#oc: josephine harris

[blakelysco-pilot]

Bit of a masterlist update for you all! ✨ Why not catch up with Jo and Val, and their fellas, while the next part is underway? Grab yourself some coffee and a donut, or one of Jean Crosby’s famous martinis, and cozy up with the gang💕

Hi Chickies, welcome! Come on in and take a look around. This blog is nsfw-ish, so proceed accordingly.

My ask box is always open for literally anything. If you’ve got a question, request or you just want to come say hi & have a chat, I’m all ears! If you’re looking for something specific and can't find it, give me a shout and I’ll do my very best to make it happen!

So please, grab yourself some coffee and a donut on your way through, and welcome to The Clubmobile. Enjoy! 💗

Find these & more on AO3

Masters Of The Air

Love Letters Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal & Josephine Harris

Eight to The Bar Everett Blakely & Valencia DiRosano

———————————————————————— Band Of Brothers Hey Nurse Joe Liebgott & Reader

[winniemaywebber]

It's Been A Long, Long Time

(sage said "imagine this guy meeting his baby son for the first time and I couldn't get it out of my head)

Jean surveys herself in the mirror for what feels like the one thousandth time, nerves bubbling up from her stomach and reaching her throat, threatening to spill out like fire from a dragon's mouth. She smooths her dress with her hands, a soft rose pink color that compliments her dark hair perfectly. She smiles at herself, the memory of trying it on in front of her husband coming back to her, when he was home on leave all those months ago, and the way his soft brown eyes had lit up the second he'd seen her in it.

“Oh, darling,” he had murmured in her ear as he held her close. “I think this is my new favorite,” his pretty hands suddenly all over her body and his lips upon hers, the touch she'd been craving for years.

Jean comes back to herself, her knees weak at the memory of that wonderful time, finding her hand clutched to her chest to slow her heartbeat. Tiptoeing quietly about the bedroom, she makes it to the dressing table, adding a silver necklace and bracelet set that Harry had gifted her on their wedding day - Jean had given him a pair of cufflinks, her initials engraved upon them, him smiling sweetly at her as he'd opened the black box in which they were wrapped. Grinning, she stabs an earring into her ear, dropping the back of it as she attempts to move her hair out the way.

“Oh, bother,” she whispers, bending down to retrieve it from where it has dramatically rolled underneath the table. She bends with all her might to grab it, scrambling on the long pile carpet, when suddenly she loses balance, grabbing on to the table to try save herself. The table slams against the wall, and she braces herself, lips clamped together, silently hoping that the baby could sleep through it.

A loud, long cry from across the room makes it obvious that the sudden sound was too much, and the baby in the crib next to the queen-sized bed is wailing so hard that his little face is turning beetroot red. Jean picks him up and attempt to soothes him back to sleep. “Shhh, little man. It's okay,” she coos, kissing his warm face and wiping his tears away. “I'm so sorry. Mama is just a clutz!” She laughs, an attempt to diffuse the tension that's crawling through her body. Seeing the signs that the baby may be gassy, she carefully holds him upright, his body on her chest and his head over her shoulder.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let's get this burp out.” She pats his back 1-2-3, 1-2-3, maintaining a steady rhythm, all while bobbing up and down. A large burp ripples through the infant, shocking him so much that his sweet little head bobs back a little. As if in slow motion, Jean hears another airy burp leave him - followed by a stream of warm spit up dripping down her shoulder and ruining her dress. She holds the baby out at arm's length, inspecting his clothes. He's clean, of course he is. It's just her, the pink material of her dress now spattered with white mottled liquid.

“Darn it!” she whimpers, placing the now much happier baby back in his crib, his eyes heavy again from all the excitement. “Little guy,” she says mostly to yourself. “You know this is papa's favorite. Couldn't you have saved all that for the hideous yellow one I wear to church?” She giggles as she catches sight of it, the yellow so bright that it makes her slightly nauseous, not just the smell of her current self, causing her nose to wrinkle. With a sigh, she pulls off the pretty pink material and unceremoniously tries to throw it in the laundry basket. She misses, a frustrated sigh escaping her nostrils.

Pulling a cornflower blue number over her head and hoping her son keeps the milk to himself this time, Jean eventually gets back to pushing her delicate diamond earrings through her earlobes, taking a deep breath and basking in the success that her outfit is finally complete. Adjusting to being a new mom is hard by itself, but going through the whole experience alone with just letters from her husband was excruciating. The morning sickness with nobody but her best friend, Josephine, to soothe her and hold her, nobody to place a cool washcloth on her head after you'd been hugging the cold porcelain, her knees red raw and bruised from kneeling over the bowl for what felt like hours - except for Josephine.

There had been no strong husbandly hands being able to rub her tummy, placing one there gently to feel his baby kick. She'd imagined it, though, his doe eyes wide as saucers as he'd stifle his emotion, trying to stop the tears. “Wow,” he'd say, looking at his wife in amazement. “This is incredible.” She would think of him kissing her growing bump, then kiss her, before placing his head on her chest, his hand remaining on her stomach. The thought of all this lost time is enough for a sob to catch in Jean's throat and cause hot tears to stream down her face. Wiping them away as fast as they come so as not to ruin her makeup, she tries to get it together while catching a glimpse at the clock on the wall: 11am.

She runs downstairs, hoping for just a few minutes of peace before the baby inevitably wakes up to eat and have a clean diaper again. She would like to sit down with a book, but can't seem to get focused, the words all blending together on the page and making her head swim. Trying to shake the nerves, she begins to pace the living room, taking deep breaths every time she reaches each end of the room.

She doesn't know how long she stays like that, basically catatonic as she goes back and forth. Feeling like it could be hours, she jumps when she hears a loud rap at the door. Rushing toward it, trying her best to smooth every wrinkle from her outfit, Jean tries to compose herself before opening the door to see her husband for the first time in almost a year. He's in his uniform, the hat slightly bent out of shape at the top. He looks extremely handsome, his pretty mouth spread in a grin at the sight of his wife. She runs towards him, leaping into his arms and wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms wrap around her back, pulling her in as close as he possibly can.

“Darling,” he whispers in her ear. She feels his whole body relax under her hands as she holds him, her hands going up to stroke the back of his neck, her face buried in his neck to breathe in his delicious scent that she'd missed so terribly. “You look–wow, Jean. So so beautiful,” his eyes softening when he takes her in, just like she knew they would. He leans forward and plants a soft kiss on her lips, his hand cupping Jean's cheek.

“Hi, honey,” she whispers, wiping away her tears. “Welcome home. There's someone upstairs you should meet.” The realization dawns on him, and his mouth drops open, nervous. She takes his hand and pull him inside, smiling at him all the while. He pauses, gripping her hand a little tighter.

“W-wait, Jean,” he stutters, his eyes downcast and his teeth clamped nervously to his bottom lip. He breathes out, his shoulders sagging slightly. “What if…what if he doesn't like me?”

“Oh, my darling. Don't think like that. He loves you already.” Jean walks back toward her husband, wrapping him in her arms. “I've shared so many stories with him already, Bing. How we met, how wonderful you always are. Where you've been all this time. The fun times you shared with his Uncle Bubbles…and the newer good times with Uncle Rosie, too,” she pauses, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, her hand remaining on his cheek. “And, every time I tell him a story about his Papa, he listens so intently. His eyes are as sweet and pretty as yours, my love, and I see how focused he is on me when I talk of you. He coos whenever anyone says his Papa's name. He looks just like you, Harry.” She stops again, surveying the emotion etched on his face. “Please, come and meet your son. He's been kept waiting long enough, darling.” They both giggle at one another, him leaning over and kissing her gently on the cheek.

She leads him from the hallway to the bedroom, the baby cooing, for once wide awake and not crying. Jean feels her husband take a deep breath, the exhale quivering as he catches sight of the tiny bundle in the crib next to Jean's side of the bed. He walks towards him, instantly scooping him up into his arms.

“Hi, buddy,” he whispers, his lips clamped together to try and stop the tears from pouring out of him. He is, however, unsuccessful, a sob escaping from his mouth as he takes in every feature of his son. “He's so small, honey,” he whimpers, looking between his son and his wife. She walks over to join them, relieved that her family is now finally together. She holds her husband as he keeps looking at the baby, trying to memorize every part of him. His hand reaches out and strokes the baby's face, the little guy relaxing under his father's touch instantly and his eyes closing, the baby falling asleep without needing extra help for the first time ever.

“Wow,” Jean blinks in amazement. “That usually takes me about an hour. You're magical, my love.” He smiles, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“I'm so happy to be home, Jean. So darn happy to be with you, and our son. Now, let me change and I'll make sure you get some rest. You've been doing this all alone, honey. It's my turn now.”

Soon enough, they're all in their most comfortable clothes and laying on the bed together. Harry had only put the baby down for a moment to change, before scooping him back up in his strong arms, once again cooing at him, already telling him stories of B-17s, airsickness and England. Jean lays on her pillow, watching her beloved husband with his son and savoring the beautiful moment. She drifts off to the sound of his voice, the comfort she's craved for months.

“Wow, buddy,” he exhales, his words shaking slightly. “We sure do have a lot to catch up on! But first, let me start with telling you about your uncle, Bubbles Payne…”

part two

masterlist

[sagesolsticewrites]

Love’s Light Wings: Chapter 3 (“There stays a husband to make you a wife”)

John Brady x Juliet Thompson (OFC)

The day has finally arrived! You are cordially invited to the wedding of Captain John Brady and Juliet Thompson— complete with an abundance of tears, joy, nerves, and Jean Crosby’s infamous martinis.

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: none, I think? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Hugest of huge shoutouts to @winniemaywebber and @blakelysco-pilot for reading this many many times before I posted it I love y’all 💕 here’s to our girlies!

Masterlist | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 

Juliet is already up and bustling about her room when her mother peeks in on the morning of her wedding.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re up already!”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Juliet grins sheepishly, fiddling with the pearl necklace laid out on her vanity, “I was too excited.”

That, she thinks, and the pounding headache she’s had since she woke up several hours ago prevented her from going back to sleep— she’s sincerely regretting that last lemon drop.

“It’s a big day,” Her mother smiles knowingly, “just remember the girls will be here soon.”

“Everything’s set up at the hotel, right?�� 

“I just called, they assured me everything’s ready for you girls.”

“And the church—”

“John’s mother and I are going to stop in to check everything before we join you at the hotel, yes.”

“But what about—”

“Sweetheart,” her mother steps forward, taking one hand in her own, “breathe.”

Juliet wants to ask about the rest of the preparations— everything has to be perfect— but she closes her eyes, does as her mother asks, and lets her voice wash over her.

