Hopefully this will be finished and out during the weekend 🙏
This is my first attempt at mature content that isn't death and gore (good old trifecta of life), so feedback on the finished work is greatly appreciated.
*Content warning*
Implied sexual situation, references to alcohol, drunk character
You'd come back from working late on a British bomber that had made an emergency landing after getting hit badly during a night run.
James had appearently gotten the door open and had been asking for you.
The other girls were more than happy to shove him back outside for you to deal with. Whatever James had drunk was obviously more than his body could handle. A part of your brain decided Bucky probably gave him some whiskey that was stronger than any English beer James had gotten used too.
"Doug, what'd you drink? Your burning up." His body was warming up your colder form, after being tucked into cold metal all evening.
"Nothing, just beer. You smell good.... sweet..."
The feeling of his mouth settling against your neck had you grabbing tighter to his hair, hoping to move his head back. A quiet groan left him as he tilted his head back. His eyes were blown wide, and his cheeked flushed, eyelids low.
"James," he looked in your eyes as you said his name in a harsher tone. "What happened?"
Somehow, he got redder, turning his head away a little.
Summary:A glimpse into a slow day at Top Gun, complete with minor inconveniences and lonely wallowing, hurray!
Notes:This is my first real attempt at a long fic, and trying to come up with a story. This chapter was started over *checks notes* 267 days ago.... I've spent that past (almost) year reading RoosterForMe fics on tumblr and trying wrangle a similar vibe for this. If you want to read *chef's kiss* TG:M fics I cannot recommend her works enough. <3<3<3
Howdy! I'm Caffeinated-Fan or Caffe. I'm an artist and occasionally a writer. I focus mostly on Band of Brothers, Generation Kill, the Pacific, Masters of the Air, and other military media. And whatever else catches my fancy.
This is an 18+ page, so I will say some out of pocket shit and reblog out of pocket shit. I can't exactly stop minors from following, but don't talk to me about sexual topics if you're under 18.
««Master list»»
Art
Everett Blakley sketch MOTA
John Brady MOTA
Harry Crosby MOTA
Chuck Grant sketch Band of Brothers
Wayne 'Skinny' Sisk Band of Brothers
Gabe Garza Generation Kill
Gabe Garza Generation Kill
Nausicaä
Hatsune Miku Project Voltage Poison
Hatsune Miku Project Voltage Ghost
Hatsune Miku Project Voltage Fire
Juri Street Fighter
Mota fanart
Writing on AO3 and Tumblr
Ao3 links ----
Mercy Shifty Powers Band of Brothers
Desktop>Logs>Iceman Top Gun
The boys who died in the hills The Pacific
Tumblr links ----
Desktop>logs>Iceman Top Gun
Transcript one; Sgt. Brad “Iceman” Colbert and Cpl. Josh Ray Person
Transcript two: Sgt. Antonio “Poke” Espera and Cpl. Jason Lilley and Cpl. Hector Leon.
Transcript three: Lance Cpl. Harold “James” Trombley and Cpl. Gabriel Garza
Transcript four: Sgt. Larry Shawn “Pappy” Patrick and Sgt. Rudy “Fruity Rudy” Reyes.
Transcript five: Cpl. Evan “Q-Tip” Stafford and Cpl. Anthony “Manimal” Jacks.
Old writing that haunts me :,) -1 damage -1 damage -1 damage
Nate dad fic I hate this uuuuuughghhghg
Garza x reader fic ouch oof
unfinished Genkill oc fic
Get around tags; to make it easier for you to find something before it gets added to the Master List.
#caffe draws <- if there is new art, it'll be tagged here first
#caffe writes <- if there is new writing on Ao3, it'll be tagged here first
#caffe spouts shit <- daily life is kept under this tag
A glimpse into a slow day at Top Gun, complete with minor inconveniences and lonely wallowing, hurray!
Notes:
This is my first real attempt at a long fic, and trying to come up with a story.
This chapter was started over *checks notes* 267 days ago....
I've spent that past (almost) year reading RoosterForMe fics on tumblr and trying wrangle a similar vibe for this.
