bluecanvasshoe

[bluecanvasshoe]

pee nut

june - july 2025

lobtmies, rat men, and amuptee penguins

[bluecanvasshoe]

im gonna start BAWLING i LOVE THIS UGGHHHFGHHHHH

SLEEPYHEAD

passion pit x band of brothers

[bluecanvasshoe]

Accusations

CHAPTER 3 OF "TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS"

BAND OF BROTHERS X OC

1 | 2 | 3

Summary: Lora shares information and makes plans with Winters and Nixon. It seems rumors have been started, though.

Content: homophobia, talk of nazis and abuse of power (very brief but important), starvation, being closeted in the 1940s

WC: 2.5k

A/N: 😛

MONDAY, 1944

“We couldn’t read the maps, not really. It’s German, we’re Dutch,” Lora said, hands intertwined and perched on a wooden table.

Winters and Nixon sat at the other side, Sobel at the head. They listened intently as Lora rattled on, standing over a map they had scrounged up of the eastern Netherlands, legends showing macro detail of towns and countrysides.

Lora put a pencil to the paper, dragging it along a dike on the countryside. “Here,” she said. “This dike. Troops are apparently being posted here, and they’re set for an operation due in October.”

Nixon nodded, sighing. He was slouched, whereas Winters was upright and poised. Sobel was somewhere in between, his hands intertwined on the table. His large eyes looked around, but the man proved utterly useless in such an important discussion.

Nixon sat up a bit, “was there anything about France or England?”

“Uh,” Lora looked at the map upon the table, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. She spotted another map that had been pinned to the wall, illustrating Normandy and small snippets of regions nearby. 

Getting to her feet and abandoning her pencil, she crossed the room to the map and pointed to an area near Marchésieux. “My father told me he heard of patrols or something similar here, but there was nothing directly shown on the map. …This was about a month ago, but there’s a chance they have some sort of base. If not, there’s at least some small amount of control over the area.”

Sobel had yet to contribute to the conversation, swallowing heavily and glancing over as Winters shifted. Sobel simply watched on, his lack of commentary beginning to frustrate Lora; she was confident she wasn’t alone in this sentiment, though, as Winters began to speak.

“Huh,” Dick muttered, “That’s not too far from where a drop is set for.”

“True, it’s not,” Nixon agreed, standing up to walk towards the map. He inspected the area Lora was referring to. “We can report that using you and your father as witnesses. That’s valuable information,” he nodded at Lora, smiling flatly.

“Well, of course,” she took in a breath, “I just hope it will do something good for you Yanks.”

Lora wanted to help, but she’d be lying if she said it was for the Americans. The thought of her relatives hung in the back of her mind, their living situations haunting her without rest. Still, by helping the American army, she’d be doing something for her family.

Something.

“It will do good.” Nixon said in a reassuring voice, placing his hands on his hips.

“Is there any chance we can get those documents you mentioned, Ms. Kramer?” Asked Winters.

Lora sighed, “I’m afraid not. They’d be with my father; but I’m sure he’s in contact with rebellion groups in Holland, so they’re not being wasted.”

Nixon shrugged, “Maybe we can get our hands on ‘em if we move into Holland.”

“If,” Winters emphasized from the table. “If not, we at least have this information, and they’ll be used in a rebellion group somewhere important.”

“...It’s nearly 1300 hours,” Sobel interrupted, talking in that flat voice of his. “We should wrap up if that’s alright with you, Ms. Kramer.” He stood from his seat for what was the first time that entire meeting. Lora pressed her lips together at his words, annoyance nagging at her and creating a knot in her chest. Winters and Nixon, facing away from Sobel, gave each other a glance.

“Yeah,” Nixon hummed, looking at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting soon. Thank you for your help, Lora,” he smiled, giving a brief nod.

“Of course,” She said flatly, standing to grab her things. Sobel fled almost immediately, muttering curt goodbyes as Nixon bid farewell to Winters and left for his meeting. 

The woman was just picking up her purse and coat when Winters approached her. “Lora,” he smiled, “Nix and I were wondering if you’d like to get coffee sometime this week,” he said, large blue eyes searching hers for any kind of unwillingness. “Maybe Wednesday around 12:00?��

Lora was caught a little off guard, swinging her purse onto her shoulder. “Oh,” she breathed. “...Alright. Yes, that should work. I’ll… I’ll let you know tomorrow if something comes up then.” 

Winters smiled, his small mouth lifting at the edges. “That sounds good. Have a good day, Lora.”

She gave him a fleeting, small smile. “You too, Dick.”

—

TUESDAY, 1944

Vivienne laughed boisterously, carefree. “You and that lieutenant. You looked like a couple, Lo’.”

Ruth Watts’ head whipped over to Lora, her eyes imploring and wide after they had been ripped from her book. She was followed by Ada Dobson, who hadn’t been looking at a book, but was rattling on about something she’d been writing to Ruth.

“What?” Lora said, bewildered.

“Winters,” Vivienne grinned, “the ginger one!”

Eloise nudged her shoulder, something odd in her eyes. “Is that true?”

“No,” Lora gasped, “no, no of course not. We talked, Vivienne. Goodness sake, we work together.”

Ada giggled, full cheeks urging her eyes into crescents as she smiled. “Oh, Lora,” she called in a sing-song voice, her dazed tone ringing out in the room. “You aren’t married, Lora. He isn’t, either. …Aren’t you getting coffee together?”

Vivienne’s head snapped over, eyes wide with shock. “You are!?”

The woman in question put her novel down, huffing. “No. I’m going with him and Nixon.”

Eloise scoffed, her book still held in her hands. One of them let go of the pages, drifting to Lora’s forearm. “Gosh, he’s military. Why would Lora want to be involved with a man who’d do nothing but give his life for a machine?” Eloise replied, her head tilted.

“Well,” interrupted Ruth, “You’re married to one, El. A ‘military man’.”

Eloise held her head high, looking down the slope of her nose. “Yes. But I married my Edward before the war, you see. He wasn’t in the army yet. It is awfully different, Ruth.”

Ada hummed. “Well, Lora, I rather thought you were… um,” she paused. “A homosexual.” Ada said the word as if it were a taboo, and it seemed as though it was. Her eyebrows were drawn together as she looked Lora up and down.

Ruth’s mouth twisted downwards, lines framing her nose and illustrating her disgust. “Are you?”

Lora didn’t know why, yet something like panic settled in her gut. Her hands wrenched themselves from her head, gripping the gray wool of her skirt. “I’m not,” she replied, suddenly more serious as she feigned a horrified voice that felt as though she betrayed some fragile part of herself. “I’m not.”

Eloise stilled, drawing her hand back much to Lora’s displeasure. She glanced down at her forearm, void of Eloise’s hand. 

“Do not accuse someone of that,” Eloise glared at the girls. “Especially not Lora, of all people. Honestly.”

After a brief silence, Ruth snorted. Her face twisted into a grin before Ada followed, letting out a guffaw. 