“I know that you have a thousand things running through your mind right now,” she says gently, “But I just want you to take a moment.”

Juliet swallows, feeling pressure build behind her eyes as her mother’s voice grows thick, no doubt becoming teary-eyed herself.

“My baby girl’s getting married today—”

“Mama!” Juliet lets out a watery laugh, tears threatening to overflow as she opens her eyes to see tears streaming down her mother’s cheeks, “No, if you cry I’ll cry, and then we won’t get to the hotel at all!”

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m sorry,” she laughs, brushing her tears away, “I just…”

She trails off with a sigh. “I remember how scared you were when he was gone, sweetheart. How terrified you were the day we got that letter… I was so scared of what it would do to you if your boy didn’t come home.” 

“But,” her mother takes a steadying breath, trying to compose herself, “Now here you are. Ready to build a home of your own with him. A life. And I…” she blinks rapidly, and Juliet can’t help but laugh at her attempt to hold fresh tears at bay, “I’m so, so happy for you, honey.”

Juliet throws her arms around her mother, holding her tight as she tucks her face into her shoulder, curling into her like she did as a child.

“Thank you, Mama,” she murmurs into her robe, crying and smiling and feeling a thousand things at once that all culminate into one fierce spark of love.

With one final squeeze, her mother pulls away.

“I’d better let you get dressed, the girls will be here soon.”

Juliet nods, her hand moving to fiddle with the pearl necklace once more. The long list of things she’s worried about, everything that needs to be done on time for today to run smoothly, is nagging at the back of her mind, but she pushes it back for just a moment.

She’s getting married.

The smile on her face still hasn’t faded by the time cars start to pull up to their driveway, and she can’t hold back a squeal seeing her friends make their way to the front door.

There’s a chorus of greetings between Juliet, her friends, and her parents as they’re ushered inside, her mother rushing off to get coffees for everyone as they settle in the living room.

“How are you feeling after last night?” Olive whispers once Mrs. Thompson is out of earshot.

“Like I need lots and lots of black coffee,” Juliet admits, and her friends’ eyebrows shoot up collectively.

“That bad?” Vika asks, frowning sympathetically at her nod.

“It’s getting better,” she assures them, adding with an excited giggle, “Especially once it hit me what today was.”

“Yes!” Jean exclaims, having experience as the one married member of their little group, “How are you feeling, honey, any nerves?”

Juliet’s fingers twist, fiddling with the emerald ring on her left hand as she tries and fails to bite back a smile.

“I just… I can’t believe it’s really happening,” she admits, “I… I had hoped for so long while he was gone, and even before that, but now that it’s finally here—”

Jo’s arm wraps around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. Her friend knew intimately how worried Jules had been for Johnny during the war— Jo’s own sweetheart Robert Rosenthal signing up for a second tour while John had been taken prisoner in Germany had led to the two bonding over their worries for their boys an ocean away— and knew exactly how long she had been longing for this day.

“You deserve it, honey,” Olive says, hazel eyes soft as she reaches for her friend’s hand.

Juliet gives it a grateful squeeze. 

“It’ll be your turn next,” she grins.

“Me and Ev first,” Val chimes in, vibrant green eyes sparkling as bright as the emerald on her finger.

Jules nods, letting out a happy sigh.

“I’m so happy for you girls.”

“Who gives a fig about us?” Jo says playfully, though her gaze is soft as it meets Jules’s, “This is your day, Jules.”

Jules opens her mouth to retort that she, in fact, gives a fig— these girls had become as good as family over the past couple years, their joys and sadnesses shared no matter what— when her mother returns with a tray of steaming mugs.

Several cups of coffee (and a slight lessening of her headache) later, they’re whisked off to the hotel in a pile of chatter and giggles.

“Vika, that color is gorgeous on you!” Val gushes as she finally emerges, the last of the girls to change into their pastel green bridesmaid dresses.

“You all look lovely,” Mrs. Brady smiles from her place on the couch, her gentle gaze sweeping over the girls. 

“Not as lovely as she will,” Olive says after the chorus of thank you and so do you Mrs. Brady, nodding over to the screen where Mrs. Thompson is helping Juliet into her wedding dress.

There’s a beat, a moment where her words hang in the air before Mrs. Brady speaks again, her voice soft.

“She’s been good for my Johnny. And for his father and I, when he was…” She trails off, blinking back tears as she composes herself. “I don’t know what we would’ve done without her.”

The room is quiet, the only sound the occasional rustle of fabric or a soft sigh as each girl listens intently.

“I’ve known my boy wanted to marry her since the moment he told me about this girl who dragged him around to every bookstore in Ithaca. Even just hearing him over the phone, I knew he was head over heels,” she laughs. “And then when I finally met her?” 

Mrs. Brady’s eyes go soft, distantly recalling the first time John had brought Juliet Thompson home.

“That’s when I knew she was the one,” she says with a soft laugh, “When I asked her about her studies, she started talking about some sort of assignment she had regarding Shakespeare, and Johnny— who couldn’t have cared less about Shakespeare, or reading anything for that matter— was hanging onto her every word. The look on his face…”

“I’ll be so proud,” Mrs. Brady murmurs, “to call her my daughter.”

“I know she can’t wait to be part of your family,” Jo smiles earnestly.

“He still gets like that when she talks about Shakespeare, Mrs. Brady,“ Olive giggles, “Even on base, we could tell when he’d just gotten one of her letters. Strong, serious Lieutenant Brady walking around with the silliest grin on his face—”

Behind the screen, the idle chatter of Mrs. Brady and the girls provides a soothing backdrop for Juliet, and their laughter brings a smile to her face as she steps into her wedding dress.

It’s not the first time she’s worn it— her mother had her try it on several times over the course of her sewing and resewing her own wedding dress to be repurposed for her daughter’s big day— but she knows down to her bones that this time is different. There are no pins, no Mama fussing about a seam here or a loose thread there.

Well, there is a little bit of that, but it’s minimal as she pins the darling pillbox hat she’d found with the girls in place, adjusting the veil so it falls just so over her impeccably made-up face. With all the fussing and preparation they've done over the past couple months, Juliet almost expects to see a stranger staring back at her from the mirror.

But it’s just… her. About to be married.

“Oh my darling…” her mother says, meeting her eyes in their reflection as hers well up with tears, “You look beautiful.”

Juliet takes in a shaky breath as she smooths down the full silk skirt, a bundle of tulle forming a sort of bow at her waistline. Her gaze follows the path of pearls up the creamy silk to an illusion neckline, a string of pearls resting at her throat, and something about seeing it through the haze of the veil over her eyes makes it feel that much more real.

She turns to embrace her mother, murmuring a soft and sincere “Thank you.”

Her mother’s arms squeeze tight around her for a moment before she steps back, not wanting to wrinkle the fabric.

“Well,” she says, “Ready to show everyone?”

Juliet and her mother step out from behind the screen, and the room falls silent.

“Juliet…”

Mrs. Brady is the first to break the breathless hush that’s fallen over the room.

“Sweetheart, you look lovely.”

“It’s perfect, Jules.”

“Brady’s gonna be speechless.”

Her heart thumps in her chest, glowing under the praise. She’s glad her friends love it as much as she does, but what she really wants to see is Johnny’s reaction. 

The girls’ voices fade into the background as that thought lingers, and lingers, and—

She blinks, and suddenly her mother is giving her a final kiss on the cheek as she and Mrs. Brady inch towards the door.

“We’ll be back when it’s time to go.”

The moment they’re gone, Juliet collapses into a chair, the full weight of what’s about to happen hitting her all at once.

“Oh gulabo,” Vika turns towards her, eyes wide, “are you alright?”

“Darling, you look like you’re about to pass out,” Olive says, frowning slightly as she peers intently at her friend. “Earth to Jules,” she urges, waving a hand in front of her face.

“Sorry,” Juliet says shakily, pushing her veil back over her head with trembling hands, because even that thin fabric between her and the world feels too confining at the moment, “I just— I’m so nervous.”

“About what, chickie?” Val chimes in, “You’re marrying your boy. Smooth sailing from there!”

“Yes!” Vika says, beaming, “This is the day we’ve been waiting for!”

There’s a clink from the other side of the room, and their attention snaps towards it.

Juliet blinks, anxiety momentarily traded for confusion as Jean produces bar equipment from who knows where, starting the familiar process of mixing her infamous martinis.

“Uhm, where did—?”

“Jo sweet-talked Rosie into convincing the barman to let us… borrow some of his things last night,” Olive giggles over the clinking of ice, “His lawyer charm worked an absolute treat.”

She still has… several questions, but before she can voice any of them, the anxiety returns with a vengeance.

“Here,” Jean says, shoving a glass into her hand, “Drink up, pumpkin. Only half an hour to go!”

Juliet focuses on the cool glass, letting the sensation ground her as Jo helps pass drinks around to the other girls.

“To the Bradys.”

She raises her glass, the words repeating around the room, smiles audible.

A thrill runs up Jules’s spine at the toast, and she smiles into her drink as she takes a generous sip, wincing slightly at the strength of it.

In half an hour, she’ll be Juliet Brady.

“Doll,” Jo rests a hand on her shoulder, “Do you need us to check up on anything?”

“If one of you wouldn’t mind walking over to the church… make sure everything is set—”

“I’ve got it, chicken,” Olive says, standing to drape the silk shawl that matches their bridesmaid dresses over her shoulders. “Anyone wanna join?”

Jules can’t help but grin as Vika eagerly volunteers, and the sound of Olive teasing her about seeing Benny fades as the door closes behind them.

“Tell us again where you’re going on your honeymoon, Jules.”

Jo’s voice cuts through the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, and Juliet feels a blush heating her cheeks as she answers.

“We’ve booked a lakehouse up near Rochester. Ten whole days.”

“That sounds wonderful, honey.” Jean smiles.

“It does,” Val chimes in with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “A whole house to yourself? And on a lake, too, very romantic. Plenty of privacy…” She singsongs.

“You’ll have lots of fun, I promise.” Jean adds with a wink.

“You’re all awful,” Jules giggles, nearly choking on her next sip. “As excited as I am for that,” she says, her blush intensifying, “I’m even more excited to see the house, once we’re back.”

“He got it?!”

“You haven’t seen it yet?!”

The girls’ questions overlap, and it takes Juliet a moment to parse who said what.

“He did. Johnny’s been working on it for a while with my father, getting as much as he can fixed up before we move in” she confirms, sliding into an almost-whine as she continues, “and he won’t let me see it! Says he wants it to be a surprise.”

“He’s probably fixing up a private library just for you,” Jo teases sweetly through a sip of her own drink.

