sorry for disappearing for so long - lots of shit has happened and i've missed you all - i hope you haven't forgotten about me
i hope to return with a revamped little women au and an au with one of my favourite movies of all time
in the meantime send any requests for BOB if you'd like
tagging some folks (please let me know if you want to be removed):
@ithinkabouttzu @millie-multifics @latibvles @stolemyspoons @hxad-ovxr-hxart @softguarnere
hi @mrs-murder-daddy !!! merry christmas, I'm your Santa! I so hope you love this 🥺
told ya, I'm buying
treat under the cut!
Evening, a crowd forming at the bar, almost sending the already anxious Crosby into a panic. After a successful mission, the place is bustling, a stream of servicemen leaving and entering every few minutes. A constant stream of guys coming over to Harry Crosby, patting him on the back and congratulating him on the day's mission. It couldn't feel further from the truth for Croz, the man stuck between grateful overwhelm and remorse, making a quick exit toward the bar with his aching shoulder, sore from the congratulatory pats.
As he swirls the final sip of whiskey around in his glass, he seems to find himself lost in the tepid liquid as he takes note of the day's events; he'd gotten Biddick to land, sure, but despite the reassurances from Bucky Egan, he once again finds himself cringing at the aftermath - the no call backs, panicking while looking back at the map in front of him and trying his best to improvise, all while hiding another awful bout of air sickness from his fellow flyboys. He closes his eyes, wincing at the fresh memory.
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” he hears, Bucky Egan placing an arm around him and squeezing as tight as he could - weakly, due to being drunk. Eyes bleary, he points toward the barman, trying to catch his attention. “I told ya, I'm buying.”
Crosby comes back to his senses, eyes open once again.
“So,” Egan starts, a deep exhale leaving his nostrils. “They really only call ya Bing back home?”
“Yessir,” Crosby replies. “Well, mostly my wife…”
“Well then, I take it all back,” Egan replies, voice suddenly softer. “Then it ain't lazy at all.”
“Sir,” Croz nods, breaking the eye contact they share. “I'm sorry again, sir.”
“Jesus Christ, Croz, why?”
He can't seem to give Egan an answer, once again swirling the now replenished drink in his glass.
“You gotta tell me why the hell you keep apologizing, Crosby. You got us all back safe. I'm sure Biddick is especially grateful.”
“Yeah, I know, but…” he trails off, placing the drink on the bar and leaning against it, arms crossed.
“But what?” Bucky asks, visibly annoyed. He turns to Croz with his brow furrowed, his gait steely as he awaits his answer. When one doesn't come, John Egan shrinks down to Crosby's level to meet him where he's at. “Dammit, Croz,” he sighs. “Let us congratulate you, bud.”
“I can't accept it,” he shrugs in return, voice quiet.
“That because you puked your guts out on the way here, getting Brady to France by accident?” Egan laughs loudly, the booming sound tumbling across every surface of the bar. Harry Crosby groans in despair, eyes clamped shut and cringes.
“He told you that?”
Egan downs the last of his drink, patting Crosby hard on the shoulder. “Course he told me that. Hey, you have that talk with the Colonel yet?” He asks as he points toward Chick Harding, standing with Jack Kidd.
“No, sir,” Croz replies. “Not yet.”
“Well, hell, now’s as good a time as any.” He departs with a nod, making his way back to the table he'd been sharing with Buck Cleven.
“Crosby,” Harry hears, Jack Kidd beckoning him over. “How’re you doin’?”
This is my entry in the HBOWarDaily's Secret Santa 2024! This is written for the wonderful @jump-wings, I hope you enjoy!
divider by plum98
Just Trust Me
John “Bucky” Egan x Reader
The war had taken a toll on Bucky, it was sadly plain to see.
So when he asked you if you wanted to go on a bike ride, your heart soared. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked you on a ride.
You could remember the first though.
“Hey sweetheart! You wanna go for a ride?” You heard a voice shout from behind you.
It was a voice you knew well.
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, John, in your dreams.”
“Oh but I dream of you every night.” He crowed into the afternoon air, speeding up to cut in front of you.
You gasped in annoyance, your boots covered in mud. Your face scrunched into a frown and you tried to stomp past him, “Look what you did!”
A broad hand reached for you, “Wait please.”
“For the last time, no Bucky! I won’t be another notch in your bedpost.” You whipped your arm away from him and stormed off.
“It’s beautiful out here.” Your husband smiled gently, the first real smile you’d seen in forever.
“Yeah it is.” You were sitting on the handlebars so half of your attention was on making sure you stayed balanced and the other half was trying to figure out where he was taking you.
He chuckled softly and rested his head on your shoulder. “Relax sweetheart. Just trust me.”
A broad hand reached for you, “Do you trust me?”
“Not really.” You sniffled and wiped your eyes, but took his hand as he helped you from the barstool.
He led to a bicycle parked outside, the golden light of the sun reflecting off the freshly cleaned handlebars.
The giant of a man bowed gracefully and presented the bicycle with all the grandeur of a royal footman. “Your most noble steed, m’lady.”
You jumped on as he held the bike steady.
As he took off, your destination unclear, you began to speak. “I don’t know what I expected anyway, all you pilots are the same.”
Bucky scoffed, “What, ‘cause one guy stood you up, all pilots are assholes?”
You smacked one of his hands, “Language!”
He laughed, a deep hearty sound. “Sorry, Mother Mary.”
“I suppose it’s unfair to put all of you in one box, Gale is an exceptional gentleman.”
You felt a puff of hot breath on the back of your neck. “He’s also spoken for.”
