#shoshiwrites

[onelungmcclung]

#masters of the air #motaedit #hbowaredit #crank cruikshank #charles cruikshank #love him your honour #shoshiwrites #edit #**

[mercurygray]

Hii Merc, could I please request #11. "the lover in the sky" for Fred and Brady? Thank you <3 — @shoshiwrites

Thanks for letting me take my time on this one, @shoshiwrites! I hope you don't mind Fred's having...a bit of a crisis.

There was a shiver in the air.

Fred hefted the empty coffee thermos into the back of the jeep, grateful that it had been a busy day and the thing was mostly empty. She was glad she'd thought to bring her tanker jacket, earlier - the warm one with the good zipper that fit nicely over her uniform coat. Summer was still cool, and night out on the tarmac cooler still. She'd left Ken and his crews with fresh coffee, the last of the day, and now it was time for home, and bath, and bed.

"Fred!" Lieutenant Brady's voice came up out of the rising dark. "What brings you out here?"

"Passing out the rest of the coffee. Ken said it was going to be a long night." She paused, and followed his eyes in the direction of the plane, Brady's Crash Wagon in large friendly letters on the side. (Everyone had heard that story, about how he'd brought the thing in from Greenland on no wheels, and they'd renamed it shortly after.) "I could ask you the same thing."

"Checking in on her," he said with a smile. "Looks pretty good, doesn't she?"

"I wouldn't know," Fred admitted with a good-natured shrug. "I've never been inside one." Not even for a little barnstorm, she wanted to add, before someone starting laughing about the absurdity of working at at airbase and never having actually been inside a plane. City girls don't take plane rides at county fairs - and Clubmobile women take boats to Europe.

Brady, however, wasn't laughing. "Do you want to?" he asked, sincere as anything. She snorted, and then realized he was serious, and shrugged in assent. "Are your fellows all done inside, Herb?" Brady asked, shouting under the belly towards the mechanic and his box of tools.

"It's your ship, Lieutenant," Herb said. "I'll leave the stairs out, for when you both need to come back down. You got a flashlight? It's getting mighty dark out here."

Brady waved his and Herb nodded and let them be, Brady steering her towards the tail of the plane and the hatch with its folded down stairs. "Here, you'd better take this," he said, handing over the flashlight, warm from his pocket. "Once you get up top, go along the gangway and watch your feet."

"Don't you want to go first?"

He shook his head. "Ladies first," he said, and waved her on forward.

It was dark, here in the tail of the fort, the only light the two large panels in the sides with their machine guns standing at the ready. She fumbled for a moment with the flashlight until it finally turned on, the small beam casting here and there over the inside of the plane. It felt like being inside the attic of an old house, seeing the ribs of the aircraft jutting out of the walls at regular intervals, the panel of the floor creaking as she made her way around the guns and the bubble of the turret and its enormous oxygen tank, carefully passing by a chair and radio to an even smaller gangway, and passing between an enormous empty space. "Bomb bay," she heard Brady say behind her. "Careful there, there's a step up past the turret. Go left once you're up there."

The step up was over a large opening that must have led to the nose - the light was slightly better down there. Fred hoisted herself up and tried not to move anything, flipping the flashlight off to appreciate the scene in the last bit of light from the sunset. All of this to put a piece of metal in the sky.

Brady climbed up into the right-hand seat, pleased as anything. "How on earth do you manage all of this all at once?" Fred said, trying to make sense of the buttons and switches, each with a name and label more arcane than the last.

"It's just practice," he offered, "A lot of flight hours. And there's a checklist we go through when we start - fuel levels, pumps, ignition switches. Then we pump and prime the engines and start them one by one. Put your hand here," he said, gesturing to the handle between the two seats. "When we're ready on the runway for takeoff, you'd push this forward -" his hand closed around hers on the double-handled throttle - "and away she goes."

She felt strangely powerful, her hand gripping the bar of the throttle, empowered by the feeling of his hand on top of hers. "So," he said. "What do you think?"

Fred looked out the windows once more. Around them the airfield was deep orange and purple, the sun nearly finished setting over the distant tops of the trees. They weren't all that high up, here in the cockpit, but it was still somehow both wonderful and strange to see the field from this height, and pick out the lights just starting to come on in the distance, the pairs of headlights winking and swerving out of the gates.

"Amazing," she said, her voice full of emotions she didn't know she had. All of this could go up into the sky, and fly and fight and come back down again. Day after day, week after week. Hundreds of men, in hundreds of planes, all of it part of one vast, uncountable effort, beautiful and yet terrible in its beauty.

She looked over at Brady, sitting sideways in the copilot's seat, one foot dangling over the door below, and didn't even have time to think about what was happening before he'd leaned over and kissed her right in the middle of her laughing lips.