“Oh my god,” Ruth sputtered, giggling. “Oh my god, of course you’re not! We didn’t mean it, Lo!”

Vivienne’s eyebrow cocked ever so slightly, but she didn’t say anything for or against Lora. She just watched. 

Eloise looked like she wanted to leave, her hand free of a book gripping the white cotton of her shirt. She looked as though she were to cave in on herself. An amused smile was on her face, though Lora could see through her supposed mirth.

“You know my auntie?” Ada began, “She’s a queer. I know,” she sighed, “we stay away from her.”

That dropped another weight into Lora’s chest. 

She didn’t know why.

—

“Lora!”

“Yes?”

“It’s a call,” said Eloise. “For you!”

Lora dropped her book, standing from the armchair and rushing to the kitchen. She thanked Eloise quietly, taking the receiver.

“Is this… Sofieke… uh, Kramer? Call from Avington,” said the operator. 

“Hello?” Lora greeted plainly, sighing internally. 

“Hello, Sophie,” a crackly voice said. “Hello. How are you?”

Lora felt like groaning. Oh, god. “Hi, Mrs. Gibson. How’s mum?”

“Oh, awful,” Mrs. Gibson lamented through the phone. 

That was a lie; her mother had been sending letters quite frequently. She wasn’t at all awful, just tired of life. She had taken off to a house in the countryside, settling down before Lora’s father left to Holland to live with his parents, Lora’s grandparents. 

Mrs. Gibson was merely a close friend of her mother's. She had been 'taking care' of her, though really just seemed as though she was mooching off of the poor woman.

“Awful, Sophie! And you’ve… What, you’ve up and left your mother to live in Albourne with that girl?” Her voice was so loud, it crackled and broke upon reaching Lora’s ears.

“Eloise,” Lora sighed, about to speak before she was cut off.

“Eloise! Eloise Fletcher! She’s rich, yes? And she can’t cut any expenses for your mother!”

The call repeated like that until the operator came on the line again. 

“Times up. Extend?”

“Extend!” Cried Mrs. Gibson. “Sohpie, please. Just- send something!”

“Mrs. Gibson, this call is getting expensive,” Lora said frustratedly. She crossed an arm over her chest, her hand settled in the crook of her elbow as she glanced up at Eloise. Eloise was watching, a worried look in her eyes as she stepped forward. Lora shook her head.

“Do you think I’m unaware? This is my money you’re spending.”

Lora blinked. “I… Look, I’m not going to Avington. Bye, Mrs. Gibson.” She shoved the receiver back into the stand, sighing with a roll of her eyes. 

“Mrs. Gibson,” Lora sighed, “She thinks I’m the devil."

Eloise’s eyebrows twisted together as she walked forward, taking Lora by the arm. “The devil? I hope she doesn’t think such a thing.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t.”

“I know,” replied the other girl, “I just don’t think it should be said in the first place. Like when that girl said you were… what was it? The woman at that one café near your flat in 1942.”

Lora bit her lip. “Oh, that was different, Love,” she grinned. “That woman said that I seemed rather ‘cheap’ to be hanging around a ‘wealthy woman like you',” Lora giggled, looking at Eloise with a smile.

Eloise scoffed, looking up at Lora with a similar smile. “A great fool, she was.”

“‘Great’ before ‘fool’ sounds ironic,” Lora hummed.

“You’re right; an awful fool, then.”

Lora smiled, nodding. “Perfect.”

“Well,” Eloise began, crossing her arms. “Tell me what Mrs. Gibson said, then.”

The other woman tilted her head. “It was boring, El.”

“Boring or not, I don’t mind,” Eloise shook her head, “you get passionate when you speak. It’s… Well, I’d just rather like to hear you.”

Lora hummed, a feeling like excitement bubbling in her chest. “Alright,” she muttered, “you can hear me talk whilst I make food.”

Half an hour later, she had quieted down as she lingered over the gas stove. Eloise chopped vegetables at her side. 

Silence filled the walls of their home. It created a sad tension.

From the silence settled seeds of upset in Lora’s mind. She felt horribly guilty as she stirred the small pot of stew. Parts of her family were likely living off of tulip bulbs and cruel scraps of food from Nazis occupying their houses whilst she inwardly lamented about her arm, sore from stirring food that’d leave her full.

Eloise looked into her eyes, quiet. “What’s wrong?”

“...I’m only thinking,” Lora murmured.

“Thinking? About what, hm?” Eloise stepped forward, a hand on the counter as her head tilted to look into Lora’s eyes.

The other woman sighed, brushing a piece of light-coloured hair out of her face. Eloise stepped closer still, fetching a hair tie and pulling Lora’s hair back into a bun. 

Eloise’s hands, decorated in dainty rings and silver bracelets, dragged through the other’s hair and on her scalp. She almost seemed as though she were savouring the curve of her ear and the flatter side of her head that she’d had since she was young. She slowly looped Lora’s hair around her hand, tying it with the elastic. Eloise’s hands lingered, twirling around the baby hairs of Lora’s hairline and smoothing them to her head. “Lora,” she called, “about what?”

Lora felt horribly hot and was worried Eloise could feel it, too. 

“My family,” the woman said, pausing in her stirring. “They’re eating tulip bulbs. They’re abused by Nazis. We… We’re eating food. They’re people, my family. What makes us more worthy of food than them?”

Eloise pulled back, and Lora felt rather cold without her breath grazing her ear. “We are incredibly fortunate, Lora. We have all of this. We have a safe life. Value it; don’t let your guilt, no matter how true, distract you from what’s in front of you.”

—

That night, while Lora slept, she dreamt of delicate, ring-covered and bracelet-decorated hands on her scalp. Of those hands lingering lower. She felt like a teenage girl.

She woke up in the early hours of the morning and didn’t rest after that.

—

Lora couldn’t look Eloise in the eyes that morning, writing a note and leaving it on the kitchen dining table. She left quickly afterward, though it was still morning.

The details of the plan for coffee were finalized the other day, and they were expected to meet at the shop by 12:30. It was currently 09:00, meaning she had plenty of time to waste doing whatever.

Her plans to maybe sit by the fields and contemplate everything were thrown off track when she bumped into a familiar soldier; that Malarkey from the other day. 

“Oh, sorry Miss,” he said, backing up. Next to him was another soldier with tanned skin and larger eyes, ‘TOYE’ printed on the white scrap of cotton they all had stitched to their uniforms.

Catching up to this Toye was another man, the name ‘GUARNERE’ on the same patch. He had a slight underbite, his strong jaw jutting slightly from the top half of his skull, dark eyes and a straight nose placed confidently upon his face. 

“Hey,” Guarnere called, looking at Lora. “You’re the informant girl, yeah? Yeah, we’ve seen you around base. Come on, what’s the deal witchya’?”

She almost grimaced; his accent sounded quite brash, his voice loud and boisterous, even amongst the near-constant stream of American soldiers.