“I know! But you could learn a thing or two from him.”
“I already have.” The bike stopped and you realised. You were in the most beautiful field of flowers you had ever seen. And to make things even better.
The sunrise.
“Buck told me you like sunrises and sunsets, and you haven’t been able to see one for a while.”
You manoeuvred as best you could to kiss him on the cheek.
“Thank you.”
The ride to your favourite picnic spot was a lot shorter than you remembered. Maybe it was just that you didn’t want to get off the bike.
Per your routine, Bucky held the bike still as you hopped off, then dismounted.
He grabbed your left hand gently and pressed a kiss on your ring finger as you walked along.
Settling in to eat a fairly late lunch/early dinner, you began to talk. Something Bucky hadn’t done for a while. About the war, about family, about getting that dog he really wanted.
And at the end of it all, the sun set. And it was beautiful.
hi!!! so excited to organize a gift for you. I love love LOVE writing for all the characters you have mentioned in your preferences, especially Croz so I'm so very excited to dive into that.
looking forward to finding out more about you as the season progresses! lots of love 💝
Hello my love, I’m truly so sorry for not responding sooner - life has just been kicking me while I’m down for a while now I can’t wait to hear from you again ❤️
A/N: It's finally here, and it's only part one! I'm so sorry everyone but I've been fucking miserable for the last few months. But I'm here, I promise!
Requests are also open for BoB and MotA!
The Heart of the Ocean (Part One)
Gale "Buck" Cleven x Reader
The stateroom is much smaller than you anticipated, though perhaps your expectations were too high. After all, this is just a boat with a lot of people on it.
It feels suffocating, though perhaps that’s a consequence of your circumstances more than your room.
You stare at yourself in the vanity’s mirror. You look tired, but maybe you should cut yourself some slack. You’re getting married in a few weeks. Every bride looks this sallow before their wedding day.
There’s a knock on the door, gentle and polite. You haven’t even responded when it opens. Caledon Hockley, your fiance, walks in. If you had never spoken to the man, you’d say that smile on his face is genuine.
He brandishes a velvet jewellery box and presents it to you with all the showmanship of a salesman. You’re not sure why. You’re marrying the bastard, not buying a house from him.
Cal crowds up behind you, opening the box, expecting you to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over it. He gives you some long speech about how the diamond used to belong to some long dead king. All you can do is stare. It’s so… big. It’s gaudy and awful. At least it matches your engagement ring.
He clasps the necklace, the chain feeling rather literal. He kisses your temple and grins at his most prized possession. You paste on a smile and thank him for his kindness. As he leaves, reminding you of the lunch you were already supposed to be at, you wrap a hand around the massive blue diamond. It’ll at least weigh me down, you joke.
Despite your mother’s hatred of her, Mrs Margaret “my-friends-call-me-Molly” Brown is the only person you can talk to that actually listens. You walk into the dining room for lunch, hands gently wrapped around one of Cal’s arms and the first thing you hear is, “that necklace is gorgeous darling!”
Your mother fawns over it and you almost tell her to just take it if she wants it so bad.
Molly says, “Not as beautiful as the woman wearing it.”
Her beaming smile is not enough to distract you from your mother’s eye roll, but it is enough for you to respond with a genuine thanks. You can’t remember the last time you got a compliment.
Stuck at a table between a rock (Cal) and a hard place (your mother), you wait anxiously to eat. You would listen to the conversations around you, but it’s mostly your mother bragging about the family you’re marrying into, and the men discussing which type of cigar they’ll smoke next or other trivial nonsense.
When the waiter approaches, you perk up. but Cal takes over. “We'll both have the lamb, medium-rare with very little mint sauce.” He turns to you and pats your hand, “You like lamb, don't you sweet-pea?”
You stare at him silently, god his face was just so punchable. A pinch on your thigh reminds you that there’s an audience. “Of course, darling.”
Molly jumps in, noticing the distinct pinch of your mouth. “You gonna cut her meat for her, too, Cal?” The table bursts into laughter and even your fiance forces a tight smile.
The food is not quite to your taste, the bitterness of Cal’s mistreatment tainting your meal. But the conversation takes a turn for the better.
Molly posits, “So, how do ya reckon they got to the name Titanic?”
An older fellow married to a woman 3 years your junior speaks up, “Well the name obviously conveys size, thus it also conveys strength.”
You jump in, “Perhaps Dr Freud’s ideas about the male preoccupation with size will interest you, Mr Higginbotham.”
Your mother pinches your thigh again and you jolt. The conversation changes once more and even Molly’s boisterous laughter can’t calm your temper. You excuse yourself and race outside for some fresh air.
The ocean breeze cools you down somewhat. You bask in the sun’s rays, gripping the rail in front of you and leaning back just a little.
Your reverie is interrupted by a loud shout of “Miss!”
You look down to see two brunets wrestling playfully. Their blonde friend shakes his head before looking up at you. Your knees turn to butter. He’s quite possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life.
The two of you stare at each other for so long, his friends have stopped wrestling, instead looking between you two like a tennis match. The Greek statue below only stops the staring contest when a frown takes over.
Your own face falls when you realise why: Cal. Your fiance grips your arm and begins to berate you quietly while dragging you back inside.
But the beautiful blonde man is all you see. His smile as his friends begin to tease is enough to feed you for a lifetime.
Dinner is much the same, only your noose feels tighter than before. Your newfound wealth is still the only topic of conversation your mother cares about and your fiance is content to make every little decision for you.
Of all your companions, at least Molly Brown tries to reach out with some gentle questions about the wedding. Cal fields all of them, he and your mother having planned everything to the very flowers of your bouquet.
