ever say, and he was no good at writing songs, nor poetry, or anything like that, so not even on paper or singing could he express how he felt to his friend. But even so, he thought that George knew. George was that kind of guy; he didn’t take things at face value. He observed, he analysed. He was always looking for a deeper understanding, like with what he’d said about sex being more than just an act, but a bond.

That’s why it sort of hurt when he’d happily beckoned Eric over. Did he forget that Ringo was there, willing, as a close friend, to participate in this… well it had long lost it’s challenge. It was now more of a brewing orgy, a sexual free-for-all, for guys to experiment in the company of friends. Maybe it was the friendship that got in the way. Maybe George worried that things would not stay the same had he picked Ringo as a partner. But he had said that he’d have both Ringo and Eric, so why was he focusing only on the latter?

Oh, the drummer didn’t want to spend his time at this party feeling miserable. He already had a reputation for being less than cheerful, at least in expression if not actually in personality, he didn’t want to bring down the mood of the place.

Turning away from George and Eric, he found himself looking at the three remaining Monkees. Mike Nesmith, beneath his sunglasses and strategically grown sideburns, was blushing too. As a boy from Texas, this kind of thing… it wasn’t talked about, it wasn’t good. But he was enjoying it, as was everyone else. He couldn’t see what was so wrong with it. No harm done. It was all just fun.

Davy Jones was looking a little more insecure. He half observed, his expression giving away that me might want to join in but was too proud and too nervous to spark anything. He sat up on his knees, beside Micky Dolenz. Now Micky, Micky had no pride what so ever, no shame. The man did as he pleased and enjoyed whatever he did. At that moment, he looked like a puppy begging to be taken on a walk. He couldn’t sit still for anything. His eyes excitedly darted from the array of couples around him, obviously taking great pleasure in being a voyeur. But just like the others, watching wasn’t quite enough for him. He too wanted to join in. He just wasn’t sure where, or with who.

Ringo was sitting closer to little Davy, probably the most conventionally good-looking boy in the Monkees, if his teen idol status was anything to go by. He was like the Paul McCartney of the Monkees, no one could deny how very sexy he was, not even Ringo.

“Wasn’t expecting this.” The Beatle chuckled, his eyes set firmly on Eric and George. Davy’s, on the other hand, couldn’t find one place to settle. They kept glancing up at Ringo to ensure he wasn’t judging. Davy obviously didn’t know that the oldest Beatle was incapable of doing so. He was far too sweet and far too loving to judge severely.

“Oh no, me neither. Do your parties usually end up like this?” The Monkee asked.

“With a lot of sex? Not my parties specifically. And not usually sex with my mates.”

“Well, it’s better than fighting with them, I s’pose.”

“That’s true. This isn’t too bad, actually.”

Finally, Ringo cast his eyes down at Davy. He was glad that someone else had a similar thought to him; he hated his friends fighting. Whether Davy in his own band was provoker of fights or not, it was nice to hear someone say it.

Ringo knew that it was probably the drugs, or his jealousy of Eric Clapton, or this whole situation at the party of broken societal norms, but he was starting to wonder whether Davy might consider being his partner. God, it sounded so much like this was a formal school dance. Everyone was trying to find someone they could ask, and Ringo’s choice had been snapped up by a guy way cooler than himself. He wished he’d been quicker.

Still, Davy was cute, and he had the added bonus of not being too close a friend, therefore it couldn’t get too weird when they saw each other again.

“Its not too bad.” Davy had parroted quietly while Ringo was lost in his contemplations.

“Do you dig it?” He asked. Davy looked confused by the question… or conflicted about his answer.

“This stuff? Man, it’s whatever floats you’re boat. I don’t get hung up on things like…”

“No, I mean, do you like it, would you ever…?”

“Kiss a guy? Oh well, I don’t know, y’know. If the opportunity passed…”

“What if I’m your opportunity?”

Davy’s already huge brown eyes widened, and his perfect, pouty pair of pink lips parted in astonishment.