Time stopped for a moment, and for a bare second it was only the two of them in the dark, breathing together, lips warm.

"You look so pretty now," he offered, almost breathless. And then his smile fell, and the light went out of his eyes. "Fred, please, say something."

There was pressure behind her temples, a high whine between her ears, a magneto that wasn't powering on. Words failed to connect. "…I think I need to leave."

She didn't quite know where she was going - she'd left the flashlight up front with him. She stumbled down out of the cockpit, taking the easiest route out and launching herself out of the pilot's door onto the dark ground below, the asphalt jarring her knees and eating into her hands.

Somewhere behind her she heard him call her name in the dark, but she was starting the jeep and fumbling it into first, hands shaking against the wheel and feeling like her whole heart was about to burst in her chest the same way she had in the cockpit, filled to the brim with the thought of all that love and all those lovers in the sky.

Her heart was still pounding when she parked and made her way back to the Clubmobile, leaning her forehead against its smooth, safe metal side. It's against the rules. This is against the rules. He kissed me. John Brady kissed me.

And the loudest, strongest thought of all - no one told us at training what to do when you don't know if you don't mind.

#asked and answered #shoshiwrites #tds cinematic universe #freda torvaldsen #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #john brady x oc #masters of the air oc

[shoshiwrites]

Last sentence tag game

Last Sentence Tag Game: Write the latest line  from your wip (or post where you last left off in your art) and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog. 

Tagged by: @latibvles, @mercurygray, and @tortoisesshells — ty lovely friends!

Bc I'm secretive and don't wanna share the last line of my Blind Dates, here is where I left off in the middle of Jo's chapter 2:

Maybe she was selfish, wanting a story that couldn’t simply be replaced with an advertisement for war bonds. 

Tagging: not that many people, but: @floydmtalbert, @loveduringthewar, and @upontherisers, if you wanna <3

#honestly posting this i'm immediately like 'so how should this be edited' #also if anyone has ever seen an advertisement for war bonds you will know they could probably be described in seventeen other ways first #command. entreaty. order. 'our boys will die if you don't buy war bonds' etc #anyway #shoshiwrites #need a tag for tagged games #shoshi.txt

[arrthurpendragon]

I want to send some love to @shoshiwrites - she is a great writer, but also a great collaborator, friend, and inveterate idea incubator and cheerleader. She also has great taste in vintage clothes and makes really really good edits.

*just gave them a follow - this game is for me too! :)

Anonymously (or not) send me an ask with the name of an OC creator and what you love about them!

#oc creator rec #shoshiwrites

[ktredshoes]

Last Line Game

I was indirectly tagged or, you might rather say, inspired by @shoshiwrites .

(fast and loose) rules: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

I never do these things, but I'm so happy to be writing again after three years, and the last sentence I've written for my Ev Blakely WIP just tickles me so much!

"You got it, Cap’n,” Doug said with a cheerful and sloppy salute.  “C’mon, Gracie, we got wheels!”

Don't know who or how to tag that many people but I just wanted to share. Tagging @precious-little-scoundrel since she's been the catalyst for this particular wip!

#last line game #@shoshiwrites #mota fanfic #wip #everett blakely #james douglass #@@precious-little-scoundrel

[jump-wings]

I designed it by inspiration of OCs of @shoshiwrites.

#band of brothers #easy company #fanfic #@shoshiwrites #to find

[mads-weasley]

okay first off...thank you to @shoshiwrites for sharing the link to these WONDERFUL stills from Robert Viglasky!!

and you will now be subjected to my reaction when i first saw each of these pics...

THIS ONE TOOK ME OUT. SOBBING. CRYING. THROWING UP.

goosebumps. this picture is so ominous.

my little kreigie macgyver

goosebumps again...i love America 🇺🇸

unhinged karaoke king 🎤

hatching a secret plan???🤔🤔

buck looks so adorable and john's just had the worst day of his life😭

oh...jess would like this one😯😯 @footprintsinthesxnd

NOT THE CAT, HAMBONE...ITS SO CUTE😭😭😭

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk!!

There are so many more of these on the website linked at the top of the post!!! Check them out!

#masters of the air #john egan #gale cleven #mota #bucky egan #buck cleven #mota stills

[softspeirs]

A/N: It's the consensus of the Discord girlies that we can fix all of John Egan's despair with our various OCs. So here's my attempt. Special thanks to @shoshiwrites for enabling me for this plot! Also, she officially has a name! Meet Eleanor Peters.

four. love letters.

The first thing that hits her is the antiseptic smell of the hospital. It's cloying and overwhelming, and the rapid pounding of her heart picks up even more when she realizes there's no turning back, not now.

Major Gale Cleven is a tall shadow on her left, his focus singularly on getting to his friend's bedside.