If you want to read *chef's kiss* TG:M fics I cannot recommend her works enough. <3<3<3
Tuesday morning, 10th June.
Laundry, and sweeping. Groceries-MILK and creamer
I was writing my day plans out, my coffee getting colder next to me. Scribbling in the dates of upcoming appointments and services. My pen settled on the square for Saturday, scribbled in hasty pencil marks was ‘Dinner w/ Kazansky, Kans. Barbeque’.
This would be fine, it wasn’t going to suck. Barbeque is good, and therefore things around barbeque are also good.
“That’s a normal thing to think,” I mumbled to myself, taking a sip of coffee. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy being around other people, quite the opposite.
It’s fine, no one would look at an archivist and assume they’re a party animal. Tom seemed to enjoy my company, he somehow made it easier to talk to him. Like he understood when to give me space to talk, not bowling me over to finish what I was saying.
I stowed my journal in my backpack and set out to work. Stopping by my door to plop my basil plant outside.
“Bye, Boski Boo!” I hollered at the small aquarium in the living room before shutting the door.
I drove up to the MA at the base’s gate, holding out my ID, and sliding my bag to the front to let him check it. The ammunition pouches on his kevlar vest sagged inward without clips to hold them open, but the clip in his gun kept the impression that he very much would shoot me if he had to.
I drove past him, continuing down a road leading along the edge of base. Despite working here for almost a year I had rarely seen further into the base, my clearance only allowing me a few blocks in. But, I still got to see the buzz of military life in the distance. I had started getting used to the sound of aircraft zipping overhead and buzzing buildings when they came in to land. Although it made calling people while on base a nightmare with jet engines often drowning out both ends of the line.
I hopped out of my car slinging my bag over my shoulder. The brick building stood in the middle of a perfectly kept green, the paved paths clean and swept. As I walked up the path I remembered my first week here, I would cut the corner and step across the grass. Finally I noticed each time I did a sailor would wince or grimace to themselves. One finally told me they’d had it beaten into them to Never EVER walk on the grass. Apparently one of the Officers liked to make sailors who broke that rule crawl on all fours on the grass next to the paved path.
The doors to the archival building stuck as I moved inside, the sea air eating away at the metal. I waved quickly at the receptionist (Katy?) making a b-line for my office. I pushed the power switch on my computer and set about emptying my bag while it booted up. Digging through the mail for any updates on requested materials and orders for copies.
...
Stacking file-boxes full of newly printed copies, I pushed through my office door towards the archives. Walking down the aisles, carefully returning the cassettes to their boxes along with their CD copies. I’d finished up the day after Tom came by. I'd spent the rest of that day thinking about him sitting quietly, flipping through manila folders.
___
I sat clicking my pen, glancing up at Tom through the open doors. His head was bowed, nose almost touching the papers he was looking at. Leaning on his forearms, his hands cradling his head.
“We have magnifying glasses if you need one,” I softly called out. Tom's head popped up, still hunched over the paper.
“That'd be great, thank you.” He pushed up and rubbed at his eyes. I pulled open a desk drawer, grabbed what I needed and headed over.
“I'm surprised you don't need glasses,” I joked, handing him the magnifying glass.
“Hm. Not yet, but I don't doubt that grandpa reading glasses are in my future.” The mental image of Tom with glasses popped into my head. Oh. That's not bad at all…Maybe he's a horn-rimmed glasses guy, maybe more classic chic,
....
Okay, she's definitely thinking about me in glasses, now. I had no intent on telling her the grandpa glasses were fully in use already. Thankfully I'd only ruined my near sight from shoving my nose in books all day. I'm not sure I could survive Mav knowing I need glasses.
“I'm sure you'll look very distinguished when the day comes.” I felt her hand land on my shoulder before she walked away. Back through the two doorways to sit behind her desk. My face a little warm at the thought of someone finding my glasses attractive
My eyes dropped down to the papers in front of me. A-5 Vigilante variable geometry and their wind tunnel results. My brain goes back to running its two trains of thought. Half of my mind was focusing on the words, the other half combing through ideas to get her to come back over.