“Wha… really?”

“Just asking.”

Well, if it were any other situation… Ringo probably wouldn’t be asking something so seemingly strange, never mind whether Davy would accept it or not. Since they were in the situation, it seemed rude not to accept. Rude, or was Davy just denying the fact that he’d wanted to join in for a while. Either way, he wasn’t thinking straight, not by any stretch of the imagination, so he got up onto his knees, inched closer to the Beatle and laid one of his girl-creaming kisses on his lips.

Ringo had underrated lips, he decided. They were plump, nice and pink, had nice shape to them. They were quite wonderful to kiss. If Davy had to have chosen which Beatle- in fact, which guy here in general- he would kiss, he probably would’ve gone with Paul. That man’s mouth was almost as perfect as his own. Now, however, he was quite satisfied with his choice of partner. Ringo was gentle and sweet, allowing the younger man to guide him in what he wanted.

“Mike…” Micky’s whining voice sounded behind the two men kissing. In watching what had developed between Ringo and Davy, the Monkee had decided it was his turn to get some. The closest guy to him happened to be the very man everyone assumed he had a crush on. And…  he’d say they were probably right. Not a crush in the kind of school boy way. Not like he’d stare at his friend from miles off and doodle his name on any scrap of paper he could find. No, it was more like he found himself gravitating towards Mike when he had no reason to do so. He seemed to have a brotherly bond with him, having more in-jokes and games than the others. Then again, it wasn’t all that much like a brotherly bond, because neither man ever really fought. The others did. Mike and Peter clashed about their music, both aspiring to be musicians above everything else. Mike and Davy rammed horns because they were fiery Capricorns and their egos were big enough to rival anyone else’s at the party. Micky rarely butt heads with anyone, but he’d lost his patience with Davy before, and maybe Peter. However, with the latter, it was probably the other way around, as Micky liked the on-screen chemistry he and Peter possessed, whereas the older Monkee preferred not to appear as ‘the dumb one’ in at any other time than on screen.

Mike, on the other hand, was quietly cool. Course he had an ego and took everything way too seriously, but Micky had the ability to draw the silliness out of the man. Mike had a wicked sense of humour and a great smile. Micky felt it an accomplishment when he was able to coax one onto his lips.

He wondered if it might help in this situation. Mike had not opened his mouth once since this whole make-out session had begun. He’d sat quietly, not knowing where to look, whether he really liked it or not, whether he thought it ok or not. He’d never stop anyone else doing what they wanted to do, it was ‘their hang up,’ he just wasn’t sure if he should join in. And if Micky wanted to persuade him to place even one single kiss on his lips, he’d have to find some way to make him feel comfortable.

“We have to…” He whined like a kid.

Mike’s brow knotted beneath his shades, “Have to what?”

“We have to get involved… it’s only right.”

“Pretty sure we don’t. There isn’t a rule book.”

“Well,” Micky thought hard, “I’m going to have to write one. I’ll title it ‘Get Into The In-Crowd.”

“Yeah?” Mike softly chuckled to himself, “I see what ya did there.”

As though the half-pun was something to be proud of, Micky shrugged humbly, pursing his lips and closing his eyes for a moment, as if to allow it to sink in. For Mike, it already had, and he was not laughing at the genus of the line, rather the ridiculousness of it. Still, he was where Micky wanted him, focusing on him rather than on the people around them, the few remaining guys with their eyes darting over each pair.

Mike sort of knew what Micky was doing. The first whimper had told him all. When Micky wanted something, he turned into a polite child. He’d beg for it, but if you told him to stop, he’d say no further word. And it wasn’t too difficult to tell that he was turned on by the sight in front of him. Mike had been subtle in his glance down his friend’s body and gotten a look at an unmistakeable shape in the crotch of the boy’s pants.

With seriousness infecting his voice, he asked, “Do you really want to?”