Your ears begin to ring. Your mother over one shoulder, your fiance over the other. A hand touches yours lightly. It’s gloved but still warm. Molly’s Southern accent cuts through the rest of the conversation.
“You okay darling?”
You nod and beam brightly. “Of course, just excited for the wedding.”
It’s clearly not enough for her. Then an icy glare from the people either side of you reminds her of your precarious position.
“Well who wouldn’t be? It all sounds so beautiful!”
You power through dinner, Cal ordered the beef for you both, though you would rather have eaten dirt.
He kisses your gloved hand as the men retire to the smoking room. Molly rubs your shoulder gently as she bids you goodbye.
Your mother hisses at you for acting up. You simply smile apologetically and ask to get some fresh air. She waves you off with an angry “I’ll see you later.”
Thankfully, no one else is on deck as you sprint across the wood. Your chest is heaving with panicked breaths and barely concealed sobs. The theatrics catch the attention of a man laying on a bench staring up at the stars.
You crash into the rail at the stern of the ship and hastily climb over. Your breath gets stuck in your throat as the wind brushes past your face, cooling the tears on your cheeks.
The skin over your knuckles stretches as you cling to the only tether you have left. The water looks cold but so inviting.
Then a voice. It’s quiet and gentle, but it nearly startles you into letting go.
“Easy, easy, didn’t mean to scare you.” He approaches, palms up in surrender.
“Go away.” You’re beyond embarrassed to have someone witness your breakdown. Your consideration of the unthinkable.
“Well that I’m not gonna do.” He creeps closer like you’re a wounded animal. It’s perhaps a cliche, but you imagine that’s what you are. Hunted for your beauty and trapped in the snare of a loveless marriage.
“You should leave. If you know what’s good for you.” You wish your voice sounds stronger. The creaking of your throat doesn’t make you sound very intimidating.
He just sighs and sits down on the deck. He begins to… remove his shoes? You frown and look over your shoulder as much as you can.
“What are you doing?”
“If you’re going down there,” he nods to the water below you, “I’m coming after you. And these are a new pair. Can’t get ‘em all soggy.”
You begin to laugh, a little hysterically. “That water’s freezing. There’s no way you’ll jump after me.”
“That’s not the part I’m worried about.” He stands up and begins to remove his jacket. Your face grows serious once more. His shoulders are broad, he must be a steel worker or something. But his face is too pretty for that kind of work. “You know a fall from this height into water, it’s like hitting pavement. Then you add the freezing water and-“ he hissed through his teeth.
You take another look, it is a very long way down. How did you not notice that before? A few moments of contemplative silence pass and the broad shouldered man moves closer.
You look over your shoulder at him. “You ever feel alone? Like truly alone in the world.”
He frowns sympathetically, “Can’t say I have, ma’am.”
You smile sadly. “That’s good.” Your hands begin to loosen their grip.
His voice now sounds like it’s right next to you, but you can’t bring yourself to look. “Maybe you should come back over this rail and tell me all about it. Maybe I can help you.”
A sad little smile appears on your face. “I wish you could.”
Then warmth wraps around your wrist. The man’s hands are calloused but much softer than you expected.
“You never know if you don’t try.” He’s practically begging, anxiously waiting for your response.
You turn your head to look at him, tears threatening to choke you. You realise just who this man is. “Okay.”
He wraps a gentle but firm arm around your waist and helps you pull yourself back over the rail. When you finally set your heeled feet on the deck, your body feels like it’s going to collapse. The man leads you to a bench and wraps his jacket tight around you.
“I’m Gale by the way, Gale Cleven.”
You introduce yourself, still feeling rather defeated.
“Now tell me about what happened just now.” The words imply an interrogation, but looking into those baby blues you see… concern. What is with the people on this boat?
You’ll know them for only about a week and yet they’re the only ones in your life who seem to actually care for you.
“I know what you must be thinking.” You sigh, “Poor little rich girl. What does she know about misery?”
Gale leans his head forward to make eye contact, “Not at all. What I’m thinking is what could have happened to this girl to make her think she has no way out?”
You flash the giant ring on your finger, “I’m getting married next month.”
He jokes, “Wow! You would have gone straight to the bottom.”
But you can’t laugh, you just stare at it. “All of Boston society will be there. 500 invitations.”
You finally look at his face, counting his freckles subconsciously, “Sometimes I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs and no one even looks up.”
He frowns and you’re hit with a sudden wave of shame. “Thank you for your help, Gale.” You take his jacket off hastily and drop it in his lap.
“Wait-” He tries to process the abrupt end to your conversation but you’re already halfway down the deck, surreptitiously wiping away tears.
The next morning, you beg your mother to let you have some space and fresh air. Really, you want to find the handsome blond from the night before. To apologise and to assure him that you will be just fine.
It’s not difficult to spot his incredibly handsome profile. He’s hunched over a sketchbook, head bobbing as he looks to his reference then back down. Trying to follow his eyeline, you see a sweet looking older man dancing with his little daughter. She stands on his feet as they sway to nothing in particular.
You approach carefully, worried you’d break the warm quiet, or disturb the family’s moment. You decide to just sit next to Gale. He tilts his head in acknowledgment but continues his work.
“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last night,” you begin, “it was inappropriate for a woman of my station.”
He gives a little half-smile and looks up at you. His stare is like looking into the sun. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel. And I felt honoured you trusted me enough to share your pain.”
Your face warms, you’re not sure if it’s shame or those baby blues trained on yours. The girl and her dad are still dancing, but he’s picked her up. Her curls swish around as he twirls them and her giggles almost bring a tear to your eye. You can’t remember the last time your parents showed you any affection, let alone danced with you just to make you laugh.
