#john d brady

[swifty-fox]

https://www.tumblr.com/swifty-fox/757933470745067520/holy-shit-understanding-in-a-plane-crash-broke

sorry for the profanity but i fucking love this fic muah

I LOVE IT TOO IM SO HAPPY Y"ALL ARE ENJOYING IT BUT PLS PLS go give @reallylilyreally's fics the same love bc it would not exist without her brady series!!!

a snippet for you:

It didn’t take very long for young Johnny Brady to realize he wasn’t made quite like his sisters, or anyone else he knew, really. He didn’t know anyone else who counted steps between cracks in the sidewalk, determined to get the same amount each time and, when he was little enough for it to still be a cute gimmick, to turn and repeat the steps if they didn’t come to the same count. They didn’t decide their favorite hymns based on the numbers of words, or in the title or on the corner of the page. The odd look Alice had given him once wen he tried to explain had taught him to keep that fact to himself. 

None of the other men, even thouse as arguably devout as himself, counted the decades as if they might forget it without constant practice. 

Misaligned chairs didn’t make their insides twist up with anxiety and they certainly didn’t feel the need to tap three times on any doorframe they went through.

Johnny understood all this, understood he was different. Understood enough to keep it mum in the psych evals when he’d signed up. Had long years of practice keeping the counting in his head, separating his rules from the rest of the world’s rules. 

Loud mind, his mother always explained. When he watched her worry at the stitching of her dresses, manicured nails carefully tracing over every loop, he’d wonder if her mind was loud too.

He knows the world doesn’t follow his rules. 

It doesn’t the way he feels himself twitch when he walks into the bunkhouse one evening to find John Egan sprawled in the chair Johnny had quietly been thinking as his for the last few months. Major Egan is in an ugly mood, picking the skin off a coal-roasted potato and popping the still-steaming chunks between his lips with a dark expression on his face. It’s not Johnny’s chair, but he’s sat there every night to eat his own pathetic meal, smoke his pipe, watch Crank carve his wooden planes, watch Murph and Hambone gamble for cigarettes, and stubbornly not watch Benny DeMarco. 

It’s not his chair, it’s not his fucking chair. His fingers tap tap tap against the rosary in his pocket as he heads over to Gangwer to check on his cough, remind him to rest.

There’s talk of a march, whispers the Allies are advancing and they’ll be on the move within the next few months. Johnny thinks its nonsense, they would be stupid to march prisoners in the snow. 

It’s not his fucking chair. 

Johnny takes his own potato, the skin still slightly green and off under the char of coals. It’s hot, it’s filling. He tries to eat it and remember what butter and bacon drizzled atop it tasted like. He leans against Benny’s bunk and blows onhis potato until it cools and tries not to watch Egan out of the corner of his eye. It’s not his chair, it’s not Egan’s rule.

[love-studying58]

SURPRISE!!!!!!

A sneak peek into my fictional series ~ Defenders of the Sky

This snippet is told from Major John Egan’s point of view. This is not the first chapter.

Word Count: n/a for this post.

Author’s Note: All ideas are my own. I will be adding a consistent playlist of songs before each chapter for nearly all the characters I write about. Each chapter will consist of different point of views; multiple perspectives will be present depending on plot events.

Warnings: There will be future mentions of war, extreme slow burn, swearing, death, mentions of POW and concentration camps, nazi guards, historical inaccuracy/timeline inaccuracy, mentions of abuse, PTSD, a soldier’s mental anguish, killing, man/woman relationships, hurt/comfort, pov first person, language, mutual pining, gore, angst, alcohol, smoking, military terminology, sexual tension, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, death, violence, debilitating mental thoughts, eventual smut.

Thank you for all your requests. I am making an effort to write everyday, so patience on your part is greatly appreciated. I do not want to promise an eventual deadline for completion, but will keep you guys updated.

I do not own HBO, Band of Brothers, The Pacific, or Masters of the Air, nor do I own any of the characters. I mean no disrespect toward any of the actors on this show.

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged for upcoming posts. 🏷

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A rough voice accompanied by a tap on my shoulder rouses me. I groan inwardly, squinting beneath the unremitting beam of light. My whole body is tight from lack of sleep.

“Come on, Major. Breakfast is at four-thirty. Briefing at five-fifteen.” Of course, another mission. I hate the unexpected.

A momentary frisson of annoyance runs through me as I roll onto my back, “I’m up,” I mutter, dismissing the officer until he departs and the harsh, inciped, white light weakens.

I casually position my left bicep under the pillow and close my eyes again, but I know its imperative I get to the briefing as soon as I can.

My head feels thick because of drink, still. The enticement of dancing among young women and the ability to have as many drinks as I preferred felt to congenial. 

Thoughts of two nights prior flood my senses; my dance with Susan.

I liked her, particularly because of her attractive features; her dark mid-length hair and fanned out eyelashes. Her amber-flecked eyes were ones I could drown in. 

Are you sure you like her, just for that matter? The thought is morose. Have you ever liked a woman for more than her features? Was I ever honest, though?

The sobering truth is inconsequential; I’d rather find a distraction and swallow back a few drinks in order to keep my mind halted for a few hours. It’s because of this war. This war. Maybe it could be temporary. War is normal now, Egan, I surmised.

I notice a few of the other men are also awake; the rustling of cotton sheets and disgruntled murmurs are familiar to me now. Our mission won’t end unless our own plane gets blown apart or we land behind German lines; the frailty or mere occurrence of either happening, few cared to discuss.

Watch it, Bucky, Buck Cleven’s voice echoed in my head. He had been staring slightly at me with his usual, calculated, appreciation that night. It’s one dance; not a lifetime. I was too drunk at the time to apprehend what he meant; if it nuanced at teasing, I couldn’t decipher it. Buck’s personality very seldom suggested humour. She might not fancy you. Not even a wry joke.

My senses felt too relaxed and obstructed by the faint stupor of the alcohol. I had responded to him anyways, telling myself I could dance with her if I wanted to, Ah, come on Buck, for once, leave the dancing to me tonight. You’re too involved with Marge to have any fun.

Cleven had watched me, indignant, grinning with easy noncompliance.

I smirk. Good old Buck. Trying to deter my persistence; the only man I know who has a picture of his girl, Marjorie, in his left breast-pocket. Keeps her photo on the dash of his B-17. The only man who decides to dance with Meatball when he could be waltzing with some American Red Cross woman.

Cleven was like that; polished, a man of integrity, one who kept his word. A reliable friend. A friend more than a mere acquaintance.

[wexhappyxfew]

12. pushing a strand of hair behind their ear

For Annie and Brady please.

I love them soo much. And I adore your writing.

Also I hope you’re doing well and are having a great day :)

hello anon! thank you so much for submitting this prompt!! 🥹 it absolutely took a fairly cute direction in quite the circumstance (we’ll see what that means), so i hope you enjoy!! :) thank you for the love on annie and brady too! 😭 that’s so sweet!! they’re a joy to write so i hope this provides some goodness for them! YOU TOO ANON!!! i hope your day (and now weekend) is going wonderfully! please enjoy!!!

i found you again

(a/n): had a much longer version that this but….did not feel ready for that so, i shortened it up and made it work a bit more with the prompt and i liked how it came out so :) it is shorter than some of my other writings, but i hope to expand on it more in future postings haha! please enjoy!!

Annie slowly slid out of her bunk and moved through the tiny room towards Brady's bunk and got a look at his face, immediately shrinking a bit at the sight of him looking so safe, small and youthful in his sleep, reminding her of that last time they'd found each other side by side, the unknowing between the two of them, one of their last conversations face to face. And now….he was right there.

Annie reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small shake. In almost an instant, he awoke and turned to her in the darkness and immediately reached towards her like he always used to do and grasped her arm. Always reaching.

"Hey, everything okay?" he whispered quietly, his voice a pin-drop in the dark.

"I can't get myself warm." she whispered back, the frustration behind her voice, flogged with a bit more emotion than she was going for and he immediately moved over the best he could in the cot and lifted his blanket up.

"Hop in." he whispered, a small smile on his face. Annie immediately sat on the edge and pulled herself into the bunk, wrapped in her own blanket and turned on her side, immediately becoming engulfed in Brady's chest, his bit of warmth and him. He let the rest of the blanket fall around her form and then he immediately wrapped his arm around her, pulling her shivering form to his own side, arm rubbing up and down, a bit of friction on her clothes, from him. Annie snuggled her head into his neck, where it seemed to be the warmest and let out a small sigh of relief at the bit of warmth that was finally entering her body.

"Better?" Brady whispered, warm breath tickling her neck, and she smiled and nestled closer and nodded.