Now, Micky was rarely ever serious. Not, like, dead straight with difficult conversations. He had his ways of dealing with stiff. But here, Mike saw a side of the boy he hadn’t been party to before. Micky’s sparkling brown eyes showed a sense of vulnerability he’d always covered up with smiles and jokes.

“Yes.”

Broken to the boy’s gaze, Mike could not help himself, “Well come here then. I have to warn ya, I’ve not done this kinda thing before, so if I’m shit…”

Micky silenced him with a kiss, kneeling beside him. As it heated up, he kicked one leg over Mike’s thighs and sat down lightly on them. Mike had limbs so thin they were like sticks and Micky feared breaking them. That did not, however, prevent him from doing anything else.

[bcolfanfic]

i'm hankering for some demarco backstory from your youngvets!au :)))

rachel and i joked the other day that he actually has the least-messy background of everyone in the au LOL.

comes from a big family that worshipsss him as the oldest boy. enlisted to begin with because he was one of those kids that grew up wanting to be in the military falling for propaganda lol since he was old enough to watch army movies with his dad.

but worry not he’s not without some hurt. i’ve mentioned it in passing that he loses it on croz in bagram when he’s unfaithful to the extent that douglass has to quite literally tear him off of him. which- yeah he probably deserved that. but a lot of how angry benny got was stemming from his own hurt about finding out a few months before hand that the girl he left back home was cheating on him <\3.

which really really hurts him. had known her since middle school, been dating her since not long after and thought she was gonna be it for him and now it’s just over and she didn’t love him like he was so sure she did.

he becomes a lot more internal and Quiet after all that. is good friends with john and gale because he’s known them since they were in africa before bagram and talks to douglass quite a bit too because they’re bunk mates. but outside of that just keeps his head down, does his job and tries to focus on nothing but what’s right in front of him. to varied success.

after the war he moves back to new york and works in finance <3 my liddol sweet finance bro <3 kinda tapers his communication with the others because he just feels. Weird re: the military and his time in it and all the little butterfly effects it had on his life. doesn’t completely ghost them, but doesn’t stay in touch as much as some of them do.

until curt more or less becoming douglass’s minder (after the shit w/ him getting discharged) kinda implodes. and next time jamie is calling curt saying he needs to be picked up from the precinct downtown curt calls benny to ask if he’d mind grabbing him instead.

benny who didn’t even know jamie was discharged, hurt and back in nyc.

is so ?!?! when curt tells him he’s gonna have to sit with him all night to monitor him, that he’s not even supposed to be drinking with his TBI bc he’s like ??? what TBI ???. feels soooo guilty because jamie was such a good friend to him overseas but he didn’t ever bother to check on him and now he’s doing bad.

more or less takes over what curt was doing being jamie’s keeper- but he missed his friend. he’s happy to help him, and jamie seems happy to have him around again too- so it’s a good deal.

till benny realizes he’s starting to Feel things about him that he’s never felt for anyone but a girl. <3

[getinthefuckingjaeger]

The bit about Curt being the only human is hurting me and I hate that I put it out there but like is there anything more beautiful about Curt than his humanity and how bright and beautiful his flame is? Gale is cold and dead for centuries and will outlive Curt and one day, John as well, and John is warm and alive, but he'll still outlives Curt, and he'll eventually leave Gale alone.

This is the kind of stuff that their respective elders warned them about when anyone thinks about imprinting on those not their own kind. It's heartbreak, it's living even a day without your half, it's having to make peace with the idea of loving and losing. Idk how close this will follow canon, but losing human Curt in Ragensburg is not something any of them can survive.

Gale being one of the few council Elders who argues for the release of wolves captives far too young to even be involved in conflict is something that each of those cubs remember till theyre grown and told the story to their own cubs. And those cubs then finds themselves in the 100th and possibly meeting the legend himself who, to their delight, has his own wolf who's a good sort - one of their best, even. Someone they wouldn't mind picking as de facto pack leader of the wolves in the 100th.