Gale clears his throat and holds his sketchbook out. His work is incredible. Not only is his technical work beautiful but he’s captured the loving glint in the father’s eyes and the little girl’s missing tooth. You can’t help your beaming smile.
“This is incredible work! You should be proud. Is this what you plan to do back in the States?” You brush a gentle finger over the drawing’s finer details.
He blushes and shakes his head, “I’m going back to my tiny hometown to see my family. Where I go from there, I don’t know.”
“You have a real talent here, Gale! You should explore this.” You hand the drawing back to him.
His plush lips part like he wants to respond, but you’re interrupted. The sweet little girl taps your shoulder, her tiny hand covered in freckles. She introduces herself as Niamh, and asks if you’re some kind of fairy. You frown, confused, but hear Gale chuckle behind you.
“She absolutely is, Miss Niamh.” When you turn your head to look at him, he winks. You look back at Niamh and smile.
“He’s right, I am a fairy! And I have a gift for you, little one.” You pull out one of the many pins in your hair, a bejewelled butterfly on the end. You hold it out to her; she seems hesitant to take it.
Niamh looks back at her dad who nods in her direction. She takes the pin and gives it a little kiss, “I promise, I’ll take care of it.” She runs back to her dad, giggling.
“I gotta go soon,” Gale’s voice draws you back to your previous conversation. “It’s almost lunchtime, but I wanted to ask.” He closes his sketchbook and faces you head on. “You ever been to a party?”
You had assumed when Gale asked you about a party there would be drinking and music, but nothing to this level.
The small parlour is packed to the brim with warm bodies and free-flowing drinks. Gale is up on a makeshift stage dancing with a cat in one arm and Niamh on the other. You remember his two brunet friends from yesterday and search for their faces, hopefully one of them will remember you.
One is preparing to arm wrestle a big bald man while the other claps him on the shoulder for support. A pregnant woman stands behind them, arms folded and a big grin on her face. You make your way through everyone, feeling very overdressed. By the time you reach them, the arm wrestling match is done and everyone cheers for “Curt”. By the big smile on his face, you assume Curt is one of Gale’s friends.
You can’t quite find a way to interject yourself into the celebrations so you find yourself leaning against the wall awkwardly. Gale finally notices you and tries to wave, only he has no hands free. So he quickly gestures to his friends.
“Hey!” The taller brunet shouts, holding his arms out for a hug. You shake your head, not quite there in your acquaintanceship with him. Instead the pregnant woman wraps her arms around him instead. “You’re the dame who Buck can’t stop talking about.”
“Buck?” You look over his shoulder at Gale whose attention is divided between you and Niamh. “Oh Gale!” Your face heats up, “I hope he’s been kind.”
Curt butts in, “Darling you’ve got nothing to worry about, the man is already picking out a ring for ya.”
The tall brunet holds his hand out to shake yours, introducing himself as John, “But my friends call me Bucky.” He also introduces the woman under his arm as Angel. She gives you her real name but says she prefers the nickname.
Curt gives you an official introduction, and Gale peels himself away from Niamh and the cat long enough to come join you all.
“I’m glad to see you here, sweetheart.” Gale smiles and wraps an arm around your shoulder. You lose yourself in his eyes again.
“Glad to be here.” Your voice is breathy, but for once you’re saying what you truly mean.
The night is long and restless, you drink and you dance and you laugh and you dream. This is the life you’d sorely missed, friends, fun, and blossoming love.
The night winds down, Curt has passed out on a bench near the makeshift stage. There’s only one fiddle player left, the rest of his musician family gone to bed. Niamh is asleep in her dad’s arms while her mother dances around them.
Bucky and Angel dance together, looking more in love than anyone you’ve ever seen. He whispers sweet nothings in a low tone just to see her blush. Gale clears his throat next to you and you snap your eyes towards him. He holds his large hand out, inviting you to dance. As you join him, slow dancing next to your new friends, you wonder. Maybe you can learn to love Gale like Angel loves her Bucky.
It’s late when you return to your room. A familiar face greets you. Cal sits on his reading chair with a whiskey in one hand and your massive blue diamond necklace in the other.
“Where were you?” He doesn’t look at you, only the necklace.
“Out.”
“And what, precisely, does that mean?”
“I… was with friends.”
“Is that why you smell like a brewery?”
You roll your eyes, but choose just the wrong time to do as his eyes shift to you.
His voice is dark and angry, and your palms begin to sweat. “You are my fiance, and you are to be my wife. You will wear this gift at all times and you will not leave my side without my express permission. In fact, I’ve come to an agreement with your mother.” He stands, looming over you. “You will stay in this room and share this bed with me.”
Your eyes widen, “That would be inappropriate, we’re unmarried.”
“You are still mine.” He clasps the necklace around your throat once more.
You are cordially invited to join us in watching Band of Brothers, The Pacific, and Masters of the Air in chronological order April 29 - July 14, 2024.
We will be watching three episodes a week and will have prompts to boost fandom creation as we watch together!
You can find the episode schedule and prompts below the cut. Individual posts can be found here and here if you prefer shorter posts.
If you are unable to watch the show at the same time as the schedule, no worries. While we are personally planning to liveblog together the episodes per the schedule, we understand everyone has lives outside of tumblr. Watch whenever you are able - our goal is to bond over our love for these shows and experience them again together. Pop in when you are able! :)
Please tag all your posts during this event with #hboww2rewatch and give us a follow for all updates on the rewatch.
Please reblog this post to spread the word!