“Come on, she’s probably busy,” Malarkey replied, looking at him.

Guarnere huffed. “Are ya busy, doll?”

Lora furrowed her eyebrows. When she was in college, these kinds of men were everywhere. Young men never change, Lora thought with annoyance.

“Not particularly, but I still have places to be.” Lora’s tone was stern, carrying a feel of no nonsense.

“See?” Toye spoke up, his voice raspy. “Let’s just go. Sobel’ll have our asses if we stay too long.” 

“Exactly,” Malarkey sighed. “We’re sorry, Miss. We’ll be on our way.”

“Hey, what!?” Guarnere exclaimed before the other two bid farewell and apologized, leaving Guarnere to catch up. 

Lora huffed as she watched them walk away, crossing the street when a jeep stopped and gestured for her to go.

She was now left to find the field, her purse in hand and an annoyed twinge in her chest. She continued on her walk with one thing in mind. 

Yanks were exhausting.

[bluecanvasshoe]

everyone read this now

Being Alive — Prologue

"Somebody need me too much, Somebody know me too well, Somebody pull me up short and put me through hell, And give me support for being alive" — Being Alive, Company, Stephen Sondheim.

Summary: Young, fresh-faced, Josephine Novák signs up to a Combat Medic for the United States Army. Imbued with nothing but good intentions and sweet words, she immediately gains the attention of Joseph Liebgott, hardened by life and closed off to those he doesn't trust.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Medic!OC (Josephine Novák)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Drama, all the things that come with Band of Brothers

Taglist: None!

Warnings: Time-period typical misogyny, Sobel, my terrible writing.

WC: 1.2k

A/N: All Czech and German are google translated, PLEASE feel free to correct me. Liebgott is in this for like... .8 secs, but dw, he'll be there more later.

West, Texas, 1942

"Vater! Musím jít! Zpozdíš mě!" Josephine plead, trying to pry her father's iron grip off of her arms, desperately trying to escape his fervent cheek kisses. (Father! I have to go! You're going to make me late!)

"Zlatíčko, musí stihnout letadlo. Vím, že ti bude naše drahá holčička chybět, ale musí jít." Her mother reasoned, finally loosening his grip and pulling her into a quick, but bone crushing hug. (Darling, she has to catch the plane. I know you'll miss our dear girl, but she has to go.)

After another round of cheek kisses from and to everyone, Josephine Novák rushed out the door of her small West, Texas home and down the street. Catching the bus at the last minute, she quickly paid the fare and gave directions for the newly constructed Waco Airport, which would be sending out just 1 plane for the nurses and medics-in-training to Camp Toccoa in blazing hot Georgia.

---

Camp Toccoa, Georgia, 1942

The plan ride was uneventful, besides the fact that the runway was barely completed and the plan shook like nothing she'd ever experienced. Touching down in Georgia, Josephine had never been so happy to see land again.

---

Colonel Sink's office was a room of beige. Beige walls, beige furniture, beige newspaper cutouts. The man in question sat behind his desk, squinting down at the paper Josephine had just handed him, her resumé, of sorts, with all her medical qualifications and previous experience.

"Well! This is wonderful, now we have 3 translators for Easy Company!"

"Easy Company, sir?"

"Yes. By far the finest company the army has to offer, paratroopers with the most efficient trainer at camp. Lieutenant Sobel will be leading you through physical training before you begin your jumps to earn your wings." Colonel Sink explained, a smile on his wrinkled face. "As you know, a woman in the force, although not unheard of in the case of nurses, is a rarity for Combat Medics. I suggest you keep your chin up, dear, and don't let anyone tell you you don't belong here. You're going to be a paratrooper and I trust you'll make me proud." 

The words shot a pang through her heart, deeply reminding her of own father, who she was already beginning to miss. Saluting the man in front of her, she turned to the man who had greet her at the gate, a tall red-head with ice-blue eyes, aptly named Lieutenant Winters. 

Winters led her out to the barracks, pointing out the various parts of the camp. As she followed behind his long strides, Josephine openly stared at her surroundings, noting quickly a group of men being screamed at by a man who reminded her of an asparagus. 

"Now, since you're our only woman, you'll be showering at a later time than the men, alone." Winters explained, pointing to the showers. Josephine nodded, opening her mouth to ask a question before a barked command cut her off,

"WINTERS! We're running Curahee in 10! Get into your PT uniform!" The asparagus man shouted, stopping short in front of them as he gave her a short glance before doubling back, "Who's this?"

Saluting quickly, Josephine gave a quick introduction, "Josephine Novák, sir! I'm the new Combat Medic for Easy Company, sir!" 

Lieutenant Sobel stared at her for a small moment, "Private Novák, get into your PT outfit, now! Just because you're a woman, you will recieve no special treatment!" 

"Sir!"

Josephine took off running to the barracks, quickly depositing her stuff onto the emptied cot and pulling on the white t-shirt and black shorts that were just a little too small on her before running to catch up with boys that were walking towards a very intimidating hill. A few men turned to look behind them as her footsteps reached their ears,

"Alright. Who's broad followed them onto base?" 

A few laughs tittered out of the men, but Josephine just smiled,

"Not a broad, your new Combat Medic, Josephine Novák, nice to meet ya!" She let those words settle over the men before she piped up again, "So, how far up is Currahee?"

"3 miles up, 3 miles down." They all said in unison, as if trained to do so. Josephine nodded, not too bothered. She loved running, although the track team at her school didn't have a girls section yet and they didn't allow her to join the boys, she always found time to run a couple of miles each day. 

A young man fell back to walk next to her, his hand out, "Eugene Roe. Combat Medic. I was told we were gettin' anotha one, 'tho I can't say I was expectin' a girl." 

Josephine just smiled, shaking his hand. 

---

Josephine hated running.

When the men had said earlier that it was 3 miles up, she wasn't expecting the angle she'd be forced to essentially hike. 

"NOVÁK! What kind of pace is this? Do you really think a woman can keep up in the Army at the rate you're going? You'd be better off shacking up with some 4F man and staying in the kitchen!" Sobel shouted as he fell into step just ahead of her. Josephine merely pursed her lips and continued running, not even bothering to glance at him. 

It was his 4th time coming to yell at her, specifically. Each one had something to do with her being a woman or to do with her being useless.

"I shouldn't even have let you run the mountain! All women do is cry and complain! Are you going to cry, Private Novák?" Sobel taunted once more, this time garnering some quick glances from the men around her, each wondering the same, apparently. Josephine tilted her head, chin up, like Sink advised, a smile growing on her lips, 

"No, sir."

---

Dinner that evening was disappointing but also not surprising. Some unknown meat slapped onto a sad piece of bread doused in a discrace to the name of gravy. Josephine, also unsurprisingly, found herself sitting alone. 