She had been nearly blown sideways when he had walked in the door the day before, rail thin with shadows under his eyes, but a gentle smile on his face as his eyes landed on her behind the bar in her father's pub.

His face had lit with recognition, and then he had said the words that played on a loop over and over since -- Bucky's alive. John, Major Egan, he's alive. He wanted me to tell you.

Bucky. A nickname she hadn't known, but one she felt was on the tip of her tongue nonetheless.

It's a long story, he said. She didn't ask about the heaviness behind his eyes, the way he walked with a slight limp, or about the fact that she had never seen this man without his friend. It was unfathomable to her that they were apart.

But then -- isn't that what made her take a deep breath, and press a kiss to John Egan's cheek in the first place?

Gale Cleven had left with a story about a forced march, an escape that left John to do the gallant thing and stay behind, and the promise to come by in a few days and bring her to see John, if she wanted.

Now that she's here, she can't bring her feet to move.

"Ellie?" Major Cleven asks, frowning. "Alright?"

"I-- this wasn't a good idea." She says. "He-- are you sure he asked about me?"

Gale Cleven has never rolled his eyes at a woman, but he had an identical conversation with his best friend not too long before, and he's never seen two people who project such confidence in a group, but are so unsure of themselves alone. "No offense, Eleanor, but if I had to hear about you one more time, I was going to make a break for it sooner than I did."

Mood shifted, Eleanor laughs, looking down at her feet. "Okay. Okay, let's go."

"Buck!" A charmingly familiar voice shouts before she can see him, "Did you bring me any booze? They won't let me--" He stops as soon as she comes into view.

"Didn't think to bring the pub with me, Major." She says, the smile on her face unstoppable, even if she tried.

He looks tired. Scars litter his right cheek, and his legs are propped up on a pillow. His arms are folded casually over his chest, but she doesn't miss the way his chest is rising and falling rapidly.

"You-- Jesus Christ, Buck." He mutters.

"I'll see about that drink," Cleven says, and leaves her standing there, looking at a man she's thought was dead for almost two years.

Now that she's standing in front of him, she has no idea what to say. Part of her is convinced she dreamed the whole thing up. That whatever connection she felt was overblown, simply her romantic heart getting the better of her.

But the way he's looking at her-- she's not imagining that.

"Ellie." His voice is hoarse. "You're a sight for sore eyes." And there's that smile she remembers so well. "Buck snuck you in here, huh?"

"He said you were asking after me."

She's so thrilled to see the blush that sneaks up his throat, and feels safe enough now to sit down in the small chair at his bedside, crossing her legs and grinning at him.

She is so, so pleased to see him.

She wants to know every detail of what happened to him over the last few years, though she knows it's likely a terrible story that would be hard for him to tell. She feels strongly that he shouldn't carry it alone, not with how burdened he had felt when he left for the last time, mourning his best friend and the other members of his crew who hadn't come back.

"I might've wondered how you were." He scratches the back of his neck. "Figured you'd be married and moved away by now."

"Still slinging ales at the pub, I'm afraid."

He arches an eyebrow. "Not to any hotshot pilots, I hope."

"Of course not." She says with mock seriousness.

They fall into a comfortable silence, and Eleanor bites her bottom lip before reaching for her handbag. He watches her in silence, that small smirk still on his lips, and there's something so soft in his eyes she can hardly stand to look at him.

"I have something for you. Well, a few things."

"If you want to give me another flower, I've still got the one." He says. His deep voice filled with something makes her hands fumble in her bag, but she doesn't dare talk herself out of her task.

"That's awful sentimental of you." She says.

"Don't go tellin' anyone that about me."

It's remarkable, she thinks, that he's able to be his genial self after everything he's been through. It's like he doesn't even realize he's in the hospital, though she thinks with a grimace that it might be the most comfortable bed he's slept in in years, hospital or no.

Finding her courage, she digs a handful of envelopes out of her handbag and sets them on the bed next to him. He stares at the bundle, face frozen. The smile slowly slips off his face, and she worries she's overstepped.

"I didn't know--" She stops, trying not to let tears seep into her voice. "Well, I didn't know if you were alive. I hoped. And even if you were, I didn't know where to send them--"

"You wrote me letters?"

The air feels thick, between them.

"I just... The way we left things, you were so upset, and I wanted to make sure you knew that you were missed."

He's still staring at the pile of letters in front of him. He hasn't moved, hasn't touched them, has barely breathed, and she's terrified that this is all wrong, that she misread everything.

"Come here." His voice is low, thick, filled with something that makes the hair on her arms stand up and a shiver run down her spine. "Ellie. Come here."

"Why--"

"I'm not supposed to be on my feet, but if I don't kiss you in the next five seconds, I'm going to lose my mind."

Her heart is a hummingbird taking flight in her chest, but her feet move without her say-so. She scoots the chair as close as she can get. He's already leaning up on an elbow, and no man has ever looked at her the way John Egan is looking at her now, like he can't believe she's real.