I cleared my throat, leaning towards the doorway.
“There's one configuration for the A-5 that's an almost wingless design..”
___
The quiet of the archival room pressed against my ears. Layers of paper and cardboard softening the outside world as it slips through the roof and chatters along the metal I-beams.
“Weh, Wil, WILLIAMS! James E.,” my shout of triumph cut through the silence like a knife careening through a window. Pulling down the box I gently laid the cassettes and CDs onto a new cardboard divider and closed the box. My eyes cast around the large, quiet room as I gathered up the box to put it away. The desk by the door, the foldout steel chair looking morose and empty. He’d even pushed it back in. The magnifying glass neatly tucked against the wall.
I hadn't had anyone come into records just to read for leisure in a few months. Mostly older sailors coming in on a slow day to peruse photographs and battle plans. I huffed and pushed the box onto the shelf and headed back to my office.
My open notebook caught my attention as I sat back down, Dinner w/ Tom circled in red on the 14th. The day before catching my eye, Friday 13th, making me smile. If I made it through that BBQ would be a nice reward for not getting murdered.
…
“Lieutenant Kazansky to tower, pre-flight checklist complete, awaiting orders.”
“Acknowledged, await further instructions,” the operator’s voice took on a less professional tone as she continued, “Get comfy, Ice, the engineers are still checking the runway for debris.” A jet had come in after hitting some birds and had left some nasty gifts for the ground crews, no one was injured thankfully. I shoved my head back as much as the crowded cockpit would let me. I'd gladly spend all day in my jet but for God's sake usually I was flying. I felt Slider jostle around behind me as he sat forward in his seat.
“Since we have some time to ourselves, let me tell you about that blonde, Rachel,” Slider said, his mask clunking against my chair.
“Is this the dumb one or the pretty dumb one?” I joked, remembering the two from last week. We'd gone to a bar far enough off base that the girls were excited to see a pilot but not total tag chasers. Slider had spent the night with a blonde on each arm like he was weighing his decision on who to stick with me. He was a hell of a RIO, and a decent wingman. Meaning he'd figure out fast if I wanted a girl that night and happily take home both if I didn't.
“Ha-Ha. Condescending laugh. She was plenty smart, works as a receptionist for some big company. Likes old planes. Anyway, she's got a friend, a stewardesses, coming in to visit next week who just adores the strong silent type. Said she'd love to set you up on a double date with us.”
“She sounds less like a hit it and quit it and more like a date, Slider,” I joked. He huffed and sat back in his seat. I waited for him to say some snappy comeback.
“Slider?...She was a one nighter, right?”
“...”
“Oh-ho-ho, Cupid landed a shot last night? That's great Slide, why the hell'd ya keep it from me?” Slider wasn't some chauvinistic prick who'd rather die than say he gets the warm fuzzies.
“Well, she was, a one night, ya'know. I spent the night-,” “Nice.” “I was going to head back home but she offered to order some food and we started talking. Then in the morning she said there was a nice brunch place on the way back to the bar. Her car is cool too, shitty driver though.
It just kinda smacked into me, she's so cool, man. I was like some dopey highschooler, cracking jokes and being terrified I'd annoy her somehow.”
“You? Annoy someone? Impossible, you only chew all your pencils and think out loud, have awful hygiene…” I joked, Slider pushing against my chair, before continuing. “I'd love to meet her, blind double date be damned.”
“Tower to Lieutenants, clear to proceed to the runway.”
…
This sucked. Okay not suck-sucks, but I was getting tired of this E-3 and his adherence to Not Helping Me. The wobbly stool was not helping me either, threatening to tip over as I grabbed boxes from the top shelf. He had been courteous when he’d told me what he needed from the archives, though his kindness ended there. Letting me climb up and down to retrieve the hefty boxes.
“Why weren’t you given a ladder? Shouldn’t there be a ladder just for this room?” he asked, shifting the boxes next to him with his foot. He reached up and steadied my back as I climbed down.
“No, there isn’t. The building flooded a few years back and it rusted. Now, we have stools.” I dusted down my shirt and took the box from him. “S’That everything? Good.” GET OUT. He pulled a smile and lead the way out. Catching the door with his shoulder and nodding me past.