All of the other Easy Company men sat at their own tables, sparing her only the occasional glance and look away, as low mutterings that she couldn't make out were broken only by barking laughter. It felt like highschool all over again. When the popular people would make it obvious they were talking about you, but not giving you enough to be upset about, so when you are, you look nuts.

Josephine payed no mind to them, however, simply pushing around her meal on her plate, staring at the table. The table jostled as a weight settled itself across from her, making her look up in hope of seeing a friendly face. Luckily for her, it was.

"You're a good runna, Novák." Was all Roe said as he sat down, commencing with eating his 'food' as the table he had just left stared over at him. Josephine smiled, seeing that was all he had to say, the quiet man he was. 

Chancing a quick look at the table nearest her, a pair of harsh brown eyes met hers. Smiling shortly at him, she returned to her food.

---

A broad, huh.

She was pretty, Joseph Liebgott supposed, what with her big doe eyes and too-bright smile. God, what was she even doing here? She seemed too... nice.

Looking over Luz's shoulder at her table, he accidentally caught her eyes, the deep amber hue glowing in the lights of the mess hall. She smiled at him, forcing Liebgott's eyes away. 

Too nice, he decided. She'd be out of here by the end of the month.

[bluecanvasshoe]

You'll See

CHAPTER 2 OF "TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS"

1 | 2 | 3

Band of Brothers x ocs

Summary: Lora finally gets to know some of those that she'll be working with, and to say she was pleasantly surprised wouldn't be the whole truth. However, in the mess, she finds herself acquainted with Lieutenant Winters, who isn't all that bad.

Word count: 1.8k

Content: talk of war duh, obligation to family and country, disagreements, we got some 1st degree yearners over here, lemme know if more!

a/n: does anyone still read oc fics? who knows. anyways, enjoy!

Lora sat at a wooden table with an intelligence officer, who had introduced himself as Lieutenant Nixon, and Winters. 

They were exchanging unbearable smallchat, wasting time until the door opened. Lora felt her heart jump out of her chest. It was, however, much too late to back out at this point. Gosh, was she really doing this?

Getting involved in a war such as this felt like a leap into the void. All-consuming and much too large for her to make a difference, surely. But she had an obligation to both her family and country, and that was enough.

The stomp of boots and the screech of chairs resounded throughout the small, dull blue-walled room as both lieutenants rose to their feet with haste. Their hands were strained at their sides, faces angled towards the man who entered.

Turning her head to face him, she was very disappointed at first glance, and even felt a little bad. The man had large, close-together eyes and a long, narrow face. His mouth was stretched into an awkward line as he blinked, taking a quick breath and glancing at Lora.

Looking back at the two men, he straightened his shoulders ever so slightly. “As you were,” this captain - Sobel, as his nametag suggested - said. His voice was, in a way, wide. It was like someone’s voice when on the verge of a yawn.

He approached Lora, who rose to her feet without her bag and accepted the hand he outstretched. “I assume you met the other men?” he asked.

Lora could put together who ‘the other men’ were, and nodded. “Lieutenant Winters introduced himself yesterday, and I met Lieutenant Nixon today, sir.”

He nodded, a flash of something like pride or haughtiness appearing on his face at the formality used in her sentence. Sobel looked to the lieutenants, who seemed as though they just shared a look that’d get them some kind of reprimand or claim for insubordination. Their spines were straight, though, and they appeared to be model soldiers. 

Sobel brushed it off - was this the norm? - and retracted his hand, returning it to his side. “Is your father here?”

Lora’s eyebrows drew together, a crease appearing on her temple. “My father?” she repeated, “...Captain Sobel, my father’s in Holland.”

Sobel sputtered, turning to Winters. “You told me they were both informants,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Sir, I said only Ms. Kramer would be in correspondence with us for the time being,” Winters corrected, his demeanor more proper and relaxed than that of his superior’s.

He floundered, thick eyebrows drawn tight. He remembered that they were in the presence of a woman and composed himself, though the tension in his face and rapid rise and fall of his chest betrayed him. “So your father won’t be here?”

“Uh,” Lora murmured, “no… no, he won’t. I have the same information as he does, however.”

He huffed, glancing away briefly, almost as if restraining himself. “...We’ll carry on with the meeting, then.”

Lora felt bad for judging Sobel mere minutes ago.

That sentiment was now erased entirely.

—

The discussion ended around one, and it went… fine. It wasn’t anything note-worthy, consisting of introductions and a quick debrief of what her job was, as if she didn’t know the details already.

Sobel was huffy for a little while, but regained his composure for the most part in a feeble attempt to remain civil. However, Lora soon learned that he seemed to thrive off of power trips and constantly worked to make someone feel less. She found it odd, but not entirely uncommon to see a man likely only five years her senior who thought it right to act like such a child. In front of important company, no less.

In spite of a captain who seemed to wield his title like a police would a baton, Lora found Winters and Nixon to be quite pleasant people. Both of the men were close to her in age and seemed like reasonable company.

“I’m home,” she called, closing the door to her and Eloise’s house.

Footsteps came from somewhere upstairs, a faint echo of ‘coming!’ accompanying the noise.

Eloise emerged from the landing, dressed in a more comfortable, lounge-wear dress with an easy-going smile on her face. This dress was one of Lora’s unspoken favourites; a blue that shimmered and danced like silk. 

Eloise descended the steps and approached Lora, helping her to hang up her bag in a friendly, yet slightly unnecessary, gesture of kindness.

“How did the meeting go?” Eloise asked, hanging the blonde haired woman’s coat onto the rack. There was a sadness to her, as if there was something she wasn’t telling Lora; a sadness that wasn’t unlike her wrath the other day.

Lora sighed, slipping off her heels. “Alright, I suppose,” she muttered, “though that captain of theirs is a… well, something like a fool.”

“A fool in place of a captain?” Eloise smiled, already drifting towards the kettle that was placed on the stove. 

Lora huffed, “I can put the kettle on, I’m not too knackered,” she said, but was dismissed by a flippant wave of Eloise’s hand. 

“Anywho, as I was saying,” Eloise continued, dragging on a topic Lora would much rather leave behind, if yesterday was any example. “They’re Yanks, Lora, of course he’s a fool.”

“...There are good ones, you know. Two lieutenants; one of them is an intelligence officer. You’d like them, El.”

Eloise’s movements slowed as she placed down two cups, sighing. “Edward wouldn’t exactly like it if I were to be speaking with other men,” she muttered, “especially other military men.”

“One of them is married, Eloise. The other is simply kind, it’s not scandalous.”

“I know, I just…” Eloise trailed off, kneeling down to start the fire in the hearth of the stove. “You know, Lora.”

Unfortunately, she did.

—

SATURDAY, 1944

Lora sipped a cup of tea from the only café still operating. She leaned against a wall, looking at the soldiers passing by with boredom when a familiar face appeared to her left.

“Ms. Kramer?” Richard Winters said, crossing his arms and stopping beside her. She looked up, eyebrows raised.