Juliet shakes her head. “Don’t be silly,” she waves the comment away, but can’t help the grin growing on her face. What if…?

She can feel her cheeks heat and pinken as they work their way through Jean’s well-strengthened martinis, and by the time her glass is drained, her nerves are gone, replaced by an all-encompassing giddiness.

And just in time, as a soft rap of knuckles on wood alerts her to someone at the door before it bursts open to reveal her mother, Mrs. Brady, Olive and Vika. They pile into the room, all smiles and— in her mother’s case— eyes shiny with unshed tears.

“It’s time, sweetheart.”

Her eye flick to Olive and Vika, and her dearest friends grin reassuringly.

“The church looks beautiful, chicken.”

“Everything’s ready, Jules,” Vika smiles, her voice sweet and soft, “All we need is you.”

Juliet nods, pushing to her feet. One deep breath in and out as she looks around at her friends— no, her family.

She beams.

“Here we go.”

It’s a short drive to the church, and in no time she’s slipping out of the car and walking up the steps to the side entrance, the girls helping with her short train and her mother clutching her bouquet of gardenias and pink roses.

“I’ll go check in with Johnny and let your father know you’re here,” Mrs. Brady whispers as they enter, giving her hand one last squeeze. “See you later, honey.”

Juliet thanks her softly, and with one last smile over her shoulder, she’s gone.

Their little group makes their way to the small room just down the hall where they’ll wait for the ceremony to start. The church is small, small enough that she can hear the soft chatter of their guests in the main chapel, and butterflies once again stir to life in her belly.

Peeking in the mirror to make sure her makeup is still immaculate, she sees the door open behind her, and she whirls around with a grin.

“Daddy…”

Her father is in his best suit, and his eyes are wide as he takes in his daughter on her wedding day.

He steps forward and pulls her into his chest.

“My little girl,” he whispers, his hoarse voice the only hint of the emotion he’s holding back, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, hugging him tight. Juliet feels tears welling up and rapidly blinks them back as she steps out of her father’s embrace with a watery smile.

She can hear the chatter outside soften slightly, the string quartet and choir start up, and knows that Johnny’s following Father Pat down the aisle, just like they rehearsed. Any minute now they’ll be called for the procession…

Juliet turns back to the mirror for a flurry of last-minute adjustments, tucking away a stray hair here and there, fixing the way her necklace lays against her collarbones, one last affectionate twist of her engagement ring, and she can hardly keep the smile off her face as her mother looks up from her watch to announce:

“It’s time.”

Jules stays tucked just around the corner with her father as her mother brushes one last kiss to her cheek, her eyes keen as if taking in every detail of Juliet’s face before she turns and disappears down the hall leading to the main chapel. The music rises and falls as the large doors open and then close behind Mrs. Thompson.

The girls flutter around her one last time, fussing with her train and veil before they, too, line up with their respective men— Benny and Vika looking not at all upset, if a bit shy, that they ended up paired together— and disappear into the chapel.

Now it’s just Juliet and her father, and he’s looking at her with an indescribable emotion on his face— as if he’s seeing all the hers she’s ever been.

The little six-year-old begging for another story at bedtime, wide green eyes and a trembling lip drawing another fairytale out of him.

The ten-year-old listening rapt as he read A Midsummer Night’s Dream aloud, giggling and starry-eyed and believing wholeheartedly in fairies.

The teenager accumulating a more impressive collection of books than even he could have imagined, carefully nurturing an appreciation of Shakespeare he’d planted himself alongside a newly-developing thirst for romance.

The near-grown woman, smiling bright as the sun at the prospect of attending Cornell, ready to take on the world and then some.

“Ready, my Juliet?” is all he says as they wait for the doors to open once more.

Juliet beams up at him, forcing back the pressure behind her eyes— she refuses to have ruined mascara on her way down the aisle— and nods.

And then the doors are opening, revealing the chapel resplendent with white streamers and fragrant with gardenias, the few modest rows of friends and family and neighbors turning to look as she enters, but there’s only one face she cares about.

Juliet’s eyes lock on John Brady standing at the end of the aisle, finding his gaze as easy as breathing. He looks… positively awestruck, an adoring grin spreading across his face, and she can’t stop smiling back, lovely, bright, heart achingly sweet happiness bubbling up inside her at the sight of him standing proud in his dress uniform at the end of the aisle.

The world shrinks until it’s just the two of them, Canon in D a sweet victorious hymn in the background— he made it out, made it home to her, made it back to a place where he could put the war behind him, they made it. 

Through separation and war and uncertainty and worry and fear, they made it. 

The tears well at her lashline, threaten to spill over, but she holds them back as best she can until she catches a slight change in the music. Her eyes flick to Olive, whose teary eyes are now bright with proud mischief, then back to her Johnny as the song shifts to something it takes her a moment to recognize.

The tears spill over her cheeks as soon as her brain fills in the lyrics to a song she shouldn’t know, but has felt a connection to since the moment her friend played it for her.

Can I go where you go?…

The world is hazy through her veil, and blurry through her tears until she blinks them away to find herself standing barely a foot away from Johnny. Surprise and fondness sparks through her when she sees that his own blue eyes are shining with tears as her father presses a final kiss to her cheek and presses her hand into John Brady’s.

She knows her boy will take care of her. She knows her father knows that too, but it warms her heart all the same to see John give a solemn nod to Mr. Thompson as his hand envelops hers, his face— for the barest flash of a moment— as serious as the day he went off to war.

She passes off her bouquet to Vika, and turns back to him smiling.

“Hi,” she breathes, a greeting for his ears alone. She wants nothing more than to kiss him senseless, but she can’t… not yet.

“Hi,” he whispers back fondly, that crooked grin she adores widening as his eyebrows lift slightly in amusement. 

The priest allows them this small moment, giving them an indulgent smile before— finally— beginning the ceremony.

Juliet does her best to memorize every detail of the hour-long ceremony, but afterwards she’ll admit it’s all a blur until the moment Benny gives John the rings.

She remembers every second after that for the rest of her life.

She remembers seeing Johnny’s smile through the haze of her veil, Father Pat’s friendly rumble faded to background noise as he asked him to vow for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?. She remembers the surety in her soon-to-be husband’s voice as he replied “I do”, the weight of the simple gold band sliding to join the emerald on her ring finger.

She remembers Father Pat asking her the same— for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?— and the “I do” that tumbles out of her almost before he’s finished speaking, prompting a titter of fond laughter to echo through the crowd of guests.

She remembers his hand, warm and strong and scarred and sure in hers as she slides on his own wedding band.

They’re pronounced man and wife, and Johnny can finally lift the veil over her head, and— oh.

She understands now, why at every wedding she’s attended here, the bride seems to be hit by a wave of sudden emotion after her veil is lifted. There’s something that rocks her to her core about seeing the world through a haze and it only being lifted once they’ve promised themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.

Johnny’s beaming, his eyes soft as he takes her in properly. His thumb strokes gently along her cheek, his gaze almost greedily snatching at the details the sheer fabric was hiding from him. 

And then he’s leaning in, and her husband is kissing her, soft and chaste and sweet in front of all of their loved ones, and something warm blooms in her chest as she smiles into the kiss, something that tells her this is only the beginning of a very happy new chapter.

Her parents, Mrs. Brady, and the bridal party linger for pictures on the church steps after the guests file out— Juliet makes sure to get a picture of her and the girls together, demure smiles abandoned in favor of outright beaming at the camera.

Once the pictures are done, the whole group is whisked back to the Thompson home. Her mother bustles off to the kitchen, Mrs. Brady hot on her heels, while John and Juliet field congratulations from neighbors and family and friends— only a handful of people, all things considered, but everyone they deemed important.

As somewhat overwhelming as all of it is, Juliet can’t stop smiling, nodding and thanking everyone for coming. Meatball’s arrival— courtesy of Mrs. Demarco, who had volunteered to keep an eye on him at home so he wouldn’t cause any havoc at the ceremony— provides a welcome reprieve, the husky eagerly greeting the new faces as Benny’s mother offers her congratulations and goes to find a well-deserved glass of champagne.

Everyone settles at the mismatched tables in the backyard, covered with every scrap of respectable linen Juliet and her mother could scrounge up. The warm, sunny afternoon is a perfect backdrop as the toasts start.

Her father’s makes her cry, her giggles morphing into tears as he reminisces on the fine young lady his daughter has grown up to be, slipping from jokingly threatening John to wishing them the happiest of lives together. Mr. Thompson is a fairly stoic man, but Juliet can just barely see the telltale sheen of unshed tears as he raises a glass in their direction.

“To the bride and groom.”

The toast is echoed by their guests as her father returns to his seat and the groomsmen take turns speaking. Despite the tradition of speeches being limited to just the best man and maid of honor, both Juliet and John thought it was only right for all of their friends to have the opportunity to speak if they wished.

All five of them— Benny, Ev, Dougie, Rosie, and Croz— are surprisingly sentimental, each of them taking a moment in their own way to tell the newly proclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Brady how happy they are for them— they all know how long Brady had waited for this day, and to see it realized, to be there to celebrate with him, was an honor and a joy they tried their hardest to put into words.

Seeing the grateful smile on her husband’s face as they speak, Juliet feels a wave of fondness rush over her— as awful as the war was, it gave both of them some very dear friends on the other side, and she’s sure neither of them would change it for the world.

Speaking of very dear friends…

Vika steps up first, a shy smile on her face as she speaks about their childhood friendship, reconnecting as adults, how even with how long she’s known her, she sees Juliet at her absolute happiest when she’s with John.

“I hope that never fades,” she concludes, raising her glass in a slender hand, “And may we all be lucky enough to find a love like yours.”

Olive comes next, her speech sprinkled with Shakespeare references as she talks about a friendship built on pages sent across oceans.

“Brady lit up when he first told me about his girl who shared a name with one of Shakespeare’s heroines, and I was so excited when he offered to send along an essay for me— thanks for letting me take up so much space in your letters, Brady—” the Brit adds with a wink, “I was more than happy to talk about tragedies with you, Jules, but I’m over the moon seeing you get your well-deserved happy ending.”

Jean steps up with a sweet smile as Olive returns to her seat. She talks of friendships forged in worry and wartime, and reminds Juliet that should she need anything— there’s something fierce yet soft in her gaze that tells Juliet she truly means anything— she’s only a letter or phone call away.

Jo’s next, reminiscing on their time spent distracting each other from the ever-present worry of the past couple years, building a lifelong friendship in the process, and echoing Jean’s reminder that they’re there for anything. “Especially if you’re itching for another ride on the Cyclone,” she laughs, “And that goes for you, too, John.”

