#town croz

[bcolfanfic]

What was the wedding like? I bet Curt was Bucky's best man? Was the bachelor party messy? Meatball was ring bearer??? LOL

#young vets au

first of all s/o to @swifty-fox who came up with a good chunk of these. i've been so focused on poor bucky's mental breakdown that quite honestly a part of the "they get married on paper and say they'll have a wedding...eventually" was me putting off figuring out that lore LOL. but here thee go.

they start planning it after bucky is out of the hospital and doing better. gale brings it up first- and bucky is so 🥺. obviously gale never asked for a divorce but, he still feels a little insecure about things/how much he put him through. so knowing gale *does* still want to marry him good and proper makes him a lil emotional. sweet boy.

they try to surprise each other with engagement rings and end up clashing with each others surprises bahaha. me thinks gale gets bucky a celtic eternity knot ring. bucky gets gale something like this.

big crowds/travel is still a bit of a rough spot for bucky, so it's in wyoming. in my mind they have a hugeee backyard. so cutesie homey backyard wedding it is.

curt is 1000% bucky's best man. that's his best friend and curt (this hasn't really been explored a great deal yet but it will be) quite frankly did about as much for him during his big ol breakdown spiral as gale did.

hmm idk who gale's is. choose your own adventure, its whoever you want it to be.

wearing their air force dress uniforms comes up briefly but bucky hates it so it’s tabled. gale asks the guys not to wear theirs either.

all the guys come into town, of course they do. they're *so excited* not just because it's their buddies getting married but bc this is the first time all of them except for curt and kenny have seen bucky in person since his attempt. so seeing him so happy and doing better makes them happy.

demarco does indeed bring meatball.

i think since they essentially share all the same friends they have a joint pre-party a few days before. maybe the first night everyone is in town. a reunion party of sorts.

i need to do a hc list explaining all the curt/kenny lore as it exists in my head but this is maybeee the first time everyone is seeing the two of them since they aren't (badly) trying to keep that they're involved on the downlow. which everyone gets a kick out of just as much as they do bucky and gale.

both of them cry during their vows.

and, my favorite thing @swifty-fox and iame up with last night:

i know its hinted at in a few of the phone povs about bucky wanting to get sober but in my mind that's closer to when they have josie. so when they get married there is alcohol abound (lol). and gale, because hey it's his fucking wedding after all- partakes this time.

he sees bucky playing with croz's kids in the yard and gets so emotional because he just loves him so much, wants that with him and now they *can* have that together even after everything they've been though.

curt sees this and is like awww, i see that look buck! and sweet drunk gale just starts blabbering about how he's gonna put babies in him- he's gonna figure it out, JSTOR hasn't failed him yet.

to demarco, who is running around with his camera, this is the best moment of his life.

asks gale to run that by him one more time with the camera in his face.

"i said, you see my husband over there?" gale says seriously into the camera, holding himself up on curt with one arm around his waist and gesturing to where bucky is deep in drunk conversation with kenny "'m gonna figure out how to put babies in him. JSTOR hasn't- hasn't failed me yet. gonna figure that shit out and we're gonna have more kids than- than croz n' jean."

[jakes3resin]

Blondes Have More Fun

Anyways, this is probably the closest I'll ever get to writing Crack fic for this fandom, so enjoy Blond!Bucky and his ability to drive Buck and the entirety of the 100th wild with his smile and hair! Also personally I think Callum looks like a 24 year old when blond, so imagine handsome charming, nearly thirty Bucky Egan running around looking like a baby faced newbie then you'll be half a bowled over as the 100th.

It is a truth universally acknowledged at Thorpe Abbotts that Major John "Bucky" Egan can be talked into anything. Anything. So long as you were convincing and Buck wasn't around to drag him away from the dumber ideas, Bucky was down to play ball.

Curt had once talked him into using a British accent for a whole week, even in meetings with the CO. Bucky hadn't even blinked before adopting an uncannily perfect London accent. It was so convincing that some of the newer replacements had asked if the man was British.

Another time, he got into a howl off with Meatball after Hambone said he didn't know which one was worse. The pair were so loud that no one could actually tell who won. Most were too busy covering their ears. The few that weren't couldn't decide. It was officially settled as a draw, but Benny still refuses to accept that Bucky would ever beat his precious boy Meatball in anything.

There were countless tales of Bucky getting into trouble simply because someone had said within his earshot the six words needed to wreck Jack Kidd's night.

"You know what would be fun?"

The magic words. That or a dare would send Bucky careening into trouble with half the 100th behind him to watch the fireworks. Honestly, most of the time, Bucky was already getting up to his own antics, so convincing him to do something else wasn't exactly hard.

It was one such utterance of the phrase that sparked a wildfire within the 100th Bomber Group that threatened to tear them asunder and send one Major Gale "Buck" Cleven to an early grave. Or prison.

The night was like any other Friday night. Bucky had gone out with Curt and Bubbles. Buck had chosen to stay in for the night reading, and Harry had done much the same. Kidd, the minder of the entire 100th, had gone to the officer's club while the trio had gone to a local pub in the town just off base. So the usual minders of this trio of mad men were missing, and as the saying goes, while the cats are away, the mice will play.

It started as Bubbles's idea.

At least that's what they think it started as. A few too many drinks had left the evening a blur for Curt and Bubbles and a blank for Bucky. That last fact will be important later.

"You know what would be fun?" Bubbles said, or perhaps it was Curt. Or maybe it was Bucky. But it was probably Bubbles. The man was quite the troublemaker, he just hid it better behind soft smiles and manners.

"What?" Bucky leaned against the bar to grin at Bubbles. Well perhaps a more accurate word would be slumped, he'd spent half the night playing some weird darts game that required shots for every bull's eye Tommy made. It was safe to say that the man was on the downhill slide to wasted. Curt kept an ear on the pair as he flirted with a pretty blonde next to them at the bar.

"Being blonde." Bubbles sighed. "All the movies make it seem fun, don't they? And Major Cleven sure is pretty with his blond hair. I bet it'd look really pretty as well on your curls Bucky."

"Sorry, sweetheart, one moment," Curt turned his head to stare at Bubbles. "You think Buck's pretty?"

"And you don't?"

"I do!"

"We know you do, Bucky," Curt sighed and leaned further onto the bar to make eye contact with Bubbles. "I mean, sure, objectively, you could say he is, but I thought you were wrapped up with Croz and Jean?"

"I am, but I still got eyes don't I? 'Sides ain't there something fun about being blonde?" Bubbles leaned against his cupped hand on the bar. "Can't a mind wonder?"

"Yeah Curt," Bucky rose in defense of his friend slinging an arm around Bubble's neck. The move was so uncoordinated that the pair were nearly sent to the floor. "Why can't Bubbles wonder? I wanna go blond, too!"

Curt rolled his eyes at them, but an idea was taking root in his head. An amazing idea.

"Well," Curt grinned. "Why wonder when you can do?"

"You boys aren't thinking about bleaching your friend's hair on your own are you?" A voice cut through the trio's conversation. It seemed the blonde woman from before had been listening in and was rightly amused by the drunk airmen's conversation.

"Cause you'll fry his whole head off in the state you're in, and the world would mourn those curls." She lifted a hand to tug gently on one of Bucky's loose wavy curls. He smiled at her, loose and happy. Usually, only Buck plays with his hair, but Bucky doesn't mind when anyone else does. Buck does though, which Bucky still hasn't figured out.

"Well, how do you suppose we save his curls then," Curt paused searching for the woman's name, "Nora."

"Good job, I half thought you were too drunk to remember my name handsome." Curt smiled, and Nora kept talking

"There's a drugstore down the way. Stocks up on anything a girl, or flyboy in need, could ever need. I'll help you boys out." Nora laughed. "You'll look mighty pretty dyeing those curls blond Major. I wanna see 'em first."

With Nora leading the way, the trio tripped over themselves into chaos. Bucky laughed as Bubbles rambled on about how pretty he'll look as a blond. Curt butting in to say that he'll need to either shave his mustache or bleach it too.

On base, Buck felt a shiver run down his spine as he laid down to sleep. Writing it off as just a chill from the cold British air, the man fell asleep.

Bucky groaned as he woke up. Voices drifted around him. His head felt like it'd be screwed off and used as a bowling ball all night, and as desperately as he wanted to go back to sleep, he knew that now that the sun was up, he was up.

"Curt, if that's you snoring on my legs, I'm gonna kick you off." Bucky pulled his pillow further over his head, trying to block out said snores.

"Fuck off," Came the grumbled reply. An elbow dug into the back of his knee.

"Get off," John whined. Curt huffed shifting just enough to let Bucky free his legs. "Why didn't you go to your own bed?"

"Yours is comfier." Bubbles murmured next to the pair, and Bucky really was starting to wonder what the hell they all drank the night before.

"It's the same cot as everybody else." Bucky grumbled, finally sitting up. Bubbles and Curt immediately swooped onto the space he abandoned. "Rude. You just want me for my bed."

"But it's such a lovely bed, sweetheart," Curt buried his face in Bucky's pillow, not even glancing at the man he was stealing from. Bubbles seemed to have immediately fallen back to sleep.

"I'm getting breakfast," Bucky yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "Meet me there when you idiots wake up. I'll sneak you in."

"Sir, yes, sir." Curt's hand flopped into a mock salute that had Bucky rolling his eyes.

First things first, breakfast. Or at least coffee for his hangover.

Getting dressed as quickly as he could, Bucky didn't even waste time checking how he looked in a mirror. He went to smooth down his mustache only to curse when he found it missing. Thinking Curt must have shaved it off as a joke, Bucky groaned but moved on. He didn't even touch his hair after that, just walked right out of his barracks. The only thing that mattered to him was coffee and how he'd get his hands on a gallon of it. It wouldn't be the first time he ran around base with his hair going every which way. No one would bat an eye.

Had he known what kind of chaos he was about to wreck upon the poor, unsuspecting airmen of Thorpes Abbotts, Bucky would have at least styled it a bit. You know, just to ensure maximum chaos.

The bike ride to the mess wasn't awful. The fresh air helped at least. With his sunglasses on, his head felt less like it was going to split open and more human. What was weird was how everyone stopped in their tracks to watch him ride past.

