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wexhappyxfew · 6 months ago

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Hi! I love your Silver Bullets girls, and Carrie x Douglass has a special place in my heart (even more since your last writing with them). So, for them I'd like to ask 35. (kissing their bruises and scars) from the Touch prompt list or 5. (the last thing they're thinking about before falling asleep is always the other) from the Subtle love list. 💗

HI FRIEND!!!! thank you so much for sending this and i am so so glad carrie and dougie have meant a lot, alongside the Silver Bullets girls (it seriously means SO MUCH and i always say it but its true!!!) THANK YOU FOR THE OPTIONS TOO!!!! i couldn't help myself and went with the second prompt (5) and decided to focus on some of their earlier meetings with one another and how they've developed into the people today. let's just say, i had a lot of fun! thank you SO MUCH!!!!! :D this was so much fun! <3 (and sorry for the wait for this....the semester was its usual chaos haha!)

greenland

(a/n): safe to say, for my carrie x dougie enjoyers, this was FUN to write. we get a bit into life before the annie bradshaw era of silver bullets! WITH captain birdie faulkner. BUT, because i am a sucker for someone who haunts the narrative and is simply talked about, we don't actually meet birdie here, just hear about her as a leader and all (a running theme!). we also get a bit into the storyline of what dougie means when he said he wanted to ask carrie to 'dance in greenland in THIS PIECE. and also carrie's dislike for greenland lmfao. please enjoy!!! <3

Greenland was anything but green, it seemed.

Maybe that's why the Vikings called it that - to freak the living fuck out of any sort of enemy that was bound to come this way and make them mistake what was actually a stupid ice block for well - 'green land'.

The landing had been less that superb and Captain Faulkner had dismissed them all to the bar to the left of the tarmac for the rest of the evening off.

Birdie Faulkner was everything, including a realist, and she seemed to understand that the rather harrowing conditions of their landing was something that required at least a drink or two before bedding down for the night.

With a half-finished beer, Carrie was sure that she could've fallen asleep in that very chair for the time being, but she had to present herself a best she could. With the newest B-17 group collected, Silver Bullets was formulated and crafted by that oh-so-brilliant mind of Birdie Faulkner, and they all had her to thank. And Carrie had to look a bit more put-together than usual - prove she's not just a wash-out bombardier with lackluster experience. That she deserved the spot in Silver Bullets more than anyone else.

"So?" a voice came from her right, settling into the other plush, leather seat at her side, the smiling face of Bessie Carlisle appearing as she popped open her own beer bottle, "Greenland, huh?" Carrie smirked and rolled her shoulders and glanced around.

"It's cozy, really," Carrie offered, "I'm considering taking a swim in the river, suntanning-"

"Okay, smart ass," Bessie said with a chuckle, her boot nudging her own foot, "can't say I'm complaining. Finally out of those training cycles, working towards the war. Maybe, we'll actually put ourselves to use instead of waiting just to go on a practice run." Carrie watched Bessie and then smiled widely.

"Love it so much that I may tell my future husband that 'Hey, we're moving to Greenland!', pack up the truck, babe, forget Brooklyn, home is where the grass is a solid as a fucking rock," Carrie said, sipping her beer, "not to mention the weather. I love to freeze."

"Someone's happy." a new voice chimed in, as Francis settled into a chair opposite them, sucking down a portion of her beer and grinning, "I've never seen you so enthusiastic about something." Carrie deadpanned.

"I'm really jumping for joy over here, Monty." Carrie told Francis, raising her glass of beer up in mock ceremony, "You know me so well." Francis and Bessie burst out into laughter as Carrie leaned back in her chair with a sigh and looked towards the ceiling.

"When the hell are we going to England?" Carrie asked, counting the flecks of rotting wood in the wooden ceiling, her eyes tracing the pieces that stuck out of the ceiling panels before losing her spot and recounting, "If I could just get another beer started, I'd be ready by tonight to head out. No pit-stops for me, I'm just fine with a beer stop and then jetting off to England and calling it a day."

"I wish I had the same energy towards that, Bergie, I really do," Bessie said, "afraid to say I'd ask for a few hours of sleep thought over that."

"Sleeps overrated half the time!" Carrie admonished still staring up at the ceiling, "How you gonna get a thing done when sleep's-"

"Exactly what you need." Carrie blinked a few times and into focus above her head came James Douglass - fellow bombardier, with whom Bessie had introduced on one of Carrie's first days after her transfer on base.