(John shakes his head vehemently, still smiling, and Juliet makes it her mission then and there to get her husband on that rollercoaster at least once).

Val brings the speeches to an end, all sweet Brooklyn snark— “still can’t believe Brady landed someone as sweet as you, Jules, have you seen how grumpy he is in the mornings?”— laced with the genuine, infectious  joy they’re all feeling today.

Juliet frantically dabs away another round of tears, blowing kisses to each of her friends as the speeches come to an end. She’d left the option of speeches open to all of them, of course, but she hadn’t anticipated…

Johnny squeezes her hand, and she turns to see his sweet smile. His blue eyes are soft as he lifts her left hand to press a kiss to the back of it, and she thinks she might actually burst from the amount of love she feels in that moment.

The sweet moment is interrupted by motion out of the corner of her eye, followed by soft gasps and murmurs from their guests, and she turns to see her mother wheeling the cake over to their table, a bright, proud smile gracing Helen Thompson’s face.

Juliet’s jaw drops as she takes in the tiered confection, elaborately decorated with thick cream frosting. She’d told her mother it didn’t need to be anything fancy— the simple lemon cake from her childhood was all she’d really pictured— not wanting her to save their sugar rations just for this, but…

She scrambles out of her seat and races to her mother, Johnny following close behind as she pulls her in for a fierce hug.

“Mama, it’s wonderful. Thank you so, so much, it’s just perfect, how on earth did you manage this?”

“It was nothing, sweetheart,” Mrs. Thompson says modestly, eyes flicking between her daughter and her new son-in-law, “You deserved nothing but the best on your wedding day.”

“It’s wonderful, Mrs. Thompson,” John says, “Thank you.”

Her mother beams in thanks, and gestures them closer to the table.

“Oh, go on and cut it already— but wait for your father, he wants to get pictures!”

The newlywed Bradys take up the kitchen knife that’s been set beside the cake and— exchanging a smile— carefully cut into the bottom tier, pulling out a small slice. Juliet grins when her husband holds his fingers to her lips, accepting the small bite that Johnny pinches off the slice for her.

She happily does the same for him, and— oh, she can’t resist. 

With a giggle, she smears the bit of frosting left on her finger onto the tip of his nose. The moment of pure shock on his face is well worth his revenge when she ends up with a matching dot of frosting on herself.

Her own shock is wiped off her face as her grinning husband swoops in to kiss her. She smiles into the kiss, tasting lemon and sugar on his lips as their guests cheer.

Her mother soon reappears, shooing them back to their seats with slices of cake so she can commence distributing the rest to the guests. They happily oblige, feeding each other bite by bite until nothing but crumbs remain and Juliet’s head is deliciously fuzzy with champagne and sugar.

Which makes it that much easier for her husband to pull her onto the little section of grass they called the dance floor, Juliet fighting back a blush as she’s pulled into his arms for a slow dance. A few of their neighbors with musical talents had happily offered their services for the reception, and it's thanks to them that John can twirl his bride around the floor to his heart’s content as the tempo picks up and their friends join in.

The improvised band returns to a slow song, and Johnny’s arms wind around her waist to pull her close. Face tucked against his shoulder, she looks out at their friends— Benny and Vika chatting at a table nearby, the Crosbys, Rosie and Jo, Ev and Val surrounding them on the grass… She catches Olive’s eye, swaying nearby with Dougie, and beams, reaching out instinctively for her friend. Olive’s neatly manicured hand clasps her own, and she gives a soft squeeze, hoping that tiny action conveys even a fraction of the gratitude she feels. 

When they first started writing, she couldn’t have imagined how close she’d become to the sweet English girl an ocean away— a lifetime away— helping keep tabs on her Johnny. She adored Jo and Jean and the rest of the girls equally, of course, but Olive’s updates— even after Johnny had gone down— were a large part of the reason she hadn’t gone completely out of her mind with worry. Any news that came from Olive came in the guise of soft conversation with a friend, rather than those dreaded stoic telegrams, and it was… easier, somehow.

Olive squeezes back, hazel eyes glinting with happiness, and with one last knowing smile, they each return to their respective partners. 

Goodness, she can’t wait for their wedding.

Her husband catches her attention with a gentle squeeze of her waist, and Juliet pulls back to look up at him questioningly.

“I’m glad I got to introduce you two,” he smiles, nodding towards Olive, “Even if those essays did take up far too many of my letters.”

“Me too,” Juliet replies, adding teasingly, “And you hush, I know you read them too.”

“Maybe a few,” Johnny admits, “Still didn’t understand a word.”

“Better get used to it, sweetheart,” Juliet beams, “You’re stuck with me now.”

He leans in, smiling against her lips.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Mrs. Brady.”

Their guests slowly trickle out after the cake and dancing, and soon it’s just her family— both biological and found— milling about to clean up the backyard. She can’t help but giggle at the various scoldings from the girls to “Be careful!” as the boys gather what the Thompsons deem their “good plates” to be returned to the kitchen, and something warm settles in her chest, seeing all of her friends milling about her childhood home— all the people she loves in one place. 

Once the last of the tables have been put away (that is, returned to their various neighbors, with profuse thanks for allowing them to borrow them), Juliet finds herself standing beside the gardenia bush she’d planted below her bedroom window.

“Everything okay?”

She turns to see Johnny making his way over to her and smiles in spite of herself.

“I’m fine,” she assures her husband, “just… taking a moment before we start getting ready to leave.”

He nods, looking up at her window as he stands beside her.

“Good thing you won’t have me tossing rocks at your window to sneak you out of here anymore.”

She blinks, unsure of where that came from. Yes, that was something that had happened when they first started dating… more often than she cared to admit, but what did that have to do with now?

John turns his gaze to the blooming gardenia at their feet.

“This poor fella would’ve been trampled to bits.”

Juliet giggles, “I’ll admit I wasn’t thinking about that when I planted it here. I just liked the smell— I couldn’t bear the thought of it being gone when we converted the garden.”

He smiles, leaning down to gently pluck a blossom from the bush.

“We’ll plant as many as you want at the new place,” he murmurs, tucking the flower carefully behind her ear.

She beams, a thrill running through her at the thought that after the celebration, after their honeymoon, they still have a home to set up —to make their own.

“I can’t wait.”

Soon Juliet is whisked off to change, her dress tucked carefully into a garment bag to be kept safe at her parents’ home until after the honeymoon.

Her husband— husband, husband, husband, the word fills her with sunshine every time she thinks it— stands smiling at the bottom of the stairs as she descends. She slips her hand into his, and together they run out of her childhood home in a shower of rice. They pause before entering the car waiting at the end of the walk, and Juliet turns back. Grinning, she tosses her bouquet blindly, a few stray petals fluttering to the ground as it sails through the air and is caught by Val.

Her friend beams, a wide red-lipped smile stretching across her face as she glances towards Ev, green eyes sparkling like the emerald on her ring finger.

Juliet blows the girls a kiss, squeezes her parents tight one last time, and slips into the car, John closing the door for her before running around to the driver’s side.

Waving frantically until their friends fade from view, the car is silent as they drive unceremoniously past the tiny town limit sign. Juliet turns to look at Johnny— and beams when she sees he’s already staring at her.

She’s already said it a thousand times today, but she can’t resist repeating again.

“I love you.”

His reply is the same as it’s been the other thousand times, as though he’ll never tire of saying it— though this time there’s something tacked on at the end that makes her feel warm all over,  like she just swallowed sunshine.

“I love you, too, Mrs. Brady.”

[creeppiest]

josephine aldane, b. 19 october 1980 ➝ daughter of joseph and evangeline aldane, the spare

[blakelysco-pilot]

Book Club gals doing book club things!

Come on by and meet the ladies of the men of the 100th BG.

Meet Josephine Harris

Meet Valencia DiRosano

Come on down to sagesolsticewrites for a proper introduction to my darling OCs! A labor of love with my besties (@winniemaywebber @ginabaker1666) I’ve loved creating this little universe with them 🥰 make sure to check out their girlies’ bios as well to meet the entire Book Club gang!

Juliet’s intro 🤍

Ruthie’s intro 🪔

[bowlerhatwearer]

OC Ship List

Ships between @pan-fried-autism's OCs and mine

Grementine Mewton x Nikolai Akdow

Jack Harris x Leonid Akdow

Julie Harris x Leonid Akdow (Swap AU)

Ships between @northerngrail's OCs and mine

Alistair Byron x Ian Snapshot

Blitz Krieg x Weregeld Schein

Devi Brillianti x Nikolai Akdow (formerly)

Devi Brillianti x Kathrina Akdow

Blitz Krieg x Phil and Flint Morisson x Aeolus Piston x Page x Weregeld Schein

Blitz Krieg x Weregeld Schein

Floyd Sigma x Quintus Imperium

Josephine Krieg x Lupus Bytes

Keith Whitehead x Horace Wings

Maryjane Doe x Albert Clear

Peng Li x Vasily Akdow

Phil and Flint Morrison x Weregeld Schein

[hyzenthlayroseart]

Eileen and Cleo with their daughters, Cleo's parents and Jojo celebrating Christmas together.

[usuallythebadguy]

Seeking RP or collaborative fanficing!

Looking for RP partners/new pals, SFW/NSFW/Evolving, Short/Long term, play by post or chat form. These are my favourite worlds and characters to play AS or AGAINST. Of course, I'm open to many other characters also. I have no hard limits, can play dominantly or submissively as any oc and am adaptable to any ideas, concepts or pairings.

I have plenty of plot ideas, but I'm just as excited about catering to yours. Likewise, as much as I love canon pairings, I also love OCs and will happily romance or befriend your characters of any kind.