"Is that-?"

"No way!"

"Someone get Kidd!"

"Holy shit!"

"Major Cleven is going to lose his mind!"

"Do you think he has a twin?"

"Hell if I know, I can't believe Major Cleven let him out of the barracks like that."

"Lord help us if there's another Egan running around."

Bucky ignored them. He was way too hungover to parse through what nonsense the boys were going on about, and he simply pedaled faster to get to the officer's mess. He just wanted his coffee.

"Major Egan, sir!"

Bucky glances up from securing his bike and meets the eye of one of the newer boys. Kid barely looks old enough to have enlisted.

"Uh," Bucky searches his memory for this kid's name. Bucky tried to know some of the newbies names, but it was harder than he'd ever admit. "Monroe, right?

"Yes, sir!" The kid squeaked, a bright tomato blush spreading across his cheeks. Bucky winced, the sound drilling right into his brain. "I wanted to say you look nice today, sir. Your, your hair is real nice!"

"Thanks, Monroe," Bucky smiled, thrown by how Monroe managed to grow even redder. He reaches out to clasp the kid on the shoulder. "You alright there? You look like you're gonna faint. Had any breakfast yet?"

"I-I'm fine, sir, thank you!" Monroe was stock still under Bucky's hand, but he wrote it off as nerves. Some of the boys got nervous around the older pilots, especially if they were officers. "I'll be going now! Have a good day, sir!"

In a flash, the blushing replacement ducked under Bucky's arm and ran as fast as he could down the lane. Bucky watched him go, head tilted not sure what the hell just happened to him. He heard a few shrieks behind him but wrote it off as typical background noise. There was always something going on.

"Weird kid." Bucky turned to walk into the officer's mess. He'd have to tell Buck about it when he saw him next. Maybe he'd understand what just happened.

Speaking of, Buck had better have saved him a seat for breakfast. Bucky was not going to battle the morning rush as well as his hangover just to find out he had nowhere to sit.

On the way inside, Bucky ran into Veal. As in, he literally ran into the man because he'd stopped dead in his tracks staring at him. Bucky hadn't even seen the other before he practically bowled him over.

"Veal, what the hell?" Bucky groaned.

"You," Veal stared at him wide-eyed. If Bucky were less hungover, he'd get quite a kick out of this. "You, you?"

"Shaved, I know," Bucky gestured to his face. He turned to keep walking into the officer's mess. "Yeah, Curt had some fun last night."

"Wait, no! Bucky-!" Veal went to grab him, but Bucky just swerved out of the way. Nothing was getting in his way in his quest for coffee. "Bucky! Stop! Don't go in there!"

"Yeah, yeah, Veal," Bucky waved a hand behind him. "I get you're shocked, but come on, man. It's not the first time any of you've seen me without it!"

Bucky rushed in, not paying anymore attention to Veal. He walked with one purpose. Coffee. He didn't care if the other officers stopped and stared at him slackjawed as he walked past. He was a man on a mission.

"Hey, coffee, please? Whole pot if you could," Bucky smiled at the attendant, who blushed scarlet before running off. Thrown but not deterred, Bucky just shrugged and turned to find Buck. Maybe he'd be able to steal Buck's coffee.

He found Buck seated near one of the windows with his back facing Bucky. Jack was at his table, but otherwise, it was empty. Bucky started over.

Jack saw him first and choked on his grapefruit juice.

"Oh shit," Jack choked out. Buck leaned over to check on him.

"Alright, Jack?" Bucky grabbed the seat next to Buck. Jack just stared at him, eyes wide. Bucky tilts his head confused. "Buck, what's with him?"

Buck turns and freezes. Bucky stares at him. Buck stares back.

"Buck?" Bucky reaches out to shake him.

"You," Buck starts but doesn't finish. His wide blues eyes stare at Bucky's face.

"Coffee, sir!"

The attendant from before arrives with Bucky's requested pot of coffee and a cup.

"Thanks!" Bucky smiles up at the other. The attendant trips backward. Buck turns and glares at the other man. He flees.

"Buck, what the hell?" Bucky nudges Buck. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"

Buck turns to stare at Bucky again, a clench to his jaw that Bucky's knows means he's holding something back. Jack seems to have started breathing normally again.

"Your hair!" Jack says. Bucky reaches up to touch his hair. Sure, he didn't style it this morning, but was it so bad? Monroe said it looked good!

Speaking of, why was everyone focusing on his hair today?

"What about it?" Bucky's genuinely curious now. Buck's still staring at him, eyes bright, and now Jack seems to be wishing for death.

"Its-!"

"Pretty."

Bucky turns to Buck. It's his turn to stare wide-eyed at the other. A blush rises up to his cheeks. Buck's not one to mince his words, and a compliment from him feels akin to a hundred.

The entire mess hall goes quiet as Buck stares at him. Bucky smiles at him. Buck goes rigid, and Jack chokes on his juice next to them. Again.

"Bucky!" Curt slammed his hand against the window, happy as a clam and utterly sober. Bucky hates that Irish constitution of his. "Let us in!"

Bucky stands up to hoist open the window. Jack's still too busy choking on his juice to stop him, and Buck seems to have frozen solid. Bubbles and Curt fall through seconds later. The pair immediately start talking over each other happily, and Bucky is starting to wonder if he was the only one who woke up with a hangover.

"God, you should hear the scuttlebutt going round!" Curt cackles as he launches himself into the seat across from Bucky. Bubbles nods next to him, already munching on a piece of toast Bucky thinks used to be Jack's.

"Anything fun?" Bucky dumps creamer into his coffee. He moans as he takes a sip of it. God, coffee really was the best hangover cure. Bucky doesn't notice how quiet the mess hall got until Bubbles finally answers his question a minute later. Odd.

"Just how pretty your hair looks now Major," Bubbles smiled at him. Bucky reached for his hair again.

"Is it really so different?" He asks. Buck makes a noise next to him like a dying chicken, and Curt cackles.

"Blond really is your color, Bucky! You look like one of those pin up posters running around like that!" Curt reaches across the table to tug on one of his curls, drawing it down into his eyesite. Buck bangs his knee against the table with a swear. Bucky would fuss over him, but he's reevaluating his whole morning with this new information.

"Oh!" Bucky gasps. Now he feels silly. "That's why Monroe complimented me outside?"

"Pardon?" Buck's voice comes out strangled. Bucky swings his gaze back to him. Buck's blue eyes are nearly electric, and Bucky gulps.

"Monroe? Cute kid? Brunette replacement with a billion freckles that disappear when he blushes?" Bucky rambles. Curt cackles again as Jack buries his face into his hands. Bubbles grabs a slice of Buck's toast this time.

"And he stopped you?" Buck's jaw was doing the thing Bucky knows only happens when he's pissed. But why would he be mad? Bucky tilts his head to stare at Buck, curls flopping down into his eyes now that Curt's untucked them from behind his ears.

Buck clenches his fist.

"Yeah, he and Veal both stopped me before I walked in." Bucky reaches over to grab Buck's hand. "You okay?"

"I'm fine John," Buck reaches up to tuck his loose curls back behind his ear. His hand lingers, and Bucky fights the urge to press his cheek into Buck's hand. "You look real pretty."

"Yeah?" Bucky sits up straighter, leaning into Buck's space. "How pretty?"

"Like a daydream." Buck whispers, voice low. His blue eyes won't stop staring, and Bucky can tell his blush is spreading by the volume of Curt's laugh.

Oh, Bucky could just kiss the other.

"Yeah, Nora did a nice job on your hair!" Bubbles pipes up having polished off Buck's toast. "We should write her a thank you card!"

"Nora?" Buck twitches.

"The girl who dyed Bucky's hair, of course!" Curt chimed in reaching for Bucky's coffee. Bucky batted his hands away, holding desperately onto his cup. "Pretty girl too! Kept running her hands through Bucky's hair saying how nice it was."

"I think nows a good time to stop that." Jack shoved his last slice of toast in Curt's mouth.

Buck's hand was still hovering over Bucky's cheek.

"Oh, now I remember!" Bucky leaned towards Curt and Bubbles with a bright smile. "She kissed me on the cheek before we left, right?"

Buck pushed his chair away from the table with a screech. Jack turned back to his grapefruit juice with a sigh.

Buck stormed out of the building, and it was through the combined efforts of Curt and Bubbles that Bucky didn't run after him. They could hear yelling through the still open window.

"Oh shit!"

"Everybody run! Major Cleven's pissed!"

"Who flirted with Bucky this time?!"

"Buck calm down, whoever it was they probably didn't mean anything by it!"

"Outta my way Crank."

"Buck, c'mon if you go to jail, who'll stay by Bucky's side?"

"Only gotta go to prison if I get caught."

"That's right-wait, Buck, no!"

Bucky sipped at his coffee. Jack sighed and turned to Bucky.

"Would you please go stop him? I'm not explaining to Harding why one of the 100th murdered a civilian, a fellow Major, and a replacement."

"Buck wouldn't do that," Bucky rolled his eyes.

Jack stared at him, judgement clear in his eyes. Bucky shifted under his gaze.

"Fine," Bucky groaned and pushed away from the table. He refilled his cup of coffee. "He wouldn't, but I'll go stop him."

Curt and Bubbles chirped their goodbyes as they waved down an attendant. Bucky mourned his pot of coffee as he glanced back and saw Curt gleefully pouring it into a cup.

Stepping put in the sunshine, Bucky reached for his sunglasses. Finding Buck would be easy. He simply turned in the direction of the yelling and started walking.

He ignored the boys all watching him and whispering. Now that he was walking, he could see his reflection in the windows of the buildings he passed. His normally brown locks were now a bright blond. He felt a bit foolish for not seeing it earlier, but hangovers tended to narrow one's field of vision to only what's necessary.

"DeMarcooo!" Bucky called out when he saw the other walking Meatball. "You seen Buck anywhere?"

"Just missed him," Benny yelled back. He pointed to the left of the barracks. "Went that way!"

"Thanks!" Bucky called back with a smile. A few of the boys around him erupted in whispers.

"Nice hair!" Benny yelled with a grin. Bucky rolled his eyes and kept walking. Buck couldn't have gone too far, right?