"Much." she whispered, "Thank you." He smiled, and she shifted a bit, cuddling deeper, and then sighed at the immense amount of comfort that she hadn't felt in days, finally encircling her. Slowly, she brought up a hand out of the warmth of the blanket, and brought it to the side of his face, gently brushing her thumb over the bit of stubble on his cheek, the pleasant feel of him just right there, was comforting in it of itself. It was all she needed.

"So," Brady whispered, his voice somewhere next to her ear, "I never asked, after you were captured - what happened?" Annie shifted a bit and sat up, away from the warmth of his neck, and instead staring down at him, her thumb brushing his cheek, head resting on her hand, staring at those twinkling eyes.

"I was out of it for the most part," Annie whispered back, reaching up to brush some of his strands of hair from his face behind his ear, over and over, watching the sleepiness roll into his eyes, "between the knock to my head and the knee, the lack of food and water….I don't remember much aside from well…..the questioning. The staring." She met his gaze, watching quietly as he let his eyes linger over her face.

"What'd they ask you?" he whispered, his voice so low, all she really saw was his moving lips in the bleary darkness.

"Questions about everything. The 100th. About Birdie; newspaper clippings and such. About Buck and Bucky, about the Regensberg mission - my name was in the paper. Asked about home." Annie managed out, her eyes hardly leaving his own, "I didn't tell them anything. I told them my name, my number, my unit. That's it." Brady watched her and slowly brought up his free hand and brushed it against the bottom of her lip, lingering over the few scabs under her chin from the few scuffles with Germans and falls and punches.

"You?" she whispered back.

"The same." he whispered, "Lot of questions about the 100th - Buck especially. A few about you." She stared at him.

"I didn't let on a thing, though," he whispered, "I'd rather die than give away info about any one of us."

For a moment, they just stared at each other in a way that was far more intimate than anything else in the past few days, enough where her heart raced, and she suddenly felt consumed by his ever-present gaze on her own.

"Did they do anything to you?" he whispered, his thumb brushing her cheek again as her hands continued to prod his hair, "I swear to-", he looked at her, "Annie, if they laid a finger-"

"No, they didn't, not like that," she whispered, hand shaking against his face, "just shoves, a few…punches-"

"Punches?" Brady whispered, "Annie I-"

"John." she whispered, louder than she had wanted and quieted herself, shaking her head, "I'm fine, look-" her hand cupped his cheek, "I'm right here." He stared at her so longingly her stomach hurt, that yearning, that want, that desperate, reaching nature lingering between them.

"I know." Brady whispered, his hand grazing her neckline which was layered in blankets and clothing, "Just….if I ever see them doing anything, I'm jumpi-"

"John," Annie whispered, her voice soft as cream, "you don't have to do any of that now. It's just you and me. Right here." She reached out and took one of his hands, placing it on her chest where her heart was, hidden under skin and bone and overcoats. Brady watched her, like some sort of miracle and believed her. He let out a breath and swallowed.

Watching each other in their current circumstances was an art in it of itself - their hesitant, lingering gazes, the touches on one another's faces, the way her eyes evaded his, but always came back, their bodies so close, pressed against one another, but still distant.

Watching Brady now, he looked beyond exhausted, more than he ever did back at Thorpe Abbotts, and the more she continued that same, calming motion of brushing his strands of hair back, sometimes to settle behind his ear and sometimes to not, she watched his eyes grow more tired.

And in a sense, she got the idea it reminded him of when he was a child, when there was no war and his Ma probably tucked him in at night and brushed his hair gently until his eyes closed. And now, he was halfway across the world, in a P.O.W. camp.

"You need rest," she whispered softly, watching as he leaned a bit more into her touch as her fingers graced over his cheek, his eyes fighting to close, fighting the sleep, "it's okay." He watched her through half-open eyes and brought a hand to her neckline and watched her.

"I'm glad I found you again, Annie." he whispered, "I don't know what I'd do if I knew you'd gone down and didn't end up here." Annie stared at him, her world stilling around her and she couldn't help but lean forward and press a soft kiss to his forehead, before pulling back and cupping his cheek.

"Get some rest, okay?" she whispered, "I'll be right here." Brady watched her again and then nodded, that small smile on his face failing to disappear, as his eyes slides shut and his body finally seemed to relax.

You couldn't do that much here, you were always on guard, waiting for the next sound of explosions, or someone in the hallway, yelling, screaming.

Yet, here, he finally seemed to let go of all of that and sleep.

And until his breathing became deep and slow, she sat up, running a hand through his hair and letting him feel at home for once.

Even if that home was nowhere near here.

Even if home was this, right here.

[sagesolsticewrites]

don’t mind me y’all. if anyone needs me I’ll just be thinking about this pic of Ben for the foreseeable future 🫠

[youngeditor1999]

I feel like a spiritual sequel to “80 for Brady” would be “Draft Dodgers for Rodgers” in which 4 ancient hippies from the Vietnam era (Steve Buscemi, Geoffrey Rush, Al Pacino, John Goodman) sneak across the border from Canada in an attempt to watch fellow hippie Aaron Rodgers get to his second Super Bowl at age 54. Martin Kove plays a hard nosed yet incompetent cop trying to catch them. Bakh and Cobb are there too. Christopher Walken makes an appearance because it’s that kind of movie. There’s at least 1 extended ayahuasca hallucination scene. Everybody ends up getting covid

Alright, anon, here I am, ✨FINALLY✨ publishing your amazing and funny idea!!!

It took me a minute (ok, a few days...👀🤭😜💓) because I wanted to find clips and pictures for all of everything you have describe. 😊🌟💯🔥

First and foremost, I would so go see this movie if it were real. (For context, I saw 80 for Brady the weekend it was released because of course I did 😅💞)

This idea overall sounds silly, entertaining a.f. and all around like a good time!!

To add onto your idea:

It would at least have to be rated PG-13, especially because of the ayahuasca hallucination scene. I also suspect that there will be a bit of swearing, heavy partying and drinking, too. PLUS not to mention that they are on the run from the law and that will provide a whole 'nother set of mischievous/dubious acts. 😏😉😝

Real quick, for those who might not know, this is what Google says the definition of "ayahuasca" is:

"A South American psychoactive and entheogenic brewed drink traditionally used both socially and as a ceremonial or shamanic spiritual medicine among the indigenous peoples of the Amazon basin, and more recently in North America and Europe."

(In other words, hippie tea 😅☮️🫖🍵)

Now, as for who's gonna direct this amazing monstrosity, I have pulled together three options.

There's Kyle Marvin, who directed 80 for Brady.

Then I have Peter Segal, who directed two of my personal favorites, Tommy Boy and 50 First Dates.

Last but not least, there's Dennie Gordon as an option. Dennie was the director of the first Joe Dirt movie (comedy writer Fred Wolf directed the second).

Either one of these three would be wonderful and would understand that there is a more deeper heart and soul in the middle of this otherwise goofy flick. (:

Next:

Anon, you and I seem to understand each other, so I'm gonna go ahead and say that we can be co-screenwriters and executive producers for this!!!

If we really were out to make this, that is. 🤭😊🤓

ALSO!!! Draft Dodgers for Rodgers is an EXCELLENT title; I love it a lot and am really proud of you for coming up with this title (and the idea in general, of course!!)!!

Now, before moving on to everything else, I must discuss this film's soundtrack.

Clearly there's gonna be a lot of classic rock and older country tunes because that's the era that these men are from.

The classic rock is not gonna be anything too rough/screamy/meataly, though...I'm primarily thinking about stuff from the mid 60's and most of the 70's. Cover songs from and during this era are absolutely acceptable. 😌

Also, because this is an Aaron Rodgers movie, there has got to be a few Taylor Swift songs mixed in as well!!

I don't know if he can, but Aaron can try to pick put his top three tracks from each album/era as songs to possibly put into the overall end product.

And you know what, while we're at it...

Dolly Parton recorded a new, original song specifically for 80 for Brady so whose to say that Taylor couldn't do the same for this movie?!

Her fans, Aaron included, would be very likely to love it, no matter what it sounds like. (:

Now, to address all of your points...!!

I'd like to take a moment to share the other ask you sent me after I wrote this (the first post, hehe).

Replacing Geoffrey Rush with Jeff Bridges was a really great call; I'm so glad that you remembered Aaron's obsession with The Big Lebowski and the exact sweater that he copied from that movie!!! For everyone's viewing pleasure, here is Aaron wearing said sweater next to a still of Jeff's character (named The Dude) wearing the sweater.

Also, I wouldn't be me if I didn't find pictures of the rest of this hypothetical cast, just so that everyone knows for sure what these guys look like.

Top Left: Jeff Bridges

Top Right: Al Pacino

Middle Left: Steve Buscemi

Middle Middle: John Goodman

Middle Right: Martin Kove

Bottom Left: Christopher Walken

(And yes, that is a picture of Geoffrey Rush (bottom right) because even though Jeff Bridges replaced him, people still deserve to know he looks like in case they don't!!)