I love playing morally ambiguous bad guys and crazies but can be a perfect angel when needed. I'm nonbinary and in my thirties. While not necessary, would love to rp with people my age. Like mentioned, sfw and nsfw rps are fine! I have no hard limits, but am respectful of my rp partners! Also, potentially interested in doing fanfics with others, cuz that's cool too. I especially love slow burn long term rp <3

Arcane: Silco, Victor, Sevika, Singed, Vi, Jynx Deathnote: L, Light, Mastuda, Mikami, Mass Effect: Mordin, Jack, Wrex, Jaal Skyrim: Cicero, Derkeethus, Veezara, Lucian, Vicente Dragon Age: Cole, Varric, Sten, Josephine, Merrill Baldur’s Gate: Astarion, Abdirak, Kar'niss, Lae'zel, Karlach, Gale Steven Universe: Jasper Detroit Become Human: Connor, Hank, Inside Job: Rand, Reagan Hannibal TV Series: Will, Hannibal She Ra: Hordak, Entrapta, Scorpia Horizon Zero Dawn: Aloy, Erand, Kotallo, Nil Encanto: Bruno, Camilo Kipo: Jamack, Kipo, Hugo Simpsons: Flanders, Smithers, Bob, Skinner Rick & Morty: Rick, Morty, Jerry, Summer, Beth MLP: Discord, Queen Chrysalis Avatar: Zuco, Lin Beifong, Soka Harry Potter: Snape, Fallout: Cooper Howard, Norm, Lucy, Farcry: Joseph Seed, Supernatural: Castiel, Sam, Dean Snow Piercer: Melanie, Bess The Witcher: Geralt, Yennefer, Jaskier Vikings: Ragnar, Athelstan, Lagertha Stardew: Shane, Linus, Sebastian

[entangledmuses]

So, those of you who don’t know me, I’m Kay (25+ Yrs old), I live in the UK, and this is my blog of many muses. Canon and OC. It is an all female blog, but I do have sides with all males, and mixed male and females, so feel free to check them all out.

I’m a pretty laid back Rper, but I do work, in quite a stressful job, so I’m here when I can be, but always happy to talk in IMs.

Before Interacting, please read my rules page, and check out my muses.

Rules || Canon muses || OC Muses

Navigation || Memes || Open Rp || Wanted Plots

Where else can you fine me? The following are all SIDE blogs ofthexnight - Werewolf and Vampire OC blog acciomusa - Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts Canon and OC Muses hawkinsbizarre - Stranger things Canon and OC Muses Paradisusinterra - OC All male OBX muses bornofolympus - Goddesses and Demi Goddesses of Greek Mythology (WIP) earthsxgreatestdefenders - Canon and OC Marvel muses (wip) chxrmedones - Next Gen charmed ones - Pheobe and Coops Daughters Skyfullxofmuses - Indie misc muse blog- mostly smut rp suttontwinsx - OC Twins Teddy and Josephine (Multiverse)

Strongly Affiliated with: @delightindarkness, @bchemianrhapscdy, @klldare, @neverendinqs, @cfthesoul, @redemptivexheroics, @dynastymuses, @brotherhoodwarlord, @unitcd, @inbeautifulruins, @flawedxshatteredxsouls, (This most likely includes any sideblogs the previous people mentioned also have)

I don't bite, so if you ever want to rp, either message me, or send memes.

Thanks for having a little peak at my blog :D

[cutesykeito]

My OCs in Yaelokre

(They're originally side-by-side in the same drawing, but I don't like how it looks enough to post it. They also look a lot better in person.)

These are my OCs, Virgil with the raccoon mask, and Josephine with the rabbit. They are not Yaelokre OCs.

Here is a simplified version of an explanation to some of the story, and why I spent about ten hours drawing them as Yaelokre.

But first, please note that while I enjoy Marvel, this was not inspired by the MCU, as at the time of creation (around 2019-2020), I had no idea that the MCU multiverse was a thing.

In this story I've created, the multiverse is a thing. The universe that Virgil and Josephine are from is the only universe where they exist. Virgil discovered he has the ability to travel between universes, but for now, he only can when he's asleep. In each universe, Virgil and Josephine's outfits and sometimes appearances change to fit what they would've been like had they been born there. However, Virgil's purple and black striped scarf is the only thing that never changes.

While I'm still working on the main story, I like to take my characters and picture what they would look like in other fandoms, aka, universes. It's really fun to imagine that in one universe where Harry Potter is just a series, it's a reality in another, and these two are the only ones who travel around and accidentally find these things out.

[ofxendless]

Oooop have another post

Hi! You can call me C, I go by she/her, and below is some info about me.

• I’m 25 and I will only interact with those over 21.

• My tumblr will seemingly always and forever screw me over and not show me messages properly, so please feel free to head straight to my discord at cee98x

• I’ve been roleplaying since what feels like forever. I started super young one summer before school started up, and I’ve been on-and-off ever since. I began in roleplay groups roleplaying Harry Potter, then got really into The Vampire Diaries-verse, and have also enjoyed Percy Jackson, supernatural town, royal rpgs, and a bunch I’ve popped into over the years so am open to different things.

• I do come from a land down under *cue the flute*. So AEST timezone, but my schedule is alll over a lot of the time.

• I’m looking to rp over discord. Fair warning, I am still getting the hang of rping on there and I have no idea how to do real fancy stuff but I’m a quick learner so we’ll be fine. I still feel like it was yesterday when I dragged my feet big time transferring from roleplaying on facebook to tumblr. Ah, time flies.

• I’m a very easy going person! Your length, I’ll match. Your ideas? I’ll pretty much lap up everything. Hate fandom rp? Cool not an issue at all! Hate oc rps and prefer fandom? Wicked! If I don’t know the lore well, I can try to wing it! Struggling to get a reply out? No stress! I’m well passed putting so much pressure onto things that they feel like a chore. I’d love to chat about our ships and discuss fc’s and get excited and really have some fun!

• I play mostly female muses! I know, I’m so terribly cliche, but I am pretty meh with male muses. Although, it’s been a long time since I’ve given it a go and I’m always happy to compromise! Very much wanting sapphic plots too!!

• I’m open to smut and most ideas! Don’t like super dark kinks or anything too out there but, again, always willing to try new things within reason! Plot and smut should be balanced. I also have no triggers.

• Some fandoms I’d be interested to rp if that was your jam would include The Vampire Diaries, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, True Blood, Teen Wolf, The Umbrella Academy, Bridgerton, The Sandman, Doctor Who, and I’m sureee there’s more I am forgetting. This also includes creating OC’s set in any of these universes.

• Some themes I’d loveee to explore include supernatural/fantasy/paranormal, enemies to lovers, best friends to lovers, boss/employee or professor/student, soul mate/ride or die/meant to be, fwb, ewb, age gap (legal!), horror, crime, mystery, and soo much more honestly

• Face claims I’d die to use include Renee Rapp, Emily Bader, Maia Reficco, Madison Iseman, Anya Taylor Joy, Camila Mendes, Elisha Applebaum, Hannah Dodd, Sadie Soverall, Adelaide Kane, Anya Chalotra, Simone Ashley, Josephine Langford, Danielle Rose Russell, Abigail Cowen, Conor Leslie and Zaria Simone

• Fave opposites include all of the above and more, Matthew Daddario, Noah Centineo, Robbie Amell, Henry Cavill, Rege-Jean Page, Aria Shaghasemi, Ross Butler, Jacob Elordi, Glen Powell

I’m really after some big romance plots, open to literally an array of ideas!! Love supernatural/fantasy plots, enemies to lovers, best friends to lovers, soul mate, slice of life, and anything that will give me something to obsess over thanks xxx

[blakelysco-pilot]

You Belong To Me

From the Love Letter Series

Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

The revelation that Robert Rosenthal does in fact love his best friend, Josephine Harris, comes too little too late as he’s getting ready to ship out to England. With a promise to write exchanged on the train platform, and an even bigger pinky promise that he come home to her, Rosie and Jo forge a romance detailed in their letters. Now that he’s returned home, he intends to make good on his promises.

“I’d better see you at Minton’s…”

He remembered the good natured teasing in his own voice as he began his semi-goodbye to Crosby on the hardstand the day they left Thorpe Abbotts. Croz had chuckled and promised he’d see him there; a sense of familiarity between the two as they felt their lives back home creeping upon them.

Now… well, now he was standing in front of the bar at Minton’s, fingers tapping idly on the short rocks glass in his hand, eyes sweeping over the sea of people. Men in their dress uniforms, pressed sharp; women wearing their favorite red lipstick and best stockings, all crowded together on the dance floor while the band played on.

New York was still swept up in the victory of the war; sweethearts who couldn’t get enough of dancing with their soldier who had just come home. Men looking to meet someone, to quell the ache of the last few years with a female companion.

Bringing the glass to his lips, Rosie let the familiar taste of the scotch soothe him, as he continued his people watching. Thinking back on it, sure, he had told Crosby that in no uncertain terms he’d be at Minton’s upon getting home; but it was a sentence almost identical to the one he had spoken moments before he shipped out, that resonated with him like the aftershocks of ringing a bell.

He couldn’t help but conjure up his own vision of red lips, smooth skin and a bright smile; the piece of home he had taken with him to East Anglia, and carried close to his heart (in the breast pocket of his uniform) on every single mission.

Josephine.

They had been childhood friends who grew up on the same block. Their moms were almost always having coffee together or, if the weather was nice, out on the stoop of their homes while Robert and Josephine played on the sidewalk. As kids, he had called her Jo, and she affectionately called him Robbie; and his Ma, well, his Ma would just shake her head with a fond smile and chuckle, muttering about how one day he would see it.

He’s twenty-eight now and he finally sees it, though, he supposes he saw it long before he shipped out. He had wanted to run down the block, knock on her door until her mother answered with a scowl on her face at all the noise, but something had stopped him. His Ma had said he thinks too much, but the laundry list of what-if’s had violently plagued him before deciding no, on his behalf. How could he drop that revelation on her, and then leave for god knows how long? His Ma had taught him better than that.

What he had asked her instead, was if he could write to her; but when the words tumbled forth past his lips, one or two getting tangled in his wiry mustache, she was already asking him the same thing.

“Would it be alright if I wrote to you?”

The pair both fell silent, before a soft laugh escaped Jo’s lips, and he knew he would be counting the days until he was able to hear it again.

“Should have known you’d beat me to the punch.” He grinned, head shaking in jest.

Jo just smiled and threw her arms around him, holding him close for as many minutes as she could before the conductor at Grand Central Station called for the ‘All Aboard.”

“Robbie…” She had looked up at him, big brown eyes filled with unshed tears for him; for this war, and if he had to guess, herself.

“I’ll meet you at Minton’s as soon as I’m back.” He had assured her, thumb swiping under her cheek to catch the first tear.

“You promise?”

He hated to make promises when the future was so uncertain for them, but, this was Josephine and he would be damned if he didn’t attempt to make her smile one more time before he got on that train.

“I’ll do you one better,” He grinned, holding out his right hand. “I pinky promise you, I’ll be at Minton’s, waiting for you.”

It was as close as he could get to saying ‘I Love You’.

Jo grinned, hooking the pinky of her own hand with his, just as the conductor yelled the last call for passengers.

“I’ll be waiting for your letters…” he had whispered, pulling her close once more. “With bated breath, Jo.”

“Not nearly as much as I’ll be waiting for yours,” She sniffled softly before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Come home to me in one piece, Robbie, please.”