Carrie remembered first time seeing him coming towards them, with that carpet on his face he called a mustache, a sharp smirk, a rather loud, somewhat obnoxious voice, a quick hand-shaking, before he was wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pointing out to various areas along the base like they'd been friends for years - something that had caught her completely off guard. And ever since then, with their few chance meetings, they'd been nothing but a trifle of teasing jabs and somewhat good-natured fun.

Key word: somewhat.

Because she could never actually read James Douglass unlike Benny DeMarco or Hambone Hamilton who were just about as sweet to her as her grandma's hotcakes. He'd see her and beeline, make a few jokes, flirt shamelessly, and then go dance with the next girl who'd take his hand. He was quite the character and Carrie usually didn't engage in much conversation past when he'd come to seek her out.

Except now, he was hung above her like a hyperactive golden retriever, like the dog, Kering, that had lived down the street from the Achterberg's in Brooklyn all her life. Running out of the Wilkes house anytime the door opened, barking and sniffing and tearing around the neighborhood like a lunatic. Yeah, Kering the golden retriever who looked like he was a lunatic reminded her exactly of James Douglass.

Nice to know home was never far.

"What are you trying to say, huh?" Carrie asked, still slouching in the chair and staring up at him hovering over her. Douglass grinned at her, showing off his pearly whites and that charming look on his face and he let out a chuckle.

"You know, a little sleep never hurt a soul. Only reason we're even alive," Douglass said, reaching forward to rub her shoulder, "makes the brain happy or some shit. Makes people less….cranky."

"You calling me cranky, now?"

"Cranky. Now that's just one of many words-"

"Oh, you little-"

"Alright!" Bessie said standing and shoving Douglass pack from where he currently was occupying Carrie's headspace, "Nice to know some things never change." Carrie glanced at her as she sat up and Bessie raised a brow with a smirk.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Douglass said from behind Carrie, before he moved around her chair and took the other open seat in the grouping of four, and kicking back to relax. Carrie watched Bessie before looking at Francis, who was rather interested in her cup of beer, before glancing at Douglass, who was already looking at her.

"What?" she murmured, before he made a face and she rolled her eyes.

"How was the flight over, Douglass? Invigorating?" Bessie asked Douglass, with a smile - leave it to Bessie to be sweet as cream on any given occasion.

"You woulda thought Greenland would be, well, fucking green-"

"That's what I said!" Carrie butted in, getting looks from the other three, before settling on Douglass who was watching her, with a mixture of interest and annoyance, but she couldn't seem to decipher the two and sank back in her chair, "Greenland's cold as fuck, not some East Coast paradise I'll give ya that." She heard Douglass chuckle at that as Carrie took in more sips of beer.

"With the way we were flying in, I wasn't even sure we were gonna make it at first, I'll tell you that," Douglass said, "you sit in that nose and you swear to God that you'll smash right into the tarmac. Good ole Ev Blakely don't let that sorta stuff happen though."

"Yeah, a real crap shoot." Carrie muttered, "Thought Birdie was gonna bring us in sideways." Douglass raised a brow as he sipped his beer.

"Guess you can say they lied about the fucking weather, too," Douglass offered, "really nice place here. Could barely move my fingers and toes when I actually stood up fully." Bessie let out a chuckle and started sipping her beer again as Carrie narrowed her eyes at her.

"Hey, they're putting on some music to dance, y'all wanna come?" Judy Rybinski's joyfully said as she appeared behind Francis, "C'mon Bessie, I know that look anywhere, you wanna!"

"You know me too well, Jude," Bessie said, getting to her feet and finishing off her beer.

"I'm coming with! No shot I'm missing a chance at good music and good company." Francis said getting to her feet, "The company part may be a stretch-"

"Oh c'mon!" Judy said, taking Francis' hand before looking at Carrie and Douglass unmoved in their chairs, "You two coming?"

"I'm going to continue working on these beers, Jude, but I appreciate it," Carrie said, "Greenland's officially fucked me up." Judy let out a chuckle.

"You enjoy that then, Bergie," Judy said before looking at Douglass, "Dougie?" Carrie glanced sideways at Douglass who sat quietly, before glancing over at Carrie and then Judy again.