I dropped the box I was holding in his arms (probably harder than I should given the contents), pulled a smile, and went to my office.
“Thank you, Ma'm. I'll be sure to get these back to you, all papers present.” He flashed a grin and adjusted the boxes to keep them stacked.
“Hope this isn’t the only trip you take over here,” the receptionist, (Katy, no Kathy?) said, pushing her chair back to get the main doors.
“Oh, I don’t think my CO will ever stop sending me here, ‘course you could always come see me.”
I pulled my door closed to avoid hearing them flirt. Kathy (I’ve decided that had to be it) liked uniforms more than the person in them, always chasing around the sailors who’d recently been stationed here.
I sat back in my chair with a sigh, trying to calm myself. I shouldn’t be upset. That E-3 wasn’t doing anything wrong. I had no real reason to be annoyed with him. A small flush of guilt spread up my neck. I hated being mad, I hated losing control over myself, I hated how people treated me like a child when I got upset.
I blew out a breath, leaned forward, and started typing in the logged out materials.
…
My keys slid into the lock as I shoved my body weight against it. I dropped my bag inside the door, and scooped up my basil plant. The door clicked shut behind me, shutting out the last bit of light.
The light of Boski’s tank barely lit up the room as I walked over to him. Boski, my comet goldfish, stared in my general direction from his tank as he swam slowly around. I watched with a small smile as he passed under the sign I hung above his cave, “Lord Byron Boksilous the Spacious”.
“Well, Boski-nova, I had a very boring day, I don’t know how you manage.” I sat down on the floor then let my body fall flat on the carpet. I really did like this job, the hours were fine, pay was decent. My dad had told me stories about how good it was to be contracted by the military in some way. While I wasn’t directly contracted I still had nice benefits.
“Only reason they're so good is no one else is there. It’s one of the largest on base repositories and they hired one person, Boski.” The hand I had raised to make my point clear to Boski flopped down beside me.
“One, angry, lonely person…” Drowning in a little pity pool sounded like a good ending to this day.
I layed there watching the reflections of the tank on the walls.
…
My truck's engine rumbled against my back as I stood across from Cary in some hotel parking lot. I’d driven her back after Slider went home with Rachel again, leaving Cary to get a cab. She’d hesitantly accepted my offer to drive her and I’d spent the whole time salvaging my image.
It'd been a rocky start to our double date. I spent a good while getting back into the swing of flirting. Cary’d spent the date flicking her attention from me to the first round college game over my shoulder. Slider was right, the two women did enjoy aviation talk. We'd regaled them with training tales and finished with our great tale of flying with Mav, I embellished his prowess for the night, no use adding to his reputation.
Now, she stood a few feet away smoking under a half-alive lamppost, the sickly green light making her dress look a weird ocean blue.
“Are you leaving or do you wanna come up?” She’d been smoking in silence for so long I jumped a little. Her eyes were locked on me, her expression was fixed between boredom and bedroom eyes. Or just tired. She’d told me how little sleep she got when she worked, catching a few hours in a cramped hotel room with three other girls.
I weighed my options, the evening was awkward and she wasn’t as nice as Rachel was. She wasn’t bratty, she just didn’t care to work around feelings. Preferring to speak as frankly as she could without being overly rude. She was hot, pretty tall, and seemed to have gotten over my rocky start.
She walked to the hotel door and threw away her cigarette, standing by the side entrance. I opened my truck's cab, turned the engine off and put the key in my jacket. My legs carried me to her side as she opened the door, leading me inside.
Tom is a nerd and I will not be convinced other wise.
Tom heads to the archival department for some papers, for what is definitely an important and cool reason. Reader is a nerd, they are nerds, I'm going to play with Tom like a Ken doll. He looks like one anyway.
Don't worry there will still be Tom/Mav eye-fucking.
Notes:
I don't write often, and the last /reader I posted was on my Wattpad in 7th grade. The shame has finally dissipated, cringe culture is dead, pretty flyboys are all that counts now.