That had been then. Before Thorpe Abbotts, Rosie's Riveters, twenty-five successful missions and reupping for a second tour. Before he had bailed out over Russia, before the horrors of Nuremberg and a hell of a journey back to base. He often thought back to that night after he had returned to East Anglia, sitting in the Officers Club with Croz, wondering if they were becoming the monsters they had been sent to fight.

No, they hadn’t become the monsters, but he had felt that the longer he was away from home the more he lost bits and pieces of himself from the ‘before’ and had to learn to live with the Robert Rosenthal of ‘after’. Would she like the ‘after’. The thought entered his mind so quickly, he almost missed it. Hell, he was still processing it all, and as he turned back to face the bar for a refill, his gaze caught on the entrance of the club.

There she was, his Jo, purse clutched in her hands as she looked around the crowded room for a familiar face. Dark brown eyes scanning over the bodies packed in like sardines, brown curls immaculately pinned up, bright red lips pursed in concentration. Abandoning his empty glass, he smoothed a hand over his curls, straightened his jacket, and pushed off the bar. Weaving his way through the throngs of people, he kept his gaze locked on her, as his feet carried him across the floor.

Rosie felt everything around him fade into a dull buzz as soon as her eyes found his. He pushed his way to the edge of the crowd, finally coming to a stop in front of her. Now, face to face, Rosie and Jo could do nothing more than stare at each other. Neither wanted to be the first to speak, to break the bubble around them, but both felt compelled to do something.

“I promised, didn’t I?” Rosie broke the silence with a smile.

He just barely made out his name falling from her lips before she was in his arms. He caught her with ease and held on tight. It was proof that she was real, that he was home, and there was nothing to fear as they stood at the entrance to Minton’s. Nobody spared them a glance as they sidestepped the couple, a sort of mutual understanding as so many others reunited under the same roof.

“Let me look at you,” Jo had pulled away first, but only letting go of him enough to let her hands slide down his arms to take his. “Home in one piece I see.

“As requested,” Rosie grinned, giving her delicate hands a squeeze. “And as promised.”

“You know better than anyone, that to break a pinky promise is as good as treason, Robert Rosenthal.”

“And you should know that I don’t make pinky promises with just anyone, Josephine Harris.”

“Well, now that we’ve settled that…” she trailed off, a teasing grin on her lips as Rosie began to guide her towards where he had spotted an empty table near the back. Close enough to get to the dance floor when they were ready, but far enough back that they could talk and still hear each other over the din of music and other patrons.

“Are dirty martinis still your poison, or did that change while I was gone?”

“Nothing’s changed,” she looked up at him as if to reassure him that it wasn’t just her cocktail order that remained the same, but the sentiments they exchanged in their numerous letters while he had been over in England. “Everything is exactly as you left it.”

In lieu of a response, he pulled out the chair for her, holding it steady as she slid gracefully into the offered seat, before moving to the chair across from hers.

Instead of sitting, Rosie moved the empty chair next to the one Jo was currently occupying, so that he could sit closer to her, as opposed to having the table between them. Once he was happy with the placement, he lowered himself into the vacant space, body turned at an angle so he could face his companion. He just barely caught a waiter moving in their direction, and flagged the gentleman down, promptly ordering Jo her aforementioned martini, and another scotch for himself. Once the waiter was gone, Rosie’s warm, much larger hand, covered Jo’s, his palms still rough from countless hours behind the yolk, causing him to internally wince as he felt her soft skin against his. The thought was quickly snuffed out as her hand turned upward to his, their palms meeting before her fingers intertwined with his on the table top.

“I missed you,” Jo spoke first this time, breaking the silence. “So much, Robbie.”

“I missed you too. Like you wouldn’t believe,” He admitted. “Your letters, they were the only thing I looked forward to. Just don’t tell my Ma that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Major.” She teased.

Rosie made a show of wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, mustache twitching upward as he smiled at Jo, stopping only when the waiter returned with their drinks. He watched as she lifted the martini glass to her lips; delicate fingers holding the top of the glass, nails painted a bright red, her eyes watching him over the rim as she took her first sip. He felt parched, regardless of the drink in front of him, as he watched her move with such precision and grace. Something he had missed sorely over the last few years, and fully intended on appreciating now that he could.

“Did they make it right?” He asked.

“Perfect,” She nodded, placing the glass back on the table. “Just as good as I remember.”

“It can’t have been that long since the last time you were here.” Rosie spoke, lifting his own glass to his lips.

“I haven’t been since… well, since the night before you left.”

“Minton’s is your favorite place! You mean to tell me you haven’t been here since–”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Jo finished for him.

Her confession hung in the air, Rosie both shocked but warmed at the thought that she hadn’t been here without him and that the last time she was here had been with him. That she reserved this place as something that belonged to just them. He felt there was no better time than to drop his own truth bomb; he only hoped it didn’t send her running back out the door.

“Since we’re confessing things,” He started carefully. “I uh.. I want you to know that I carried your picture with me while I was gone.”

“…you did?”

“Every day,” he nodded. “I took you on every mission with me.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect after confessing all of that to her, but the glistening of her own eyes as she looked back at him wasn’t it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what… I didn’t mean to make you cry, Jo.”

“Shush,” She spoke quickly, one finger over his lips. “You wonderful, handsome man.”

His eyebrow quirked in response. It was all he could do given that her finger was still over his lips, and she had asked him to stop talking. But he wanted to do more than just keep talking. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her silly, and then take her on the dance floor and spin her around until they were both giddy and dizzy and drunk on each other. And then he wanted to kiss her some more. All too gently, he took her hand in his, moved it away from his lips, and carefully tugged her towards him until she was close enough for him to wrap her up in his arms.

“I should have kissed you that day at the train station,” Rosie started. “I was convinced you wouldn’t want me the same way I wanted you, and there were so many what-if’s, and then I was leaving. Truth be told, I should have kissed you long before the train station.”

“I’ve always been yours, Robbie,” She smiled. “We just took the scenic route.”

And then there was silence, save for the gasp that Jo let loose as Rosie’s lips finally descended on hers. Firm, yet gentle, and with the slight tickle of his mustache, he poured every ounce of himself into making sure she knew just how much he loved her without words. Because the words had been written in many letters over the course of years; phrased with care and longing for each other, a desire that grew much like stoking the flames of a campfire until it reached the point of blazing uncontrollably and there was no turning back. For Rosie and Jo, the fire burned and neither cared to put it out, or attempt to quell the flames.

When they finally pulled apart, the need for oxygen too great to withstand, neither could stop their smiles from growing. There it was. Their love for the ages, that they had planted, grown and nurtured during the days of war, was finally seen blooming under the dim lighting of Minton’s Jazz Club.

“I love you, Jo.”

“I love you too,” She grinned. “More than I could have ever said in any letter.”

“Yet somehow, I always knew. I wonder how that happened.” He teased her, leaning forward to press his lips to hers again.

The smart remark she had been ready to dish his way died on her lips as the band began playing a song that had Rosie tapping out a beat, eyes widening with mirth as he grabbed Jo’s hand and stood, pulling her up with him.

“Come on, pretty girl, let's dance!”

He led them through the crowd of people until they reached the dance floor, and then he found them a spot where he could hold her close and spin her in his arms until his heart's content. The band played on, an Artie Shaw tune that had Rosie laughing to himself as he thought back to the sound of his crew imitating him as they sat around the poker table at the Flak House, way back when. It was a story he had only briefly shared in a letter that he had written from Coombe House during a night he couldn’t find sleep. But now, the sounds of Artie Shaw brought him a smile, as the woman in his arms smiled back at him.

The band moved into a slower song, and Rosie pulled Jo closer, pressing their bodies together as they moved together, cheek to cheek.

“You really took my picture with you on every flight?” She spoke quietly, her voice for his ears only.

“I did,” Rosie nodded. “I kept it in my jacket, close to me. Except for that one time.”

“You know… when your mother got that telegram from the War Department that you had gone down, she ran down the block to our house so I could read it.”

“Oh honey…”

“I refused to believe you had left me without a proper chance at us. Selfish as it may seem, I couldn’t picture my life without you.”

“You won’t have to; not now, or ever. I promise, I’m not going anywhere ever again where you can’t go too.”

“Pinky promise?”

“More than that,” He grinned, before pressing his lips to her own. When they pulled apart they couldn’t help the smiles that took hold. “We can seal this one with a kiss.”

Read Part 2 Here

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

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@winniemaywebber @rosiesriveter @bobparkhurst @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @rowdy-redhead @sagesolsticewrites @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd

[winniemaywebber]

It's Been A Long, Long Time: Lover, Come Back

Harry Crosby x Jean Crosby

There's a surprise waiting in the mail for Jean Crosby - the news of her husband returning home a four week furlough. How ever much happiness this brings her, she must contend with the sadness of her best friend and roommate, Jo, who is facing the harsh realities of her own sweetheart, Rosie, reupping rather than returning home to her.

A warm evening breeze sweeps past Jean and Josephine as they begin the short walk home from the bus stop. It was finally Friday, the two girls looking forward to a couple days of rest over the weekend. They liked to keep one weekend a month free of any plans, where they could just laze about the house in their pajamas and rejuvenate before entering the workforce reality again on Monday morning - this weekend, the final one of June, was the one they’d chosen for the month, both of them greatly looking forward to it.

As they approach the brown brick house in the middle of a neat cul-de-sac, Jean spots the flag at mast on the mailbox. “Get the mail, doll,” she smirks, knowing Jo was practically chomping at the bit for the next letter from her love. Robert Rosenthal had just re-upped, separating the couple for much longer than Jo had initially envisioned, the subject always covered with disdain and sharp words whenever it was brought up. Jean knew by now to avoid it unless Jo herself sounded off about it.

With a heavy sigh, she silently hands the stack of mail to her companion after quickly rifling through it, hoping to spot that familiar scrawled penmanship on an envelope. “Not today,” Jo says through subtly gritted teeth, holding her hand out for the keys and unlocking the door before throwing her purse on to the telephone table. “It’s been two weeks, what on Earth could he be doing? Do you think the letter simply got lost?”

“No, dear,” she sighs. “You know mail has been a little slow lately, maybe it’s just taking its time to get here from England.”

“You don’t think…” she gulps, pausing with the fear that grips her throat, “you don’t think he’s the one that is lost, do you?”

“Goodness, Jo, darling,” Jean comforts, wrapping her arm around her friend’s heaving shoulders as she sits down on one of the dining chairs. “Sweetheart, you know Binger would contact us at the first sign of any trouble like that, hm?”

“I guess,” Jo shrugs. “Get it over with then. What do you have?”

Jean flips through the envelopes, spotting the only other handwriting that’s familiar to her. Jo sees it too, her eyes widening with fear as they fill with tears.