Additionally, saying that Weird Al should perform his Jeopardy Song was brilliant!! Fans of Aaron know that he loves Jeopardy and even got the chance to participate in some game, as seen here and here. (He also had the opportunity to host once, but the only clip that I could find of that was this. 😩)

P.S.-Here is the Jeopardy song for those who don't know it 🙂

THIS IS PART ONE!!!

I'm gonna reblog for Part Two because I have a few more pictures to share but for some reason, Tumblr won't let me add any more photos to this current post. 😒🙄☹️

[tampatom12]

Tom is 46 today!!!

August 3rd, 1977 🤩🥳🎂🎉🎆🎁🎊🎈🎇

[kermodefan94-blog]

Violent Night. Quick Review.

Now arriving on UK digital rental platforms to cure your festive blues. It's the David Harbour alcoholic, ass kicking Santa movie. You really don't need to know more about it than that.

David Harbor gets another attempt at branching his potential Hollywood career out beyond Jim Hopper in this fun but flawed alternative Christmas offering. He plays an alcoholic but for all intents and purposes real in the mythological sense on screen Santa. The man in the red suit has to unleash his best visceral action hero routine when a present delivery coincides with an attempt to secure a…

[olivierdemangeon]

VIOLENT NIGHT (2022) ★★★✮☆

VIOLENT NIGHT (2022) ★★★✮☆

[screenzealots]

"Violent Night"

VIOLENT NIGHT is the anti-Hallmark yuletide classic you've been waiting for.

“Violent Night” is what happens when you cross “Bad Santa” with “Die Hard,” and the end result is pretty much as awesome as it sounds. This violent, edgy, and sarcastic action flick is so much fun that it deserves a seat at the holiday movie table, and it’s one that is right on the cusp of instant cult classic status. Director Tommy Wirkola blends traditional Christmas movie tropes with wicked…

[shoshiwrites]

Band of Brothers Ages: IRL vs. Actors

Did you know that according to a 1947 study, almost half the men who served in WWII were still under age 26 by the end of the war?

What this is : A (very long) post comparing the ages of the actors in Band of Brothers vs. the IRL figures they are portraying.

Background: Did I need to do this? No. Did anyone ask for this? Also no. Did I do it anyway? Yes.

Disclaimers: This is SUPER approximate for the most part. I based IRL ages off of D-Day unless otherwise noted, and actor ages off of January 1, 2000, the year filming took place (the latter is where the most variation will be because I didn't try to figure out what month filming started). I also didn't fact-check birthdays beyond googling. Most are sourced from the Band of Brothers and Military Wikis on fandom.com, Wikipedia, and IMDb.

I broke them up into rough categories, which are, again, approximate. I know I often forget how young the real life people were here, and this was a good reminder of that. I also found it interesting to see which actors were actually younger than their roles!

Check it all out under the cut ⬇️

~10+ years older

Dale Dye (55) as Col. Robert F. Sink (39) (~16 years)

Michael Cudlitz (35) as Denver "Bull" Randleman (23) (~12)

Marc Warren (32) as Albert Blithe (20) (~12)

Rocky Marshall (33) as Earl J. McClung (21) (~12)

Frank John Hughes (32) as William J. Guarnere (21) (~11)

Neal McDonough (33) as Lynn D. (Buck) Compton (22) (~11)

Dexter Fletcher (33) as John W. Martin (22) (~11)

~5+ years older

Simon Schatzberger (32) as Joseph A. Lesniewski (23) (~9)

Richard Speight Jr. (30) Warren H. (Skip) Muck (22) (~8)

Jason O'Mara (30) as Thomas Meehan (22) (~8)

Ron Livingston (32) as Lewis Nixon (25) (~7)

Donnie Wahlberg (30) as C. Carwood Lipton (24) (~6)

Matthew Settle (30) as Ronald C. Speirs (24) (~6)

Nolan Hemmings (28) as Charles E. "Chuck" Grant (22) (~6)

Douglas Spain (25) as Antonio C. Garcia (19) (~6)

George Calil (26) as James H. "Mo" Alley Jr. (21) (~5)

Rick Gomez (27) as George Luz (22) (~5 year)

Scott Grimes (28) as Donald G. Malarkey (23) (~5)

Stephen Graham (26) as Myron "Mike" Ranney (21) (~5)

~less than 5 years older

Shane Taylor (25) as Eugene G. Roe (21) (~4)

Tim Matthews (23) as Alex M. Penkala Jr. (19) (~4)

Matthew Leitch (24) as Floyd M. "Tab" Talbert (20) (~4)

Peter O'Meara (30) as Norman S. Dike Jr. (26) (~4)

Tom Hardy (22) as John A. Janovec (18) (~4)

Rick Warden (28) as Harry F. Welsh (25) (~3)

Kirk Acevedo (28) as Joseph D. Toye (25) (~3)

Eion Bailey (25) as David Kenyon Webster (22) (~3)

Craig Heaney (26) as Roy W. Cobb (29) (~3)

Damian Lewis (28) as Richard D. Winters (26) (~2)

Robin Laing as Edward J. "Babe" Heffron (~2, 21/23)

Ben Caplan (26) as Walter S. "Smokey" Gordon Jr. (24) (~2)

David Schwimmer (32) as Herbert M. Sobel (33) (~1 year)

Michael Fassbender (22) as Burton P. "Pat" Christenson (21) (~1)

Colin Hanks (22) as Lt. Henry Jones (21) (~1) (age around Bastogne)

Bart Ruspoli (23) as Edward J. Tipper (22) (~1)

~Same age

Peter Youngblood Hills as Darrell C. "Shifty" Powers (21)

Mark Huberman as Lester "Les" Hashey (19)

Younger

Lucie Jeanne (23) as Renée Lemaire (30) (age around Bastogne) (~7)

Ross McCall (23) as Joseph D. Liebgott (29) (~6)

Simon Pegg (29) as William S. Evans (~33) (~4)

Philip Barantini (19) as Wayne A. "Skinny" Sisk (22) (~3)

James Madio (24) as Frank J. Perconte (27) (~3)

Stephen McCole (25) as Frederick "Moose" Heyliger (27) (~2)

Matt Hickey (~16) as Patrick S. O'Keefe (18) (~2)

Incomplete/not found

Phil McKee as Maj. Robert L. Strayer (34)

Rene L. Moreno as Joseph Ramirez (30)

Doug Allen as Alton M. More (24)

David Nicolle as Lt. Thomas A. Peacock (24)

Rebecca Okot as Anna (Augusta Chiwy) (24) (age around Bastogne)

Alex Sabga-Brady as Francis J. Mellet (23)

Mark Lawrence as William H. Dukeman Jr. (22)

Nicholas Aaron as Robert E. (Popeye) Wynn (22)

Peter McCabe as Donald B. Hoobler (21)

Marcos D'Cruze as Joseph P. Domingus (not found)

[kwebtv]

From the Golden Age of Television

Season 1 Episode 2

Perry Mason - The Case of the Sleepwalkers Niece - CBS - September 28, 1957

Legal Drama

Running Time: 60 minutes

Written by Laurence Marks and Gene Wang

Produced by Ben Brady

Directed by William D. Russell

Stars:

Raymond Burr as Perry Mason

Barbara Hale as Della Street

William Hopper as Paul Drake

Tony Michaels as Jackson

William Talman as Hamilton Burger

Ray Collins as Lt. Arthur Tragg

John McNamara as Peter Cole

Hillary Brooke as Doris Cole

John Archer as Frank Maddox

Nancy Hadley as Edna Hammar

Darryl Hickman as Steve Harris

Helen Mowery as Lucille Mays

Thomas B. Henry as Ralph Duncan

Harry Hickok as Phillip Kendall

Kenneth MacDonald as Judge

Clark Howat as Policemany

Fred Graham as Sheriff

Joey Ray as Detective

Jack Harris as Court Clerk

[swifty-fox]

as someone with ocd i really love and appreciate how you write john brady

especially in the punk drabble like i see you john brady i understand the food fear so deeply

Sorry this turned into a fucking Essay about the Swifty Cinematic Universe of John D Brady

it really means so much to me whenever I get a message about John Brady's OCD. The response has been entirely positive and it just makes me so happy because I don't have OCD.

I have had and still love loved ones/friends with it and it can be Fucking Debilitating of an illness to live with and especially in Plane Crash it really takes over his life in a lot of ways. But at the same time given the time period there's not going to be anyone pulling Johnny aside and telling him 'this is why you're like this. this is why you're different'

He leans really quickly what is and is not acceptable behavior to publicly display and he just kind of accepts that He's Like this. As someone who manages their own mental illnesses completely without the help of medication that part of it is really easy to portray. Because in Plane Crash he really doesn't resent that part of him much? It's a burden but it's also his companion. But then in the Stalag it takes over his life a bit in ways he isn't prepared for. We see him go from in the beginning understanding that the counting and his 'rules' (compulsions) are something that need to be kept internal and then by the last few chapters Benny multiple times catches him counting out loud.