HUUUGEE thank you to nanuk_dain who gifted me a Gabe/Chaffin work and has released the rat in my brain. I'm throwing grass at you 🤍
Cross posted to tumblr from ao3, the chapter one link leads to the ao3 work if you prefer to read it there <3
Chapter 1
Soft music played in my headphones, a soundtrack that I had never seen the movie of. Shuffling the stack of cassette tapes into a more organized pile, then taking the top one and putting it into the digitizer. Old voices, old stories, old papers. Everything that I touched was carrying a story of some kind. Whether it was a test that captured a moment with a veteran that never made it into the final recording, or static following a particularly impactful tale. I liked working in records, the patterns soothed me, the scent of history almost flowing around the building. It was nice, I enjoyed it.
A small click sounded from the Digitizer, I pulled out the tape, moved it into a box on my left, and then grabbed the next. This pattern had started out interesting enough -well as interesting as moving audio from one form to the next can be. Now, the pattern was getting to me, my back was tired and the stack of tapes I still had to do didn’t seem to be getting any smaller. I looked up as the records door opened, a man walking in. He had an umbrella in one hand, sunglasses perched on his nose, wearing an officer’s cover, which was tucked under his arm, and a khaki uniform. His hair was gelled into a standing style, the ends blonder than the rest.
Oh good, there’s a storm, I thought glumly. My basil was on my porch and was most likely getting the shit kicked out of it. Thanks for that, God. The man left his umbrella by the door and headed towards my office. He knocked on the door frame, sliding the pair of sunglasses up his head, as I looked at him from over my computer. I had left it open for visitors since the woman who worked reception was sick.
“Hi, you work here?” he asked, smiling. I kept a straight face, and shrugged.
“I don’t know, they just put me here and gave me a degree.”
He gave a small laugh and walked in. I took out the current tape, looking for a longer one in case he needed some information fetched from deep in the archives.
“I need some papers on the Hellcat, the Grumman. Well, blueprints and some photos -colored photos.”
“Sure, we have those, any particular pictures? In flight, maintenance shots, promotional art?” I asked as I rose from my chair and headed towards the office’s door. Leading the way past reception into the archives, a room that was lined with shelves that were filled with cardboard boxes.
“Uh, yeah, any of those would work.”
I started walking down a few rows,checking my head up and down to track the box’s labels.
“How much you think you have? Seems like you’ve got a whole library stuffed in here,” he asked, running his hand along the shelf.
I looked over at him, his head tilted up, gazing at the tops of the shelves. He dragged his gaze from the ceiling to look at me, a crooked smile on his lips.
“Hmm, I don’t have an exact number. But, we have documents dating back to 1775, including copies of some of John Paul Jones’ letters, and books pertaining to his service and life. We also have a few recordings from veterans of past wars, written and audio. Though if you wish to hear any of them you’ll have to wait, I’m busy-Well, the archival department has restricted visitor access to them at the moment.” I had kept walking as I spoke, maybe if I had looked back I might have seen how interested he looked at what I had to say.
“Grumman F6F Hellcat -Blueprints, Casualties, Missions, Personnel, Pictures, Registrations…” My voice trailed off as I grabbed the first box, holding it out in one hand for the man to take. Then reaching down and collecting the ‘Pictures’ box, which was a fair deal larger.
“You’ll have to understand that only some of this material may be copied, burrowed, or removed from this building pending permissions. You can use this desk here,” I placed the large box on a desk near the door. “I’ll be in my office, let me know about any materials you would like to take or have copied, and tell me when you are done so I can be sure the material is returned,” I said, smiling politely.
“Yes Ma’am, thank you,” he said, opening the boxes and carefully setting documents on the desk, “I’m Tom, by the way, or Iceman. Maybe you’ve heard of me?” His head popping up from looking in the boxes, with an almost childish smile, his voice taking on a cocky tone. Ah, Pilot. I could see the anchor and wings on the left of his shirt, pinned above his pocket. It surprised me how long it took him to point it out, the previous pilots I had met seemed incapable of such a feat, stating their call-signs and regaling me with stories as soon as possible.