"Is this--" He asks, suddenly unsure.

"Yes." She says, finally finding her voice and her confidence.

His lips are on hers in the next breath. She stutters a shaky breath against his mouth, and his hand tightens in her hair. It's not an overly-passionate kiss, but her toes are curling in her shoes, and he's letting out a quiet groan against her mouth that has her pulling away, though his long fingers at the back of her neck don't let her get too far.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt--"

"That was not a noise of pain, sweetheart."

This time it's her blush that stretches out across her cheeks, her face flaming with heat. He lets go of her and reaches for the letters with one hand, his other finding hers, fingers lacing through hers with an ease that makes her smile.

"You wrote to me." He says, like he can't believe it still. "I didn't get a single letter while I was gone."

It makes her heart ache, picturing him watching his friends get mail from their sweethearts, wives, and parents, and she wishes more than anything that she had known he was alive and had known the address to send something to.

"Will you stay while I read them?"

She can think of nothing more embarrassing, but she also doesn't have the willpower to tell him no. Not about this.

"Okay." She says instead, settling back in, half-tucked into his side.

That's how Cleven finds them a half hour later. He takes in the sight of his friend with a girl - not the most unfamiliar sight - half-opened letters in his lap, wrinkled with age and ink stained.

He smiles.

#john egan x oc #bucky x ellie #? is that my tag for them? i think so #softspeirs mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #oc: ellie peters

[shoshimakesstuff]

"AFTERNOON, CAPTAIN"

@shoshiwrites' Jo + Egan — read more here.

#if you see me using the same pic that cam just used in her gorgeous graphic and that i've used before no you didn't #oc: jo brandt #...do i have a work tag for this #if you see me captioning like this isn't for my own fic no you didn't

[blind-dates-fest]

2024 Blind Dates Fest Submissions

Anne Julia Randall | Outlander | @aloveforjaneausten

Anthony "Tonk-Tonk" Roberts | Foyle's War | @darkhorse-javert

Cressida Dorrance-Jones | Masters of the Air | @basilone

Eliana "Ana" Holloway | Masters of the Air | @jump-wings

Freda "Fred" Torvaldsen | Masters of the Air | @mercurygray

Florence "Flo" Godfrey | Masters of the Air | @wexhappyxfew

Genevieve Laurent | Masters of the Air | @latibvles

Lavinia Fennimore | Masters of the Air | @loveduringthewar

Lisbeth Hahn | Masters of the Air | @fidelias

Lucy Jones | Masters of the Air | @basilone

Magdalena "Maggie" Zielinski | Masters of the Air | @trenchenjoyer

Marion Brennan | Masters of the Air | @mercurygray

Patsy Harangody | The Pacific | @noneedtoamputate

Paulette Schafer | Band of Brothers | @shoshiwrites

Samantha "Mandy" Majors | The Pacific | @softguarnere

Simon "Sim" Stewart | Foyle's War | @darkhorse-javert

Winifred "Winnie" Harris | SAS: Rogue Heroes | @ladyyennefer

We did this for fun, to try something new, to try a new fandom, to get back into writing, to challenge ourselves, to keep it short and simple, to get an idea that wouldn't leave us alone out of our heads, and I love this for all of us.

A huge round of applause to everyone who participated this year as a writer, reader, or general-hanger-on.

#fest submission 2024 #annual masterlist

[mercurygray]

hiii merc, could i please request from the one-word prompts #21 "phone" and/or from the passion prompts list #9 "arousing," for marion/harding? thank you <3 — @shoshiwrites

Shoshi, I had too much fun with this.

🌶️! Innuendo alert! Consensual adults are talking dirty and teasing each other about doing consensual things later.

--

It was a wonder he was getting any work at all done under these conditions.

Intolerable, really, when you thought about it - that he was slaving away here in the Operations room, reviewing the aerial photographs of their bomb damage from the run last week and discussing the best way they could keep everyone on target for the next run, and she was going in and out of her office like she wasn't the most gorgeous woman in the room. She was a distraction - and he wanted to make sure she knew it.

Neil excused himself from the photographs and walked over to Marion's office, letting tiny Sergeant Dacre squeak by so she could run the latest telex over to Bubbles Payne's desk. He tapped his knuckles twice on the door and Marion looked up from the file drawer she was going through. "Captain Brennan, I was wondering if you had a moment to talk about something."

She looked vaguely confused, but nodded, and he let himself in, leaving the door wide open as he did so, the rest of the ops room all bustle and noise.

"Speaking theoretically, of course," he said, leaning against the file cabinet with its open drawer, his voice just low enough that the chatter and bang in the next room rode straight over them, "if a fellow were to shut the door right now so he could show you a good time, what would he be doing?"

