#i chose the one's on Spotify

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - Fair-weather company

CW: corny behavior, suggestive language, PTSD, aftermath of torture and injury, medical whump, mention of self harm, hand whump

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The taste of cheap liquor still stuck to the roof of their mouths, and with the streetlights already guiding the way, they could stumble freely onto the driveway. Hardly trying to keep her laughter down, Amber unlocked the front gate of the massive family home and let the cold spring breeze follow them.

Her escort was close behind her when she stepped over the doorway, hands still clutching onto her bags. As always, they had swiped a lot more food from her friend's house party than intended, but that turned out to be his favorite part of the night.

"You good?" she slurred while turning around to meet him.

With a gentle push of his foot, Elliot let the door fall back into place: "Yup, I'm just gonna say hello real quick and get going. I got practice tomorrow morning."

This would be a terrible first impression, but better than bluntly running through a house he didn't belong in.

"My parents aren't home tonight," she disclosed, the news echoing through the foyer, "So no rush. The party doesn't have to stop."

Elliot knew that glance well enough, the one he got at family reunions. Or birthdays. Or funerals, for some tasteless reason.

"Oh come on, not when I'm half-shitfaced!" A tired huff was all he could muster as she grabbed him by his hands to lead.

"Please, baby..."

With that, he was dragged through the hall past the coat rack and over to an upright brown piano at the back of the living room. The simple white decorations didn't divert him from noticing how this room, apparently only existing for a couch and TV, was nearly big enough to fit his whole apartment.

"Still a no," he tried to mumble, only to be excitedly interrupted.

"Pleasepleaseplease!" sparkling eyes begged without ever losing contact, "You didn't want to do it at Rhys' place, it's just us now."

Amber hugged his waist tight, holding him close for a minute. Elliot knew what she wanted and also how it would end: with her winning, like she always did.

"Alright, alright," he pressed a quick kiss on top of her head. "But only one!"

Kicking his shoes off at the carpet's edge, Amber made him sit down on a dusty velvet stool to warm up to the old box. Elliot thought about playing some ethereal overture, an hour-long session that would only impress his conductor; or maybe the Faerie's Aire...

Let's hope I still got that ready on call.

Through his tipsy courage, he remembered a gift he prepared weeks ago, before their first big fight-

Why not, actually?!

Slender fingers pressed carefully down on the black and white keys, forcing the first notes of the evening out from the mahogany.

"I know you like this one. I had to secretly google the lyrics first, though," he admitted through a whisper.

A few wayward sounds proved what he had already worried about: that thing hadn't been tuned in forever. What a waste of art in this suburban ivory tower.

"But you know I can't sing for shit, so save your jokes for later. And if Sahra ever gets wind of this, she will not let me live it down," Elliot continued to sigh dramatically, "I mean, should I flop at the next auditions, maybe they can use me as a choir boy instead."

"You would get one of those pretty white robes, so think about it!" Amber too settled down on behind him, arms wrapped in sequin rested around his neck.

"You'll definitely need a safeword when this gets too sappy."

His hands practically danced from left to right now, filling the whole room with bone-deep warmth.

"How about something creative; like: Please, Elli, stop! My ears are bleeding!"

An amused scoff was everything she earned and unable to hide his smirk, Elliot cleared his throat one last time. As the familiar melody began to match the gentle hum in the back of her sweetheart's chest, Amber got more than she bargained for:

"True that I saw her hair like the branch of a tree

A willow dancing on air before covering me

Under cotton and calicoes

Over canopy dapple long ago"

Elliot must've had a few more drinks than expected, she wondered, giving how calmly he let the words bubble from his lips; usually she had to press up against the bathroom door to catch a taste of it.

"Must be felled for to fight the cold

I fretted fire, but that was long ago"

With a sudden spark, the pace picked up intensity, fingertips now slamming out the melodies from inside the wooden frame.

"And it's not tonight

Where I'm set alight

And I blink in sight

Of your blinding light"

How lucky could a girl like her be?

"Oh, it's not tonight

Where you hold me tight

Light the fire bright

Oh, let it blaze, alright"

To meet someone like this?

"Oh, but you're good to me

Oh, you're good to me

Oh, but you're good to me, baby"

To wake up with hands around her shoulders, holding her close. Not on her chest, ass or in between her legs. No hard, needy pressure rubbing against her back.

"With each love I cut loose, I was never the same

Watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame

I was fixed on your hand of gold

Laying waste to my lovin' long ago"

No, he never used her like this - even when she asked him to.

"So in awe, there I stood as you licked off the grain

Though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame

Long as amber of ember glows

All the would that I'd loved is long ago"

The drone of the strings still reverberated deep inside them, as the last echo died down somewhere between these walls.