“Call me Lora, Dick, it’s alright,” she replied plainly, turning her head away to look at the empty streets. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a weekend, Lora,” he answered, leaning against the wall in a similar fashion that she had. “I don’t leave the base.”

“‘Don’t leave the base,’” she repeated, “why not? These soldiers are, are you not gonna join your men?”

He huffed, one corner of his small mouth twitching upwards. “I don’t want to be in a position where I can take from them or get too close. I’m their superior.”

She nodded, tilting her head to the side as she took another sip of her tea. Her free arm was crossed over the one holding the cup, the sleeves of her fraying wool jumper rubbing against each other. “...That makes sense.”

Silence lapsed; Lora wasn’t very good at smalltalk.

“...Does Captain Sobel always act the way he did in our meeting?”

Winters huffed a laughed, glancing at her. “What, ill-equipped to lead?”

She smiled a little, “I suppose that’s an apt description. …Are you going to answer the question, or…?”

“Oh,” he laughed quietly, “Yeah, he is. Everyone’s aware of it.”

“Everyone? Oh boy,” she sipped her tea, “any stories you can share?”

Dick smiled, though it seemed to be hesitant and unsure. “Ah, I’m not sure if I should.”

Lora shrugged, “I’m an informant, for Pete’s sake. I divulge information that’s incredibly sensitive; I deserve to get a good story back, no?”

He shifted, his arms uncrossed. “Well, then you have to make sure this doesn’t leave our conversation.”

“You’ve got my word, Dick.” Nora replied, voice flat.

Winters sighed through his nose, his voice lowering in volume significantly. “We went out on a training mission to ‘capture an enemy’. Now, I was leading my own squad, meaning I wasn’t there. This is all alleged.”

“Alleged or not; I’m intrigued, Yank.” Lora tilted her head a bit and sipped her tea.

He smiled, ever-present lines around his mouth deepening ever so slightly. “Sobel read his map wrong, and ran into a cow pen. One of my - his - men imitated one of the Majors from behind a bush and ordered him to cut the fence. He did,” Dick huffed, “and was later confronted with the news that the Major who was imitated was on leave… in London.”

Lora laughed under her breath, nodding. “Really?” 

“So I’ve heard,” he nodded.

“Gosh. I can’t say I’m surprised,” she said mirthfully, sighing. “How do you lot tolerate him?”

“Uh,” he crossed his arms again, “some complain. There’s not much anyone can do.”

She nodded in quiet understanding. Sobel was exhausting, and she’d only known him for a day. She couldn’t imagine having to follow a buffoon who couldn’t read a map during a training exercise (for new soldiers, no less!) into a battle. “Some of the men are surely thinking of staging something, right?”

“It’s likely,” Dick nodded. “But I haven't heard of anything. Though, I’m sure Nix… Lieutenant Nixon,” He clarified the nickname, “would tell me if something were to happen if I hadn’t already picked up any whispers.”

“Whispers, huh? Do the men gossip?” Her tea was momentarily forgotten, intrigued by the thought of soldiers sharing the latest talk behind each other's backs.

“Well, I’d say it’s not so much ‘gossip’ as it is bad-mouthing, but you can’t blame the men most of the time.”

“Military life, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I-”

“Lora!”

A voice came from the right, high and drawn out. Lora looked over, making eye contact with Vivienne who came rushing to her side. She gave a lasviscious grin to Winters. “I’ll just steal her, yeah? Is that alright with you?”

Vivienne didn’t wait for a reply, whisking a flustered and confused Lora away. She placed her tea onto a table outside the shop, her tea having gone cold anyways.

“Lora, it’s book club time, silly! You haven’t forgotten, huh? Has it already left that pretty head of yours?” Vivienne’s head tilted up, her bottom lip jutted out.

“Really? I’m sorry, the time slipped away,” the woman in question answered, skimming past the compliment. Vivienne was one to shower her friends in fluffy words and sweet nicknames. 

“Slipped away, hm? Talking to that handsome tree over there?” Vivienne grinned, lips stretching across slightly crooked teeth. 

Lora rolled her eyes, catching up with Vivienne. “It’s nothing like that. I’m hardly interested. We simply work together.”

“That’s how all romances start, my love. You’ll see,” Vivienne let go of Lora’s elbow, walking ahead of her on the cobbled street.

“‘You’ll see’? What does that mean?”

Vivienne didn’t reply, simply walking a little faster. Her long, brown pleated skirt flared up a bit behind her.

“Vivienne? What does that mean?”

“Vivienne!”

[bluecanvasshoe]

Tomorrow Never Knows

Band of Brothers x Ocs!

1 | 2 | 3

Summary: Sofieke Lora Kramer, an informant for the American army, is now in cahoots with Easy Company's lieutenant. However, it seems that a friend she holds close isn't so willing to support this endeavor.

Content: war (obviously), implications of death, mention of domestic abuse, fighting, out of character characters??? idk, gay..... idk... it might be a little gay.... just a little.... hehe........., 40’s slang!!! (chum=friends basically, ‘bod’=body, though i think these are obvious)

Word count: 2k

A/N: I introduce you to MORE ocs!!!!!!!!! should this be a series??? who knowssssss............... (you guys know pls tell me)

Aldbourne, England, 1944

“If it’s violence they want, then the politicians can duel each other!” Eloise shouted, pacing in the kitchen of their home. The look of anger upon her face did not suit her delicately sculpted features.

“You think so?” Questioned Lora, an eyebrow raised and a divot appearing on her forehead. She sat at the dining table, looking up at the woman. Eloise was a passionate girl. She knew her ideals and adhered to them, a manual written from the early days of her childhood to the new years of her adulthood.

Hearing a question in place of an agreement only served to shovel coal on the fire within the cavity of her chest. Eloise’s fists were clenched at her side, chest heaving as her feet made an abrupt stop, the sound lingering in the flat with a stark finality. She looked down at Lora from the slope of her nose, almost as if thinking that she was to be perceived as superior at that moment. “Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?”

The other woman sighed, her elbows resting on the table. Bare, dry fingers laced together as she cocked her head. “It’s romantic, it is.”

“Romantic!” Eloise sputtered, her eyes wide. “You think an absence of war is romantic!? I’m not silly, Lora!”

“I know you’re not!” Lora’s head snapped up, her eyes taking on that wide, snappy gaze and her voice gaining a whiny lilt. “But it’s simply- it’s not realistic. No one wants a war, but-”

“But what, Lora? Hm? At first the Americans, the Yanks, were being rowdy in America. Now they’re here, in our town,” she hit the counter with her fist, “in our houses! You and your father have all of these dreams of being these… these clever informants- honestly, you- you’re contributing to a machine!”

“Can we please not get into a tiff over this?” Lora muttered, a hand rubbing from her forehead to her cheek.

Eloise scoffed, looking away. “A tiff. You don’t care about anything, Lora.”