She looked up from her files with surprise in her eyes, and, meeting his gaze, realized after a moment what he was doing here. "Theoretically."

"Of course."

"How much of a good time? Five minutes?"

He shrugged. "Say ten."

She nodded, considering this proposal. "And the door's locked?"

"Well, he doesn't want to be interrupted if she doesn't," Neil allowed, though his heart jumped a little at the idea of doing whatever it was she was going to suggest with the extra threat of being discovered hanging over their heads.

"And he wants to show me a good time?"

He gave a nod and shifted against the side of the file drawers. "Your time is very valuable and he can, ahem, attend to his own needs later."

"I see." She glanced down at the folder in her hand and flipped through it once. "Well. In that case, I'd say he could lock the door, and while he's doing that I might help myself out of my jacket, and loosen my skirt a little, and then I'd ask him to sit down in my chair so I could sit on his lap."

"Mmmhm."

She gave one last glance through the folder, put it back in the drawer, and pulled out another. "And then I'd like him to get his hand up my skirt."

He nodded slowly. "Right. How far?"

"As far as he'll go," she said, locking eyes with him. "Provided he brought a handkerchief." She put the second folder back and moved to the second filing cabinet, and he followed, mindful not to touch her as he moved around her to the other side of the drawer.

"Brave girl. May he be allowed to kiss you during this proceeding?"

"He may. It may in fact be a condition of it." She opened another drawer. "I may even need to open my shirt a little so he can kiss me a few places the rest of the world can't see."

He almost laughed. "Miss Brennan, are you saying you'd like a hickey?"

"Maybe I am, Mr. Harding." She snapped the drawer closed and looked straight at him. "Is that objectionable?"

"I'll see if he can oblige," he managed. "Full satisfaction, of course, with the - the hand and the skirt."

She nodded and smiled, looking down at her own shoes. "Of course. We have ten whole minutes." She sniffed delicately. "And - theoretically speaking - if the - ah, gentleman has met all of these requirements for showing me a good time, how do you think he's going to be feeling after all of this?"

"Like he's going to need to find a closet of his own so he can knock one off in private," Harding said with a grin, leaning in just a little closer. "And think about how gorgeous you're gonna look later in his bed when he does it again with your clothes off."

She nodded and made a small sound of assent, meeting his eye again with a damnably compelling smile, seemingly unfazed by the entire conversation when he could almost promise she was already getting wet just thinking about it.

"Captain Brennan?" Dacre was back at the door again.

"Well, we'll have to discuss it all more later, Captain," Harding said, his voice returning to his normal volume. "Thank you for that."

"Of course, sir," Marion said with a perfectly pleasant, even smile. Harding nodded and walked back to the workstation with the photos, silently planning exactly what later would look like.

#asked and answered #shoshiwrites #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #tds cinematic universe #marion brennan #harding x oc

[noneedtoamputate]

Flyboys and Flirting

I had a chat with @shoshiwrites earlier this week after seeing this photo of Callum Turner in a turtleneck (thanks @hogans-heroes for doing God's work.) I blame her entirely for my Bucky Egan obsession. Like Ellen, I am not one to like the bad boys, but there is something about him and his character development during Masters of the Air that got to me. I tagged the photo with something like Chuck wouldn't mind Ellen taking of her sunglasses to check Bucky out, and Shoshi said no one deserves to look that good in a turtleneck. Based on our chat, here's a little fun one-off I wrote about Colonel Egan stopping by the tobacco store.

San Francisco

October 1957

Afternoons were usually quiet in the shop, a good chance to catch up on pesky tasks like organizing receipts for the accountant. He called Chuck last week, and Ellen saw the headache start behind Chuck’s eyes. Chuck hated anything to do with taxes.

She decided to get a babysitter for Friday and come into the shop for the day. They’d get everything sorted and then go out for dinner, just the two of them, as a reward for a solid day’s work.

They were in the back room, Chuck at the desk and Ellen perched on the counter next to the sink going over August’s purchases, when the bell above the front door rang.

Chuck sighed and rubbed his temple.

“You keep working. I’ll go out front,” she said as she hopped down, giving his shoulder a squeeze before walking out into the store.

Her eyes widened at what she saw. She forced her mouth to remain closed though her jaw wanted to drop to the floor. 

A curly-haired man with a mustache, aviators, and a bomber jacket, looking better in a turtleneck than any man had a right to, stood in front of the high-end cigars. He must have heard her footsteps, because he looked her way, took off the sunglasses, and flashed her a smile, a smile she knew he put on for everyone and had nothing to do with her.

This was a Bad Boy.

Ellen never had gone for the Bad Boys. She’d always liked the honor roll students, the boys next door. She suspected Chuck had gone through a Bad Boy stage, but by the time she met him, he owned the store and shaved every morning and parted his hair just so and was always on time to everything. 