Meanwhile, Elliot was grinning like an idiot because of the puns and if not for free video tutorials, he would've missed out on this inviting opportunity. He really overdid it with the shots this time, even made him miss some dazed notes, but he couldn't say no to a shot of Apple Pie.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the glimpse of a teared-up Amber. Her head rested on his shoulder, shaky hands petting his back.

"That terrible? Oh god," he whispered against her hairline with a small chuckle. She dyed it honey-yellow this week, very pretty, like always.

"Shut up." Amber kissed a line down his neck.

He hoped the embrace they were caught in would last forever. It did, for a moment, until they both noticed a shape leaning against the doorway to the kitchen.

"Cute," Chase nodded, munching on his midnight snack of dry high-protein cereal, "if that didn't make you wet, I don't know what will!"

Lovely like always.

"You're so fucking gross," Amber hollered with an earring in hand, ready to be thrown. "No wonder that Taylor didn't screw you without getting paid first. Piss off!"

Elliot decided not to get in between the twins when they were... mediating. God knows he never had to bother fighting any sibling off, but all they got was the dirty "Make me, bitch!" Chase made on his way upstairs anyway.

Public Amber was back, it seemed. Not that she wasn't herself when they had company, just... different. Elliot wondered when he would get used to it.

Walking back to him, she let the grained lid lower itself down onto the keys: "Should've eaten him in the womb, honestly."

Besides her irritated huffing, one question remained, though: "Can you stay? I don't want to be alone tonight."

Of course he did, but the only downside threatened to ruin this too.

"Practice?"

Amber melted into the hands that slowly stroked over her forearms: "I wake you up, promise!"

As if that ever worked before.

"Okay then," he blinked towards the full bags that still leaned against the door frame, "just need to get this into the fridge first."

If it meant he would always be like this for her, Amber could wait for him. And if she let herself be herself with him, Elliot could learn to love all her other sides too. Together.

Always.

---

--

-

-

-

"Mr. Ribera?"

"Mhh?"

"Are you still with me? Just this exercise and you're done for today."

"Yeah, sorry..."

The off-white walls of the hospital room had grown homelike during the weeks he spent in and out of feverish delirium. Fahim from OT, more than an angel in his turquoise scrubs, patiently let his pen rest on the clipboard. He had been here every day since the fog inside his head had lifted, but today, Elliot wasn't sure if he liked the company. 

Sitting together at a small table, only a bit of equipment and a glass of water between them, this suddenly seemed too familiar in the worst way possible.

Yes, he needed the exercise, be it a walk around the corridors or a quick game of catch, but after all the training, he knew he was still where he started. And Fahim seemed to finally recognize this too.

Elliot had offered to be on a first-name basis, but even after agreeing to it, the OT was too polite for his own good. Elliot could try to read the annotations that waited to be shared with the doctors and nurses, long upside-down medical babble was all he could make out right now, ready to be filed.

Did he really want to know what it said? 

The sudden beep of monitors around them reminded of the fact that he was still wired up like the Christmas tree in the foyer, just less joyous. The tube of a catheter snaked up to his left collarbone, making Elliot accessible for whatever they wanted to shoot him up with. Liquid relief, if only for a few hours. He didn't press the friendly red button at his bedside often enough, especially not before therapy, to not alienate the outcome, Fahim insisted.

And why not so? He already hit rock bottom.

"Let's go, then," Elliot said, and his voice cracked weakly.

"Okay!" Fahim quickly picked up and let his attention rest on the board between them; nine holes in it, waiting for the unlucky patient to fill them up. 

"Now I’d like you to switch and use your left hand. You can use your other to stabilize the board. Ready?" 

Only one at a time and neatly placed, surely. How thrilling my life is.

"Same order as last time?"

"Exactly. Whenever you're ready." With his thumb steady on the stopwatch, Fahim waited for Elliot's left to start moving. It was still wrapped up in tidy white gauze but left his fingers free to move. His first three ones, that was, the rest stayed tightly screwed together.

At the click of the watch, Elliot had already picked up a peg between his thumb and pointer finger to carefully maneuver upright into the first hole. With this one placed securely down, the second made his whole forearm shake so badly, it nearly slipped out of his grasp in the first few seconds. With the iron grip back, the always present burning decided to let itself surface from under the chemically induced numbness. Quicker than anticipated, the flare shot up from his hand all the way to his neck, meeting where the thin plastic tube had been shoved in.

His face was on fire now too, from pain or humiliation, he couldn't tell. The white-hot prickle gouged itself deeper and deeper into his flesh, dancing around the wires that held the bones in place, making Elliot feel them straining the tight stitches ever so horribly. A pressure that didn't belong inside him.

The wooden peg fell down onto the board, rolling back towards its box.

"Take your time."