He found Buck only a few minutes later outside of one of the barracks the replacements were quartered. He was leaning against a wall talking to someone.

"Buck!" Bucky jogged over. As he got closer, he realized that the person Buck was talking to was the kid from earlier. "Monroe! Good to see you again so soon!"

"Major!" Monroe squeaked, eyes bouncing from Buck to Bucky. "Major Cleven was just reminding me about a few chores that I forgot about! I'll get going! Sirs!"

The kid ran off before Bucky could stop him. Buck watched with a satisfied gleam in his eyes, and Bucky huffed out a laugh.

"You know, you don't have to act all jealous to get my attention," Bucky pulled Buck to him by wrapping an arm around his waist. "I'll still only ever look at you."

"Just making sure everyone else knows that." Buck replied, voice low and serious.

Bucky reached up his free hand to drag him down into a kiss. Buck melted into his touch. Bucky laughed into he kiss as he tried to keep his coffee from spilling all over the two of them. He pecks the corner of Buck's mouth and pulls away.

"So you like the hair?" Bucky scrunches his nose into a shit eating grin.

Buck wiped that grin off his face with another kiss. Not that Bucky was complaining, of course.

Later that night, after making sure Buck didn't actually murder anyone, Bucky found himself in front of a vaguely familiar drug store.

"Well Major, I take it your boy liked the blond?" Nora grinned, pink lips spread into a devilish smile. She leaned one hip against the drug store counter. "Surprised you made it back here. You boys weren't exactly stone cold sober when you left."

"I always remember my bets, darling. I'll forget a lot but never those." Bucky laughed and set his hat down on the counter next to her. A single blond curl fell down into his eyes. "Now, what's this about makeup?"

"Oh, Major, you'll look lovely in something peachy."

[blakelysco-pilot]

This Is Always

From the Love Letter Series

Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

The holidays are usually a time to be spent together, cold noses warmed by the fire, and joyful cheers as the New Year approaches. This year, Rosie is struggling with being away from Jo, and acknowledging the future that he dreams of sharing with her. A heart to heart with Crosby helps put things into perspective for both of them.

Read Part 3 Here Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist

January 1944

My Dearest Jo,

Happy New Year, honey pie! It’s just after midnight here, and though I wanted to be the first person to wish you a Happy New Year, I know that by the time you get this, it will be after the fact. I guess by writing this now, while it’s still ‘43 back home, I’m letting myself be greedy in being the first to send you those wishes. I hope you’re doing something fun tonight, and getting all dolled up to paint the town red. Your last letter came just after Christmas, but I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you just how happy it made me to hear that you were still doing all of your usual Christmas favorites, even if I’m not home to carry all your shopping bags back to Brooklyn after a full day in the city. Believe me, I even miss doing that, no matter how heavy some of them are. 

I got Ma’s last letter just a few days before yours arrived, and she mentioned that you went by the house to celebrate Hanukkah with her and Jeanie. I know that made her really happy, and I can’t thank you enough for keeping an extra eye on both of them for me while I’m stuck over here. My sister would argue that she doesn’t need anyone keeping an eye on her, but I’m sure she appreciates your company, and will rub it in my face after the fact that she got to spend so much time with you. That’s what little sisters do, isn’t it? 

We had a small thing in the Officers Club for the holidays; nothing too fancy, but there was music, and some good liquor that someone managed to scrounge up for the occasion. The Red Cross Clubmobile girls pulled some resources and, even with rationing, managed to bake a few cookies for us. They were good, but they couldn't hold a candle to yours. 

I have never wanted one of your Christmas cookies more than after reading your letter, and to know that Jean Crosby took over as the official taste tester this year; oh it broke my heart darling. But, I’m glad to know that you two girls are keeping each other company, and I know that Croz is happy knowing that she’s not alone. I do hope you two aren’t causing too much trouble while we’re away. Knowing you the way that I do, I know that’s a bit of a pipe dream, but one of the reasons I adore you the way that I do. 

At the risk of sounding melancholy, I’ve spent most of today wishing I could take you dancing; spin you around until we’re both dizzy, until finally we can ring in the new year with champagne. Crowded on the dance floor at Minton’s, wrapped up in each other. Maybe it’s bold of me to ask, or maybe it’s the whiskey, but would you have allowed me a midnight kiss, Jo? I can’t picture kissing anyone else as the clock strikes twelve, nor do I want to, on this holiday or any other day. I hope that by next year, we'll be able to spend the evening together, and not have to send holiday wishes in letters that take too long to get there. 

I dream of you every night, sweetheart, and every night these sweet dreams end with a kiss before I’m pulled back to reality. I’ve been dreaming of the future, and if the real thing is anything like my dreams, I can’t wait for those days to begin. I wonder,do you dream of those days too? Of building a home together, a life that’s just ours. Living in the city, maybe somewhere near Harry and Jean. We could go to the pictures on Friday nights, and sleep in on Saturday’s, warm under the blankets until we peel ourselves from the sheets only because we need to make coffee. I’d spin you around the kitchen while we made breakfast, a record on the Victrola, the two of us tangled together while the eggs burned. The more I think about it, the more it all sounds like a dream come true. 

Maybe it is the whiskey talking, but it’s getting late here. Or early depending on how you look at it, and even though we aren’t flying tomorrow, I’m sure the rest of the fellas will be returning from the Officers Club soon enough. I’ll be dreaming of you tonight, sweetheart, and counting the days until we’re together again. 

Sending you millions of hugs and kisses, and all of my love. 

Yours for always

Robbie

Rosie took a deep breath, and without giving himself a chance to second guess anything in his letter, folded it up and slid it inside the envelope. He’d address it in the morning and drop it off at APO so that it went out with the next mail call; tonight it would remain on the nightstand next to his bed, with Jo’s photo. He was still in his uniform, not having bothered changing after he returned to the Officer’s hut, and was about to take advantage of the empty shower stall, when the door swung open and Harry walked in.

“Thought I’d find you in here.” Harry spoke, hand coming up to loosen his tie. 

“Yea, I uh, wanted to get a letter out to Jo,” Rosie signed, dragging his hand down his face. ‘Or at the very least, written.”

“It’s rough around the holidays isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. Harry knew as well as he did, and he knew his friend was giving him an opening to get his feelings off his chest. 

“Probably the most difficult part of all this. We’ve spent every Christmas and Hanukkah together since we met.”

“She celebrates Hanukkah with you and your mom?”

“Jo is the best gift giver in our family, according to my sister.” Rosie grinned. 

“Sounds like your sister will be the disappointed one if you don’t put a ring on Jo’s finger when we get home.” Harry chuckled, dropping down onto his own bed, across from Rosie’s.

“She’d have to fight my Ma for the top spot, if I don’t marry Jo.” 

The two shared a quiet moment  as their thoughts drifted to a place far from England. Far from flak and casualties and torn fuselages. No thoughts of missing friends, mission counts or that damned red light never blinking off. 

Rosie knew that Harry understood better than anyone; how it felt to be so devoted to someone, and yet, he felt compelled to ask the one question that, if he had to wager, everyone asks at some point. 

“How’d you know Jean was the one?” He asked after a moment, gaze turned upward to meet that of his friend. 

“She wanted nothing to do with me when we met,” Harry balked so loudly that it seemed to echo off the walls of the Nissen Hut. “But I knew. I didn’t want to spend another day without her.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Oh yeah, you just know,” Harry nodded. “When did you know Jo was the one? And don’t tell me you didn’t…”

“Let’s just say I should have opened my mouth a long time ago.”

“Well, better late than never.”

“What if I was too late, Croz?”

Harry stood from his bed, moving around the front to lean himself against the footboard. With a determined gaze, he made sure he had Rosie’s full attention before saying what was on his mind. 

“You can’t think like that. You need to believe you’re going home to her, that you two will have a life after all this.”

“God, I hope so.”

“I don’t know Jo as well as you do,” He started. “I only know what Jean tells me in her letters, but it sounds to me like she’s really something. And I’m not just saying that because she went out of her way to befriend my wife.”

“I told her I want a life with her, a future, our own place, Saturday mornings in bed, lazy days…”

“You want the dream.” Harry nodded in understanding. 

“Told her maybe we’d move to the city, leave Brooklyn, get a place near you and Jean.”

“Sounds like we’ll be in trouble if that happens, Jo and Jean a stone's throw away from each other?”

“I think the two of us are going to have our hands full when we get home, Croz.”

“I bet they’re saying the same thing about us,” Harry laughed. “And I wouldn’t blame Jean. I’ve been a real handful as of late.”

“Oh yea, you’re causing lots of trouble all the way over here.” Rosie chuckled, propping his legs up on the bed, feet hanging off the edge so as to not dirty the sheets. He didn’t miss the slight look of distress that flashed across his friend's face. 

He regarded him carefully; he looked like he had something on the tip of his tongue. His face looked worried, like he had something weighing him down exponentially, and Rosie would allow his friend the moment if he needed it. After all, it was the holiday’s and they were the best source of camaraderie that they had; friends should be there for each other. No one understood that better than he did. 

“No, I’ve been a handful…” Harry finally continued. 

“Croz?”

“Remember after Munster? When Harding sent me to Oxford?”

“Yea…”

“They double you up when you’re at those conferences, and my roommate, she-”

“Ah jeez, Croz…”

Harry sighed, dropping his head, too ashamed to look his friend in the eye. The moment had turned in the blink of an eye, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it, or get his friend through it. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try. 

“I don’t know how to tell Jean.”

“Is this why you kept disappearing up to London? To see her?”

“How do I tell my wife that I slept with another woman?”

“You just do, Croz.”

“That’s the worst possible thing to write in a letter. ‘Honey, I miss you terribly, by the way…’”

“Alright, I see your point. But you need to tell her.”

“This fucking war,” Harry sighed. “I swear, it peels the humanity right from your bones.”

“Then you fight it.”

“More than we already have? More than what we’ve given and lost?”

Rosie knew he was referring to Bubbles, and for a moment he let his mind wander to Nash, and that first mission to Bremen. It would be easy to fold; to pack it up and let the fight take from you more and more. But he would be damned if he’d let it take more from him, and if he had to fight a little extra to make sure it didn’t take any more from his friend, he’d do that too. 

“You’re not fighting it alone, Croz.”