Every once in a while, she wondered what it would have been like to be with a Bad Boy, the boy who kept her out past curfew or had a motorcycle or had a mustache that normally didn’t do anything for her but made her hot and bothered. 

She congratulated herself on wearing a pencil skirt and heels today instead of her usual shirtwaist dress and flats. 

“Can I help you?” she asked calmly as she walked toward him. 

“Yes, I think you can,” he said slowly, still smiling. “I should introduce myself. Colonel John Egan, United States Air Force.”

“Ellen Grant, co-owner of this store,” she said, shaking his hand. “Cigars, I see. What flavor are you looking for today?”

“Perhaps you can explain my options,” he said. 

Despite whatever game they were in the middle of, she wouldn’t play dumb. She went through what made each cigar different, whether they were flavored with sweet Mexican vanilla or spicy Indian pepper, how each one was rolled slightly differently and had different shapes and filters, affecting their taste. 

“Which one is calling you? Sweet or spicy?” she asked coyly, barely believing those words came out of her mouth.

“A little bit of both, I would say.” He lifted his eyebrows just a bit. “Let’s take a box of each.”

They walked over to the counter.

“I just flew into Hamilton Air Force Base last night for meetings. I’m sure my colleagues will enjoy these tonight,” he said. 

“I’m sure they will,” Ellen agreed. “Any cigarettes? Luckies or Chesterfields?”

He looked at her quizzically. “Luckies. How did you know?”

She laughed. “It’s my business. But for most officers, it’s one or the other.” She rang up two packs. 

They made small talk for a few minutes, about the store and his Pentagon desk job, but mostly about flying.

“You seem to know a lot about planes,” he said. He looked down at her finger, the one with the diamond ring on it. “Is your … co-owner a pilot?”

“Well, he was in planes, but he didn’t fly them. A paratrooper,” she explained.

He looked impressed. “The 82nd?” he asked. 

“No!” Ellen almost shouted. “The 101st.”

“Sorry,” John apologized.

“You should be. Those guys in the 82nd were a bunch of amateurs.” She grinned as she handed him the bag.

“Well,” he said, a little deflated at the prospect of leaving, “This has been a delight. Thank you, Mrs. Grant.”

And with that, the spell was over.

“Likewise, Colonel Egan. Enjoy your cigars and the rest of your trip.”

He smiled, nodded, and walked out the door without a second glance. 

Ellen turned around to walk into the back room when she saw Chuck, leaning against the wall, arms folded on his chest with an amused look on his face.

“What?” she innocently asked as she walked past him.

“You were flirting with that flyboy,” Chuck pointed out. 

“I was not!” Ellen could barely keep a straight face.

Chuck couldn’t, and he laughed out loud. “I heard the whole thing. God, it’s so predictable. All it takes is a pair of fancy sunglasses and a leather jacket and all the girls fall for it.” He shook his head. “Here I was thinking my wife would be better than that.”

“Oh,” she said, closing the gap between them and putting her hands on his shoulders. “Are you jealous?”

“Of that guy?” he asked incredulously. “Please.” 

Ellen tilted her head. 

“I’m not jealous, but nobody should look that good in a turtleneck,” he conceded.

She playfully hit him on the arm. “That’s what I thought!” she said.

“I’m not jealous,” he said again, grabbing her by her hips. “I’m the one who gets to do taxes with you and go out to dinner with you and go home with you,” He gave her a slow, sultry kiss. “When is the babysitter off duty?” he asked

“Nine o’clock. The kids should be asleep,” she sighed as he found the spot on her collarbone that she liked. 

“I hope so.” His hands left her hips and roamed lower. “No, I’m not jealous of that guy who is going to be smoking cigars with the brass tonight while I get to be with you.”

“You know, you can be bad, when you want to be,” Ellen remarked. 

“Very bad,” he agreed.

Ellen didn’t want a bad boy. She didn’t want a hotshot pilot with a mustache. But she liked knowing her clean cut, responsible husband who didn’t own a turtleneck could be bad if he wanted to be. That was enough for her. 

#chuck grant #ellen thompson #chuck grant x oc #everything beautiful thing #masters of the air #john egan #bucky egan #masters of the air fic #band of brothers fic #turtlenecks #midcentury dads

[floydmtalbert]

Tab + “nostalgia” from this prompts list, for @shoshiwrites

It is a hot, still evening in late August. The war has been over for a year.

Floyd steers the pickup onto a dusty side road skirting the edge of a cornfield, driving slowly, heading nowhere in particular. He holds the wheel loosely with one hand; the other hangs out of the open window. The lowering sun is warm on his forearm and on the side of his face, and glaring bright, so that he has to narrow his eyes as he stares through the dirty windshield down the road ahead, stretching away into a heat haze along the horizon.