He despised Fahim for these calming words and hated himself instantly for it. The poor man was doing his job, wasn't his fault that Elliot was as strong as a bundle of lettuce.

Despite all efforts, he couldn't get a grasp on that little stick again and with another click of the timer, this chance was officially over. 

The therapist gave him a reassuring smile, just as empty as his words: "Great work, I think you can rest for today."

I performed Beethoven, you know?

Enjoying his prescribed rest, he watched Fahim move the pen on the paper, probably documenting every failure of the day. A peek could do non harm, Elliot supposed. He thought of how his music teacher made him play with the sheets turned upside-down, as a fun warm-up. What a cruel blessing this turned out to be.

Thumb opposition (✔, Kapandji 6)

Inferior+superior pincer grasp (✔)

Radial palmar grasp (✔)

Closure of fist (✗)

9HPT: r= trial 1 (16s), trial 2 (14s), l= trial 1 (✗ after 120s). Elliot could make out a big thunderbolt scribbled behind that, probably the first note he understood. Weakness, P unable to complete trial due to physical limitations.

Physical limitations. That sounded so nice; much more harmless than molten iron running down his arm and turning to ants under his fingertips.

"Let's try that again soon," Fahim finally looked back up to collect the arsenal of tools and elastic bands, "until then you need to take your walks and train your hand." His head bopped toward a small foam ball on his bedside table. Elliot had stomped on it a few times, to give it that well-used look the therapist needed to see.

"How long will it take?" he mumbled with a thin smirk on his lips.

"My colleague will be here tomorrow, so-"

"No, sorry. I mean...how long will it take?"

As he leaned back into his chair, Fahim was visibly trying to hold back a sigh, his ink-black beard rustling against the hospital's uniform. He let his view rest on Elliot for what felt like the longest five seconds of his life, warm and patient. Elliot hoped he wasn't a 10 on the annoying-patient-scale, but he just had to know-

"One day at a time."

Yeah, they were definitely on the same page now.

"Thanks for your time," Elliot tried to sound at least a little bit motivated as he walked with him as far as the tubes allowed, "See you on Monday."

--------

The first thing Elliot remembered was screaming at the doctors. How they had gotten him into the hospital was lost to the feverish heat of the first week, just as any questions or treatments he endured. Thank god he kept his stupid mouth shut, even though that didn't stop anyone from asking over and over again.

Elliot hadn't been lucid enough for a good enough excuse, so none ever made it across his lips, he didn't own that cheap lie to anyone. Any injury had to be self-inflicted then, more or less officially because nobody intended to get the police further involved. Too much paperwork, they had whispered.

Now, everybody knew it was his fault; that's what they believed, and he didn't intend to convince anyone of the opposite.

Elliot's mother had told him about how terribly he lost it when they brought him in for the first surgery. Embarrassing, really, but he couldn't think of what he went on about or why he would ever be so aggressive.

They treated him to some extra medicine, making him stay quiet for even longer. He recognized that weirdly trusted feeling after a while: whatever had kept him down during his time in that crack house bathroom was also flowing into him with a press of a button, conveniently placed in reach.

He was behaving himself since, of course, after that aimless fury got out of his system. They gave him a splint and biweekly counseling and OT... as a treat, he supposed.

The man in the bed to his right went home after a day, "Just carpal tunnel," he said with an apologetic smile.

Elliot was alone again, only surrounded by an ocean of flowers with some cards swimming in between:

"Get well soon!"

"All the best! "

"Visit Fleming Beach!" Huh?

In the short time living on his own, he wasn't able to make many friends around town; his parents visited nearly every day, but that only made it harder. Between her shifts, Elliot's futility had practically forced his mom to pack up everything on her own: the ultimate offense to the woman who had nothing but helped him.

They were all safe now, but somehow the relief about dodging his worst fear didn't show itself. It was just pain now, every day for every minute.

Two more weeks in here, according to the latest prognosis, and then straight into the unknown. Ambulant rehabilitation maybe, workplace retraining - something like that.

Alone again, until another blood sample or change of dressing became necessary.

Couldn't it have been something else? Elliot would rather be living with his ankle smashed to pieces... or skull, he didn't use its contents anyway, right? Otherwise, he wouldn't be in that fucking bed with a piss bottle on its side.

How much healing to get his life back?