“Feels like it most of the time.”

“And you’re fighting for something back home, even if you feel like you don’t deserve it at the moment.”

“I don't deserve her.” 

“Yea, you do. And you’ll tell her everything, whether you write it, or tell her when we get home. And Jo and I will be there for you both.”

Harry looked like he was about to respond when the door to the Officers Hut swung open. He turned, half expecting a replacement officer, but was surprised to see Blakely and Douglass, the former with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and Douglass swinging a bottle of something in his left hand. 

“Nightcap, fellas?” Douglass lifted the bottle, and Rosie could just make out the label. Vat 69. 

“Where the hell did you get that, Dougie?” Harry’s eyes went wide at the familiar label from back home. A very expensive label. 

“Been saving it, so come on, let’s have a drink.”

“No, seriously, who’d you steal that from?” Rosie asked, watching as Blakely gathered four of the glasses the boys kept on their side tables for brushing their teeth. 

“I won it in a bet, if you must know.” Douglass grinned, pulling the wax seal from the neck of the bottle before pulling the cork out.

“The details are not of importance,” Blakely chimed in, swatting Rosie’s legs off the bed to take up the space next to him. “What is important is that we’re here, and alive, so stop asking questions and have a drink would ya?”

Douglass poured for the four of them, dropping himself down on the bed next to Rosie’s, while waiting for Harry to join them. 

“Any day now, Croz…” he groaned, glass between two fingers as he held it out for the navigator. “It’ll be ‘45 by the time you move.”

“Dougie… fuck off.” Harry stood with a laugh, brushing off his slacks before snatching the glass and taking the seat next to him. “And anyway, we’d all better be home by ‘45.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Blakely nodded, holding his glass up to cheers his friends, the only ones left that weren’t replacement crews, or trapped somewhere in the Stalag. 

The foursome sat silently as they sipped their prize whiskey, thoughts turned presumably to home and memories of Christmas and New Years’ spent with people they loved and missed. 

“Alright, what would you be doing if you were home right now?” Ev broke the silence, leaning his elbows on his knees, gaze landing on Harry. 

“His wife, dumbass.” Douglass chuckled. 

“Woah hey, none of that.” Rosie looked between the two, the rules immediately being put into place without having to say them. 

They didn’t talk like that, but he assumed it had been a bit too much whiskey already for Douglass, and with there no mission on the horizon for tomorrow, their guards were all down a bit. 

“Right, right, sorry Croz,” Douglass held his hands up in apology. “For real, what would you and Jean be doing if you were home?”

“We’d go out for dinner, but I think we’d probably be home for the bells,” he closed his eyes wistfully, and Rosie knew his friend was simply hoping that he’d be able to do that next year. “Dance in the living room, and yea, off to bed.”

Blakely nodded, reaching across to drop his hand to Crosby’s knee in a gesture of good faith, that he felt for him in a way, and was hoping he’d get that moment sooner rather than later. 

“What about you?” Ev turned to his right, finding Rosie sitting quietly. 

“What about me?” Rosie brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip and letting the taste linger on his tongue a moment. 

“Would you and Josephine be out on the town?” Douglass asked, gesturing to the photo on Rosie’s side table. 

“Oh yea, we’d be at Minton’s, dancing until they kicked us out I’m sure.” Rosie laughed. 

“Together at the club then?”

“Every year we go dancing on New Years,” Rosie started. “Christmas and Hanukkah are for family, New Years is for friends.”

“She’s more than a friend.” Harry looked at him pointedly. 

“She is, and a fella can dream that she’ll say yes when I get home.”

Blakely, who had been pulling the cigarette from behind his ear to light it, fumbled, dropping it to the ground at Rosie’s confession. 

“You got a ring?!”

“No, but, that’s my second order of business once I’m back stateside.”

“And the first?”

“To kiss the hell out of her.” Rosie confessed. 

“Good man.” Blakely slapped him on the shoulder, a smile on his face. 

It was absolutely the whiskey talking this time, but he was among friends. The trust was insurmountable. Between the confessions that had taken place before Ev and Dougie had joined them, and the warmth flowing through his veins, Rosie lifted the glass to his lips to drain it, before standing from his place on the bed. Swiping the envelope from earlier, and a clean sheet of paper from the table, he glanced at his friends with a grin, and offered a two fingered salute. 

“Gentlemen, I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going! We still have more whiskey!” Douglass hollered after him. 

“Save it for another occasion!” Rosie called back as he pushed through the doors and out into the chilly January air. 

He walked until he found a spot under one of the lamp posts, the bench undoubtedly cold as he sat down, but he wouldn’t be out here for long. Just enough time, and privacy, to get the thoughts swarming around in his head out on the page before he lost his nerve. 

Pulling his pen from his breast pocket, he carefully let the paper rest on his thigh before he began scrawling his extra note. 

Hi Sweetheart, 

I know this is coming with no context but, I want you to know how much I adore you. I know I’ve said it in different ways, and a few times by now, but, I mean it. Truly, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. And to say it from thousands of miles away, with a war on no less. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to hit me once I’m back home. 

Just know that I’ll always, always, carry your heart with the most careful of hands. I’ll keep you safe, and treasure every moment we have together. Anything you want, it’s yours, Jo. A quiet life together, or a herd of children that jump on the bed on Sunday mornings. I’ll make sure you have it honey. 

Just know, I’m yours for however long you’ll have me, Josephine. I’m hoping for forever, but that’s a question for another day. 

I love you,

Robbie 

Read part 5 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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[hogans-heroes]

Could you do some Croz and Bubbles headcanons? I know you’re more of a Buck x Bucky fan but I’m dying for more of my favorite’gators.

Yes of course! Those two are the best and adorablest I luvvvv them!

I see Crosby as more of a reserved person and not cuddly with everyone, but he’s much more comfortable with Bubbles and is very free with him with hugs and arms over shoulders and ruffled hair.

They totally lounge on one of their bunks to write letters and gossip, ending up giggling like schoolgirls to the point of tears and no one knows what they’re talking about.

Bubbles is a picky eater but Croz will eat anything not nailed down. Unfortunately since Croz is usually airsick his stomach can only handle certain foods now so Bubbles is always on the hunt for something the poor guy can keep down.

When they get a break they love going to town and going to a lake or park to eat and watch the ducks and throw rocks, stuff they used to do as kids takes their minds off the war for a bit.

They are SO competitive with EVERY little thing. Bike racing two and from the barracks every morning, who can eat the fastest (that was shut down by Kidd really quick when they both threw up after) or other random things no one else could even think to make into a competition.

Crosby likes to draw and draws the people and things around him, Bubbles is horrible at it but always keeps the drawings Crosby makes very carefully stored.

Bubbles can sense immediately when Croz is stressed after a mission and makes him shower and eat, then goes for a walk with him and just lets the quiet be soothing.

[writerpey]

Cg!Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven & Regressor!John ‘Bucky’ Egan Headcanons

masters of the air was so good I had to write something for this pair. happy series finale, everyone! sad it’s over but so happy with the show, it totally blew my expectations out of the water. pls enjoy & request more of them if u want! & please be careful reading this if you’re sensitive to the topics of the show. take care of yourselves, everyone <3

John keeps his regression tucked away from the others at Thorpe Abbotts as a secret little part of himself that, before Gale found out about it, he wished he could drop straight out of a B-17. He tried to deal with things the way all his comrades did. He drank, slept around, got into fights with the British soldiers at the bar and placed bets on the Yankees against the Cubs. It just wasn’t enough. It felt close to enough when Gale would wrap a hand around the back of his neck and drag him away from a stupid midnight decision, or when he’d be drunk enough for Gale to walk him to his bunk and help him tug off his boots with a familiar sigh.

Gale could tell when John was close to a breaking point, when his best friend was itching at his own skin and antsy to get in a plane and out of one at the same time. He knew something was different about John, especially when it would get late and John’s eyes would glaze over and he would refuse to leave Gale’s side. Gale had an inkling that sometimes John acted out just to get his attention. And when Meatball would run over John would gasp happily, the joy of a little boy emanating from his excitement.

Gale climbed out of bed one night after seeing John’s was empty, throwing on his jacket and stepping outside. Sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, John was sniffling, hands rubbing at his eyes and shoulders shaking.

“Bucky? What’s goin’ on?” Gale questioned gently, concerned for his friend and ready to take any step necessary to comfort John.

John was terribly embarrassed that night. Sniffled and cried and blubbered unintelligibly to Gale about a fog in his brain that wouldn’t go away until he felt like a kid again. That Gale made it worse, but better, and he was so fucked in the head for being like this and—

Gale stopped John’s negativity in an instant. “Bucky. It’s okay. I’m here for you. You know that, I know that. That’s all that matters.”

The pair fell into step with one another with the ease expected for two soulmates. It took a lot of coaxing from Gale to get John to not only tell him when he was feeling small, but to encourage him to regress more often to avoid all the bad decisions that came with John not dealing with war trauma properly.

John had come back to his bunk one night with a bleeding nose from an escapade in town, and the lecture he got from Gale was enough to make him regress instantly. He looked up at Gale with big, apologetic eyes while Gale’s steady hands wiped away the blood under his nose with a damp rag. “Sorry, Buck. Shouldn’t have been bad.”

As a caregiver, Gale is very accustomed to John’s needs and loves to dote on him, though he’s never afraid to pull rank on the other. His stern tone carries an air of disappointment to John when it’s necessary, which serves to make John regress fairly easily.

John has a lot of energy when he’s small, well-rested, and knows his group isn’t going to be called on mission for a couple of days. He’ll tear around base on his bike and steal extra eggs from Lemmons at breakfast, play fight with Gale and beg Curt, Rosie and Croz to play a game of baseball together. He’s at his happiest when he can be as carefree as he wants while everyone except Gale has no idea he feels small.

Gale has to work hard to reign in John on those kinds of days. “Bucky, no. You can’t take without asking. I don’t wanna hear that you’re hungry. You ate a dozen eggs.”

John is a super touchy person in general, and when he’s small he’ll literally hang off whatever part of Gale he can get a hand on. Throwing himself over Gale’s shoulders at mealtimes. Clutching the back of Gale’s jacket while running away from Curt. Trying to stick his finger up Gale’s nose for no apparent reason. He likes to annoy Gale, a little shit-disturber at heart.