"Maybe next time," he said with a nod, "I promise you a dance, got it?"

"Sounds good! Don't have too much fun!" Judy called before she disappeared and some Artie Shaw began playing over the speakers.

"Good to know we have one thing in common, Bergie." Carrie slowly looked over at Douglass, that annoying nickname rolling off his lips like it had before, "We both hate Greenland." And he grinned at her and couldn't help but smirk back.

"First off, don't call me that. Second, you might be right about that," Carrie said, sipping her beer again, "you know that it's called Greenland because of the Vikings?" Douglass let out a chuckle and shook his head.

"Nah, you're fucking with me," he said, "the Vikings? The guys with the horns on their heads?"

"I'm not kidding," Carrie said sitting up and fully meeting his gaze for the first time since he had hung overtop her, "I swear to you, they did it. Tricking their enemies. For the sake of how much can they fuck a person in the head." Douglass watched her for a moment, before letting out a laugh and sipping his beer again, before smirking.

"Maybe they were just being smart," Douglass countered, "before they knew that it was just one sheet of ice for miles on end. Then they realized what a shitty name Greenland was." Carrie stared at him for a moment, before smiling slightly, unable to hold back her grin.

"You really know how to get under my skin, don't ya?"

"Guess you could say I know what makes you tick."

"Oh so now you suddenly know everything about me, huh?" Carrie said, leaning over to give his shoulder a playful shove, "Well, go on, what's my favorite color?" She watched him and noticed him glance at her lips - surprisingly - before moving back to her eyes.

"I don't know….blue probably." Carrie watched him and stilled for a moment.

"Uh….yeah, actually." she said quickly, and forced down the way her cheeks flamed (and for what she didn't know), "Alright, well, where do I come from?"

"Brooklyn." Douglass said, laughing at the look on her face, "Look, sweetheart, that New York accent ain't just a voice with Southern twang. I know if I was walking down the streets, and I heard your voice, it'd be you."

"God, what the hell." murmured Carrie as Douglass chuckled, "You won't get this - school subject." Douglass looked at her and then smirked before leaning forward.

"Something with math, right?" he asked her confidently, "You don't just get interested in this sorta shit without having some interest there." Carrie watched him and tilted her head.

"Are you mind-fucking me or something?" she asked him, "How the hell-"

"Just good at reading people I guess." Douglass said with a smirk, "Contrary to popular belief, Bergie, I usually know what I'm talking about. There's a reason I'm a bombardier and not just some journalist or something." She watched him and licked her lips.

"Is that why you joined?" she asked him, "The Air Force? Flying in B-17s?" Douglass glanced at her and nodded.

"Had to join the fight somehow, couldn't just sit back and let the fucking Nazis think they could walk all over us," Douglass said, finishing his beer, "that sorta stuff just don't fly around here. Well, except us. We fly." The two burst out into laughter, before they both died down and looked to one another. For a moment, they were quiet regarding one another with somewhat hesitant gazes as Carrie finished off her beer.

"Well, I'm gonna head-"

"Did you wanna-"

They both watched each other, before breaking out into laughter and righting themselves.

"You go." Douglass said.

"I was gonna head out. Get some rest. Pretty tired." she said quickly, her heart racing as she smiled at him with a nod, "You?" Douglass stared at her and for the first time, she saw the sudden shyness in his gaze as he glanced away from her and then back.

"Just…was gonna get another drink, but you head out, get some rest," he said, before smirking at her, "you need it."

"Oh, you asshole." grumbled Carrie knocking his shoulder before standing to her feet, Douglass following suit. The stood there for a moment, looking at one another - usually, if this were a Silver Bullets girl, she'd give them a hug, but with Douglass, she felt frozen in place. She stuck out her hand instead, to shake, and he shook her hand, and she felt more awkward than ever before, as she shook back. His handshake was firm though, and confident and suddenly made her feel like some 16-year-old girl in high school and balked.

"Well, I'll see you around." she said, stumbling back a bit, "Night!" And she disappeared quickly - like she always did. She found the barracks, promptly settled into bed, and then stared at the ceiling, counting the dried pieces of wood hanging from the panels again.

And she replayed the look in James Douglass' eyes - over and over.

And for the first time in years, all she could think about was James Douglass' eyes that had watched her like that, as she tried to fall asleep.

To say the least, it was the best sleep in months.

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