The STALAG - will the Geneva convention take into account mixed military unit pseudo packs? Will they separate them into species so it'll be easier to manage them ie each section with different kinds of safeguard so that a species cannot compensate for the weakness of the other? Because just thinking of the 100th wolves, humans, and vamps separated... While I think that the wolves will fare alright (puppy piles with Bucky practically sleeping on all of them to cover their bodies with his), I suppose the vamps will lose it a little. Also thinking how the fuck do they keep someone like Gale in line, if not through threats to their wolves.

Then Blake and Dougie having Croz as their navigator is a harrowing experience for everyone 100% because Bubbles made no effort to hide how he fusses over Croz and he keeps mumbling about Jean and the snowball she blessed with the girls when they visited from Salem and while Dougie barely blinked at the implication, Ev is once again bamboozled because WITCHES??? but he promptly forgets when Dougie butts their very human foreheads together, demanding head pats.

thinking of vampires and werewolves integraded in the military clegan au im sighing in agony

werewolf!bucky vampire!buck ofc lets fall to the expected norms mainly because i am a dog coded bucky enthusiast and also as much as i think of buck as a doberman he's very much vampire coded

werewolf vampire feud being an actual and expected thing, the 100th being gunned from the beginning of the war as a trial unit to see how humans, vampires, and werewolves are able to work together. most units kind of failing at it because everyones too territorial, too much blood history, too blood-proud, and humans too cautious.

enter the 100th, always the outlier, ever the undisciplined.

officer training begins far before their assignment to the 100th, so the buckies meet each other first. born-werewolf currently lone-wolfing john bucky egan's proverbial but also quiet literal fur bristling when he firsts scents the air of his new base and zeroing on buck cleven, the vampire who's going to sleep on the bunk right next to him. millennia-old ice-cold buck cleven smelling the wet dog fur and hearing the low growls first before looking up from folding his handful of monogrammed kerchiefs to a werewolf standing by the bunk next to him, presumably assigned that bed.

buck promptly ignores the guy, which bucky doesn't take at all very kindly. john still gives the guy his name though, a week down the line, because, well, he's very pretty and very smart and very capable of putting bucky on his back.

werewolves being high in the sky is unheard of. bucky suffers through the 'trying to get closer to the moon?' jokes easily enough. no sun smiting vampires here btw, should i say they glitter like the cullens or nah. just the slightest glitter then, lets say that there's a glow when the sun hits their skin, vampires being the suns favorite child or something and when they die they return as ashes to the sun to give those vampire pilots some fear of flying too close to the sun.

complicated-relationship-with-the-moon werewolf bucky vs complicated-relationship-with-the-sun vampire buck oh the ache

but like more on the other guys because fuck clegan theyve caused me enough grief

werewolf dougie vs human blakely. sooo attached to dougley you don't understand. dougie imprinting on ev like a baby chick, scenting his clothes and his jacket and his pillows etc. blakely being sooo flustered the first time dougie actually greets him like pack—as in dougie touches his nose to the side of ev's nose, runs it to the side just before his ear, and down to his neck—face cherry red and spluttering while dougie just has the most satisfied cat-who-got-the-cream look in his face. maybe after their first successful bomb-drop practice mission? idk just obsessed with the image.

vampire duo crubbles, centuries of being together reflected on the way they're never apart on the ground. croz's diet has to be like incredibly precise and certain blood sits weirdly in his stomach so up in the air paired with the anxiety of being so close to the sun he's puking out anything that's left in his stomach. ms. jean crosby known keeper of both harry crosby and bubbles payne, only woman to keep those two in line, but nobody actually knows what she is.

another werewolf and vampire pair: hammy and brady. hammy being a werewolf disaster duo with dougie, squabbling and rucking up the base like pups, bucky having to snap at them to cut it out when he's also wagging his out-of-sight tail wanting to cause mayhem too but maybe not when some very important general is by the base yeah. brady just brings that vibes of being incredibly old and incredibly stuffy and incredibly stick-in-the-mud at first you know?? hammy first meeting his vampire pilot and scoffing because that's literally the stereotypical vampire he's shit upon pre-army. until he sees brady pilot. until his pilot manages to execute a move so beautiful he doesn't end up as a pile of burnt fur within minutes of a trial flight. until he sees john fucking brady crack a smile at him with the slight glitter of the dying sun caressing his skin. dougie, smelling this shit from literally 4 miles away groans because brother, really?