There are no other cars on the road, no houses or farms in sight. No people. Just the cornfield, flashing yellow-green past the window, and the road ahead, long and straight, rippling in the heat. Everything quiet and lifeless, save for the pickup, the hum of the tyres on the asphalt and the rumble of the engine.

The mail that morning had brought a letter from Bill Guarnere, chatty, containing a photo of Frannie and their baby boy, and full of updates on other Easy men and plans for a reunion. Floyd can’t see the point. A bunch of fellas sitting around talking about the good old days, when they weren’t all that good, and aren’t exactly old, either.

He huffs a long sigh, makes a slight adjustment to the steering wheel. Maybe it’s only him that thinks that way.

Floyd came home nearly a year ago and picked up where he left off. He sleeps in his childhood bedroom, under the old patchwork quilt his great-aunt made, with his high school basketball trophies still on the shelf, dutifully dusted by Nellie Talbert every week, and all the old photographs pinned to the corkboard: himself as a ten-year-old with the family dog, him and his father fishing on Lake Michigan during the one vacation his parents had been able to afford, photobooth snapshots with girlfriends, all married, now, or gone to Indianapolis for work. A few months back he’d even found a bunch of dirty magazines hidden in a box under the bed, a relic of his teenage years. He’d burned them in the backyard, and filled the box instead with his medal ribbons, and his jump wings, all the patches and chevrons, and other bits and pieces, and the bundle of photographs he never looks at but still can’t bear to throw out, and kicked it back under the bed.

He turns onto another road, the pickup bumping over a pothole. The sun is behind him now. He drives past a couple of ramshackle houses, and, further on down the road, a farmhouse, with a barn and a cluster of grain silos. The road is long and straight and level, but he takes it easy. No hurry, nowhere to go.

Major Winters writes now and then—and that’s another thing, Floyd can’t stop thinking of him as Major Winters, even though the man keeps telling him to call him Dick. He’s working in New Jersey, with Captain Nixon, has already been promoted once. Chuck is doing better, working, seeing a nice girl. Joe Liebgott is getting married—or is maybe already married by now. His latest letter sits in Floyd’s bedside drawer, unopened. Smokey calls every couple of weeks, talking about using the GI Bill to go to college.

Floyd got his old job back with Mr Nelson, doing odd jobs on the farm, and in the evenings he takes his dad’s Chevy and heads out for a drive, alone, going nowhere in particular. Sometimes he circles the reservoir, watching the changing colours of the sky reflected in the water. Sometimes he drives through the suburbs on the other side of town, where the houses are tidy and painted fresh white, and have big wraparound porches and garages, and trees on the lawn out front. Other times he heads east, taking one road after another through the acres of farmland, left turn, right turn, zigzagging out and around and back on himself. Just driving, and smoking, sometimes drinking, half a bottle of whisky in a paper bag that he tosses out before he gets home.

In the rearview mirror the sun is a deep orange, flaring along the horizon.

He tries to think of what a reunion would be like. He imagines a big room in some hotel, with a dance floor, and tables set up around it. Maybe there’d be coloured paper garlands strung along the walls and across the ceiling, like they did for his high school prom, or the USO dances in England. He imagines all the fellas there, with their wives in cocktail dresses, and pictures of their kids in their wallets, catching each other up on their jobs, and their houses, and the new car. Or else their college classes, the cute girls on campus, the fraternity parties. And then the talk would turn to the war, d’you remember when and I’ll never forget that time, the jokes and the hijinks and everything else tucked away and the whole thing a big adventure, and done with, in the past.

Floyd slows the pickup and guides it carefully over a culvert. The engine chugs.

He doesn’t want to remember the war, but he can’t seem to move on from it, either. He sleeps in his old room, and works the same job he was doing at eighteen, and after work he drives around aimlessly, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. He’s tired, bored. Mostly he’s angry: at everything, and everyone, and himself most of all.

Maybe it would be good to see the guys again, he thinks as he turns onto another road. Just once. Maybe then he could get it out of his system. Snap out of it, stop holding himself back.

Twilight is falling now, and the air is soft and warm. Floyd switches on the headlights and keeps his eyes on the road ahead, dusty, uneven, patched asphalt revealed in the wobbling beam of light, and glances up now and then to watch the colours fade from the western sky.

He wouldn’t go, he decides. There was nothing to say, nothing worth remembering. He props his elbow up on the sill, and then hangs his hand out of the window again, feeling the air stream through his open fingers.

#Thanks for this prompt; Sho! It really works #And also: I'm so sorry. You might think I'm not but I really am #Floyd Talbert #Band Of Brothers #My writing #God this really got away from me #And yes this is inspired by the Speaking of Courage story from The Things They Carried

[venus-haze]

Writer Tag

Thank you so much for tagging me @frstcorinthians🖤

Just a "proceed with caution" on the fics I've linked on this list. Plenty of detailed warnings!