On harder days for John, fresh off a mission, he gets far more needy. Gale’s heart always breaks in his chest when he wakes up to John making small noises of distress in the night. He often wakes him up with soft shushing and his hand stroking through John’s dark curls. “Just a dream, Bucky. I got you.” Gale whispers, even while knowing that truly, they lived out their nightmares. But the deep timbre of Gale’s voice and his steadying presence always soothes John, who often stretches his arms out to be pulled into Gale’s lap.

Gale really likes when John is especially small. He flushed red the first time he asked John if “maybe, you would let me read you a story?” Gale loves the quiet, intimate moments they get to have together, tucked up in a B-17 with The Hobbit in hand and the sun setting, whisked away to another world even just for a few moments. He feels untouchable with John’s head under his chin and the sound of Lemmons tapping away under the hull of the plane.

When it comes to nicknames, Gale isn’t the most creative person in the world. And quite frankly, if he even dared to call John something too sappy, John would explode from embarrassment. So Gale sticks to Bucky most of the time, but Johnny also made its way into his vocabulary. John’s ears go red and he grins very, very widely when Gale taps him under the chin with a gentle utterance of “Good Johnny.”

John calls Gale a plethora of names. They range from Buck to old man to a very shy Papa, only when John is super small and feeling especially brave. It makes Gale cover his face in kisses.

All in all, Gale is an attentive, kind, thoughtful caregiver who is stern when he needs go be with the little rascal that John is. And John is a fireball when regressed, but in desperate need of the care that Gale is always, always willing to give him.

<3

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Does Lana set up any of Bucky’s friends with her Hollywood friends? 😂😂

Oh what a fun thought!!!

I feel like Benny would mix credibly enough, Crank has a brief moment with one, John Brady loses his damn heart and soul to a singer but that doesn’t exactly work out, a few months in tinsel town has that sensible man running for the hills and the arms of a upstate New York school teacher. Still, what a couple of months.

Croz, I’m sorry to say, is down but he’s barred and in this universe I’ve already linked Rosie with a story in progress, hehe.

[cuntyaldente]

Memories Of An Old Friend - Chapter 01

Harry H. Crosby x Joseph "Bubbles" Payne | Masters of the Air (2024)

Word Count: 1,884

Warnings: vomiting (this is a Croz fic, what do u expect), slight depiction of a panic attack?, anxiety

A/N: English isn't my first language, and it's been a while since I last wrote something in it. Thanks to @bitchsleep for the Beta work <3

Summary:

“Joseph Payne, but they call me Bubbles.” Bubbles. I could tell by that face why they called him that. He didn’t seem like the others, not that serious and severe, and also not like the type of cool guys that seemed to be essential to every group. More like someone who would laugh wholeheartedly even at one of Brady’s terrible dry jokes. He looked like he just stole the sun from the sky and ate it. “Harry Crosby. Or just Croz.”

November, 1942

The nights before our missions, I spent hours going through our planned routes, making sure we had the courses right and enough fuel to bring us back home. While the rest of our group used those nights to get some useful hours of sleep, I caught myself recalculating what I had already learned by heart until I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer.

It wasn’t the lack of trust in the other navigator's work that made me do this. More the kind of an overthinking-nature, as Jean, a girl I met back in Iowa and still kept writing to, called it. There was no rest for me if I hadn’t made sure everything would work out - even before training missions.

Was I scared? Trying to make the unthinkable possible by finding a way to secure our guaranteed safety in a world that was burning itself to the ground more and more?

Needless to say I didn’t find it.

I never learned to swim until I enlisted in the United States Army Air Forces. There was a river just crossing the small town I grew up in but I never dared to put more than a toe in it. Only an idiot would be stupid enough to jump into running waters without caring about the current that would have them dragged hundreds of meters away from their starting point. It was kind of similar to flying, actually. If you didn’t take the wind into your calculations, you would get off your course - and sometimes, getting off your course could mean death.

Not caring about the wind as a navigator was just like jumping in a river without even knowing how to swim. Suicide.

On this day, I felt like I was drowning.

When the moment came that we finally landed, everything fell silent. No one dared to say a word or move - and if they did, nothing was able to pierce through the veil of fog surrounding me. The propellers came to a stand still, I could feel the engine’s electric hum, but it wasn’t quite there.

For a single breath, the whole world had fallen into the sea. I could hear the waves crashing, the roar of the deep beneath us. We were sinking, sitting in a drowning fortress, our own Atlantis.

It was kind of bizarre. This would be our end. We didn’t even make it into the real thing, instead we failed on a training mission I had already accomplished about fifteen times before - at least in my head.

They would call us the biggest failure of the Bloody 100th - if they would even remember a crew like ours who went down on a flight that was supposed to be as easy as riding a bike. What would they write to our families? Would they tell my mother her son was the biggest fool the Air Force had ever seen, because he couldn’t even read the briefing properly and got the whole formation mixed up?

For a second - it must have been only a second - I thought, how lucky I am, to be sitting there, still not moving, head underwater. I couldn’t breathe, I didn’t dare to try. I was sure, I would die in this exact moment, but still I thought, I am lucky.

Surviving would mean they would take me to court. They would accuse me of sabotaging an entire unit, they would throw me out of the Air Force and send me back home, where my parents would be embarrassed to welcome me back and Jean would never answer any of my letters again. If they wouldn’t send me home, they would sentence me to death on the spot because of my failure. Because they would clearly consider my mistake as a planned act of treason.

It took me a moment to realize that it was only me. I was the only one drowning, and - in fact - I wasn’t actually drowning, even though my head felt like there were tons of water pressing down on it. I couldn’t quite concentrate, neither on Brady’s command to leave the B-17 at once, nor on Hamilton’s voice right next to me. I was sinking into the dark blue, deeper and deeper, never to be seen again - until Ham grabbed my shoulder and brought me back to life.

Reality hit me like a good punch right on the nose. Most of our crew had long since left the plane, only Hamilton with his gold-flashing front teeth was still inside with me. Because I didn’t react to his words, he grabbed me by the arms and pulled me outside. A burnt smell hung in the air, and mixed with the sweat and the shame on my shoulders it made me even more dizzy.

“Goddamn’t, Crosby, move!” I did move. The moment Ham started to run, I followed him. My heart was pounding like it was trying to flee from my insides too, I could barely breathe, but I didn’t dare to stop until we reached one of the jeeps that were already waiting for us. Just then the emergency alarm rang and made sure the whole base was awake. And when I turned to look back at our fortress, it was wildly ablaze.

I don’t remember going back with the others, let alone how long we stood there watching our plane burn down despite the ground crew’s attempts to put out the flames. The time after seemed to be lost in the sea, just like me. I let myself float on it until it rose like acid up my throat and said goodbye to me with the contents of my stomach.

“You okay there?”

I certainly was not. I was still feeling rather dizzy, as if someone had dragged my head right through the mud next to the barracks and then stuck it in the nearest toilet. Several times. But at least my gut was empty now.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

Not exactly convincing, Croz. I forced myself to stand up, just leaning against the wall for a moment longer. Shoulders straight, chin up. At least act like you’re not a complete failure.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Oh, I wanted to hate that guy, wanted him to leave me alone, even if I were bleeding to death in this alley, because anything would have been better than having to face the shame that was about to come. The verdict, my discharge from the Air Force. Dishonored. I surely must have been the pride of my family. But this guy just didn’t care that I looked like I had just puked my guts out (because that’s exactly what I had done). He looked at me like I had made a joke - not a particularly good one, mind you. His lips were curled up slightly in a smile and for a second I wondered if he was making fun of me. But there was no scorn, just warmth that made me stare back at him in confusion for a split second. Not even that stopped him from continuing to smile at me and before I felt it, the corners of my own mouth twitched upwards.

“Don’t worry too much - many of us struggle with airsickness in the beginning.”

I’ve had airsickness before, but at that point in my training I was convinced I'd gotten rid of it (which I hadn’t, but I didn't know that yet). At this rate, I wished for it to be just airsickness though.

“’Though I think it’s also the food here.”

The food in Wendover was indeed terrible. Everything tasted of flour and the coffee was more water than anything else. It was probably still better than what I would get when they would put me in prison because of treason.

“It’s not that bad,” I said. My voice came out as nothing more than a croak. At least that I had to get under control before going into the operations office. Were they already looking for me? I probably should have contacted them straight away instead of hiding between the barracks. On the other hand, throwing up on the Colonel’s table was unlikely to make things better.

“Is it?”

The other guy still smiled at me, eyebrows slightly raised. His eyes were studying my face and I would have set all my money on a bet that he probably thought that I looked like the biggest idiot he had ever seen. Then his eyes wandered down my uniform and his face lit up even more. He looked like he just stole the sun from the sky and ate it.

“Another navigator - welcome to the club!”

His smile turned into a wide grin and then he closed the distance between us and held out his hand. I wiped the cold sweat off of my fingers and gave his hand a shake. Even that gesture seemed about as strong as that of a newborn baby or a very pathetic kitten.

“Joseph Payne, but they call me Bubbles.”

Bubbles. I could tell by that face why they called him that. He didn’t seem like the others, not that serious and severe, and also not like the type of cool guys that seemed to be essential to every group. More like someone who would laugh wholeheartedly even at one of Brady’s terrible dry jokes.

“Harry Crosby. Or just Croz.”

They called me Bing at home but other than the famous musician I really couldn’t sing. And I also really didn’t want to.

“Oh, so it’s you they’re talking about.”

He let go of my hand and just like that I could feel the last bit of blood draining from my face, almost as if he had just taken it with him.

“Must be me.”

I pulled a pained grimace. Of course my name was already being talked about. The worst navigator in the entire Air Force - Harry Herbert Crosby, as he lived and breathed. If only I had taken the chance and started a singing career. That would have been far less damaging to my name - but just as close to a war crime.

“They said you did a pretty good job up there. Not every navigator would have maintained control in a situation similar to yours. At least not at this point in training.”

Oh, now he was just mocking me. There it was, glaring scorn, shining bright like the sun in his never-ending smile. Hopefully his mouth would later hurt.