It would only get harder from here on out, that's for sure; although he didn't have to feel all of this right now, therapy was over. So Elliot pressed the big red button down, letting the rush of numbness take him away, if only for a moment.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[mac-ann-cheese]

Some memories are prone to stick around

[relgnira]

eyllo rel!! ^-^//// 16 from your spotify wrapped :D

I’m a fool, I’ve been howling at a hollow moon

There’s something burning in the empty room inside of my head

Fill it up with doubt, let it in, let it spread

[bisexualmultifandommess]

I’ve been updating my Charles Xavier Spotify Playlist and I’ve found songs for my three favourite Charles relationship dynamics that makes me sad 😭 these are going to include headcanons probably but most are close to what Charles really goes through

My Only Friend by Amy Shark (Ft. Tom DeLonge) - I feel like this song really fits Hank and Charles’ relationship before and during Days of Future Past. They’re my favourite friendship and I love seeing their dynamic explored in fics because it’s such a complicated relationship but for the longest time they were definitely each other’s person.

Dorothea by Taylor Swift - This song really made me imagine it as Charles talking to Raven or thinking about Raven when he misses her. He wishes he still had his sister and reminisces about their youth and the way things used to be. It really fits the sad feeling over her leaving as well as the hope of reconciliation one day.

Now with Erik I have so many that could fit different aspects of his relationship with Charles and how Charles feels about him so I’m going to list songs that I think fit the different emotions Charles may feel in regards to their relationship and especially the events in FC and DoFP.

The Grudge by Olivia Rodrigo and First Burn from Hamilton - These two songs definitely fits the anger Charles feels in regard to his relationship with Erik. He obviously loves Erik a lot but I believe that at least in the early years he felt so much anger and sadness over the miscommunication and his sister leaving that he must’ve occasionally had angry thoughts that he usually wouldn’t have. It’s an anger that he would later move on but I think it’s definitely shown in DoFP and I headcanon anyway that he felt so angry at times at Erik. The Grudge definitely feels more like Charles getting upset at Erik but saying these things to himself about what happened to him and trying to come to terms with what happened and First Burn feels more like he’s actually talking to Erik.

I miss you, I’m sorry by Gracie Abrams and The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives - These are definitely the sad aspect which I always love looking into because I love angst. I miss you, I’m sorry is more of a mourning the relationship song where Charles thinks back on before everything went wrong and how happy he was with him and how upset he is over the separation. The lyrics “I don’t wanna go, think I make it worse. Everything I know brings me back to us” to me show how dependent they are on each other and that they’re always going to be a part of each other no matter how many years go by. He’s always going to be connected to Erik and miss him even if things originally ended badly. The Moon Will Sing feels like it’s fits the trope of a character helping another find their spark but losing their own in the process. Charles loves Erik and Erik loves Charles but their relationship has made things difficult and Charles kind of lost himself for a bit after everything but he did eventually find his way back.

[tinglingfuckingsensation]

Rosie's Big Send-Off

Hello @blood-suits-and-tears, merry hbowar christmas to you! I was inspired by your reunion prompt, your fanart of the boys and your love for Rosie, Kenny and Brady especially. Rosie's such a great character, and his love for music inspired me to make a playlist (some background information for the songs I chose is in the tags). And because he also was an amazing person in real life, and I'm so impressed that he actually took part in the Nuremberg trials, I wrote a little fic tied with the playlist, about the guys organizing a sendoff party for him. I hope you enjoy it✨The fic itself is under the cut!

Rosie

The letter comes late October. Rosie's been waiting for it, feeling like he's been sitting on hot coals. He rips the thick envelope open in the stairway, unable to wait until he's back upstairs in his small apartment.

There's a whole slew of documents, forms and pamphlets, but the most important information is right on the first page. On the 5th of January 1946, he's supposed to be back on German soil, to assist in the upcoming Nuremberg trials.

There's a ticket for the ship taking him to Europe, departure date the 15th of December. He'll miss all of the end of year festivities then, but he'd expected as much. Rosh Hashanah had consequently been filled with as many gatherings and family dinners as possible, his mother set on making the most of the time he spent at home.

It had been good to see everyone again, but he could admit he was glad it was over and he could return to the privacy of his Brooklyn apartment. Return to his work. There was so much to be done, and be done well, and Rosie looked forward to the chance to prove himself.

Rosie hums a tune as he takes the rickety stairs up to his apartment on the top floor, two steps at a time. He's been working towards this for months, has been preparing extensive reviews and depositions along with the other assistants to the prosecutor. He was ready. He feels the same swoop in his stomach as he did getting into a B-17, thrumming with adrenaline and ready to do what was asked of him.

With a hum and a twirl he allows himself because nobody's watching, he moves to his record player. He pulls out the Artie Shaw recording Pappy and the other guys from his crew had gotten him for his birthday back in June.

The first person he calls is his mother. She had been both anxious and proud when he had told her about his plans, and she had doted on him even more than usual while he was visiting. He had caught her, more than once, staring at him with shining eyes, and when he'd finally left, once Yom Kippur had passed, she had hugged him so tight his ribs had creaked.

She cries on the phone, as expected, then hands him over to his father, and then his sister, and it takes an hour until he can hang up the phone.