Schedule:
We are tentatively planning to watch Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturdays, but that is not set in stone - watch when you are able during the week!
Week 1: Mon April 29- Sun May 5
The Pacific E1 (Dec ‘41- Oct ‘42)
The Pacific E2 (Oct ‘42)
The Pacific E3 (Dec ‘42- Fall ‘43)
Week 2: Mon May 6- Sun May 12
Masters of the Air E1 (Spring ‘43)
Masters of the Air E2 (Spring ‘43)
Masters of the Air E3 (Aug ‘43)
Week 3: Mon May 13- Sun May 19
Masters of the Air E4 (Oct ‘43)
Masters of the Air E5 (Oct ‘43)
Masters of the Air E6 (Oct ‘43)
Week 4: Mon May 20- Sun May 26
The Pacific E4 (Dec ‘43)
Masters of the Air E7 (march ‘44)
Band of Brothers E1 (June ‘44)
Week 5: Mon May 27- Sun June 2
Masters of the Air E8 (June ‘44)
Band of Brothers E2 (June 6, ‘44)
Band of Brothers E3 (June 7, ‘44)
Week 6: Mon June 3- Sun June 9
The Pacific E5 (Sept ‘44)
Band of Brothers E4 (Sept ‘44)
The Pacific E6 (Sept-Oct ‘44)
Week 7: Mon June 10- Sun June 16
Band of Brothers E5 (Oct ‘44)
The Pacific E7 (Oct-Dec ‘44)
Band of Brothers E6 (Dec ‘44)
Week 8: Mon June 17- Sun June 23
Band of Brothers E7 (Jan ‘45)
Band of Brothers E8 (Feb ‘45)
The Pacific E8 (Feb ‘45)
Week 9: Mon June 24- Sun June 30
Band of Brothers E9 (April ‘45)
The Pacific E9 (April-June ‘45)
Masters of the Air E9 (Feb-June ‘45)
Week 10: Mon July 1- Sun July 7
Band of Brothers E10 (May-Aug ‘45)
The Pacific E10 (Aug ‘45)
Saving Private Ryan (Bonus event)
Week 11: Mon July 8- Sun July 14 - post rewatch events to encourage fellow fans!
Reblog people’s creations
Leave comments on fics
Consider making a new friend in someone else who participated
A slight against one of your dearest friends causes you to act wildly out of character, and Bucky finds himself stepping up to save you as he realizes just what you mean to him after months of seemingly innocuous encounters.
Warnings: Language, Period Typical Sexism, References to Cheating, Reader Knees a Man in the Groin, Perceived Threats of Violence, Plenty of Kissing, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - T.
Author’s Note: Well here we are, watching me write for this show before it's fully aired. Blame/credit to @precious-little-scoundrel and her anon for infecting my brain. Reader has an unnamed brother for sake of plot, no descriptions or y/n used. Events of this fic take place a few days before the horrific Regensburg mission. Also I recognize that WACs did not arrive in the ETO until July of 1943, this fact does not seem to have influenced Hanks/Spielberg so I shan't let it influence me either. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.
Word Count: 4217
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The pub was crowded, as usual, and Bucky leaned back in his chair as Curt regaled their table with another one of his stories from Walla Walla. The press of uniform clad bodies, damp from the summer rain outside, created a humid atmosphere. But as he tipped the last few drops of Scotch whisky from his glass into his mouth, he was certain there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
Buck had decided to sit this one out, wanting to catch up on his latest letter to Marge. His mouth ticked up at the corners as he reflected once again on how different he and his friend were from one another. Glancing at the bar while he contemplated fetching the next round, Bucky’s eyes widened as they fell on the last person he would ever expect to see in a pub. It took him a moment to recognize you in such an unusual environment, hair perfectly styled. He noted that you were even wearing makeup as your teeth sank into your brightly painted lower lip, wending your way through the crowd, clearly on a mission.
“Bucky are you even listening?” Curt chided with a sharp jab of his elbow into his upper arm.
“Yeah absolutely,” He nodded firmly, unable to take his eyes off you, “every word.” He tacked on as his gaze followed you across the room on your approach to the notorious flirt from 349th squadron, Arthur “Red” Jameson.
He was vaguely aware of the doubtful scoff his reply had earned as his eyes narrowed. Wasn’t your friend Mary rather serious about Red? Not that Red bothered limiting himself to any one woman, local or American – there were few limits that smug redhead put on his relations with the fairer sex. Perhaps that was why Bucky was feeling particularly annoyed with how close you had come to stand next to him at the bar. With the way you were smiling at him. You hardly ever smiled, had to be one of the most serious, reserved women he had ever encountered here in England or back home.
It was when you ducked your head to peer up at Red through your lashes that the realization hit him – you were fucking flirting with him. His fingers clenched tightly on his empty glass, fingertips blanched white as the strength of his grip drove the blood from the flesh there. A slow, knowing smile unfurled across Red’s face as he leaned in, his hand landing on your shoulder making Bucky’s teeth grind together almost painfully as he was flooded with proprietary rage.
The intensity of it startled him, made him take a sharp breath and relax his grip on the glass. Where in the hell had that come from?! The pair of you had spoken no more than a handful of times, simple interactions in the Operations Room of the Control Tower back when he was Air Exec, around the base, or most recently, that afternoon when you had lent him a copy of one of his favorite books, but it wasn’t like you were close. You were quiet, overshadowed by your boisterous friends Mary, Ruth, and that brunette whose name escaped him just then. They were always outgoing at dances while you did an excellent job of decorating the wall. It certainly was not like you were anything more than colleagues. Objectively that was the truth, however, as Bucky sat there watching you grin at that man…
The final straw came as your lips nearly brushed against Red’s ear, making that bastard’s eyes shoot wide, sending Bucky surging to his feet. He narrowly missed one of the low beams overhead as he glared across the crowded room at the cozy pair you and Red presented at the bar.