“Thank you, it was awful,” I mumbled and lowered my gaze because I couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. Looking at myself and the puddle of vomit right next to me didn’t make me feel any better, though. I really had to change before talking to the Colonel.

“Do you want me to tell them you’re changing?” Bubbles asked and for a second I wasn’t sure if he hadn’t just read my mind.

“No — I mean, sure. Whatever.”

I shook my head indecisively, rubbing my throbbing temples with one hand. It probably didn’t matter anymore anyway. Neither he nor I could do anything to stop them from throwing me out. And before I racked my brain for ages I’d rather brush my teeth, so I left him alone with an indistinct mumble for the time being.

[avonne-writes]

Thoughts on my not fully thought through Buck x Bucky pride and Prejudice au. (with Crosby x Bubbles on the side)

Bucky works on his mothers farm along with Curt and Crosby (and maybe others like Lemmons and Rosie) and of course, not a lot of money is made. His mom wants him to marry rich so that he can live a better life than he is now, but doesn't actively throw him at every rich person she sees like Mrs. Bennet does. They do go to town parties and stuff, because it's an excuse to get drunk and forget their living situation (cause maybe a LOT of money is thrown into fixing old, broken equipment). Then at one of the parties Buck, Bubbles (and again, maybe others, I haven't fully thought this through) show up and people are whispering about how rich they are, and any man or woman who catches their eye will be lucky. (Something, something, gay marriage is now legal in this time period for some reason) (Read a p&p au for Star Wars and they believably made it legal) (or maybe it's just set in a weird modern setting where town parties are a thing, like in hallmark movies)

Anyway, Bucky has an "oohh sexy blond" moment when he first sees Buck, and he notices that Crosby seems to have a similar reaction when seeing Bubbles. Crosby and Bubbles hit it off right away, but Buck says something along the lines of "I don't/can't dance, go away." Later on, he and Curt overhear Buck and Bubbles' conversation, and Buck insults Bucky. Later, Bucky does the subtle "I heard what you said about me, fuck you."

Similar stuff happens in the plot, Crosby gets sick, the requisite hand thing, separation of the couple, failed proposal, all that fun stuff.

In this, Buck's dad is the equivalent of Catherine de Bourgh, and Marge is like a mix of Anne de Bourgh and Georgiana. Yes, she and Gale are technically engaged, but he sees her as a sister, and she sees him as a brother.

Maybe the piano playing is replaced by singing, but maybe not because Bucky seems very proud of his singing.

Anyway, that's all I have.

Oh cool! It’s very creative, dear. The Croz/Bubbles side pairing is great 😊 I think you should go for it and write it, you already have a lot of things figured out. Or you can also submit it as a prompt to the HBO war kink meme!

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Let’s see…Brady finally getting the nerve to tell Croz that he likes him

(oh no HamboneRosie snuck in how did that happen; everyone lives)

Brady rolls the bowl of his pipe back and forth in his cupped palm, watching Harry from across the Officers's Club and practicing his opening line in his head. 

"For fuck's sake," Hambone says, digging his elbow into Brady's ribs. "Get on with it before Rosie and I get fucking married before you even ask Crosby out."

"You asked Rosie on a date two weeks ago. Don't act like you've been engaged for a year," Brady replies. 

Hambone grins and glances towards the bar, where Rosie is getting them both a fresh round. "Yeah, well, he's a romantic. I'm a romantic. We could be married in the morning."

"Waiting two dates to suck his dick isn't romance, you ass," Brady replies. "It's just polite." 

"Oh, I didn't wait two dates," Hambone says.

And that makes Brady laugh because Hambone's good at making him laugh. "You're sure he's not with Bubbles?" he asks. He's asked several times. 

"I had Rosie ask," Hambone says. "Figure, he's the newest guy, he could get away with it. Harry did the same thing he's always done."

"Laughed?"

"Laughed." 

Brady takes a slow, deep breath. He holds his pipe tightly by the bowl, then tucks it into the pocket of his jacket. "Okay," he says. "I'm going for it."

He stands up and cuts across the room, focused entirely on Harry, who's sitting with Buck and Bucky and looking greatly amused. Bubbles must be working if he's not there to take the final chair at the table, but Brady's glad for it. It makes this all easier. He doesn't have to pull over a chair or stand next to the table feeling awkward standing while everyone else is sitting. He drops into the fourth chair and throws an arm around the back of Harry's chair. 

"Brady," Buck says as Bucky keeps talking to Harry. 

"Buck," Brady replies, giving Buck a quick nod. He turns to Harry, who is still listening to Bucky. Brady sticks his arm out, then holds up one finger where Bucky can see it. "Bucky, shut up a second."

Bucky squawks, then goes silent. Brady thinks Buck has something to do with it, but he isn't looking away from Harry's profile. He looks so handsome in this light, nose and chin and hair surrounded by the glow from all the lamps. 

"Harry," Brady says, and he has to pause and roll the feel of his name in his mouth. He's rarely said it out loud. And saying it to him. Well, that's nice.

"Hey, John," Harry says, turning his head and smiling at Brady. "Need something?"

Brady nods as his mouth goes dry. He wants his pipe in his hand so he has something to fidget with, but he doesn't want to move his arm from the back of Harry's chair, and he doesn't want to move his other hand from where it lays on the table. He takes a deep breath. "Go into town with me," he says. "Let's see a movie. Let's have a date." 

Bucky barks a laugh and slaps the table, before Brady can tell him to shut the fuck up, Buck has him by the scruff of the neck and is leading him away. 

"I TOLD YOU!" Bucky yells. 

Brady watches Harry blush. "He told you?" he asks. 

Harry glances at Brady, then looks away. He rubs his thumb on the edge of his martini glass. "Um. I've been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out."

Brady beams and leans in closer. He moves the arm he'd laid on the table and curls his fingers around Harry's glass. Not touching Harry's hand still touching the glass, but sharing the glass. "What stopped you?" he asks. "Because I've been worried you were in love with Bubbles or had found a pretty girl or were just too smart for me."

Harry meets Brady's eyes, looking shocked. "What?" he says. He sputters. "Brady!" He drops his hand from the rim of his glass and clutches Brady's hand on the table. "I couldn't find fucking England," he hisses. "How could I be too smart for you?"

Brady chuckles and takes a chance. He leans in and kisses Harry's cheek. He turns his wrist in Harry's hand and rearranges their hands so he can hold Harry's. "I considered being a navigator," he says. "The math was scary."

Harry laughs. "Okay," he says. "That's fair. It is scary."

"You didn't mention Bubbles or a girl," Brady says because he can't help himself. 

Harry looks down at his hand in Brady's. "I presented a relevant response," he says. "Everything else you said is ridiculous with you in the mix." 

Brady kisses Harry's cheek again. "So, dinner? Movie? A walk around the base? Sitting on a bench for an hour? I'm up for anything as long as you want." 

Harry's eyes go hot and promising. Brady feels a shiver run through them. "Oh, I want," Harry says. 

And Brady isn't ready for the kiss Harry lands on him. Confident and hard and sweet. But, oh, he definitely chases after Harry to get a second one.

[gingerwerk]

Love how part 6 is just Rosie being Mad he has to relax! 😠 croz being a little flirt with Sandra 😏 Bucky almost being murdered by a angry town of Germans and then having to escape before he’s killed again by two random German men who were gonna bury him in a field 😐 … Rosie listening to tunes and learning to relax!☺️ croz having an emotional but helpful convo with Sandra 😔 bucky witnessing a train car of holocaust victims pleading for help before he’s forced at gun point into another train car to be taken to a pow camp…

[bcolfanfic]

Hiii!!! to take your mind to kinder and softer things: any headcannons on josies first birthday with clegan?? will her uncles and aunts come by with truly threatrical gifts that sends buck and buckys eye twitching? will she demand to be carried around by her uncle croz and never be put down for a second? will there be some godawful birthday games that leaves her uncle curt a trip to the er because a game of pin the tail on the donkey is supremely misunderstood? will there be a quieter celebration during the nights bedtime where bucky brushes back her hair and sings happy birthday softly and buck uncharacteristically plays air guitar bc hes ever so freely playful in front of his two favorite people?

i hope everything goes well for you today and tomorrow!! sending love your way ♥️

she’s just a girl living in wyoming, of course it’s horse themed.

gale and bucky have to put it (in bold) on the invitations they send out to the guys that under no circumstances are they to get her a horse, please.

demarco texts bucky and asks on a scale of 1-10 how mad he’d actually be if someone you know- hypothetically,

an 11. we are renting one that will go back to it’s horse house at the end of the day, so don’t worry about making up for us depriving our child.

this is the first real birthday celebration she’s ever had which makes gale emotional in the lead up when they’re talking about it and she doesn’t really get it.

he gets that- he never really had birthday parties growing up either. getting to do different by his little daughter makes his heart warm.

she has a few little friends from school there but it is mostly the guys and their various families that came into town for the the festivities. and josie kinda ditches her little school friends for them, whoops.

especially her moon and sun and stars uncle crosby.

has a little moment where she gets jealous of the attention he’s giving to his youngest who is just shy of a year old. and matter o-factly informs him it’s not that baby’s birthday, ‘s mine 😾

sweet thing she thinks the baby is cute and all just wants uncle crosby to herself. croz hands the baby off, and josie is quick to park herself in his arms before he can change his mind.

she’s absolutely big enough to walk, but it’s her birthday and she’s cute so uncle crosby does haul her around all day.

rosie rosenthal STUNS with a new talking customized pop up card of himself

he even provides him own replacement batteries this time, and gale tells him they ought to throw them away but he knows they won’t.

the guys spoil that girl rotten, and if it’s with some of the noisiest toys produced in the united states then well, so be it.

kenny is one of the few that doesn’t go the noisy toys route- he gets them a membership at a local children’s museum. and writes bucky his own card that makes him tear up.

because kenny remembers the bucky he saw spiraling overseas and that he spent years and tears so worried about. and now he’s here- and he just wants his buddy to know how proud of him he is.

curt doesn’t wind up in the ER but there is a little bit of a near miss when he gets lost in the haze and whacks his good leg with the piñata stick

sweet josie gets so worried, curt laughing through the pain when he hears her ask if they’re gonna have to cut that one off too (it’s just bruised, but she’s five and doesn’t really understand the one that had to get amputated was a little more injured)

gonna decide that gale plays the guitar in this au because why not. he picked it up after he came home from the war just to learn a new skill.

him sitting on the floor against josie’s bed playing it for her at bedtime while bucky sits in her little princess bed singing to her in his arms.

both guys get a little teary eyed- for more than one reason. because their baby is growing up, they can’t help but wish she was with them for her first four birthdays and because the road to get to where they are now singing their little daughter to sleep was long. especially for bucky.

but they made it to the good life damnit. 🩵

[onelungmcclung]

MotA pt six:

I might like bucky more when he's a bedraggled desperate little man

it's like this show is actively trying to make up for making the germans too sympathetic in BoB

I will take rosie's r&r break if he doesn't want it

plus I want to make a shirt like his off-duty shirt. that is a good shirt.