In terms of Punk au/Superstar au, Johnny is @blixabargelds's and their creative partner's and while I kinda stole Johnny for a bit to flesh out I can't talk overall about the au toooo much but the food stuff is very in theme.

In reality, it was a bit of a tester for how I want to write Johnny in Outlaw au Part 2 as he has contamination OCD around food very severely due to trauma. In punk au it's more just one of those things because it's a common OCD symptom.

I did start a one shot about Johnny in outlaw au although it takes place 10-15 years after the main story and is just kinda a character study between him and his therapist. But! Maybe you'll like it :)

Johnny’s ears ring.

“No! No fuck her fuck that I’m not going back in there Benny!”

“Jack just-”

“No forget it I said no pill talk!” 

“Jack just hear her out come on.”

“So that was a lot,” Margo says, crossing her leg over her knee.

Benny’s looking at him, serious mouth pulled into a frown. It makes the scar by the corner of his lip more deep, more stark. Johnny can spot it even with his beard. The other man’s hands are raised by his sides in a soothing gesture.

Johnny hugs himself and turns away. 

Johnny hugs his knees to his chest, rests his sticky cheek on his knee and looks at the fish tank.

“Just go back in and finish the session, Jack,” Benny says softly, a hand on Johnny’s elbow and forehead pressed to his temple. His thumb is moving soothingly over Johnny’s wrist. 

“Fuck that,” Johnny spits, his voice shaky. 

There’s a large goldfish, black and vivid orange body trailed by veillike fins. It drifts around carelessly and without fear. Johnny rubs at his nose, drags his gaze back to the woman in front of him.

Margo smiles at him, cheeks appealing behind bright green glasses. The rest of her was drab shades of brown but the glasses were bright, almost achingly so.

“That was a lot,” she repeats, “so I think we should start with an apology.”

Johnny’s mouth twists and he considers telling her to go fuck herself again but he’d agreed to see this out, “I’m s-”

“Not you,” Margo interrupts, “From me.”

Johnny blinks at her. 

“I should have been more tactful about mentioning medication. It was something you laid out as off limits from the beginning and I should have been more respectful of that.”

Lifting a shoulder, Johnny gives a loose shrug, counts the goldfish and then counts the gold ones and then the white ones and then the spotted ones, “S’okay” 

“My job as your therapist is to get you as healthy as possible the best way possible. So when I see you struggle with your obsessive compulsions as you do, it’s from a desire to ease that. If we treated the anxiety that feeds it all, we can better employ coping strategies.” 

“I don’t want to be turned into some fuckin zombie,” He gives up on the goldfish, drifts his eyes around until it settles on the pile of magazines on the coffee table. Lindsay Lohan beams up at him. He gives her the stink-eye before returning to the goldfish. 

“Can we talk about why you don’t want to be medicated, John?”

“Nothing happened.” 

Margo’s chair creaks, “That’s an interesting way to put it.” 

“That’s–” Johnny stands, waves a hand and twists out of the chair to peer at the tank closer, “That’s a totally normal way to say it.”

He chews his lip for a moment, “how many fish are in here?” 

Margo’s pen and clipboard were down on her lap which Brady had quickly learned meant he was saying something interesting. 

“Have you eaten today?”

One of the goldfish waves her wispy fin at him. He scowls, “A bit.” 

And then.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

The chair creaks again, soft ballet flat foot-falls moving across the carpet and then there’s a mug of tea being placed in Johnny’s hands. He grips it tighter, closes his eyes as the steam hits his face and imagines the click of traintracks that he used to count until he ran out of numbers. 

“Then we can spend the rest of the session and every session afterward at this stalemate. Therapy only works as far as you let it, John. I’m getting paid whether we help you or not but I’d rather make this worth your while.” 

“What if I can’t talk about it?” 

“Then you can’t. But can’t is different than don’t want to. I can work with ‘can’t’.”

[love-studying58]

happy Masters of the Air release week. In honour of the series due to release on the 26th, I wanted to list a few faces we’ll be seeing throughout the series. I want to particularly note the crewmen of the 100th in hopes this makes sense to viewers who either a) didn’t have time to read any books based on the 100th bomb group, or b) want to read Masters of the Air by Donald L. Miller during/after the tv show aires. My lovely friend on tumblr @kylaym was happy to message me on instagram regarding who’s who for most of the 100th bomb group posts. She gets that everyone in uniform looks the same; same haircut, moustaches, masks, everywhere, etc. She mentioned it is always better to remember a bunch of lads as groups and crews than as individuals!

Here we gooo..

Colonel Neil “Chick” Harding

A West Point graduate and the school’s football coach prior to the war. Harding was a seasoned aviator who truly emulated much of the 100th’s attitude. He exhibited an appreciation for his crew’s mental and emotional well-being.

Major John C. “Bucky” Egan and Major Gale “Buck” Cleven

Two of the squadron commanders, Majors John “Bucky” Egan of the 418th Bomb Squadron and Gale “Buck” Cleven of the 350th, had piloting skills which matched their personalities. (Found top row 3rd and 4th members from left to right).

Captain John D. Brady

He served as a pilot in the 418th bomb squadron and was shot down during the mission to Munster on October 10th, 1943. (Shown here on the far left). He flew overseas in A/C #42-30071 “Skipper” as 1st Lt. Pilot. 2nd Lt’s being Lt. John L. Hoerr [Co-Pilot] and Lt. Harry Crosby [Group Navigator and Captain].

M/Sgt. Kenneth A. Lemmons

He served on the 351st Bomb Squadron and was one of the first crew chiefs assigned to the 100th Bomb Group. After being a part of the U.S. Air Force's ground crew, he was subsequently promoted to the position of flight chief. (Shown above in the front).

Harry H. Crosby

Harry served as a navigator in the 418th Bomb Squadron and later became Group Navigator for the Hundredth, however, his struggle with airsickness often hindered his ability to navigate. (Found above beside Brady on the right). Harry Crosby replaced Lt. Payne on the crew of Douglass.

Payne is found above on the right, beside Harry Crosby.

Lt. Howard B. “Hambone” Hamilton

He was a bombardier mostly known for flying with Brady’s crew.

On the October 10th Munster mission, crew #32 was led by Major John C. Egan as Co-Pilot. Near the initial point “Mlle Zig Zig” was hit by Flak, resulting in the following:

- Sgt Clanton passing away

- wounding Howard Hamilton and Roland Gangwer. (Both ended up spending a long time in the hospital).

- the surviving crew members bailed out but were taken prisoner.

Hamilton is seen above on the far left. Beside him on the left is Lt. James Douglass and Captain Frank Murphy.

Captain James Douglass

Served as a bombardier in the 418th Bomb Squadron with the Everett Blakely crew. (Seen above in the first picture beside Blakely).

Major Everett E. Blakely

Was a career officer of the United States Air Force. He was a highly decorated pilot of the B-17 bomber with the Bloody Hundredth Bombardment Group of the 8th Air Force. He is most commonly known for his crew’s plane “Just a Snappin”. On a mission to Bremen on October 8th, 1943, his plane was severely damaged by flak and enemy fighters. He later became the Group Training Officer (Shown above on the right and next to Major John Egan in the second picture above).

Blakely’s Crew:

Major John Kidd- Command Pilot

1st Lt. Everett Blakely- Pilot

2nd Lt. Charles Via- Formation Officer in the tail (SWA on the mission during Black Week)

1st Lt. Harry Crosby - Navigator

2nd Lt. James Douglass - Bombadier

T/Sgt. Edmund Forkner - Radio operator

S/Sgt. William McClelland - Ball Turret Gunner (WIA on the Black Week mission)

S/Sgt. Edward Yevich - Waist Gunner (WIA on the Black Week mission)

S/Sgt. Lyle Nord - Waist Gunner

S/Sgt. Lester Saunders - Tail Gunner (KIA on the Black Week mission)

Lt Roy Claytor

Roy Claytor was part of the 350th Squadron. Above, he may be flying as a command pilot in this mission or practice with the Claytor Crew.

He is seen above on the left, beside Cleven.

Major Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal

Rosie joins the unit in late 1943. He becomes one of the 100th's most reliable pilots.