“No, I don’t think I have. Are you any good, or are you just here to pad out the class?” I joked, pretending to straighten out some boxes. Of course he was good, he was at Top Gun, but I felt like teasing him. He was the first person I had talked to today, and I didn’t like the thought of just returning to my work. Not when he actually asked nicely for what he needed, instead of just ordering me around.
“Am I any good?” he laughed as he spoke, looking down at the papers in his hand. “Well, you’ll be happy to know you are talking to the top of his class, next in line for the Top Gun Trophy, overall fantastic pilot, Iceman. I-,” he stopped shuffling papers and turned slightly to face me, “am no filler.”
I couldn’t help the smile on my face as I hummed in response, turning towards the door.
“Well, Tom” he smiled again at that, he seemed to smile a lot, “I hope you find everything you need.”
“I will… Um?”
“Lawson”
Click, pull, drop, shove. Click, pull, drop, shove. The repeating pattern for the past hour, as I was slowly working my way through the tapes. Tom, Iceman as he asked me to call him, was still there as well. He had called me over to put away the boxes, then asked for some new ones, then some more. By now I had fetched him four separate planes, and two tanks. Blueprints, articles, even a book about a young tank commander in WWII. Each time we would walk quietly, collect the boxes, then return to his table. Then he would stand there and dig through the boxes. Occasionally he would call out interesting facts or questions to me, and I would respond with anything I knew about it. Sometimes I would just listen, a few times while waiting for tapes to finish I would just watch him, the tapes I should be organizing and the CDs that needed labeling sitting forgotten on my desk. He didn’t seem to mind though, smiling back when he caught me watching him.
I looked up at him calling my name. I leaned in my chair until I could see him through the door, he was holding onto the archive door frame by one arm, smiling, again.
“Yes, Iceman? Do you need something else, perhaps a submarine this time?” I asked, standing and leaving my office.
“Alright, alright, yeah I’m done. Just need to put these away.” He dropped his arm and stood to the side to let me pass. I carefully picked up the papers with him and returned them to their boxes. I glanced at the pile of Hellcat papers, scrunching my eyebrows in confusion, they were the only ones he kept out.
“Did you not find what you needed for the other planes? If you like, I could check our online catalog, I’d have to order copies from another archive.” I put down the papers in my hand and started towards the door.
“No, that’s fine. I, uh, didn’t need any of those,” he said, focusing on the papers in his hand and putting them in the right boxes. I looked at him for a while, his focus was solely on the papers in front of him. He kept his head bowed, his eyes flicking over at me once or twice. Why was he acting shy? The man caught me staring and acted like it was completely normal to watch a stranger as if they were a rare animal. I watched as he closed the last box, turning his head to look at me.
“Right,” I said, reaching past him and gathering a few boxes into my arms, “well, I hope the photos come in handy.”
“They will,” Tom grabbed the last few boxes and followed me along the shelves.
“Sorry if I kept you from your work. Seemed mighty important.”
“A bit,” I said, pushing a box onto the shelf, then stepping back to let Tom deposit his. He had to reach up to put his away, after storing the box he left one hand on the shelf, turning to face me. He kept staring, after a second he cocked his eyebrows up at me.
“Oh!” I suddenly realized he was expecting me to keep going. “Well, I was, uh, digitizing interviews with veterans -moving them off of cassettes to CDs. We’ll keep the originals, but the information needs to keep up with the times, if we wait too long it’ll just be harder to store it.”
He hummed in response and started up the aisle, walking backwards, waiting for me to catch up . He reached for the box in my arms, but I just pulled away, joking that I’d carried more of these boxes by myself than he’d believe. Being a bookworm did require upper arm strength, especially when tasked with boxes containing so much valuable information.
“How’d you get into this anyway? Family serve, just get used to hearing stories all day?”
“No, well, my grandfather did, everyone’s did,” I headed down F, walking about half way down before crouching and returning the last box in my arms. “I just liked learning, and doing this job is just learning. I probably know more than some historians!” I joked looking up at him, his arms were crossed, his body leaning against the shelves. He was smiling down at me, then he seemed to catch himself and looked around at the shelves extending all around us.