Lora leaned forward, her jaw dropped. “Eloise-”

Before she could even begin her thought, a knock rang out against the front door of the house. From outside it, they could hear the telltale jingle of bracelets and a soft call of ‘girls?’. Lora looked at a red cheeked, flustered Eloise with what could perhaps be described as disappointment; though the look was, in Lora’s nature, mostly inscrutable. 

Eloise huffed through her nose, looking to the door briefly. “You get it.” She said, a hand on her forehead as she turned away from both Lora and the door. 

The other woman, rolling her eyes, stood and carried herself in long, confident strides to the entryway. Turning the knob, she was met with the familiar face of Mrs. Jones and a tall man behind her. 

Lora raised a brow, tilting her head to get a view of the man and noticing the American uniform he wore. Eloise’s husband, Edward, was a navigator for the RAF. (He seemed practically useless in most reports, bless his soul, but she really had no empathy for the man.) After seeing the other British infantry men in their brimmed helmets and pocket-ridden khaki as they left town, the uniform became embedded behind her eyes. This man was clearly American.

“Mrs. Jones,” Lora muttered. “Afternoon.”

The older woman smiled, “good afternoon, Lo. This man was looking for you. He’s a lieutenant.” She raised her brows, head angled so that the soldier couldn’t see her cheeky smile. Her full cheeks raised, brightening like apples.

Lora nodded, lips twitching upwards ever so slightly. It was wiped away as she glanced back into the house where Eloise was now tidying up. She always did so when she felt upset or lost. Guilt wormed its way into Lora’s ribcage, settling there and pulling against her diaphragm. 

Shaking off the feeling, she steadied herself. Looking back to the lieutenant, Lora nodded. “Good afternoon,” she inhaled carefully. “I’m Lora Kramer. My father and I are informants.”

The lieutenants, a ginger man, nodded. “We heard from Mrs. Jones,” he said. “I’m First Lieutenant Richard Winters.” he smiled, thin lines framing his small mouth and bright blue eyes staring back at Lora’s brown ones.

Mrs. Jones huffed, stepping away. “Well, I’ll be off. I’ll see you later for tea, Lo.”

“Goodbye, Mrs. Jones,” Lora replied, nodding at the woman in confirmation. This Richard WInters exchanged brief words with Mrs. Jones, thanking her and wishing her goodbye, before returning his attention to the informant. His hands were tucked behind his back, spine poised carefully and upright.

Winters stuck out a callused hand for Lora to shake. She accepted the gesture, shaking his hand firmly. After they pulled away, the man spoke up. “We’ll be running training exercises within the hour, so I’m afraid we can’t have any sort of formal meeting today, Mrs.-”

“I’m sorry,” Lora interrupted, a hand on the doorframe. “I’m not married.”

“Right. My apologies, Ms. Kramer. Colonel Sink would like for us to ideally start discussing information tomorrow,” he continued, his tone almost robotic.

Lora looked him up and down, taking a deep inhale. “That’s alright. That…” she glanced back briefly. “That works.”

They bid farewell, and Lora shut the door again. 

The conversation itself was awkward and short lived, and Lora found herself slightly dreading the amount of smalltalk she’d have to endure the next day.

Silence fell over the house, teeming with something tense and on the verge of explosion.

“Eloise,” Lora said softly, walking over as if stepping on eggshells. The old hardwood of the floor seemed to groan louder than it usually did.

Eloise stopped her quick, measured movements as she scrubbed the counter with a damp washcloth. She put the rag aside, taking a breath that reached Lora as a shaky, stiff thing.

“Oh, Eloise.” the woman sighed, walking forward with a little more urgency. She ended up behind the brown-haired woman, a hand hovering over her covered bicep. 

A blue dress covered Eloise’s figure, one that would usually be accompanied by some kind of tweed cardigan and pretty necklace. Eloise dressed in exuberant colours, even during the war; the girl had enough clothing in her wardrobe. Seeing her was like a breath of fresh air, but the brittle nature of her microscopic quivering and hidden face felt suffocating. “Look at me, dear.” 

Eloise turned slowly, the corners of her eyes red in the dim light and her lips sucked in against her teeth. Her throat bobbed as she saw Lora, the taller woman shielding her from the windows facing the street outside. “I don’t mean to… I…”

“I know,” Lora muttered meekly, searching her eyes for something that wasn’t raw fear. She grasped her shoulders, a hand wrapping around the top of her back and another coming to rest on the dip in her spine. 

Eloise stepped closer, resting her forehead against the hard surface of Lora’s clavicle as her shoulders shook more freely. Her own hands rested on the sides of Lora’s figure, ghosting over her ribs. “I don’t want to fight with you. Edward, is- my… my husband is away, and you…” she choked on a breath. “Not you too. Please, God, not you too.” Her voice grew hoarse, depserate, the words tearing her throat as they came out.

Lora felt as though someone had dug a knife into her chest and twisted it, the sentences she spoke sending whispers of guilt down her spine. Every word felt like watching someone scratch at a scab, unbearable but uncontrollable.

“Nothing will happen,” she muttered. Her head rested on top of Eloise’s, blonde hair mixing with brown. “I promise. I’ll stay out of the war, the fighting, as much as I can.” Her words were as much of the truth as she was willing to bear, but they also came out as a reassurance for herself, too; her own hand comforting the raging beat of her heart.

“You will,” Eloise said firmly, without room for protest.

“...I will, Eloise. For you. Always for you.”

The brown haired woman sniffled, nodding. “Good. I… I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. You’ve found a place in my heart and I can’t rid you of it.” Eloise whispered, as if afraid the words would escape the confines of the house and be heard by a passer by. As if it could be interpreted as something it was not.

They remained in a forgiving embrace, held together until Eloise pulled away. 

“Thank you, chum.” She smiled, eyes still watery. “I trust you, Lora. …But I’m afraid.”

Lora’s hands drifted to the other girl’s upper arms, grounding her. “I’m giving information. I promise, I’d never insert myself somewhere dangerous; somewhere that threatens either of us. …If I did, you’d pull me out by the collar of my shirt.”

Eloise’s smile widened, endearing, lovely lines appearing at the edges of her lips. “Of course I would, woman.”

Lora snickered, sniffling as they hugged one last time before reluctantly separating. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

—

The next day, the clouds covered the blue skies and filtered, murky sunlight passed through them.

“Look at all the new bods,” Vivienne snickered, a hand covering her mouth painted in red lipstick. She dressed up today, her dark brown hair let down from rollers and pinned up neatly. She painted her skin with what little makeup she had left and wore clothing made of materials which were now under strict rationing.

“Viv!” Eloise admonished the girl, laughing. Eloise was dressed in a mild green tweed coat with a joyfully yellow dress beneath it. Her stockings were the ones you’d see in a magazine of before in-place rations, not on a real girl, and her shoes were black flats. They would usually be polished to perfection, but now had a little hint of dullness on the tips. “You’re awfully noisy.”

Vivienne laughed, pulling the girl by her elbow. “And you’re too uptight, live a little!”