“Jesus Christ Bucky, did something jump up and bite your ass?!” Curt barked in surprise, the rest of the table laughing loudly in response.
Bucky barely heard them as his new vantage point allowed him a clear view of your knee colliding painfully with the apex of Red’s thighs, causing him to crumple against the bar as you bolted out the back door. Bucky stared after you, just as bewildered as Red’s friends, before they charged out the door in your wake.
“God dammit.” He muttered under his breath before climbing over his friends to make a dash for the front entrance of the pub, his cap clutched in his hand.
------------
Your Women’s Auxiliary Army Corp unit had arrived at Thorpe Abbots in late May, part of the first battalion of WAACs sent overseas. Assigned to the Eight Air Force, you had spent roughly a week with your British counterparts of the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force observing missions on other bases before it had come time to establish the base for the 100th.
Fast, accurate typing skills and a calm, quiet temperament had seen you promptly assigned as a clerk in the Operations Room, one of the tensest and most chaotic places on the entire base. Upon your arrival at training camp in Fort Des Moines, you had been adopted by a trio of far more outgoing women – Mary from Miami, a sun-kissed blonde who managed to look that way no matter what the weather; Ruth from Pittsburgh, a black-haired beauty who was manufactured from the steel her hometown was known for; and Violet from Savannah, a brunette who elongated every vowel like the southern belle she was.
Why they chose to waste any of their precious time on you was as much as mystery to you in England as it had been in Iowa, and yet any time you tried to convince them you would be perfectly happy sitting out a dance in your barracks with a book instead, they were adamant you attend. Bodily removed you from your cot to join them – not that you were one for dancing, even with the most handsome of airmen. And that title would most certainly have to be bestowed upon Major John Egan. Perhaps a bit of a rogue and more-often-than-not a little too deep into his cups, there was something undeniably charming about him. A magnetism that drew every woman on the base, and from across all of East Anglia, to him. The handsome devil knew it, too. Of course he did, that was, alas, also part of his charm.
Your trio of outgoing friends had gravitated toward him immediately, traded their fair share of coy looks and dances with him while you looked on quietly from the sidelines. He never really seemed to form that deep a connection with any of them, with any woman for that matter, but that did not deter the female population from trying to be the one to catch his eye for a bit of fun. It was during the long hours of the 100th’s first mission, while he was still serving as Air Exec, that you’d had your first occasion to speak to the man directly.
In the middle of one of the tense periods of waiting for news, he had poked his head into the office to see if anything had come across the teletype or wireless and you had looked up, meeting his eye. He was wearing his sheepskin coat, a striking combination of ivory and cognac colored leather that would have honestly looked absurd on anyone else, yet on him just seemed to belong over his dress uniform.
“Can I help you, Major Egan?” You had asked, fingers poised above your typewriter as you paused your progress in typing up a report for Colonel Huglin.
He had looked at you, startled a moment. “I was convinced you might actually be unable to speak. Glad to know I was wrong. It’s Bucky by the way. Just checking if there were any updates?”
“We’ll be sure to get them to you as soon as we have them, sir.” You had replied professionally, trying to ignore the warmth unfurling beneath your breastbone at having his attention directly solely upon you.
“That’s all I can ask then, thank you.” He had winked before slipping out of the room and heading back towards the plotting map.
It had not taken long for a series of updates to arrive, both by radio and over the teletype and being the highest-ranking clerk in the office, third officer, it was your duty to run them out to him. Grabbing both sheets of paper, you had quickly made your way across the room, startled to find him striding towards you, meeting you halfway. “Here you are Major Egan.”
“Touchdown.” He had grinned and taken them over to review with the others as you had hurried back to your office, gnawing on the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.
You had been admittedly saddened when he had been demoted to squadron commander of the 418th after Colonel Harding assumed command of 100th. For selfish reasons, certainly – your interactions had become increasingly limited after this point – but also because it meant he was more frequently put into harm’s way. Every time he went up in a fort, you found focusing on the job at hand more and more difficult. Unlike the ground crews or the brass, it was not looked upon kindly for the WACs to go running outside to see which forts had come back. Which airmen were injured. Sometimes it would take hours for you to confirm that he was all right, and only then by way of hearsay.
You had still run into Major Egan from time to time, while walking with your group of friends to the WAC mess for dinner – by mid-July you were now serving in the Women’s Army Corp as a 2nd Lieutenant, or after meetings in the Operations Room when he was not flying missions. But the longest conversation you ever had was during one of your breaks earlier that very afternoon. It was an uncharacteristically sunny day, and with no mission in progress you had decided to take your coffee break outside, behind the control tower, sitting on one of the benches the ground crew had built out of scrap wood.
Before you had enlisted, your brother had bought you a copy of his favorite book, one he had never let you read before because you were ‘just a kid’ but now that you were old enough to sign up for the service yourself, he had decided you could have your own copy. With just two pages left, it seemed the perfect way to break up the morbid tallies you had been typing up in the grim office upstairs, and you had just finished the final sentence when a shadow fell over you.
“Now how did you get a copy of my favorite book?”
You had lifted your eyes quickly, squinting slightly into the bright sun that shone from behind him, to see Major Egan standing there.
“Major Egan. You like Guys and Dolls, sir?” You had asked, startled.