How many works do you have on AO3? 42

What's your total AO3 word count? 178k

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

3 out of 5 are Homelander fics🤭

My Destruction Is an Hour Late (my first Homelander fic🥲)

She's Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Bruised Fruit (Michael Corleone x OC, an honor that it’s even on this list)

Got No Reason To Run (Homelander x Reader)

Baby Let's Play House (Homelander x Reader)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Always! I appreciate every single one so much!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? Definitely Sinnerman, I need to write more for Midnight Mass. There's so much potential there.

What’s the fic you've written with the happiest ending? I think Eat Your Heart Out...

Do you write crossovers? No, I haven't.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? No, which is shocking considering what I write about.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? The kind that usually requires a lot of trigger warnings.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, I couldn't with my schedule.

What's your all-time favorite ship? I absolutely love the way Minxie @cherubgore writes Vincent/Paige! Rarepair forever🖤

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? None I can think of. I mostly write standalone fics, and I know I'm gonna finish Bruised Fruit at some point. Usually my WIPs change over time so they might not look the same as when I started, but they end up getting posted eventually.

What are your writing strengths? I don't know…I've been told I'm good at bringing the reader into a fic, so I guess building settings and scenes, which makes sense considering I write mostly readerfics and the immersion aspect is the backbone of that.

What are your writing weaknesses? My writing is more straightforward and doesn't use a lot of poetic style, which is something I wish I were better at. I don't think I write individual sentences that "wow" a reader, you know?

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I do not trust Google Translate and will not walk around with egg on my face. I just use italics to indicate speaking in another language, on the off occasion that's included in my fics. Or like with Bruised Fruit, Gloria doesn't speak Italian, so part of portraying that involves her asking people what they said and hoping they're telling the truth or trying to figure out based on her interpretation of their tone and body language.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? The Outsiders! I was so upset about the ending that I wrote many fics on Quizilla where Johnny and Dally lived.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? I'd like to write something for Justified, but I need to rewatch again.

What's your favorite fic you've written? That's so tough...maybe Howl.

No pressure tags: @cherubgore @zaras-really-dreamless @shoshiwrites @blurredcolour @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @flaggermuser @zepskies (please make a new post, don't reblog)

#battie signals

[ktredshoes]

ooh, 🌤️ for the wip ask meme please? — @shoshiwrites

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

I know I answered this already but it felt like cheating since I'd posted that bit of dialogue earlier...so here's a bonus snippet for shoshi!

“No, no,” he tried to beg off, “Don’t ask me, is Dougie too tired?”

See, I told you Dougie is a scene stealer!

Thanks for the ask!

#masters of the air #mota #wip ask game #everett blakely #james douglass #mota fanfic #asked and answered #@shoshiwrites

[softguarnere]

hi! im lara :) so i know this is like totally random, but i just finished watching band of brothers last week and im OBSESSED obviously. so i decided to get back on tumblr, but im just wondering if there's still an active fanbase? i found your account and absolutely love your work, and a couple other accounts that are still active but idk if theres like a page i can follow, or certain people you would recommend (i still have no idea how tumblr works either tbh) BUT yeah... i just dont really know where to go or start, so i thought i would just ask. im hoping to write some of my own stuff soon here, and id definitely love to be friends! anyways im sure you get alot of messages like these so sorry if im bothering you!

i hope u have a good day or night wherever u are! <3

Omg hi there! No bother at all - welcome to the fandom 🤗

BOB definitely still has an active fanbase, and myself and the others are always happy to make new friends

@hbowardaily is a great place to start if you're looking for content or different ways to get involved in the fandom

Gonna tag a bunch of mutuals and active people that I follow so that you can check out their amazing work or just get to know them: @softspeirs @holdingforgeneralhugs @eugeneroehoe @sharpshootershifty @snarkyliebgott @upontherisers @emmythespacecowgirl @tvserie-s-world @almost-a-class-act @liebgotts-lovergirl @stolemyspoons @wexhappyxfew @rebeccapearson @sergeant-spoons @mercurygray @msmercury84 @mads-weasley @latibvles @currahee @david-sharkthot-webster @mccall-muffin @aerokriegs @cody-helix02

@hxad-ovxr-hxart @lewis-winters @mrs-murder-daddy @ithinkabouttzu @yeahcurrahhe-e @shoshiwrites @caffeinated-fan

@vera-keller @midgetlover6 @coco-bean-1218 @im-chinese-believe-it-or-not @iceman-kazansky @typical-simplelove

Hope you also have a great day/night, and feel free to reach out to me if you ever want to chat! 🫶🏽

#welcome to the fandom :) #asks #mutuals #tumblr friends #band of brothers #fic recs