Lora tagged behind Eloise as the three girls walked along, watching American soldiers walk about the town. Paratroopers, they’re called.

“I’m a married woman, miss. Besides… I don’t like military boys.”

“Your bloody husband is a ‘military boy’; besides, you hardly like your husband, ‘El! Does it truly matter that much?”

Vivienne let go of Eloise and turned around, accidentally bumping into a soldier who was jogging behind someone else. They stumbled, sending Vivienne forward and the other man back. 

She straightened and turned around, facing an American soldier with downturned eyes and brown hair. The name ‘Malarkey’ was printed on a cheap piece of white fabric in blocky letters, the nametage sewn on the front of his uniform. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I’m in a- a bit of a rush here,” he apologised.

She shrugged with one shoulder, grinning after she caught her bearings and giving him a slow once-over. “That’s alright,” Vivenne said cheekily, brushing off her dark blue skirt.

“Sorry again, miss. Goodbye,” He ran off, returning to whatever task he had set out for him. 

“Malarkey,” Vivienne said in a faux-seductive voice, earning a smile from Eloise and a raised brow from Lora. “Does that not mean bullshit?”

Eloise’s jaw dropped and Lora’s eyes widened. Neither of the girls expected that.

“Vivienne!” Eloise admonished for a second time, slapping her shoulder. 

As the two girls bantered, Lora checked her small, silver watch; fourty past eleven. She had later agreed to meet at twelve with an intelligence officer she hadn’t yet met as well as the Lieutenant from the other day and the Captain of this E company. 

“Girls,” Lora called, looking up. “I have a meeting at twelve . You can keep going along,” she said, giving a small smile. “I’ll likely be done around one.”

Eloise looked almost upset, a flash of something disappointed filling her eyes like a shooting star; fleeting, but noticeable if you know where to look. 

“I won’t be long,” Lora added softly.

Vivienne grinned. “Go be the intelligent girl you are, Lo. Us sophisticated ladies will continue our stroll,” she replied, looping her arm around Eloise’s as she gave Lora a final wink.

Lora nodded, smiling with a final little goodbye before she turned around and crossed the busy, soldier-filled street, her purse clutched to her side.

She was told to arrive at a large building that’d been transformed to be somewhat of a headquarters. Yanks walking in and out of the building, discussing things with papers or going for a cigarette.

Lora spotted a familiar, tall redhead standing next to the pillared entrance, his hand behind his back. They met up, exchanged quick words, and entered the building.

Lora had never felt this nervous in her life.

[bluecanvasshoe]

sigh. i cant escape the haters, even on tumblr……..

april - june 2025

unionizing, juprogue, and bullying french people ☺️

[bluecanvasshoe]

Blue's Band of Brothers masterlist

Angst: ☁️ | Fluff: ☀️ | Hurt-comfort: ⛅ | Romance: ❤️| Blue's favourite: 🪲|

Clumsy - platonic!Band of Brothers x fem!Canadian!reader ☀️

The Canadian and American militaries have been working side-by-side in a few missions. Turns out, Canadians can handle American mail, too; and it seems they chose the right (yet clumsiest) woman for the job.

Tomorrow Never Knows - Band of Brothers x ocs ⛅☀️❤️🪲

Sofieke Lora Kramer, an informant for the American armies, is now in cahoots with Easy Company's lieutenant. However, it seems that a friend she holds close isn't so willing to support this endeavor.

You'll See - chapter 2 of 'Tomorrow Never Knows'

Lora finally gets to know some of those that she'll be working with, and to say she was pleasantly surprised wouldn't be the whole truth. However, in the mess, she finds herself acquainted with Lieutenant Winters, who isn't all that bad.

[bluecanvasshoe]

Clumsy

Band of Brothers x fem!Canadian!reader blurb

Characters: Winters, Nixon

Summary: The Canadian and American militaries have been working side-by-side in a few missions. Turns out, Canadians can handle American mail, too; and it seems they chose the right (yet clumsiest) woman for the job.

Content: you are clumsy and a little silly, I was very self indulgent and thought 'what would I be like if I distributed mail??', the reader being a woman is sooooo irrelevant but i thought why not yk, SUPER short basically no story, reader is described as young so no romance nothing weird, no use of y/n, uh. nothing else

Word count: 590

A/N: look!!!! blub's first band of brothers blurb!!!!!!!!!!

Flick, flick, flick.

Funny name!

Flick, flick, flick.

Now that’s a cool stamp.

Flick, flick, jingle?

You looked up, setting down the stack of letters you had been sorting through to face two men who had entered the post office. An American lieutenant and a captain, you noted.

“Uhh,” you mumbled, pushing away the small pile of letters. “Good evening Captain, Lieutenant,” you greeted, smiling.

The captain stepped forward, a ginger man with distinct lines framing his small mouth and striking blue eyes. He was tall, taller than the lieutenant who had dark brown hair and bushy eyebrows, his equally dark eyes boredly looking at you. 

“Evening, Private,” said the captain. “I’m Captain Winters. This-” 

“I’m Lieutenant Nixon,” said the darker-haired man. He nodded with a tight-lipped smile before his lips pressed together, his hands on his hips.

Your eyebrows furrowed momentarily as you recalled a letter with one of their names, the name ‘Winters’ sounding familiar. “Um… oh, you got a letter from General Sink! I was gonna have someone run over to deliver it, but, uh, you came here, so-” 

You turned around, looking at the various drawers and stacks for the ‘priority’ pile. Meanwhile, Winters and Nixon shared an amused look, their eyebrows raised questioningly. 

This private, a Canadian private, was unusually peppy for a mail sorter. They’d usually be gung-ho to join the war and frustrated with letters and packages. Not to mention a woman; though would ‘woman’ be an apt description? You barely looked as though you were out of highschool, nevermind of age for a draft or volunteering. But hey, young soldiers always lied about their age for a quick start at ‘military life’. …And maybe Canada let more slide.

Aside from that, women had been making more of an appearance in the military as per the army’s need, both Canadian and American, for more soldiers, more bodies, more numbers. Women were still unusual to come across, though the military’s archaic ways could be… mostly to blame for that.

You perked up after just short of a minute, finding the specific group labelled as urgent and Fumbled with the stack before fishing out a letter. From General Robert F. Sink to Captain Richard Winters.

Hehe. Dick.

You spun, though it seemed you put a little too much force into the movement. The letter went flying from your hands, skittering upon stone flooring. Retrieving the letter from the ground, you returned to the counter and handed it over. “Here, Sir,” you grinned.

Winters nodded slowly, his eyebrows drawn together ever so slightly and a slight, one-sided upward tick of his lips as he briefly glanced at Nixon. “Thank you, Private,” he said, nodding as he looked at you again. 

“Of course, Sir.” You smiled, tapping the counter.

Nixon nudged Winters with his shoulder, jerking his head towards the door. “Well,” Lieutenant Nixon started, “We’ve gotta get going.”