Rosenthal's Crew:

[Shown left to right; top row than bottom row]

Sgt. Loren Darling - Waist Gunner

Sgt. Michael V. Boccuzzi - Radio Operator/Gunner

Sgt. John H. Shaffer - Waist Gunner

Sgt. Clarence C. Hall - Top turret gunner/engineer

Sgt. William J. DeBlasio - Tail Gunner

Sgt. Ray H. Robinson - Ball Turret Gunner

Lt. Ronald C. Bailey - Navigator

Lt. Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal - Pilot

Lt. Clifford J. Milburn - Bombardier

Lt. Winifred 'Pappy' Lewis - Copilot

Lt. Curtis Biddick

Lieutenant Curtis Biddick was known as a ‘hard luck’ pilot but was recognised as exceptionally expert and courageous. ‘Every time he went out something seemed to happen,’ said one of his buddies. On one raid he brought his plane back with 1,700 shell and bullet holes in it and two wounded men aboard.

He clashes due to his English colleagues embarking on night-time raids.

Richard Snyder

Biddick's co-pilot and was part of the 418th Bombardment Squadron.

Okay.... So I truly hope this helps going into Masters of the Air tomorrow. I can't wait to see all the bomber boys spread their wings and fly. This tv series is going to be an absolute wreck (in the best way possible). Thank you to everyone who enjoys my posts. Love y'all.

[wexhappyxfew]

crash landings and all

(a/n): to my annie x brady girlies, here is the piece i’ve since promised and since fallen in love with!!! featuring annie, brady, coffee cups and the rising sun + some heartfelt talks about reality. and of course all those emotions annie doesn’t really need but feels instead. enjoy!

It was 0600 and she couldn't sleep.

But this had been happening far too many times in the past few weeks for her to ignore it and call it nerves, or worry, or any other bothersome symptom that would have one of the girls nudging her and asking her if she was okay.

Which she was, alright?

Or she was at least trying to tell herself that.

When there were mornings without missions, that's usually when she would come and sit out, just outside of the mess hall, and stare out towards where the B-17s sat, silhouetted against the purple and pink skyline as the sun began to appear. She'd usually sit there for about an hour, before she started seeing people moving about, and then she'd disappear inside, grab herself a coffee, avoid one of Major Egan's horrible jokes in the morning, and then be on her way to her crew, or to Silver Bullets, or to anything really - to distract herself, get her mind active, get her brain focused on something other than the worry.

This morning was no different - beautiful as the early dawn was, it was also incredibly reflective. She'd sit in the silence, the only noise the breeze in the trees and past her ears, the birds beginning to wake up and sing. It was usually a lot of her convincing herself things were fine and that everything was okay. That she was okay. But usually that didn't last very long and she was off worrying about one of the girls, or that one damn engine on Silver Bullets, or better yet if Lemmons had screwed that one bolt in enough. It kind of ate her alive at the worst of times.

"Hey." Annie looked up and found, stepping down onto the step, and nestling in beside her was Brady, an outstretched hand with a steaming mug of coffee opposite her, and a tired smile on his face.

"Hey," Annie said, trying to hide her surprise and current spiral that she thought was normally drawn across her face, "you're up early. Thanks." She took the coffee and watched as he settled beside her with a sigh, sipping at his own cup of coffee and glanced her way.

"I could say the same about you." he said back, his voice still waking up it seemed from sleep, knocking her shoulder gently. Annie watched him, the first rays of the morning son painting his face a beautiful golden with his eyes and she nodded.

"Couldn't sleep." she told him honestly, "Haven't been sleeping too well anyway, so. What's not to lose with a sunrise, you know?" Brady watched her for a moment, his lanky knees bent up to his chest, the mug resting on his kneecap and his expression quiet.

"Something worrying you?" he asked her, seemingly the first assumption of many on this base - was something worrying her? The sun would shine and she'd be worried, she'd be sat at a table and someone would cough and she'd think she'd have to get the doctor, someone would come in with a headache and she'd assume the worst. So, yeah, maybe there was something wrong, but she wasn't about to spill that to Brady at 0600 in the morning.

"I just worry about the girls, you know how it is. Making sure people are sleeping, eating, feeling okay, not feeling too homesick they're bedridden. That their letters get sent, get read, they get comforted, listened to." Annie said, "Just making sure they're keeping what smiles they can on their faces." Brady caught her gaze as she glanced his way and she found a small smile lingering on her lips.

"It's just what I have to do. Make sure things work like a well-oiled machine." she told him honestly, sipping at the coffee, "I must say, you know how to make a coffee taste good." Brady smirked slightly, a bit of a laugh escaping his mouth, before he looked at her.

"I'm glad you like it," he told her, his voice tender, "but don't try to worry yourself over your crew. They're a good group of ladies flying a B-17. And they've got a great pilot to lead 'em."

"Thanks, John."

"Just make sure you keep an eye on yourself, alright," Brady said, leaning into her side a bit, causing her to glance his way, "you're a part of that crew and just as important." He spoke with a gentle ease of tone, but equally just as serious, like he was coaxing someone to calm down.

"John Brady, you are full of compliments this morning." Annie said quietly, sipping her coffee and peering at him over the edge of coffee cup, just in time to watch his ears flame red a bit and he gulped and smiled at her.

"I don't lie." he told her and Annie grinned and held his gaze for a moment.

"Humor me then," Annie said and a brief moment of reflection passed over Brady's face, "Croz sort of let it out, about those 'mechanical failures' when he mistook France for England…..what was that about…..?" Annie watched him expectantly and Brady's ears flamed a deeper red to the point it spread to his cheeks.

"Supposedly you covered for Croz, real gentlemanly, too, I must admit." Annie said, "Lying to Major Egan of all people, John Brady, I wouldn't suspect such a thing." Brady chuckled at her words and shook his head.

"I was putting it how it was," Brady said, "God, it was embarrassing though. In front of both Buck and Bucky. Land the plane on its belly, Croz vomiting just below, the thing about to blow up but it doesn't, our first introduction to the base. You do what you gotta do for the crew. I was a bit of a shithead to Croz, but to be flying over France -Nazi-occupied France - it wasn't the most pleasant." Annie smiled, watching him as he spoke.

Knowing how he cared how he flew, how he coped. He was so fluent in what he thought and believed, right and truthful. Caring, gentle, but firm and purposeful in his speech.

"The worst was that belly-landing though," Brady said, shaking his head as he sipped his coffee, "that was horrible." Annie watched as Brady seemed to relive it for a moment. She bit back her lip and then reached a hand forward and placed it on the sleeve of his wrist, the touch warm and welcoming and causing their eyes to meet.

"I crashed an AT-6 when I was doing hours for my license." Annie said - she had never dared to tell a soul such a thing, she wanted to take that to the grave, bury it, hide the humiliation. She'd jumped out of it like she was losing her mind, a lunatic sprinting across the base, with her hair ends crispy and black, her blonde hair suffering from the smoldering smoke, looking more monster than woman in that moment. Not her finest, but it had taught her a whole lot of lessons. Brady watched her for a moment, surprised.

"You?" Brady said with a nod, "Crashed not only a plane, but an AT-6? No, I don't believe you." Annie could get his joking tone pretty solid by this point and instead laughed at his words, leaning back to wrap her slightly cold fingertips around the mug and nodded.

"I did in fact crash-land it. Crazed eyes, hair-on-fire and all." Annie said and Brady watched her as if amazed.

"I must admit, it's hard for me to picture that because you're one of the best pilots I've ever met." Brady said and if she were honest, they both looked surprised as that came out of his mouth, but he was quickly talking next and she took a moment to relive those words.

"I mean, you look so calm and collected….what…what happened to warrant that?" he said, leaning a bit closer, evidently interested in the tale that had her losing her mind for weeks after.

"Truth be told, me learning to fly was like telling a fish to live in a tree," Annie said watching as Brady chuckled, "I wasn't always….this." She pointed to her face and Brady smirked.

"Oh c'mon, you're a goddamn good pilot, Annie, really." Brady said, and then smiled, "Go on though." Annie sent him a look with a playful smirk.

"You, asshole." she said and nudged his shoulder, "Don't try to get back at me with that or something in the future."

"Never, my lips are sealed." Brady said, sending her a wink - why would he do that at six am when she's somewhat still fogged with sleep and brain exhaustion.

"Anyway," Annie said, catching his smile again, "all the engines crapped out on me as I was coming in for the landing, the tower was telling me to eject, ejector was jammed, and the wheels were stuck at 45 degrees. So, I did what I could, braced myself and the thing slid across about hundreds of feet of sand before tilting to the side, me pouring out like Ma's soup for dinner. It was so bad, and horrifically embarrassing. God."

"Hey," Brady said, leaning into her peripheral, "'least you can say you know how it's done." Annie let out a laugh at his words then and there, her heart feeling warm for one of the first mornings sat out here; usually alone and now in good company.

"I mean, it wasn't the first time I even crashed landed." Brady offered with a shoulder shrug. Annie stared at him, trying to keep the smile from her lips.

"You're joking."

"Wish I was, Annie," Brady said, "back in training, went down, Croz could tell you all about it. Became pretty well-known among the base and the training groups." He smiled.