“Now, doll,” Jean says, trying her best to keep a calm voice. “I’m sure it’s just him writing to me to tell me the goings on on base. Breathe, Josephine.”

“Mhm,” she nods, her brow furrowed with the effort of speaking through a closed throat. Jean tears the letter from its envelope and begins to read.

“Mrs Crosby,

I’ll be on my way home to you next week. I’ll be with you for four weeks and I can hardly wait.

See you in New York.

Binger.”

Jean’s mouth drops open, trying to formulate words that won’t come out.

“Well?” Jo urges, eyes darting across her friend’s face to gauge any emotion. “What is it?!”

“He’s–he’s…”

“Spit it out, Mrs Croz.”

“He’s coming home!” Jean squeals, the information finally sinking in and causing her to emphatically jump up and down, her heels clacking on the kitchen floor. It’s when she stops to smile at Jo that she sees her face fall, hand on her chest to steady the ragged breaths she’s pushing from her body. “Jo? Oh, darling. Come here.”

“Should be me hugging you, not the other way around,” she sobs, dampening Jean’s dress. She gulps and sniffs, Jean pulling a chair from the head of the table to sit next to her. “I’m sorry, I really am happy for you, it’s just–”

“I wasn’t being fair,” she says with a shake of her head. “Being that excited wasn’t right of me.”

“No! You should be excited; you’re about to see your husband after two years. It’s just…I don’t know, Jean. I’m so…”

“Angry?”

“Yes!” she blurts out, wiping at her face angrily. “How could he sacrifice the future we’ve been planning together because he’s just so prideful? It makes me so mad. So disgustingly mad.”

“I know,” Jean soothes, holding Jo’s head to her. “But at least you’ll worry less with Bing around.”

“How?” Jo replies, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“He won’t lie to you. He’ll tell you what’s what. The truth about how Robert is truly coping.”

“That’ll help, I guess, but–”

“But you’d rather have him home,” Jean interjects. “To dance with at Minton’s and go home together.”

Jo nods sadly, fresh tears springing into her eyes. “I just want my Robbie home with me,” she weeps, whimpering like a small child.

“I know, darling. I know.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” Jo sniffs. “I really am happy for you, Jean. When will he be here?”

Jean pulls the letter out again, eyes rushing over the words. “Next week,” she nods. “Wants me to meet him in the city.”

Jo looks over at the note in her hand, scanning over it herself. She inhales, bracing herself for the reaction to what she’s about to suggest. “I’ll call Jules in the morning.”

“Whatever for?” Jean screeches, eyes narrowing.

“I can’t be here while you and Harry, you know…” she pauses, lips purse to try and hold in a juvenile giggle. “Make up for lost time.”

Jean releases the most girlish little giggle that causes Jo to break into the same laughter, the two girls holding each other as the amusement peels off them.

“While you’re correct - we absolutely will be doing that - it isn’t fair that you should have to go somewhere else. This is your home, Jo.”

“I’ll come right back after Harry has returned, mark my words. But, I don’t want to hear, well…all that making up for lost time!”

“No, no, I get it. You have to promise me you’ll come home though. Please?”

“Darling, I promise. Aside from Robbie, you are my person.”

“And you’re mine, too.”

***

With a heavy sigh, Jean exits her eerily empty house. When she had asked Jo to move in with her all those months ago, she could never have imagined an outcome where she was alone again after so long. Part of her understood why Jo had left, agreeing with the idea that the Crosbys needed some much deserved alone time after much time apart. However, the part that she hated was this; the underlying, constant loneliness until Bing was home with her again.

Josephine had kept to her word, calling Jules the day after the pair had received Jean’s good news. She had also received a call from Vika - the girl now an integral part of their little group since they’d met at the beach - offering Josephine a few nights at her family’s hotel.

“It’ll be like a holiday,” Vika had teased, sipping at a weak martini. “It’ll be fun, a way for us to get to know each other a little better.” Jo had agreed emphatically, Jean even spending a night there with her to have a little time with the girls before the big day.

Jean spots the girls waiting at the bus stop the moment the brakes of the vehicle hiss, them all waving at one another so enthusiastically that Jean is sure all their arms may drop off. They greet one another with a girlish, juvenile squeal, the girls pulling Jean into a tight embrace. Shouts of “Hi, Mrs Crosby!” and “Eeee, the big day is tomorrow,” echo across the busy city streets as they begin their jaunt to their favorite dress shop.

***

“Remind me again which ones you liked best in the magazine?” Jo asks as she picks through racks of beautiful dresses. She finds one that Jean falls in love with instantly: a mulberry swing dress with a sweetheart neckline.

“I don’t think I need to,” Jean exhales, taking the dress from her friend. “This is gorgeous.”

“So very you, my girl,” she smiles, going back to the rack in front of her. The hangars scrape as she leafs through, a furrow upon her concentrated brow. “Is it too premature to find one for when Robbie comes home?”

Jules seems to have the same idea, rifling through a discount rack at the back of the store as Jean scouts around to find where the dressing rooms are located. Jules holds a dress up to her body, sashaying this way and that in front of Vika.

“What do you think?” she asked, a worried tone to her voice.

“Hm, not really your color, Juliet. How about…” Vika rifles through the rack herself, finding a beautiful light green a-line dress that she knows will compliment her friend perfectly. “This?”

“Vika, you’re a dream,” she compliments, admiring how the color brings out her eyes. “Aren’t you looking for something?”

“Me?” she laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t have a sweetheart to dress up for, you know that.”

“Why don’t we find you one?” Jean asks, pulling the velvet curtain back on an unoccupied stall. “I’m sure one of the boys’ friends will be raring to have a date with you.”

“My goodness, yes!” Jo replies, eyes lighting up for the first time in a week. “Say, who was the man Olive mentioned in her first letter to you, Jules? Douglass and someone? Benjamin?”

“Bernard. Benny Demarco.”

“That’s the one!”

“I’m sure he’d love that. He’s with Johnny right now…” At the mention of his name, the reminder of where he is waiting out the remainder of this dreadful war, Jules suddenly lets out a little weep. “Sorry, girls, it’s just…sometimes I just forget and it all comes flooding back to me.”

“Oh, darling,” Jo coos, holding her. “I understand.”

“We all do,” Jean squeaks, making herself scarce behind the heavy drape. Once in there, she herself lets a thick cry escape her throat, covering her mouth to muffle the sound. Of course she understands; those endless nights without her husband, waiting for a phone call or a sweet love letter - though those had become scarce these last few months. She can’t stop the tears falling down her rouged cheeks, mascara falling down her face in thick, black trails as she pulls her chosen gown on her tense body.

“Jean?” Jo calls, her voice still wavering with emotion.

“Yeah?” Jean croaks in reply, her voice cracking again. “Be right out.”

Before she can wipe her face and make her exit, Jo scrapes back the curtain to find her friend in a hell of a mess: eyes puffy and swollen, lips red from where she had bitten them to keep the wails at bay, a stress rash attacking her pale neck. “Jean, whatever is it?”

“I don’t know, I just feel–I feel like an imposter. And I feel like I’ve let you all down and–”

“Oh my goodness, darling, come here.” Jo scoops Jean up from almost falling, sitting down with her on the dressing room floor.

“I feel like I’ve failed you all.”

“Now, what on Earth are you talking about?”

“Here’s me saying I understand how you and Jules feel, yet what are we here for? To find me a pretty dress for my husband’s furlough. I feel like I just should keep my mouth shut. I feel so unfair towards you both and–”

“Now, Jean, that’s enough,” Jo replies sternly. “You are not to feel this way, do you understand? We are so happy for you, can’t you see that?” Jean nods, sniffing and wiping her tears away. “Of course we are a little envious - as would you be if it was Robbie coming home, not your Bing. The same would be said for if John were still with the fellas and he got furlough. You see?” There is a pause as Jean nods along, trying to formulate a sentence without her voice faltering. “While I am excited to see Croz, I do wish it were Robbie. I keep thinking about the life we were meant to start and he chose–”

It is Jean’s turn to comfort her friend, holding her close as they both weep together. “Look at the state of us,” Jean laughs, sniffling. “What a sight.”

“Yeah, well,” Jo weeps, pulling a handkerchief from her purse. “Nobody else I’d rather cry with, hon.”

“Me, too.”

“You’re my other half, Jean. Robbie is absolutely my soul mate, but you? Well, I thank this ghastly war for putting us together. You’re my person, Mrs Crosby. I am so blissfully happy for you.”

“Ditto. Jo?”

“Yes?”

“Love you.��

“Softie…I love you, too.”

***

Jean almost collapses all over again when she hears the price of the dress. After she and Jo had calmed down, Jo had buttoned her into it. It had fit her like a glove, the material clinging to her perfectly. “Jean!” Jo had gasped, hands on her cheeks. “You’ve got to have it!”

Now checking out, the price had taken Mrs Crosby aback just a tad. Rummaging in her purse for extra cash, Jo pointedly lays down a stack of notes. “Had a bit of a whip round,” she winks, placing a hand on top of Jean’s to stop her panicking. “It’s from all of us.”

“Josephine!” she gasps, clinging to her. “And girls, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, doll,” Jules replies. “I know Harry will fall to his knees the moment he sees you in that. Dare I say, you won’t be wearing it for long.”

“Juliet!” Vika urges, giggling nonetheless.

“What? Am I wrong?”

“Let’s hope not!” Jean replies, taking the dress’ garment bag from the teller. “Come on, I need a drink.”

***

The girls arrive back at Vika's family’s hotel just before nightfall, Jean carefully uncovering the hidden martini ingredients from her suitcase. “Sure is hard to keep cocktail making quiet,” she laughs as there is a sudden rap on the door.

“Shit,” Juliet giggles, stashing the bottles under the blankets. The four of them laugh like schoolgirls at a sleepover, Jean laying across the smuggled alcohol as Vika answers the door, shushing her friends.

“You need to stop!” she whispers, trying to be stern but the tone is cracked with a fit of giggles, Vika covering her mouth to stifle the laughter. “Girls, stop it, I’m going to crack a rib!” She waves her hand in front of them all, them all hushing immediately.

“Mammi,” she greets, her voice going an octave higher.

“Ruthvika,” she says, nodding towards the girls. “Please remember to keep it down, yes? We still have guests.”

“Yes, mammi, of course.”

Mrs Patel looks between her daughter and the girls, beginning to speak in Gujarati as her glance carries on going between them all. “Okay?” she finishes, walking towards the door. Vika nods again, running to open the door for her.

“Goodnight, Mrs Patel,” the girls all chorus, their warmth seeming to envelope the room. Jean can see that Vika feels it, her body seeming to relax the moment they speak.