“How many times do I gotta tell you it’s Bucky.” He had stepped out of the sunlight to sit beside you carefully. “I love everything by Damon Runyon. Which story did you like the best?” He had leaned in curiously.
Pursing your lips to think over the collection of stories you had just finished, you smiled briefly as the answer came to you. “’Madame La Gimp.’ Where they pass off the bag lady –”
“As a society matron! Yes!” Major Egan chimed in, laughing as he nodded in agreement.
“What…about yours?” You had swallowed, unable to stop yourself.
“God, I haven’t read this book in forever…” he had reached out for it, and you had set it in his hands easily.
He had sucked his teeth in thought as he turned it over in his broad hands. “It’s gotta be a tie between ‘Blood Pressure’ and ‘Hold ‘Em Yale’…ah but ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ is excellent, too.” As he had spoken, he had begun to gesture with the book to emphasize his words, making you press your lips together fondly.
“You can borrow it if you’d like.” You had blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Give me a definitive answer once you’ve read it again.”
Major Egan had looked to you quickly. “Really? But what if…how will I know to get it back to you?” He had raised an eyebrow.
“My name’s on the front page.” You had nodded reassuringly but swallowed tightly as he opened the cover as if to confirm it for himself.
“‘Hey Sis,’” He had begun to read the inscription he found there, bringing your brother’s words to life, “‘lighten up, would you? You don’t have to be so damned serious all the time. See you on the other side.’” He had paused a moment before his eyes had met yours, caught you watching him, before you quickly looked down at the grass at your feet. “Where is he?” he had asked quietly.
“On a ship in the Pacific, somewhere.” You had replied softly, finding each blade of grass infinitely fascinating.
“Are you sure–” He had begun to ask before the sound of your name being called by your very impatient Captain, a woman even Major Egan knew not to waylay, interrupted the peaceful afternoon.
You had leapt to your feet. “You’ll get it back to me.” You had nodded and rushed back inside, believing every word of it.
You had seriously contemplated sharing your encounter with at least Ruth, the more level-headed of your friends, knowing she was the least likely to conflate the exchange with a marriage proposal. But as you returned to your barracks that night, you frowned deeply to find Mary in tears on her cot. After much soothing and rocking in your arms, she finally managed to open up, sharing what had gotten her so upset.
“It’s Red…I caught him out back necking with one of those doughnut truck girls…” She hiccupped and dabbed at her nose with her hanky.
“Oh Mary, I’m so sorry.” You frowned, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.
“Oh god, I can’t believe I let that creep talk me into sleeping with him!” She wailed, fresh tears boiling over onto her cheeks as she sagged onto your shoulder, sobbing anew.
Every muscle in your body tensed as her outburst sunk in, the depth of his betrayal fully registering as Vi and Ruth returned from the end of their shifts in the weather office and Mary launched herself into their arms to fill them in as well. The level of pure fury that seized your body was utterly foreign to you and, unlike the descriptions you had encountered in literature to date, felt utterly icy in your veins. As your friends gently coaxed Mary to the latrines to get herself cleaned up, you hung back, a plan formulating quickly in your mind. Your life without these women would have been lonely, all but intolerable, and this transgression against one of them could not go unanswered. You could not look at yourself in the mirror if you did nothing.
Digging quickly through Mary’s belongings, you found her most alluring shade of lipstick, carefully but efficiently applying it to your lips before unpinning and redoing your hair into a more fashionable shape rather than the more utilitarian style you normally wore. Lastly you added a flick of mascara to your eyelashes and rouge to your cheeks. All this was accomplished using the tiny mirror Vi had set up on the shelf beside her bed. Nodding once in satisfaction, for it was truly the best you could do in a solo effort, you darted out the door, lipstick tube in your pocket for reapplications, if necessary. The cad would never see it coming from you, you just needed to figure out a way to get close enough.
Fortunately, the years you had spent on the sidelines watching the three masters of feminine wiles at work had afforded you quite the education. It was only a matter of finding the perpetrator to enact your revenge. You located him in the second pub you visited, taking a slow breath as your eyes sought him out in the crowded, humid space. The rain had thankfully stopped before your foray out into the night, though the streets remained wet, and you had taken the time to refresh your lipstick and tidy your hair before stepping inside. Your heart began to race as your veins flooded with adrenaline.
‘Easy now. Slow and smooth like Mary, give him that flirty smile she’s famous for.’ You thought to yourself.
As his eyes met yours it was all you could do not to wince back in disgust – you were going to need to hide your dislike better.
‘Pretend he’s someone else. Who would you like him to be?’
You gulped shyly, teeth sinking into your lip at the thought of applying these skills to Major Egan, noting that Red seemed immediately more receptive as you slid up beside him where he stood at the bar.
“Evening, Red.” You smiled at him broadly, swallowing nervously as he echoed the expression warmly.
“Well good evening to you too. You escaped the base.” Red teased you.
You faked a giggle and tilted your head down before flicking your eyes to look up at him through your lashes, something Vi had weaponised to great effect on many an occasion. You tried not to shout in triumph as Red’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, leaning in closer.
“Can I buy you a drink, sugar?”
“Actually…” You smiled coyly before leaning in close to his ear, taking a slow breath before dropping all pretense from your tone. “Mess around with one of my friends again and I’ll cut it off.” You snarled into his ear before driving your knee into his groin as sharply as the straight lines of your uniform skirt would allow, slipping out of his grip as he slouched over the bar with a cry of pain.
You longed to bask in his suffering, in your triumph, but you also recognized you had to get out of there before the consequences of your actions found you. Spying a door propped open to a back alley over Red’s crumpled torso, you made a dash through the stunned corner of the pub and out into the night, pausing a moment before turning to the left, hoping it was the correct direction. You certainly wished you knew your way around town a little better.