“If I worked here I’d probably spend all day reading this stuff. I like learning too, always have. I joined ROTC, wanted to learn everything I could. I liked it, college and Officer training kept me busy. Went out of state too, East Coast. I wouldn’t recommend it though, too cold.” I stood, walking with him back to the door.
“Too cold for The Iceman?” A hint of playful astonishment in my voice.
“I’m cool, not cold blooded.” To say anything other than he responded cool-y would be inaccurate, but the ‘on brand-ednis’ was almost annoying. He had this air around him, it was teetering between confident and cocky, but it somehow seemed removed, or refined, from himself. Not an act, maybe just played up. The career he had chosen was notorious for rearing overconfident blow-hard's with a penchant for danger. Though, I suppose you’d have to be to survive training and combat.
“Why’d you want to be an Officer? Just wanted to fly or did you like the Navy more than the Air Force?” We’ve made it into the lobby, his umbrella still propped up by the door. He rocked his head back and forth before responding.
“I like flying, but the Navy, I don’t know, just something about her. Spoke to me, ya’ know?” he was smiling again, reaching for his umbrella. “Old girl has something special.”
“Guess that’s the same with me and history,” I inwardly cringed at that. Oh yeah, fighter pilot, history major, same ‘diff. Mercifully he seemed to have missed that comment, or at least registered how stupid it was and was affording me a lack of acknowledgement.
He absentmindedly nodded, pushing his back against the door, chewing on his lip.
“You doing anything this week? Later, like Saturday?” He asked, tapping his umbrella lightly against the door.
“Probably, they don’t keep me in here all week. Sometimes I even get Holidays.”
“You like barbeque? You don’t have to, just you know, the place I have in mind has some pretty good barbeque.”
I scrunch my face in amusement, before asking, “Like a ‘date barbeque’? Or a ‘come check this place out, and meet my girlfriend’ barbeque?”
“Like a ‘I’d like to see you again, not at work’ barbeque.”
“Yeah,” I nodded my head, smiling, “I like barbeque.” His face lit up in a smile that made my face feel a little warm, kind of like having the sun hit you in the summer. Don’t start sweating, that’d be weird.
“Good, Kansas City Barbeque. Not far off base, you’ll like it,” he said, pushing against the door, opening it. I watched as he slipped out the door and started down the hall.
Oh, look! It's that fanfic I talked about like four months ago, then never mentioned again! YAY!
Finally got this done, and I'm pretty proud of it? I'm way more comfortable writing stuff like this than ship/xreader.
The boys who died in the hills (4258 words) by Caffeinated_fan
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Pacific (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Characters: Eugene Sledge, Merriell "Snafu" Shelton, Andrew A. "Ack-Ack" Haldane, Edward "Hillbilly" Jones, R. V. Burgin, Bill Leyden
Additional Tags: Death, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Thoughts of death, non suicidal thoughts of death, Whump, canon-typical whump
oooh, may I ask what 'the boy die in the hill' WIP is about?
Fun fact you and another both asked about WIPs that I had barely started lol, so you encouraged me to write more for them.
The boys who died in the hills is a Pacific fic about K company during the battle of Peleliu. I had watched The Pacific before but didn't really pay attention, so when it came out on Netflix I decided to watch it again, and Holy Cow, did I not pay attention the first time. I had completely accepted my first impressions of each of the men and decided I didn't like it. But, with my rewatch I've really started enjoying it. So, I'm writing this as character practice, and as a way to really absorb what's happening. If my writing has a more poetic/Illiadic style, I am currently reading Helmet for My Pillow and I simply adore Leckie's style.
°° Distant fire from mortars thumped behind me. Oswalt was rubbing a stick on his teeth, he had an odd habit of cleaning them with an almost methodical brush. Snafu woke up, uncurling like an animal in its den, then sat up facing the airfield.
He spoke around a cigarette, “The hell you doing? Break this shit down, get ready to move.” By civilian standards this was quite rude, I knew if I had spoken as such my mother would have been so cross she might even have smacked my shoulder, and admonished me for such behavior. °°