He calls Harry next. They've been keeping in touch, at least a phone call every week, and Rosie's been down to visit to meet Jean and their newborn son. Harry's as excited as Rosie thought he'd be, starts talking a mile a minute.

"Rosie, that's great! I knew they'd ask you to go, they know there's no one better to get these sons of bitches. It's a shame you're missing the holidays though!" He pauses for a moment, but before Rosie can say anything, he continues.

"We should get together before you leave, who knows how long you'll be gone. Maybe ask some of the other guys too, while we're at it, what do you think?"

"That sounds fantastic, Harry, but I'm not sure I have the time to set that up before I go."

"Oh, no, leave it to me, I think I already have an idea. You just tell me a date that works for you, and I'll take care of the rest."

Rosie laughs, and agrees. It would be good to see some of the other guys from the 100th again. They've all been keeping in touch through letters and the telephone, but apart from Harry, Rosie's only seen John Brady again, who lives in upstate New York.

Rosie dials Kenny's number next, hopes he's fast enough before Harry catches him. While he's getting put through, he swaps out the record for Duke Ellington and flops down into his armchair for his chat with Kenny.

Kenny's slow Arkansas drawl is as pronounced as it ever was over the phone, and fondness wells up inside Rosie at the honest joy in Kenny's voice when he tells him the news.

"No way! I can't believe you're going back so soon. And by ship, too. You don't think they'd let you fly a plane over there? Would be a lot faster than the ship, I'll tell you that."

"At least it's a cruise line and not one of the crew ships." Rosie laughs. Kenny had told him and the other pilots all about the cramped quarters on the ships bringing the ground crews and other personnel to England.

"Yeah, pays off to be a fancy lawyer and all I guess" Kenny teases, and Rosie can't contain his smile as he rebuffs it with a mild "hey now".

They talk for the better part of an hour, until Ken gets called for lunch by his mother.

"Harry's gonna call you later, I think." Rosie says before they hang up. Ella Fitzgerald has gone quiet on his record player, and he feels his stomach grumble. On a whim, he decides to go out for lunch. It's too fine a day to spend it inside, so he slips on his coat and makes his way back out the door.

For late October, it's unusually warm, and he makes his way through the park to get to his favorite lunch spot, a small Italian restaurant just off the main street. He passes a group of buskers playing at the exit of the park, and he decides to stay a while, finds a bench to sit and listen for a spell.

He leans his head back and looks up at the blue sky as he listens to the music drift by. The band has a saxophone player, and Rosie's reminded of John Brady again.

It's a friendship Rosie hadn't expected. He had not gotten to know Brady very well back in England before he went down over Germany. It had been Harry who had told Rosie that Brady was going to see shows in New York City from time to time. Harry had told him, at length, what a talented saxophone player Brady was, and how surely he and Rosie would get along like a house on fire considering their shared interest in music.

"You know I won't be able to make it to Minton's for a while yet, so I know you're in need of a jazz buddy. Go meet him for one of the shows he goes to, I'll call to give him a heads up."

The venue had been small, when Rosie finally went, but the music was fantastic. John Brady had kept up a running commentary on each musician, music instrument and patron, and Rosie had to stifle his laughter in his hand more than once at Brady's astute observations.

By the end, after the fifth encore, the concert had turned into an impromptu jam session, the musicians riffing off of each other and pushing each further and further. Rosie and Brady had both danced and laughed more than they had for ages before.

The next time Brady was in town, he called Rosie up beforehand to tell him to come along, and it became a habit after that. They often had drinks together until late into the night, relishing the opportunity to talk to someone who understood, without many words, what they had seen and what they brought back.

The buskers take a break, and Rosie's pulled back into the present. His stomach growls, so he rummages for some quarters in his pockets to drop them into the hat the singer is walking around with, and he thanks him with a smile and a nod.

As he walks away towards the restaurant, the saxophonist picks up another tune, and Rosie has to pull himself together to not break out into a little dance. Life is good today.

Kenny

Being back home on the farm still feels surreal sometimes. Kenny still wakes up at the ass crack of dawn, woken by the unshakeable feeling that lives would be lost if he didn't get up right now, get to work on the planes, get them ready for the day's mission.

He doesn't always manage to go back to sleep, too often caught up in the memories of waiting, waiting for crews and planes that would maybe never return.

It's a good thing there's always work to be done on the farm - chicken to feed, fences to mend or machines to repair, and the work helps to return back to the present, focus on his hands instead of getting lost inside his own head.

It also helps that he's been staying in touch with the guys, at least a phone call a week. He hears from Bucky, Harry and Rosie the most, but he has a letter from Crank waiting for his answer and a postcard from Jack, sunburnt at the Grand Canyon, hanging on the fridge.