vampire!kenny stuck in the body of a 19 year old never to grow old, waiting for his passing from the sun whenever that is. very human very warm very kind rosie rosenthal easily grasping at kenny's ice-cold-yet-sun-blessed skin and sparks fly from the flat of the palm meeting rosie's and to the tips of his bronze burnt curls.

fiery human chick harding able to go toe-to-toe with wolves and vampires, mouth stretched wide the first time he has bucky egan sitting on his visitor's chair whose metabolism is working overtime trying to burn the devils piss of a hooch out of his system. meeting born-werewolf jack the next hour who's bucky's only equal in their eclectic werewolf pack—whose fur is clearly bristling from bucky grounding him but he clocks instantly that this were will be the one who will actually snap on his new boys' heels if they ever step out of line.

currently kind of obsessed with this aaaa might come back with other ships (demacon i Will love you into existence) when it hits (hopefully) probably when the bi!buck euphoria melts a bit

[bcolfanfic]

ev taking croz AND nash’s girls after they passed 😭

who amongst us does that not handle their grief related trauma by falling in love with their dead friends wives and feeling a moral obligation to take care of their families!!!!!

in all seriousness this is not lost on him lmao. side b jamie is a real dick about it a couple times before benny tells him he needs to quit it 🤥. even curt, though he’s nicer than jamie about it, is briefly like ??? are you losing your mind ???

ev is very cognizant of how it looks but. he does love both of them so sincerely. just wants them to be okay. and if they want to figure out how to make this work then they’re gonna make it work, fuck the noise.

it also “helps” that helen and jeanie are so attached to each other and it’s not like they’re strangers being shoved together by ev losing his mind. they love each other so deeply and have since they first became friends. + some stuff ~happened~ between them beforehand when helen was staying with her for a bit after nash died and croz cheated. so they have history going a ways back that has a hand in all this too.

[bcolfanfic]

**meadow little miss live texter. sends the big 2nd gen groupchat a crying selfie from the bathroom mid everyone yelling in the living room and that's how they all find out. little punks all immediately tell their parents too lmfao. ken does find a little funny when he figures out *that* is why him and curt both started getting a bunch of calls/texts from everyone. bc meadow is a little ridiculous and their kids are narcs <3

IM DEAD LMAOOOOOOOOO this kinda killed me

Need to know how all the other parents reacted 😭

and HOW josie told her dads

she’s literally like 😟✌🏼 i’m pregnant. and if you press down to watch the little Live Photo video you can hear all the yelling in the back lmfao.

i just posted about the bucks but. ev and helen are also pretty involved in everything bc a) they’re close with both croz/jeanie and curt and b) helen is really close with meadow. she was more or less a mother figure to her growing up, and since meadow is kinda scared shitless that jeanie hates her (she doesn’t baby i promise) she goes to helen for that female support over her. esp when curt is like. continually losing his mind and kinda being a huge jerk. helen is reallyyyy important to meadow as a support system in all that- and also helps with talking curt off the ledge with things. helen blakely i love u so much.

**helen and curt are almost closer than ev and curt are. curt sees a lotttt of his mom in helen, and has since he was helping her and ev with the aftermath of her being with that abuser. i’ve mentioned this briefly before but the one time helen goes back to talk to the guy is when ev happened to give curt the green light to go after him (before they moved to ny too- curt drove his happy ass all the way the west virginia to jump an abuser). curt shows up and helen is /there/ with wyatt and he just sees his own mom with his dad and little him. very tough love with her over it, and is blunt about how he still to this day has hard feelings towards his own mom for taking as long as she did to leave his father. curt is a huge part of helen’s recovery from all that, and he has a big soft spot for her.