“Goodnight, girls,” she replies, smiling at them.

Vika closes the door before leaning against it, exhaling and holding her chest dramatically. “That was close.”

“Sure was, doll,” Jules giggles, the bottles clanging as she pulls the blanket back. “Now, who’s up for a drink? We need to have one for our Mrs Crosby, who we are so excited for.”

“We certainly are,” Jules replies, holding on to Jean’s hand and grinning at her. “We love you, Mrs Croz. Truly.”

“And I love you all, too. So much.”

***

“This is it,” Jo says, as she and the group hear the whistle of a train in the distance. “Now, have you got everything?”

“I think so,” Jean replies, her voice tiny, tight and anxious. She chews at the inside of her mouth with worry, the nausea beginning to settle in with each moment the train draws closer.

“Enough of that, Mrs Croz,” Jo scolds as she sees her friend's eyes glaze over and continuously bite her lips. “You'll make yourself bleed.”

“Speaking of having everything,” Jules perks up, “do you have a book for the journey, doll?”

“I don't,” she squeaks, remembering the rushed packing she had done days ago. “I didn't even think of anything like that.”

“Well, luckily for you, I did!” She triumphantly smiles, pulling a small paperback out of her purse. “Thought you'd enjoy this one. It's one of my favorites - Olive’s too.”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Jean reads, stroking the titled cover. “Thank you, Juliet. So much.”

“And this is from Mammi,” Vika joins, handing her a small paper bag. “In case you get hungry on the way.”

“Oh, girls. Thanks ever so.”

The four of them look between one another, an awkward silence hanging in the air as Jean and Jo catch each other's eye.

“Come on, Ruthie,” Jules says, taking her by the arm. “Let's go wait inside, yes?”

“Fantastic idea. Bye, Jean!”

With Jean and Jo left alone for the first time in days, it takes everything in Jean to not break out into sobs. A moment of silence passes between them, the pair seemingly lost for words for the first time their entire friendship. Jean opens her mouth to say something, distracted by Jo pulling her into a tight hug.

“Have the most wonderful time, Mrs Croz.”

“Jo…I–I'm so sorry.”

“Enough of that, darling. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But…”

“No buts, lady. I'll see you soon, okay?”

“I'll miss you so much.”

“I'll miss you, too. But, believe me, this is a good thing,” she sighs, pulling out of the hug, but keeping her hands on Jean’s shoulders. “For both of us.”

“All aboard!”

Jo hands Jean her suitcases, Jean planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Love you, doll.”

“Love you more.”

***

The train carriage feels stiflingly hot, Jean removing every layer she possibly can while trying her best to look calm. Her jacket is flung onto the seat next to her, followed by her silk scarf and pretty gloves, sweat dripping down her back and making her unable to get comfortable in the plush seat. She tells herself to try and keep breathing, taking shaky inhales and exhaling them as the train chugs on. Jean pays no mind to the scenery zooming past. It has all suddenly become so real, the reality weighing on her that she is about to see her husband for the first time in years.

Would he still love her? she wonders, as she pulls the book Jules gave her from her bag. Would he still think she’s pretty? Would he even be the same man? She wasn’t the same woman, that much was certain - she felt she had grown in great strides since he had shipped out, learning so much about herself in the time they had been apart.

The words begin to blur together on the page, Jean barely able to make a sentence string together in her mind by the time the train stops. The conductor calls out their location: “This is Grand Central Station. This stop is Grand Central Station.”

She feels the nerves bubbling up in her gut, the butterflies causing her to become weak at the knees and she hopes they can hold her up long enough to disembark the train carriage. As her foot touches the ground of the platform, she cranes her head up in the hopes of spotting Bing on the platform, the station seemingly the busiest it’s ever been on today of all days.

It’s when she cuts through a group congregating around a bench that she spots him in the distance - his hair looks different: slicked back to the side, his usually tousled curls combed into some new found submission, not tumbling down his forehead carelessly like they used to. He stands taller, hands less fidgety and his aura less anxious. Jean finds herself frozen to the spot, jagged breaths leaving her parted lips as she takes him in for the first time in what feels like forever. She’s not even sure she recognizes him at first; his sweet face is a little more aged from the stress and horrors he’s endured since leaving for England. But it’s his eyes - those big, brown, downturned cow eyes that send her heart aflutter and make her brain register that it’s really him. Those same eyes light up in recognition, his mouth slightly agape as she sees his chest fall at the sight of her after all these years.

She begins to run, closing the smallest space that’s been between them in years and leaps into his arms.

“Darling,” she weeps, her throat closing as tears fall onto him. “Darling, darling,” she repeats, her arms wound tightly around his neck.

“Jean…oh, Jean,” he murmurs into her, holding her just as tightly. “Let me look at you.”

He places her down on the ground gently, as if he were touching a precious antique. “My goodness, Mrs Crosby,” he says, taking her chin in his hand. “I could just kiss the face off you.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she giggles, the sound cut off by her husband’s mouth capturing hers in a tender kiss, neither of them wanting it to cease.

“I love you,” he murmurs into her mouth, never breaking the affection. “I’m sorry I ever went away.”

“I love you, Binger,” she replies, kissing him over and over, not caring who is watching. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

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

[sagesolsticewrites]

Meet Ruthvika “Ruthie” Patel 🪔

Name: Ruthvika Patel

Age: 26

Birthplace: Harlem, Manhattan

Home: Lynbrook, New York

Star Sign: Virgo

Born to immigrant parents from India, Ruthvika Patel— Ruthie to… well, pretty much everyone with a (ahem) lighter complexion—  is doing her best to find happiness in a life stuck working to keep her parents’ hotel afloat. Her one solace is coming back in contact with her old school friend, Juliet Thompson. And when Juliet invites her along to a celebration of her engagement to one John Brady, who is she to refuse?

A certain husky barreling into her legs as she wanders the streets of New York, utterly lost, leads to a chance encounter with pilot Bernard “Benny” DeMarco. Swept off her feet by his charm and kindness, quiet Ruthie is lovingly tugged along into her friend’s little family, and she has… absolutely no idea what to do.

A fairly sheltered life has left her unprepared for the friendships she finds in the girls— her new friends Olive, Val, Jo, and Jean all seem eager to fit her into their little gang, though with her accent and noticeably caramel complexion, fitting in in 1940’s New York has never been her strong suit. And she has even less of a clue how to handle the attentions of a certain pilot; how does she know that the fluttering in her chest isn’t how all girls feel around a good male friend? It’s not as if she has any experience in that area. And even if she could admit her feelings to herself, she has no guarantee he feels the same. The true obstacle, though, are her parents: traditional, conservative, Gujarati, the Patels will have no part of a white man attempting to court their good Indian daughter.

In stepping out from the shadows of her quiet life, Ruthie is pulled along into the sunshine with her new friends, with a guarantee that no matter what happens, her little life will never be the same.

Part 1 of Ruthie’s story is coming soon! 👀

@winniemaywebber @ginabaker1666

[winniemaywebber]

omg this but it's our Jean, Jules and Jo!!! <3

I love that one (1) glass of wine turns into a night of tipsy thirsting over hot celebrities with the girlies this is so fun 🤭

[burntthecity]

hi all, updated plotting search post coming at you. i'm attempting to get my oc muse back after a slight drought with some of my most wanted fcs, opposites and pairings atm. although you can assume i’m searching for romantic plots unless stated otherwise, i also love platonic and would be happy to do friendship plots. everything is under the cut!

fyi, i will do f/m, f/f and f/nb plots! :)

wanted fcs/people I’d like to use: shelley hennig, joseph gordon-levitt, cody christian, rachel sennott, emeraude toubia, elle fanning, bill hader, zendaya, dylan arnold, eve hewson, sophie cookson, hailee steinfeld, josephine langford, victoria pedretti, virginia gardner, elizabeth lail, brenton thwaites, paul mescal, sarah pidgeon, robbie amell, jennifer morrison, vanessa morgan, bruna marquezine, hande erçel, grace van patten, charlie heaton, gideon adlon, greta onieogou, diana silvers, sophia carson, daisy edgar-jones, devon bostick, arden cho, molly gordon, phoebe dynevor.

general opps i’d love: nicholas galitzine, peter gadiot, lola tung, lakeith stanfield, diego luna, josh hutcherson, caitlin stacey, ben feldman, ayo edibri, lizeth selene, ryan gosling, rachel sennott, gael garcia bernal, michiel huismen, molly gordon, ruby cruz, vanessa kirby, victoria pedretti, felix mallard, penn badgley, grace van dien, madison bailey, taron egerton, aaron taylor-johnson, lakeith stanfield, shelley hennig, nick robinson, ross butler, gael garcia bernal, dominique provost chalkley, david harbour.

specific pairings (bold is who i want to write as)

nicholas galtitzine x any female (will give you your most wanted fem opposite)

luke hemmings x chase sui wonders

dylan o’brien x shelley hennig

maia reficco x kit connor

taylor swift x harry styles

jessica chastain x any male

cailee spaeny x any male

cody christian x any female (might require some backstory/an interest check, my cody oc is a hot mess lmao)

joseph gordon levitt x any female (35+)

phoebe tonkin x claire holt (platonic)

madison iseman x any f/m/nb (platonic and/or romantic, m if romantic)

priscilla quintana x any female/femme nb (platonic and/or romantic)

riley keough x any f/m/nb (platonic and/or romantic)

natalia dyer x any f/m/nb (platonic and/or romantic)

other important things:

if we’ve gotten to the point of plotting on discord before and you went ghost on me, i’ll be hesitant to plot with you again. sorry, but i hate feeling like i’m wasting my time. i am in no way innocent with this either, but i generally do not let it go to that stage and ghost. communication is key.

will also be hesitant to write against you if you only write f in f/m plots or require doubling. no one wants to be used for their males. i'd be happy to give you my guys when i have the muse for them, but i also have many queer lady charas that deserve special treatment too.

i’m a pretty low maintenance partner, meaning as much as i love plotting and sending headcanons and will happily do that with you, i don’t expect to hear from you constantly throughout the day and expect the same of you with me. as long as you let me know you’re still interested, great! but please do not pester me for replies or track me if i'm online. it makes me extremely uncomfortable. respect my boundaries and i'll do the same for you.

i am a smut fan but find my muse burns out really fast if the plot is solely smut and no real storyline to go with it. if sexy stuff happens, let's explore it! i just don't want it to be the whole plot.

despite all that seeming slightly harsh ^^, i promise i'm very friendly and approachable.

if you got through all this, bless you. please send me a message if you're interested or like this and i will come to you!!