Rosie's sent him some music recommendations too, and although Kenny's not much for Jazz usually, he can admit that the slow tones of Baby Face Willette's music can be soothing when he's too wound up.

His mother fusses over him like she always has, and he knows his father checks in on him each night after he goes to bed, knows he sometimes lingers at the door if he thinks Kenny's sleeping. It's good to be back home, he thinks, but he still misses the guys.

He sometimes marvels at how despite all the bad things that happened, the war has left him with friends he would never have met otherwise.

And to think, he marvels as he hangs up the phone after Rosie's call, he even knows one of the lawyers who'll bring Germany's highest remaining Generals to justice.

It doesn't take an hour until the phone rings again. It's Harry, of course.

"You heard?" He says as a greeting, and Kenny confirms with a hum, unable to suppress a grin. They both know Harry already has a whole plan formed, and Kenny considers getting a pen and a piece of paper to take notes when Harry launches into telling him what he's thinking of.

The plan doesn't sound half bad, Kenny has to admit. A reunion party for the 100th in the beginning of December, combined with a send-off for Rosie. Only, and Kenny feels almost bad to bring it up, they don't have a venue, and the whole thing's just over a month away.

"You have a point of course, but you're in luck. I just happen to know a highly decorated Air Corps Major who loves a good party and knows some people in high places. And more importantly, I know a charming young aircraft mechanic who happens to be his favorite."

It takes a moment to sink in, and then Kenny groans.

"That's your plan? You're making me call John Egan and hope he'll get us a place to set up the reunion? You sure your fatherly hormones haven't cooked your brain?"

"It's worth a try, at least."

"And you want me to call him?"

"Come on now, I know you two talk all the time. You know more air force gossip than half of the intelligence officers."

"Yeah, but that's just because Bucky's responsible for most of it", Kenny snorts.

"So you'll talk to him? I'll call Brady in the meantime, ask if he'll sort out the music for us."

"And all the other guys, make sure they'll come, right?"

"You bet. Tell Bucky to call Buck though, I'm sure they're on the phone with each other every day anyway. And call your boys too, give them the heads up."

John Brady

"Johnny, it's for you! Harry again", Johnny's mother calls from downstairs. Johnny lowers the saxophone from where he had just lifted it from his case, and makes his way downstairs.

His mother's hair is slowly turning gray, he notices. Mrs. Brady has always been a force of nature, her brown hair always bound back tightly, but the war had left unmistakable traces on her. She squeezes his shoulder when she hands over the phone and retreats to the kitchen, her steps slow and careful.

"Harry, what a surprise. I was expecting your call next week at the earliest. You miss me?"

"You know I do, Captain." Harry says warmly, and Johnny's lips curve into a little smile. Harry's not been his navigator for years now, in fact outranks him now, but he figures some habits were hard to kick.

"I've got a mission for you, Johnny, if you're willing. Listen, I'm not sure if Rosie told you already, but…"

"It's a little short notice, Harry, but I'll see what I can do", Johnny promises once Harry's explained everything. "I'll call Waterbury, see if we can get the Century Bombers together. I've missed playing with them, and I hear they made quite the name for themselves."

"I knew I could count on you. Listen, Lewis says to make sure you play some Artie Shaw, at least the Chant. I think it has some kind of special meaning to their crew. You think you could make that work?"

"I'll give it a try, at least." Johnny says.

After the call finishes, he returns to his saxophone. Before the war, music had been his whole life, and he'd always dreamed of becoming a bigshot musician one day, play in a big band and eventually as a solo artist. Now, he can't fathom the thought of travelling across the country, sleeping in a new bed each night, or in cramped tour buses.

No, he's glad to be home, and although he's not quite sure what he'll do with his life quite yet, he knows these dreams would remain firmly in the past. It'll be good to get together with the guys again, and play together, too.

He picks up the saxophone. Back in Stalag Luft, there had been some old instruments, and if he's being honest, it's probably what got him through. He remembers playing for the guys, his fingers frozen stiff, to take their minds off the letters that hadn't arrived for weeks, the news from outside that were so hard to get by, and the hunger that was a constant companion.

The movement of his fingers is familiar as they wander across the brass keys, and his mind clears as he focuses on his breathing. It's a song he's played a hundred times, back when he was playing in one of Bunny Berigan's bands from time to time. He had transcribed it from memory, back in the camp, to teach it to the others, had worked out the entire arrangement so it made sense with the instruments available to them.

There had been little else to do, for months sometimes, and he used to fill the long hours with trying to arrange more songs to play, let the other guys in his hut suggest songs. He pretended not to notice the way Bucky's eyes shone when he first played Blue Skies.