JAMIEEEE PARKERRRRR

guess he had a couple of days free that week

croz you weirdo, i love you

peter sandys-clarke's presence as British Officer #1 makes it unfortunately possible to consider this series as part of the same universe/continuity as bbc ghosts (except it is hard to imagine havers being anything but gentle and charming)

side note: did every american vet who wrote a memoir have annoying experiences with slightly obnoxious posh brits, is this a thing made up by american tv writers, or is the british way of showing affection via insults simply lost on the rest of the world (sorry): discuss

if anyone has a crush on louis hofmann's Smug Nazi I'm blocking you

I put off watching this episode because on friday I made challah for a guy in town and then learnt he's the central european son of an infant shoah survivor who was the only survivor in his family. I could not face the prospect of the deportation train scene on the same day.

ah the singer's a tankie wcyd (ok maybe I'm being glib). but it's a well done scene

rosie belongs to the dick winters school of angstily taking luxurious baths

the card game scene <33

yess the thorpe abbotts crew. blakely, kidd, doug, ilu, don't die

rosie is growing on me. potentially difficult to enter a miniseries halfway through and be an engaging character, and he's just so chiselled and clark kent looking, but MAYBE I LIKE HIM AFTER ALL. and his nerdy jazz thing. (side note: nate mann could absolutely play superman, but I've had superhero fatigue for at least three years so forget I said anything)

crank!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!¡ 🤗 mate I thought you were a goner

I have hopes we'll get more ensemble-focused scenes in the next ep, between the great escape attempt and thorpe abbotts being buck/bucky-free

[krispyweiss]

David Crosby 1941 - 2023; Music is Love - and Healing

- Steve Postell reveals setlist planned for Croz’s Feb. 22 gig; it’s a doozy

It’s Nov. 5, 2017, and Sound Bites is preparing to take a solo road trip to see David Crosby.

The trek from Columbus to Kent, Ohio, is about 2.5 hours. But opting to leave room for contingencies - and perhaps dinner - I set out early for a long-anticipated concert.

The blog had seen Crosby with CSN and CNSY multiple times; with Crosby-Nash once. But never as a solo artist. And given Crosby - who died Jan. 19 - was Sound Bites’ favorite of the four and probably his favorite male rock ‘n’ roll singer, this solo gig was a long time coming.

The drive was a bitch. The weather turned and rain fell so hard, 35 mph on the freeway felt reckless. A tornado warning was issued. Taking temporary shelter in a rest area seemed only vaguely safer than just driving, so after contemplating bagging the whole thing and turning south, I headed north once again.

The trip seemed to take eight hours, but it was closer to four.

There was no time for dinner. And nowhere to park.

After driving around the rain-soaked streets of what Crosby referred to as “the scene of the crime” before playing “Ohio,” Sound Bites found a side-street parking spot. It started to pour. No umbrella. Mad dash toward the venue, the 600-something seat Kent Stage, where a front-row seat awaited Guy Who Goes to Out-of-town Concerts Alone.

Winded, wet and wondering what the fuck I’d gotten myself into, I wander down front and … no seat.

Oversold.

A very nice and apologetic usher brought out a chair and Sound Bites was set. Uptight. Wound up. But seated. And still wondering what the fuck I’d gotten myself into when the lights went down and Crosby and band took the stage and lit into “In My Dreams.”

Less than five seconds had elapsed when … everything was perfect. Just splendid. Lost in the music, Sound Bites couldn’t have been happier as he internally scolded himself for ever considering turning back and for wasting time wondering what the fuck he’d gotten himself into.

This was a sublime gig; an all-timer among more than 700 concerts over the past four decades. Chills all night. And they had nothing to do with the rain-soaked attire or the skipping of the dinner.

It took me back to all those times I’d walked into Grateful Dead concerts feeling pretty lousy from the previous night’s Grateful Dead concert and wondering what the fuck I’d gotten myself into. The second the houselights went down and the band was onstage, all that stuff - physical, mental or both - utterly evaporated. Same thing on Nov. 5, 2017, in Kent.

And it wasn’t simply seeing Crosby, a guy I’d followed for as long as I’d followed music and one of the few artists from whom I’d purchased virtually everything he’d put on the market and some things he had not - like a killer Crosby, Nash & Young gig recorded inside a prison and released on cheap vinyl titled Waterbabies. I saw him a year later at the same venue with a different band and the results were not the same.

But on that night in Kent, David Crosby personified the power of music to heal, to restore and to make white-knuckle driving through a potential death storm feel like a small investment yielding a big return.

This is why you buy the goddam ticket and go to the show. Every once in a while, you witness something like David Crosby in Kent. Always a special memory, it’s even more so now.

Sound Bites is going to miss that guy.

——————————

Meanwhile, Crosby had been planning a dream setlist for his Feb. 22 show in California, according to guitarist Steve Postell, who posted the setlist the new band had fleshed out.

It read:

“Naked in the Rain;” “Long Time Gone;” “Homeward through the Haze;” “Carry Me;” “Wooden Ships;” “Delta;” “Guinevere;” “Dèjá Vu;” “Carry On / Questions;” “Woodstock;” “Almost Cut My Hair;” “Ohio;” “Anything at All”

“I once asked (Crosby) if I had to be as big an asshole as he was in order to play on his record; he told me that was something I could never achieve,” Postell said.

“ … This music is indelibly etched in my hands, heart and mind, and through that I will carry the memory of one of the most magnificent, flawed and beautiful human beings I have ever known.”

1/22/23

[friday-night-fisticuff]

GM Notes

10/12/18

Game starts the morning after.

Gill gathers up the party at breakfast time and offers a job as delivery guys to the town about 2 weeks away called Croz.

Croz is a swampy village with not a lot of traffic, but enough to get by on trade. However, his friend the innkeeper named Orlen needs some supplies and last they wrote each other something strange had been going on in the village. A stranger moved in outside the village and strange events, like missing pets and strange weather has been happening. Could even be a cult, Gill offers.

The party, very much interested, agrees to leave later that day. Giving everyone enough time to pack and buy rations and any other supplies they might need.

Gill gives the party a wagon and a pulling mule to transport the supplies. Gill begs that his favorite donkey is not eaten by the giant lizard who is drooling right now.

Zephyr offers a stern word to Ryn and off they travel. After a proper introduction of Minnow, Zephyr’s charge, they move along the road. Peaceful as the country is, 5 events occurred between travelling and bonding games.

On the 3rd day of travel, Art and Kress spotted a white deer crossing the road with a strange entanglement in his horns.  After much time, and bad rolls, the deer let’s Art investigate the deer, making sure that the entanglement is not harmful. After concluding that the golden chains and gems tangled in its horns is merely from a grove of elves or dryads or even fairies and pixies, he steps back, letting the pure white deer go, without any harm to either party. Mean while, Caleb, who has never seen a deer and Zephyr, who is sure deers aren’t supposed to be white, are judged by Minnow, who has seen plenty of deers in her life.

On the 5th day of travel, a traveler is seen resting under a tree looking at a map. Zephyr the good paladin he is offers his aid of the area. On closer inspections, the man resting under the tree is an avariel, a winged elf from the fourth realm. He does not need help with directions, but he is looking for someone. All of the party, but Art, comes to listen to the avariel. At this point the avariel introduces himself as Tyrael Qillmaer, and is looking for another avariel who has gone missing. Tyrael describes the missing boy. Tyrael doesn’t give out the name he is looking for, but just tells them that the boy he is looking for will know his name and what it will be if Tyrael is looking for him.  The party moves on, leaving Tyrael with well wishes and good luck. After a good bit of distance and night fall, the party stops to ask Art why he didn’t come out to talk to the avariel. It is revealed that Art is the avariel that is being looked for. His true name is Artemis. Kress is offended that he lied to her, since she asked if he was Artemis when they first met. She doesn’t know how much she can now trust Artemis for lying so easily about something so important. Zephyr and Caleb don’t understand the reason, well not like Artemis gives one either, but as long as Artemis is not a wanted criminal than it is okay. Kress flies off to sulk for the night. Artemis recast Disguise Self, since he now knows he is really being looked for. He doesn’t know when it will be safe to walk as himself.

On the 7th day of travel, while resting under a tree, Minnow is climbing the entanglement of branches and roots, and almost falls. In her pause to right herself again she finds a scroll case. She slowly makes her way down again and hands off the scroll case to Zephyr. He inspects it and finds a faded rune. He ask Artemis what it is. It is a rune that merely protects whatever is inside from getting ruined by water or rain. A common rune on most magical cases. With a bit of elbow grease, Zephyr pops open the case and rolls out the scroll. It is a spell scroll for Silent Image. Artemis can copy the spell and offers the scroll to anyone else that might want it, it eventually is given back to Minnow, since she did find it. This brings up the first scroll found, Fire Bolt. Artemis can’t use it and eventually it is given to Caleb, who has not offensive spells.

On the 9th day of travel, the party comes across an older woman painting the view of her house. She greets them politely and the party greets her back. She invites them for lunch, since she doesn’t get visitors very often. It is learned very quickly that is use to be a paladin of Sune, the goddess of love, passion, and art. Caleb is unsure of her, and Zephyr very much was like, same hat! Kinda. Inside her house was everything art related and her old weapons and armor. She was probably very good at her job. Lunch is served and cake is also offered. Artemis realizes first that no one has exchanged introductions. The old woman laughs, recount that she is just as bad as asking for names when she first started adventuring. Nia Shung, is the name she gives. The rest of the party introduces themselves, and they stay around for a good bit, exchanging tales and talking to the older woman. She wishes the well and safe and beautiful travels before they leave.