Your heart was pounding so hard you were worried it might burst through the front of your WAC jacket as you neared the main street but there was an increasing ruckus behind you – surely Red’s friends in hot pursuit. Suddenly Major Egan appeared in front of you, seemingly out of nowhere, and grabbed your arm, pulling you around a corner and down a smaller alleyway.
“Do you trust me?” He asked quickly, glancing back towards the approaching sound of voices as he shuffled you backward, closer to the brick wall of the building behind you.
You nodded at him, speechless, breathing heavily from your flight. Your uniform cap felt precarious where it was perched on your rapidly falling hairstyle. Major Egan’s aftershave was flooding your senses due to his sheer proximity.
“I’m going to kiss you now.” He whispered as his eyes met yours, his own cap at a dangerous angle atop his dark curls, defying gravity.
He shifted forward to crowd your space, your eyes shooting wide as his forearms lifted to press against the wall on either side of your face, body shielding you from view. He bowed his head to press his lips against yours softly, making your eyelids flutter closed, doing nothing to slow the erratic beating of your heart. He tasted a little bit like whiskey, which had reminded you of gasoline the few times you’d had the misfortune of sipping it, but on his plush lips, it was not so bad.
Your hands balled into fists in the olive drab fabric of your skirt, heat painting its way across your cheeks and down your neck as the coarse hair that decorated his upper lip brushed against your skin. It was all too tempting to lose yourself in the feeling of him surrounding you, protecting you, kissing you. Reality reared its ugly head, making you inhale sharply through your nose as you heard the crowd of men stampede right past you muttering angrily.
“That damn cold fish from operations…”
“Who the fuck does she think she is?!”
“No wonder she ain’t got nobody.”
Pulling back from his lips, you frowned down at your brown uniform shoes, still hidden within the cage of his arms.
“Hey…” He murmured, bowing his head to nudge your nose with his, drawing your gaze back up as you swallowed shyly at the tender gesture. “Don’t listen to ‘em.” He urged you, his blue eyes so very dazzling and disarming at this range, even in the dim light of black-out conditions.
“I…It’s ok,” you breathed as you shook your head. “I know I’ll never be…” you furrowed your brow, not even sure what word you were searching for.
“Anything other than perfect, doll?” His lopsided grin was devastating, made it hard to breathe, though that may have also been his continued proximity. He leaned in for another kiss, but you lifted a shaky hand to press against his shoulder.
“Th…they’re gone you don’t have to pretend…” You murmured sadly, shifting to stand, but he did not move an inch, his breath brushing against your cheeks.
“I’m going to kiss you now because I want to, doll.” He murmured, eyes tracing over your face while giving you a moment to respond.
You were, however, frozen, staring at him again and so he pressed his lips firmly to yours, making your fingers curl slightly around the lapel of his uniform jacket. He hummed softly in response, pressing you back against the wall as he slanted his mouth tighter to yours, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. Shivering at the heat of his palms against your skin, you slowly lifted your other hand from your skirt, stretching it towards him, letting it hover between you tentatively.
He dropped his right hand from your cheek to guide your arm around his waist before sliding his own hand to splay against your lower back, drawing a whimper from your throat as you arched slightly.
He pulled back from your lips, chest heaving. “Christ, doll, you have no idea what you do to me.”
“Bucky?” You whispered, confused by his statement, finding it difficult to think clearly.
Bucky groaned and kissed you fiercely, licking at the seam of your lips, sliding his tongue to yours the instant you parted your lips for him. Toes curling in your shoes, you found yourself mewling into his mouth wantonly until he wrenched back suddenly, hand cupping the back of your head as he hugged you tightly into his chest. The sound of voices eventually registered in your addled brain – Red’s friends returning from their failed attempt to find you.
“If I had known all I had to do was kiss you senseless to get you to use my name…” Bucky teased once the coast was clear, panting into your hair.
You giggled against his throat, your own chest heaving as he loosened his hold on you. Your cap tumbled to the ground, fully dislodged by his attentions.
“It’s a burden I’m willing to bear.” He smirked, pressing his lips to your exposed forehead. “Let’s get you back to your barracks. What are you doing out here all dolled up kneeing idiots like Red in the goods anyway?” He asked as he bent to retrieve your cap, dusting it off and placing it in your outstretched hand before turning to slide his arm around your shoulders, leading you toward the main road.
You huffed with a frown as you walked with him, putting your cover back into place snuggly, crushing your once-stylish hair. “I didn’t appreciate the way he treated Mary.”
Bucky smirked at you “Your brother is right you know, you really do need to lighten up…you can just call him a good-for-nothing and be done with it. No need to write a formal treatise on his behavior.”
His lips stretched into a grin as that pulled another laugh from you. You turned to look at him properly and gasped.
“Bucky you have lipstick all over –”
“Perfect” He nodded proudly, cocky grin on his lips, and made no move to clean up his face, while you quickly wiped at yours, knowing you would have to face your barrack-mates. “Next time you go on an attack mission you let me know, alright, doll? I’ll fly on your wing anytime.” He winked at you, and you bit your lip shyly.
“Thank you, Bucky.” You swallowed and stopped walking, leaning in to press your lips to his cheek softly.
As you pulled back, Bucky flexed the arm he still had slung about your shoulders, hauling you in for another heart-stopping kiss, your hands coming to rest against his chest. You had a feeling that the rather lengthy walk back to base was only going to become exponentially longer and found you really did not mind at all.
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