Hambone had requested Idaho from him, and they had howled with laughter at his attempts to sing the melody so Johnny could try and figure it out on the saxophone, and for an entire evening, they had not managed one decent note between them. They had figured it out finally, and Johnny transitions smoothly into the song and remembers Hambone told him it reminded him of home.

Rosie

The first thing Rosie hears is when he steps into the hotel lobby are the notes of Duke Ellington's G.I. Jive playing. He raises an eyebrow at Harry and Kenny, who came to pick him up at his apartment, and they answer with matching grins of excitement.

"I can't believe you pulled this off" Rosie says as he looks around the lobby. It's not the Ritz, but it's not shabby either, the understated but elegant decor speaking of a clientele used to luxury.

Before he can continue, John Egan steps into the Lobby. "There he is" he bellows, "man of the hour!", and he claps Rosie on the back.

"It's Bucky who got the location for us" Kenny says. "But he won't tell me how he did it."

Bucky laughs uproariously.

"Just because you'll tattle to Buck, and then I'll never hear the end of it."

"We won't tell him a thing, cross my heart" Kenny says and looks pleadingly at Bucky, who pretends for a moment longer and then folds with a put-upon sigh.

"Oh well, if you insist…" he leans closer, conspiratorially.

"So, there's this Colonel at my base, we go out for drinks sometimes. Family's loaded, owns a few hotels. Great leader, mediocre pilot but wouldn't admit to it. I dared him to buzz the tower on our next maneuver, see who could get closer. Wanted to do that one for ages. He didn't even get close."

"You didn't get into trouble?"

"We were the two highest ranking officers at the maneuver, Kenny. Anyway, I told the guys it's a learning opportunity. I'm sure they're still trying to figure out what they learned, but hey, it got us this place."

"And why can't we tell Buck? He would have done the same."

"Can't tell him I stole his move, can I?" Bucky laughs and they roll their eyes at him.

"Ready, fellas?" Bucky asks then, and before Rosie can ask, Kenny and Harry take him by the elbows.

"Eyes closed, Rosie, it's a surprise."

Rosie dutifully closes his eyes and lets himself be led into the hotel's ballroom. As they step through the door, Glenn Miller's in the mood starts playing, and Rosie can feel a smile breaking out on his face.

"Surprise!"

When Rosie opens his eyes, he can't help breaking out into a laugh. The whole room is decorated like the bar back at base in Thorpe Abbots, decals of planes on each wall, and a large one on the wall behind where the band is playing.

There's a banner hung a little lopsidedly, reading "Stick it to them" in large letters. Most importantly, however, everyone, including the women present, are wearing fake mustaches. When Rosie turns to the side, he sees Harry, Kenny and Bucky have put on some, too.

He doubles over, has to steady himself on his own knees so he won't fall over laughing, and he can hear the others join him.

"Welcome to your big send-off, Rosie" Harry finally says once they've quieted down a little. "We're all rooting for you."

"Yeah, get these sons-of-bitches, Rosie!", someone calls out, and then Pappy comes up to wrap him in a hug. It breaks the spell, and the guys all rush in, laughing and shouting over each other, while the band keeps playing.

The End

Tracklist: The Chant - Artie Shaw I Let a Song Go Out Of My Heart - Duke Ellington Sometimes I'm Happy - Al Casey Sextet Sing, Sing, Sing - Benny Goodman At Last - Baby Face Willette I Can't Get Started - Bunny Berigan Blue Skies - Ella Fitzgerald Idaho - Alvino Ray G.I. Jive - Duke Ellington In the Mood - Glenn Miller

[byberbunk2069]

[petrodragonicapocalypse]

i fw this album so hard its actually embarrassing for me. ohhh you grew up in a little english village? you like going for walks in the woods? you unironically play the tin whistle? lets throw a party lets invite the most annoying voice in prog rock

[toothlesssoul]

I'm disgusting

Like it icky sticky

Bitch I wouldn't trust me

Suck the blood up off the knife

You know I'm lusting

Spit it out, lick it up

Like it's nothing

You're fucking nothing

[gothyanki]

Delighted to announce that I have found the perfect Ahimi/Kana song (it’s Dear Fellow Traveller by Sea Wolf).

[juhotonin]

Zey's Top 10 Songs of 2023 ✨ (JULY-DECEMBER)

I was tagged by my sweetheart @hwichanis Thank you love for tagging me and I had fun doing this <3

In no particular order:

Lip Gloss - The Boyz | Fast Forward - Somi | Slay - Everglow | Crush - Zerobaseone | Guilty - Taemin | Do not touch - Misamo | Maniac - Viviz | Chasing that Feeling - Tomorrow x Together | Watch it - The Boyz | OOTD - Dreamcatcher

Special & Honorable Mentions:

Hear me Out by EXO (which came out on June the 30th that’s why it couldn’t make the list

Drive by Hwiyoung (SF9)

In Bloom by Zerobaseone

Chill Kill by Red Velvet

Love me a little by Shownu x Hyungwon (Monsta X)

Bona Bona by Treasure

Since I’m probably late to the party I don’t know who’s already done it or not and even if you don’t wanna do it, also fine but tagging a few in case IF you wanna do it @insoeng @okaysign @nfly5 @dengswei

[lucydacusgirl]

I just want back in your head!