"But," he said, "'least I can say I did it." Annie let out a laugh, clasping a hand over her mouth as she glanced at him and watched him chuckle, his eyes glowing in the morning sun that was slowly peaking its way over the horizon line.

"You should join me for mornings like this more often," Annie said quietly, looking out towards the sunlight, "get some things off your chest. It's why I do well….usually alone, but it helps me think. Through things like that." She looked over and met his gaze and smiled. His expressions in the early morning were so much gentler than at dinner, and it almost made her wish he could stay like that forever in some selfish way. All of them, truth be told.

"I think I will," Brady said, "I'm glad you like the coffee. I wasn't sure what you went for, but….you seemed like a cream type of person."

"You either are really good as guessing or someone snitched." Annie said, catching Brady smirking.

"Nah, Bessie was in there the other day getting coffee for you two. I know she drinks straight black and was wondering who the hell she'd be getting a coffee full of creamer for so…." Brady admitted, glancing her way, "I hope you enjoy it." Annie looked to the cup of coffee and took another lingering sip. She wanted to stay like this for a while, freeze time maybe. But that would never be such a thing in their lives.

"We should take a spin together some time," Annie said looking towards him, a smile growing on her lips, "if you ever wanted to be in Silver Bullets when she gets going in the air. You could be my co-pilot." Brady watched her, his face still for a moment, held in a graceful balance of seriousness and surprise and then the corner of his lips ticked upwards.

"I think Francis would drop-kick me from the cockpit." Brady whispered quietly to her and Annie chuckled.

"She'd be fine with it, I swear to you," Annie said, "maybe not anytime soon, as long as we're going up, dropping bombs and all. But maybe when this whole thing ends. And we just get to be. When we get to go home." Looking over, she found Brady already watching her. Home, seemed to echo in her mind the longer she held his gaze.

"Hey! That you Brady?" Annie watched Brady turn away from her face and glance behind her, her own gaze following to find Crank coming towards them, waving an arm, "Buck's been trying to get a-hold of you!" Brady nodded and then looked back at her, a sudden shift in whatever it was that existed between them. He slowly got to his feet, brushed off his pants and then stopped to lean down towards her ear.

"I'd love to be your co-pilot," Brady whispered, sending chills up her neck, "ma'am." Then, he was up and off, sending her cheeks flaming red, her eyes going over her shoulder, as he went and caught up to Crank, shaking his hand and nodding to him, exchanging all the pleasantries. Annie caught his eyes one final time as he glanced back at her. He winked.

[sagesolsticewrites]

Sleepy for Ruthie & scrunch for Juliet 🫶

oh gosh well this request has been sitting in my inbox for like a month but I finally finished it! So so sorry for the delay, darling Nonnie, and thank you so much for your patience!

kiss prompts

[ sleepy ] for a half-awake kiss - Ruthie x Benny

The door of Benny’s apartment swings open to reveal an exhausted but smiling Ruthie, blush pink Pyrex in her hands.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Benny beams, stepping aside to let her in.

“Hi,” she says, shifting up onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek as she passes, “Long time no see.”

“I know, it’s been forever,” he laughs, knowing full well she was here just last week, “What’d you bring this time?”

“Samosas,” she beams, gesturing excitedly with the Pyrex, and Benny smiles, though it doesn’t escape his notice that there’s something slightly less cheerful about her demeanor today.

“How are things at the hotel?” He asks in what he hopes is a casual manner, following her into the kitchen, “You said a while ago that business wasn’t great, is it getting better?”

“You remembered?” Ruthie pauses as she removes a pastry, in the middle of moving it to a plate.

“Of course,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Ruthie ducks her chin in an attempt to hide her growing smile, busying herself with plating another samosa.

“It’s actually gotten really busy,” she says happily, “I… don’t really remember the last time I slept? I’ve been doing laundry and making beds and cleaning practically all the time to try to keep up with the guests, but if it means business is good and my parents have one less thing to worry about, then…” she trails off with a shrug.

Now that she’s said it, Benny can see tiredness etched into every line of her face, the poorly hidden dark purple bags under her eyes now crystal clear even through her ever cheerful smile.

“And you still came here?” He asks, frowning slightly as he steps closer to scan over her face.

“Of course,” her brow furrows, “I wanted to see you, and how can I keep up with my lessons if I skip a week, hm? Besides,” she says through a yawn that utterly destroys the point she’s trying to make, “I’m not that tired, I promise.”

“Sweetheart— Ruthie, look at me honey, please?”

Ruthie looks up from where she’s sweeping crumbs off the counter, still very much in cleaning mode, as Benny takes her hand and guides her to the living room.

“We’re gonna skip the lesson today.”

“Wait, what?”

Ruthie frowns. She’d been practicing her Italian all week to keep it fresh in her mind for today— she’d made very good progress since Benny had offered to teach her more than the simple phrases Val had taught her in a rushed, impromptu lesson, and she wanted to keep improving.

“Vika,” Benny sighs, thumb stroking gently along the back of her hand as they sit, “You need rest, honey. Lesson for today? Vai a dormire.”

“Vai…” Furrows appear in Ruthie’s forehead, adorable as always, as she tries to translate.

Benny brushes a kiss to her forehead, wonders if she knows he can feel how much she’s leaning on him, if she’s aware of how heavy-lidded her eyes are.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart.” He murmurs, moving to kneel beside the sofa and shifting a pillow under her head as she lays down despite her protests.

“Benny—” she mumbles, stubborn even when she’s half asleep.

He leans in, silencing her tired protests with a gentle kiss, “I promise I’ll wake you when it’s time for you to go home.”

Finally, finally, she relaxes, eyes closing as she gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Th’nk you, Benny.”

“Dormi bene, sweetheart.”

[ scrunch ] for a kiss on the nose - Juliet x Brady

“Honey, are you almost ready?” Juliet calls from her vanity, checking that the Victory Red on her lips is still immaculate before slipping into her heels.

“Ready, sweetheart,” John says from behind her, and the sight of him in the mirror has her beaming before she turns to look at him properly.

John Brady stands there beaming in one of his nicer suits, ready for the first proper date night they’ve had since their daughter was born.

“Oh, Johnny,” she breathes, standing to get a better look, her hand coming to rest gently on his chest, “You look very handsome, darling.”

He always did, of course, but the suit was a welcome change from the usual somewhat creased button downs he wore, as was the neatly combed hair from the usual rumpled brown waves (caused by a certain six-month-old finding endless fascination with her father’s hair).

“And you,” her husband smiles, arms winding around her waist, “Look as beautiful as ever, Mrs. Brady.”

Even after over a year of marriage, a thrill still runs through her at both the compliment and the use of her married name.

Smiling, Juliet leans up for a kiss, but John pulls back slightly.

“I don’t think I can bring myself to mess this up just yet,” he says, eyes soft as his thumb traces along the edge of her red-painted lip, “So I think I’ll just…”

He leans in and pecks her nose, eliciting a delighted giggle from his wife.

“As sweet as that was,” Juliet teases with a raised eyebrow before her eyes turn pleading, “Please kiss me properly, John Brady.”

Captain John Brady — who once threatened to “smash the living shit” out of the pilot who was taking up his slot in a formation while in the air with no regard for the very expensive planes that would be damaged by this action — is helpless against his wife’s doe eyes.

Grinning, he leans down to press his lips tenderly to hers, his heart going soft at the sigh that escapes her as he pulls away.

“Better?”

“Much,” she grins, thumb swiping over his lips to rub away the Victory Red that transferred from her own, “Shall we?”

They step out to the living room, greeted with the sight of Rosie Rosenthal playing with his newest niece.

“Thank you so much again, Rosie,” Juliet smiles, “We really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Rosie grins, “You know I’ll never pass up a chance to hang out with this little peanut.”

Little Olivia lets out a delighted giggle as her Uncle Rosie tickles her, reaching for his pomaded curls.

“Wait, no, not the hair—”

Once he’s disentangled Olivia’s tiny fingers from his hair, he lifts her into his arms with an ease that comes from months of practice with Little Croz.

“Say bye to Mommy and Daddy, peanut!” Rosie lifts her little hand to wave at them as the Bradys make their way into the foyer.

“We should be back around 10,” Jules calls as John attempts to herd her out the door, “And don’t hesitate to call us if you need to!”

“Or your mother!” John calls with a grin from his place by the car door.

“I’ve gotten better, I swear!” Rosie replies, playfully exasperated, “Have fun, you two.”

“You too, Rosie,” John grins at the same time as Juliet says “Be good for your uncle, Livvy!”

The couple says their final goodbyes and heads out, John Brady leaning over at a red light to press a kiss to his wife’s nose.

“What was that for?” Juliet laughs.