On the 12th day of travel, the party encounter a stranger who had caught a fairy. When he revealed to them he was planning to sell it, the party did not like that one bit. Zephyr tried his best, but…

Surprise Round!

The bandits get the jump, Kress, Caleb, and Artemis take damage, and Kress gets final shot.

The group turn to the fairy in the jar, who is very angry and stress and talking very fast in Sylvan. After she gets all her anger out of her system, she thanks the group. Caleb is worried about a hurt wing and offers healing, which she declines and ask for water. She is a plant fairy and just needs water to regrow her wing.

After a few moments of soaking in water, her wing grows back. As thanks for not selling her, she gives Artemis a very tiny bag of fairy dust that will help things grow. She wishes the group well, and buzzes off, seemingly to her home.

Late on the 14th day of travel, the party arrives at Croz, a small swampy village.

LEVEL UP

Party is now level 2.

The game ends here.

Likes: Cool fight finisher Artemis reveal Fun combat (Good Side Villain) Freed the fairy Party is able to show off Strengths and Weaknesses

Dislikes: Caleb doesn’t have armor and is trying to get killed Gaming not at home

[samgirard]

└ wednesday night hockey: sid and nate | 10.16.19

[beggingwolf]

sidgeno: soulmate AU + erotic dreams

Sid's standing at a river.

He thinks it's a river. It feels half-formed. He can feel the rumble of the water under his feet. If he doesn't move, the flash flood is going to swell to his soles, ankles, knees, and sweep him away.

"Beautiful," he hears. It doesn't sound right. The word twists in his ears, and a large hand wraps around his elbow, pulling him a step back up onto the bank. "Careful."

Sid wakes up with a gasp. Across the room, the little blue S on his wall has fallen to the floor with a crack. It's his last night at home before he ships out to Minnesota. He'd heard his mom crying after Taylor had gone to bed.

Sid reaches up to touch his elbow. He can still feel the ghostly touch, heavy and strong.

Sid stays up for another hour, thinking it over. Replaying the sound of beautiful over and over again, even though that's not how it sounded in the dream.

He closes his eyes. He tries to say goodbye to home. He tries to push off the dream; he doesn't have the time to think about it, not now, not when—

-

"Beautiful," Sid hears. He lets out a shuddering breath. The hands are everywhere. There's a heavy weight between his legs. There's pressure on his stomach, on his chest. A mouth pressing to his neck. He needs to move. He needs to be touched, he—

The pillow hits his face hard.

"Take it to the showers, Croz!" Duncs groans, his bedsprings creaking as he rolls to turn his back on Sid from across the room.

Sid's face grows hot as he fumbles at his blankets. He slips out of bed, feet hitting the linoleum floor with a loud smack, and he grabs the first article of clothing on the ground—a hoodie, fine, that's fine—before making a break for the hall.

The light of the hallway is blinding, and Sid stumbles to the bathrooms to lock himself in a shower stall and breathe.

His boxers are wet.

Sid shudders on his next inhale. It's been... it's been so long since this has happened, but not like this, never with that voice in his ears or the feeling of a body that's bigger than his covering him so completely.

Sid's been looking at his teammates too much lately. He's been thinking about how tall Matty is, how he's got a wicked smile and a stupid laugh that rivals Sid's own.

"Fuck," Sid whispers to himself. It echoes off the yellowing tile.

-

Soulmates, Sid learned early, don't account for everything.

His mother told him that she'd had dreams of the Eastern Shore back at the height of the whaling trade. She'd remembered the scent of blubber burning, how his father's clothes would stink of blood and salt after he'd return from a voyage.

She had older ones, too. Ones of living in a cramped house in an old country with too many mouths to feed, spending her days working in a horrible factory and sneaking away to find a sweetheart in a back alley.

Older than that, even: one of his aunts liked to claim she could remember as far back to before electricity was discovered. His mom fondly told her sister she was full of shit, but Sid always wondered.

Then there was his grandmother, who never talked about soulmates at all. She was happy with Kenny, but Sidney knew Kenny was not his grandfather by blood. His grandmother was tight-lipped about it, even when the family was swapping dream-memories with each other like cards over the dinner table.

"Soulmates can mean a lot of things," Sid's uncle had told him out on the patio later. "Sometimes they're just the person that leaves the most scars on you."

Years later, as Sid tries to keep his eyes to himself in the locker room, he finally understands how his love could leave him with more scars than he could count.

-

It's a gentle touch to his hair. Long fingers playing in the curls. They're too long. They're always too long, it's not presentable, it's not to code, but war is cruel and bloody and Sid's fucking hair is the least of his concerns.

"Morning, beautiful," a low voice rasps to him. The words are tilted like they always are, but Sid understands. He always understands.

He turns, eyes still closed, and reaches out.

Lips connect with his. There's a dusting of pathetic stubble on both of their faces. The dry, cracked lips he's kissing are still the best thing he's ever felt.

"My watch shift's almost over," Sid whispers. His throat is hoarse, because last night he'd—god, he'd taken the whole length down, and it had felt good and powerful and if he died today he'd be okay with it, he thinks. The war has taken so much. At least he had this. "I need to go back."

"Stay," is murmured up against his mouth. The lips move up to press against his forehead, and the hand in his hair tangles in it, pulls him closer, drags him against a strong body, long legs tangling with his own.

He can feel a hardness pressing into his thigh, and he cracks open his eyes.

His head smacks against glass.

"Shit!" Sid snaps, jerking upright as the bus rolls over another curb.

"Sorry, fellas!" the driver calls, and there's an ugly chorus of groans from the Rimouski Oceanic.

"Jesus," Sid grunts, shifting back upright in his seat, yanking his backpack onto his lap. His skull is still rattling from the rude awakening, and he's achingly hard.

It's a small mercy he has the row to himself. He leans back and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his head, and his hip where that stupid fucking Moosehead had laid into him, and his tweaked wrist from two weeks ago in Chicoutimi. The street lamps they drive under flare his eyelids pink and then black, again and again.

As he slows his breaths, the urgency fades out of his bloodstream. He's not hard up for it anymore. He's just sore.

More than the feeling of a heavy cock pressed against his leg, Sid misses the gangly arms that had been wrapped around him. He'd had to make out with a girl at a house party before they'd left for Halifax. The team had gotten too nosy, their teasing of Sid's prudishness tipping from "hilarious novelty" to "prying questions," and Sid had swallowed his anxiety and used it as fuel to find a girl and pull her into a corner in full view of half of the blue line and press his lips to hers.

It had felt deeply wrong.

He tries to keep his breaths even as he thinks about how right his dream had felt, and how that deep, sleep-weary voice sits in his skull like it belongs there.

-

Sid pulls his goalie pads off. His eye is swollen shut from the puck he took to the face in the second period; it happens once every few months, and it's incentive to be faster. He laughs as the team around him starts cracking open beers. Their captain lights a cigarette and leans back in his stall with a grin. They're on fucking fire, and they're going out on the town tonight.

Sid comes back home drunk. Drunk and happy and dumped unceremoniously on the steps of his Montreal townhome by his teammates, who cheerfully wave at Sid's roommate.

Sid's roommate.

Sid's roommate picks Sid up. Sid's roommate peels off his clothes slowly. Sid's roommate leads him to bed, where he tucks himself into the cave he makes out of Sid's chest.

Sid's roommate, who grinds back against Sid. Sid groans. He can't get it up, not like this, and his roommate laughs, a low noise, and tells him in the morning—in the morning they'll have some fun, he'll reward Sid exactly how he deserves.

Sid wakes up alone.

They've lost the Memorial Cup. He's still in London. He's not playing for the Habs in their glory days. He's not playing for anyone right now. The season is over. Tomorrow he gets to go home. He gets to hope the draft goes on.

He feels very small and lonely in his hotel bed.

-

The night before the draft, Sid dreams about getting fucked.

He's goddamn lucky Jack sleeps harder than the dead. He's goddamn lucky in so many ways, because he feels those big hands push his legs up, his thighs pressing into his stomach. He feels those chapped lips drag against his neck, his chest, his cock. He feels those long hands stretching him open.

He takes every inch. He gets fucked within an inch of his life. He's held down by that powerful body and he's never wanted something this bad, because it's good and right and he wants it more than anything. He's had it before, in another time, and Sid tells himself he'll find it again someday, he has to.

He comes so hard he cries.

Jack's still asleep when Sid wakes up and ducks into the bathroom. He lets the shower rain scalding water down onto him as he wipes the cum off of his hips.

-

Sid plays hockey in Pittsburgh.

He kisses a man for the first time. It's not his soulmate. He can tell; the man's fingers are too stubby, but he has wide shoulders and a smart smile and it feels good.

It leads to him getting his dick sucked. That's good too.

The dreams don't stop. He's in rural Canada. He's in some ancient country that looks foreign. He's in a busy city center that looks nothing like anywhere Sid has ever been.

He's always wrapped in those long arms, holding those delicate-looking, strong hands.

It's his second season, the morning after another dream—a bad one, where Sid had been old and arthritic and holding a cold hand in his—when Mario looks up from the morning newspaper and tells Sid Malkin will finally be getting in from Los Angeles that evening.

"It's been long enough, he should be out of his contract by the time camp starts," Mario says. "We'll have him over for dinner tonight, I think."

Sid doesn't dress up, but he does put on jeans and combs his hair in the bathroom before Malkin and his translator arrive. He should look presentable, he figures. They want to make him captain. He should make a good impression, especially after all that Malkin's been through.

The doorbell rings, and Sid hustles down the three flights of stairs to get to the foyer.

Malkin's big. Lanky, really, and golden from the California sun. He looks tired but happy, and he's staring at Mario with big eyes and a bigger grin, his chapped lips stretched wide. Sid knows the feeling well.

Malkin turns his gaze to Sid, and something wobbles in Sid's chest.

"Evgeni Malkin," he says, offering a handshake to Sid.

His palm is huge. His fingers are long and handsome.

Sid swallows and takes his hand.