[crazys-art]

art summary of the year!! feel like i really made some progress this year

^ a link to the template i used!!

[mitamicah]

Oh asks 👀👀👀👀👀👀: gimme >:3 4 / 9 / 21 / 29 / 72 :3

Hahahahaha you will receive x'D

4. Auto Jää by Antti Tuisku (feat. Käärijä)

9. Viulunkieli by Käärijä

21. Klo23 by Käärijä

29. ROCK ROCK by Käärijä

72. Grace Kelly by MIKA

[fudgecake-charlie]

I'm being self indulgent today so I'm plugging some of my spotify playlists here! because i just gave them all cover art and that's cool of me! It's a lot of links and descriptions so they're under the cut

^ Exactly what it says on the tin! Here's a general vibe of what my music taste is like. (including artists from 2021 too, which i don't listen to as much but it's still statistically on there) I need to update it soon though, I gotta put shakey graves on there

^ Aw yeah it's a cosmic harbingers AU playlist. It's a fresh-from-the-oven baby that I've been working on for a while now! It's got a whole lot going on thanks to The Narrative (this playlist is designed not for shuffle) and some general horror/atmospheric instrumental vibes. It's also got a lot of my general music taste in there too!

^ If anyone remembers the "next door penpals" fiasco, this is the compilation of both of our written letter playlists into one. My side is from 17 onwards! We all went on a date (/p) by the way. It was lovely! I probably won't hear from them again. The other part of this on my profile too, another compilation of music from other letters and through-the-wall parties.

^ last one i promise! Another horror narrative playlist (wow fuck) based on the Fallen London browser game and the story of my little guy from it. This devolves from sweet love songs to sad love songs to just straight up horror! And ruth etting because i love ruth etting. This one (deservedly, the vibes are fantastic) doesn't have an art cover and is just a picture I took at like 3AM in the middle of winter.

[thasorns-moved]

make a list of songs starting with each letter of your username

was tagged by: vish @puppy-phum and with a similar game by bru @pondsphuwin and linnea @gawincaskey thank you so much lovelies. It was fun and interesting to hear your choices <3

t: the color violet - tory lanez

h: holding on - ali gatie

a: addicted - pixy

s: stay with me - sf9

o: obsessed - ayumu imazu

r: remember my name - mitski

n: nur ein wort - wir sind helden

s: slay - everglow

tagging: @loveisactivated @jimmysea @itsallaboutbl @yakdee

[louissatturi]

Now spiderbit fits tempo perdido so so much more

The song is romantic for sure but the song sounds so tragic and dispering

The name is literally "lost time"

The lyrics are both romantic and sad

Look

Todos os dias quando acordo

Every day when i wake up

Não tenho mais

I don’t have

O tempo que passou

The time that passed anymore

Mas tenho muito tempo

But i have a lot of time

Temos todo o tempo do mundo

We have all the time in the world

Todos os dias

Everyday

Antes de dormir

Before sleeping

Lembro e esqueço

I remember and forget

Como foi o dia

How the day was

Sempre em frente

Always going foward

Não temos tempo a perder

We dont have any time to lose

Nosso suor sagrado

Your holy sweat

É bem mais belo

Is way more beutiful

Que esse sangue amargo

Then this bitter blood

E tão sério

And is so serious

E selvagem! Selvagem!

It’s feral! Feral!

Selvagem!

Feral!

Veja o sol

See the sun

Dessa manhã tão cinza

In this grey morning

A tempestade que chega

A storm that comes

É da cor dos teus olhos

And it’s the color of your eyes

Castanhos

Hazel

Então me abraça forte

So hold me tight

E diz mais uma vez

And tell me once more

Que já estamos

That we are already

Distantes de tudo

Far away from every

Temos nosso próprio tempo

We have your own time

Temos nosso próprio tempo

We have your own time

Temos nosso próprio tempo

We have your own time

Não tenho medo do escuro

I am not afraid of the dark

Mas deixe as luzes

But let the lights

Acesas agora

On now

O que foi escondido

What was hidden

É o que se escondeu

And what hided itself

E o que foi prometido

And what was promissed

Ninguém prometeu

Nobody promissed it

Nem foi tempo perdido

It wasn’t even lost time

Somos tão jovens

We are so young

Tão jovens! Tão jovens!

So young! So young!