Her husband smiles and shrugs, turning his attention to the road as the light changes.

“Just because.”

[cetaitlaverite]

Why All This Music?

Masters of the Air - Rosie Rosenthal x OC

masterlist is linked here <333

27. An End to That Debate

The officers’ club was quiet. A rare few days of peace had fallen on Thorpe Abbotts in the lull following the intense, though successful, invasion of Europe. As something of a reward for their hard work during the first week of June, most everyone on base had the evening off. Most were spending the time in the village or in London - Jem and Paddy had managed to book a hotel room in London which promised to be discreet. They’d been sharing grins all week in anticipation of their first bit of proper privacy. Freddie couldn’t believe she ever hadn’t noticed they were in love.

Freddie and Croz still had work to do on base, so while they had the evening off they couldn’t veer too far away. But, as Rosie had rightly pointed out, if everyone had scattered off base then they’d have an unprecedented level of privacy, anyway. They may as well stay here - they’d have the whole base to themselves, or close enough.

No one was working the bar but between two majors and a wing officer they’d managed to secure the key and permission to stay in here as long as they liked as long as they remembered to lock up afterwards. Rosie and Croz had dragged the only four leather armchairs in the entire room, usually monopolised by some high ranking officer who had gotten into the club early, around a table close to the bar. They had already made up some drinks - three beers and a glass of white wine - by the time Freddie, Millie, and Meatball showed up.

Millie, for all intents and purposes, also could have been off base right now, but Freddie knew she hated the idea of having a hotel room to herself while most of her friends shared with their lovers. Emma was with her RAF officer, Cecelia with her pilot boyfriend from another base, and while she could have stuck with Amy, Amy was undoubtedly going to end up in some man or other’s hotel room tonight, so she’d decided to hang back.

Freddie was glad to have her around, in any case. With the increased workload before D-Day she felt they’d barely seen each other recently.

All of the main lights in the club were on but there was a moody feel to the place with no one else here. Freddie was sure it had never been so empty. Warm light spilled over the centre of the room but hid from the corners, leaving the walls dark. With the absence of windows, it might have been one in the morning instead of six in the evening, though the officers’ club did often tend to have that disorientating effect.

Rosie and Croz were chatting idly as Millie approached the table with Meatball while Freddie went behind the bar to put some water in Meatball’s water bowl, which she’d brought along with her.

When she returned, full water bowl in hand, Rosie grinned and stood to greet her. He stood back to let her lay the bowl on the floor for Meatball, who immediately went over to have a drink, then stepped over to her and tucked his arm around her waist. “Hi, honey,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Hi, sweetness,” Freddie replied, kissing his cheek back. She sat in the armchair he pulled out for her and took a sip of her wine, patting the empty space beside her for Meatball when he approached, water still dripping out of the sides of his mouth, and snuggling into him when he jumped up to sit beside her.

“We brought letters,” Millie declared once everyone was resettled in their chairs. She held up the few letters she’d carried, showing them off with a flourish and grinning. Receiving letters from Brady always made her giddy for days afterwards.

“Oh yeah?” Croz asked. “Who from?”

“John, Benny, and a general letter from the boys in the POW camp addressed to all of us,” Millie replied. “Which first?”

“Do you want to read Brady’s first, Mils?” Freddie asked, running gentle hands up and down Meatball’s back.

Millie considered this around a sip of beer before shaking her head. “I’ll read it to myself first, to make sure it’s appropriate to be read aloud.”

Freddie snorted a laugh while Croz smirked.

“You read Benny’s first,” Millie decided. “Meatball will be glad to hear from him, I think.” She rifled through the envelopes before producing the one from Benny, reaching across the short distance between their chairs to hand it to Freddie.

Carefully tearing open the envelope, Freddie drew out the letter and showed it to Meatball, letting him smell it until he sat up straighter and barked. He must have been able to detect the hints of Benny’s scent remaining on it even after weeks in transit.

Freddie laughed, kissing his head. “Are you ready to hear from your daddy?” she asked him. “He’s got lots to say to you.”

Meatball nuzzled his head into Freddie’s side and she laughed as she prepared to read. “Dear Freddie, Meatball, and everyone else.”

Millie scoffed.

Freddie grinned and continued reading. “Things aren’t so bad now the weather’s getting warmer. Chow’s terrible but the barracks are warm which makes it easier to sleep. Thanks for sending those pictures - I’ve got them pinned up beside my bunk. Meatball looks happy, which is nice to see. I’m glad you’re taking good care of him.

“How is it back at base? How are Croz, Ev, and Douglass? What are the new guys like? I bet everyone’s forgotten about all the old guys now, apart from you guys who were there when we were. It seems crazy to me that life on base is carrying on as it always did when we’re all stuck here and have been for so long.

“Anyway, life isn’t so bad. We’re all hoping there’ll be a change in our fortunes this summer. I know you can’t say anything about it but that’s what we’re hoping for.

“Thanks for the chocolate you sent last time as well. Do you think you could send a little more? The guys were like goddamn vultures last time so we only got a little each. Don’t worry if you can’t, with the rationing and all.

“Anyway, that’s about everything I’ve got to report. Days are long and they’re all the same but we’re all getting by just fine. Send Meatball my love, alright? Give him extra snacks after dinner from me. 

“With love to you all, Benny.”

Freddie smiled as she lowered the letter and pulled Meatball to her to hug him tight. “See, buddy?” she said to him. “He misses you too.”

“Fred, don’t, because I’ll actually cry,” Millie said.

Freddie laughed, looking up to find Millie misty-eyed and trying desperately not to smudge her makeup while Croz squeezed her knee reassuringly. 

“What did Brady say?” Freddie asked, inclining her head towards the letter Millie had quickly skimmed while Freddie was reading aloud Benny’s. “Anything appropriate for outside ears?”

Millie laughed, watery but happy, and scanned the letter again. “You can hear the first half,” she decided, giggling.

Croz pulled a face. “I do not wanna know what sort of depraved love letters Brady’s been writing you, Mils.”

Millie swatted at him with the letter. “They’re not depraved, they’re romantic! We’ve been apart for almost an entire year now, Croz, give us a break!”

Freddie grinned. “I’d be more interested to know what sort of depraved love letters Millie’s been sending back,” she said to Croz, who promptly laughed loudly.

“As if you and Rosie wouldn’t send utter filth to each other if he ever became a POW!” Millie exclaimed.

“Now, hold on a second,” Rosie cut in, sitting up straight in his chair.

“Read the letter, Mils!” Freddie cut across him, laughing. “The appropriate half, at least!”

“No!” Millie protested. “Now you’ve made me embarrassed.”

“Aw, Mils,” Freddie teased.

“No, come on, we’ll be serious,” Croz vowed, holding a hand to his heart. “We swear. Don’t we, Rosie?”

“We swear,” Rosie agreed, pressing his own hand to his heart and nodding seriously.

Freddie laughed at them both. Millie rolled her eyes.

“My darling Mils,” she began reading aloud.

“Aw!” Freddie exclaimed.

“Fred,” Croz said, giving her a look.

Freddie nodded, accepting this reprimand, sitting back further into her seat and wrapping her arms around Meatball.

“I miss you everyday,” Millie continued to read, so absorbed in her letter even though she’d already once read it she was no longer paying attention to the rest of the room. “I have all the pictures you’ve been sending taped to the wall beside my bed, so you’re the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night. One day, I hope I’ll get to say the same, but have the version of you I’m waking up with be the real one, not the one caught in snapshots, gorgeous though they are.

“I’m glad to hear you’re doing well, sorry to hear you’re missing me almost as much as I’m missing you. I know you say you miss me more but that’s impossible, darling. And you certainly don’t love me more, either, so let’s put an end to that debate right here and now.

“Mils, my darling, my sweetest love, I miss you so, so very much. Thinking of you and the life I hope you’ll let me make for you after the war is the only thing that gets me through the days. It’s not so bad anymore now that summer’s coming but it’s been almost an entire year and I feel as though I’m rotting away in an early grave over here.

“Although, better to rot here in an early grave than in the ground in a real one. Whenever I catch myself thinking these thoughts I remind myself of Fred and her lost love and how easy it is for couples like us to be split apart permanently. This, though almost unbearable as each day passes and brings me no closer to you, is not permanent, my love. I’m coming home to you. Soon, I hope.”

Millie stopped there, with tears streaming down her face, shrugging. “The next part is all inappropriate,” she supplied, wiping away her tears with a few watery giggles.

Freddie smiled, rising from her chair and skirting around the table to squeeze into Millie’s with her. She wrapped her arms around her and rested her head on top of Millie’s when she tucked her face into her shoulder to cry.

“I’m okay,” Millie spoke into Freddie’s jacket. “These are mostly happy tears, I promise. I just miss him really, really badly.”

Freddie smiled, shutting her eyes as she curled herself around Millie protectively. “Cry as long as you like. We’ve got time.”

Millie settled down before long but Freddie remained where she was, tucked snugly into the chair beside her, and they carried on reading the letters they’d received from the boys. Once finished, Rosie refilled everyone’s drinks and they sat around chatting about mindless things, everyday things. It was nice to think about something other than D-Day - for Croz more than anyone else, Freddie was sure. He’d slept through the entire affair after staying up so long and working so consistently that he’d passed out right there in the air exec office. His little stunt had granted him a first-class ticket for a staycation in the infirmary and he had been nothing short of furious to have missed the biggest invasion in military history - the very invasion that had landed him there in the first place.

“What do you write about in your letters home, Rosie?” Millie wondered slyly after a lull in the conversation. “Does your family know about our Fred?”

Rosie laughed, though he tried to hide it into a gulp of his beer. When Freddie looked at Croz he was doing the same.

She sat up straighter, as straight as she could when sandwiched into the chair with Millie. “Rosie,” she said warily, “what have you told them?”

“Nothing bad,” Rosie jumped to reassure her. “Just - well, you’re basically all I write about. I didn’t wanna worry anyone so I didn’t - well, I haven’t actually told them yet that I’m a combat pilot. They think I’m still an instructor.”

“What?!” Millie exclaimed.

“Oh my god,” Freddie mumbled, leaning back into the chair and covering her eyes with her hand.

Croz was all but cackling in the seat next to them.

“Rosie!” Millie berated him.

He held his hands up in surrender. “I know! I shouldn’t lie! But - just, the thought of my ma all the way across the ocean worrying about me, and I can’t reassure her after every mission that I’m fine.” He shook his head resolutely. “I can’t do that to her. It’s better this way.”

He was making Freddie’s heart ache, out of equal parts affection for him and fear.

Millie brushed his explanation aside. “So what have you told her about Freddie?”

Freddie cringed. “I don’t think I want to know, much less want it announced to everyone, thanks, Mils.”

“You just made me read out what John says to me!”

“You did that willingly!”

“My ma told me in her last letter she feels like she knows Fred personally with all the information she has about her,” Rosie cut in diplomatically. “She said she feels like she met her right along with me last August. That’s as much detail as I’ll give you, Mils.”

Freddie’s cheeks were on fire.

“You’ve been giving her details?” Millie said.

Freddie cringed before Millie said what she was about to, because she knew what it was going to be.

“Not about all the filthy sex you have in your plane, I hope.”

“Millicent Harlow!” Freddie cried, because that was worse than she’d been expecting. “What a thing to say!”

Croz, beside them, was still cackling.

Rosie had slouched all the way down in his seat, shaking his head with one hand shielding his eyes. His prominent bright red blush must have been burning hot.

Millie simply scoffed. “Oh, come on, Fred, we all know where you disappear off to every night. I just feel sorry for Rosie’s crew, having to climb in there every mission.”

“You are so crude!” Freddie exclaimed. She rose from her perch and crossed back to her own chair, sitting back down with Meatball, so embarrassed she could hardly articulate it.

“Aw, come on, Fred, we’re all friends here!” Millie teased. “Besides, if we’re going to talk about filthy letters, I’d rather like to know what Croz, here, has been writing to his wife. He is the only one among us who is legally allowed to have sex, after all.”

Croz let out a sharp, shocked laugh, reaching for his beer and gulping it down just to give himself something to do as he considered his response. “Whatever I write to my wife is between me and her, Mils,” he said eventually, then sipped from his beer again. He shook his head at her. “You really are a piece of work, you know that?”

“John told me often enough back when we despised each other,” Millie replied agreeably.

“Have you seen a photo of Croz’s wife, Rosie?” Freddie chimed in. “She’s very pretty.”

“Show him!” Millie ordered Croz.

“I’ve already shown him!” Croz insisted.

“Well, show him again!”

“Alright! Fine!”

Withdrawing his wallet, Croz drew out a photo of his wife, Jean, and handed it across the table to Rosie with palpable awkwardness.

Rosie nodded as he looked at it. “She’s beautiful, Croz.”

“I’m a lucky man,” Croz agreed.

Freddie’s eyes were narrowed as she looked between them. There was something strange happening here. She determined that she would ask Rosie about it later when they finally got their privacy.

“Do you have a picture of Fred, Rosie?” Millie asked as she watched Rosie hand the photo back to Croz.

He nodded. “I tuck it into the controls before every flight. Carry it in my front pocket when I’m not flying.” As though to prove his point, he unzipped the inside pocket of his leather A-2 jacket and produced a photo Freddie didn’t recognise. “Her dad gave it to me over Christmas.”

Freddie was blushing as Millie and Croz looked at the photo between them. Millie was grinning. “It’s a beautiful shot, Fred.”

Freddie shrugged. “I’ve never seen it.”

Croz grinned at her sidelong and handed the photo over once he and Millie were finished with it.

And, Freddie found, it was rather a nice photo. It had been taken the Christmas before she met Rosie, Christmas 1942, when she’d still been so very fragile over Daniel, only her second Christmas without him. In the photo she was sitting on the floor of her living room, leaning back against the piano, with Bruno curled up at her side and Earnie in her arms as she laughed softly at something someone out of the shot had said. Her hair was perfectly curled and styled, her red dress flattering and brand new at the time. She remembered crying off the makeup she’d spent so long putting on the instant her mother had closed the door behind Daniel’s parents, remembered her curls being ruined as her mother held them back out of her face while she threw up into the toilet.

She didn’t even remember the photo being taken, but she remembered sitting on the floor with her dogs. They were the only thing that had brought her any joy that year.

“I always think that’s the truest version of you, Fred,” Rosie said softly as she took the photo in. “At home, with your dogs and the piano. It’s a really beautiful picture.”

Freddie smiled as she handed it back to him, longing to go and curl up in his lap but knowing there would be a time and a place for that later.

“Will the dogs be coming with you when you move to Brooklyn after the war, Fred?” Croz asked while Rosie tucked the photo safely back into his pocket.

Laughing a little bit, Freddie shook her head. “No, because I’m not moving to Brooklyn. We’ll be living in Oxford after the war, won’t we, Rosie?”

Rosie was looking at her with an expression she didn’t quite recognise. “What?”

Freddie furrowed her eyebrows as she looked back at him. “After the war. You do want to stay with me after the war, don’t you?” Now she was sitting up straighter, worried she’d misread this whole thing.

“What? No, of course we’re staying together after the war, Fred,” Rosie replied hastily. “I just - why are you assuming we’ll live in Oxford? We’ve never talked about it.”

Freddie tilted her head to one side. “But we’ve talked around it. A garden with flowers and a living room with a piano. You said you grew up in an apartment in Brooklyn so I just assumed that when we talked about those things we were talking about Oxford.”

“We can get a house in Brooklyn,” Rosie countered. “Just ‘cause I grew up in an apartment doesn’t mean everyone lives in one. Lawyers make more money than my parents did when I was growing up.”

“Wait,” Freddie said, leaning over the arm of her chair to look him better in the eyes, “you think we’re going to New York?”

“No,” Rosie replied steadily, “because we ain’t talked about it yet. I’m not gonna assume things and make executive decisions for the both of us without talking to you first.”

Freddie frowned. “Was that a dig? I feel like you’re angry with me. I don’t mean to be presumptuous, Rosie, but I’ve never even been to America, so of course the idea of moving there would frighten me.”

“I still thought we’d at least talk about it,” Rosie replied. Now his eyes were hard.

“I thought we had! I didn’t know that when we talked about houses and furniture you were imagining America.”

“I didn’t imagine you were assuming we’d just stay here!”

“I’ve never been there!”

“You expect me to just never see my family? Stay here forever after the war?”

“You can go and visit!” Freddie exclaimed. “I just thought you’d come back after!”

“My life’s in Brooklyn, Fred! My job!”

“My degree is in Oxford!”

“You can go to school in New York -”

“Okay, I think this is a conversation to be had sober,” Millie cut in, “and in private. Don’t you? It seems there’s much to discuss.”

Freddie and Rosie were still frowning at each other even as they settled back into their chairs.

Just like that, their dreams of domestic bliss were all destroyed in one go. Neither could believe the other had imagined them in their own home. The two of them had met each other halfway on a lot of things by now, understood each other intimately in so many different ways, but this impasse was startling in how quickly it had forced them to butt heads. They’d argued when Rosie had re-upped, yes, but that had been about his safety - it had been, for all intents and purposes, a life and death situation. This? This was a domestic argument. An argument any couple might have. An argument they could have been having in peacetime.

Freddie had never pictured them arguing in peacetime. Whenever she thought about it they were always blissfully happy. And whenever she thought about it they were in Oxford. Why on earth would he think they’d be going to New York?