“Oh, yes,” you perked up, “right, of course! Have a good day then!”

“You too,” Winters said alongside Nixon’s mutter of a similar sentiment. They turned, leaving the makeshift post office.

The bell jingled as the door shut, leaving you to flicker through miscellaneous letters once again. 

“Clumsy, huh?” Said Nixon, snickering whilst walking down the steps of the post office.

Winters huffed, fiddling with the letter as he looked upon the emptying cobble street. “And what are you going to do after this, Nix?”

“You know me, Dick,” Nixon cocked his head to the side, smirking. “Get drunk off Vat 96.”

“Drunk, yeah,” Winters huffed, “clumsy.”

[bluecanvasshoe]

Blue's masterlist

Harry Potter

Red Dead Redemption

The Last of Us

Band of Brothers

Wanna know when a new fic comes out? Comment to be added to my taglist <3

[bluecanvasshoe]

Blue's The Last of Us masterlist

Angst: ☁️ | Fluff: ☀️ | Hurt-comfort: ⛅ | Romance: ❤️| Blue's favourite: 🪲|

See disclaimer here

Not Ellie - not an x reader ☁️

After an encounter at the Seattle Aquarium leaves Ellie confused and thinking, she falls down a rabbit hole of reflection and stomach-churning regret.

[bluecanvasshoe]

Blue's Red Dead Redemption masterlist

Angst: ☁️ | Fluff: ☀️ | Hurt-comfort: ⛅ | Romance: ❤️| Blue's favourite: 🪲|

Act Naturally - request, platonic!Hosea Matthews & teen!fem!reader⛅

Reader slips up on a robbery and is understandably upset; father-figure Hosea comes to the rescue.

Everything Eats and is Eaten (Time is Fed) - series ☁️, ⛅

After the falling out of the gang, you're left wondering many things, but a big one is "what next"? Well, this is what. Follow YOU as you discover secrets about the gang in times past, your own family, and more!!

Red Dead Redemption 2 & teen!fem!reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - Runaway

Chapter 2.5 (unnecessary/a little side-fic) - She’s Leaving Home

Chapter 3 - Time and Place

Chapter 4 - I Still Miss Someone

Chapter 5 - I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive

Chapter 6 - Sunday Morning Coming Down

Chapter 7 - :)

Chapter 8 - I Walk the Line

Chapter 9 - Five Brothers

Chapter 10 - I Think of You

Chapter 11 - Keep On the Sunny Side

*****Chapters without a link are being written/going to be written!*****

[bluecanvasshoe]

Blue's Harry Potter masterlist

Angst: ☁️ | Fluff: ☀️ | Hurt-comfort: ⛅ | Romance: ❤️| Blue's favourite: 🪲|

I do not support JKR!

Marauders 🦌🐕‍🦺🌕🐀

Obstacles - Platonic!Marauders x muggleborn!Hufflepuff!fem!reader ☀️, 🪲

You remake old memories with the Marauders, and sparklers are, for once, used correctly in their vicinity.

Frankly, Mr. Shankly - Platonic!Marauders x gn!Gryffindor!reader ⛅

You've been feeling inadequate in everything, really. It seems the people you thought were pushing you away are the only ones who can help calm these thoughts.

Loopy Lupin - not an x reader! Wolfstar ☀️, 🪲

After a rough moon, Remus is given different medicine. The chaotic aftermath of it is incredibly amusing to a certain group of boys.

Our General is Cool?? - not an x reader! Jily, Wolfstar ☁️☀️

A new mission is on the horizon; one that G Company doesn't have enough soldiers for. However, it seems that this is among many responsibilities of 20 year-old soldiers amidst a war. (This blurb is an introduction to an idea)

Wait a Minute, Mister Postman! - Marauders x gn! reader, Jily, Wolfstar ❤️, ☀️, 🪲

You are a mail carrier for the Order of the Phoenix and a full-time barn owl animagus. One day, however, you deliver a letter to a peculiar Order headquarters and meet some even stranger (yet incredibly alluring) people.

[bluecanvasshoe]

Wait a Minute, Mister Postman!

post-Hogwarts Marauders x gn!reader!

Can be read as platonic or romantic, whatever u choose!!

Summary: You are a mail carrier for the Order of the Phoenix and a full-time barn owl animagus. One day, however, you deliver a letter to a peculiar Order headquarters and meet some even stranger (yet incredibly alluring) people.

Hints of Wolfstar and Jily, hints of Wolfstar x reader

WC: 1.1k

Content: no use of Y/N, Sirius Black is a flirty twat, Moody is paranoid

Damp, rain-filtered air rushes beneath beige wings as a white-faced owl soars to the ground. Hopping up a step, the owl shifted and turned in the safety of an alley; revealing a mussed looking mail carrier.

Said mail carrier, you, patted down your hair and clothes before rifling through an old canvas bag, the scratchy material courtesy of rationing good fabrics. You emerged from the damp alleyway and into the street, walking up to the designated house. You were looking for a letter addressed to… ‘12 Grimmauld Place’?

Looking up at the address placard, you noticed the rest of the dark, tall house. The brick was darker than the surrounding townhouses, the front face of it warped and eerie. It was intimidating, an aura of something sinister flowing off of it in waves. Going back to the endless amount of things in that bag of yours, you thought of how much of a wonder it was that you haven’t sustained a shocking amount of papercuts already.

Finding the letter, you reached for the door knocker before it flew open. 

A stocky man lunged out, older in age with thinning blonde hair and a wildly turning prosthetic eye. His bottom lip jutted out, eyebrows twisting together. He looked furious… furiously suspicious?

“Who are you!?” the man demanded with clenched teeth, his wand pointing at you discretely. 

You stood with wide eyes, your brain buffering for a moment. “Uh, I deliver letters for the-” “Shush!”

A hand met the flesh of your upper arm, tugging you into the narrow, dark house and slamming the door shut. A muffled question was shouted further into the building. The man with the eye paid it no mind.

He nudged his wand forward threateningly, urging you to continue. 

“Um,” you picked up, wide eyed as you looked at him. “I deliver letters for the Order?”

“That sounded like a question. Do you or don’t you?”

“I do-”

“Moody, are you harassing some poor salesman again?”

Looking over the missing-eye-man’s shoulder, you caught sight of another man and the source of the interrupting voice. Said man looked considerably younger with long, wavy black hair.

No-eye-guy, or Moody, you supposed, scoffed as he briefly glanced over his shoulder. He returned his wand to his pocket, but still eyed you with lingering suspicion before he stepped back and stalked away.

Black haired man walked forward with a certain kind of effortless suave, stopping not far ahead with his arms crossed as he leaned against old wallpaper. Perfectly carved eyebrows raised in question, unreadable grey eyes drilling into your own.

Your eyes widened again, taking a deep breath inward; you were now alone with a devastatingly attractive person. “I… deliver the Order’s mail.”

“A mail carrier? That’s cute.” He said almost casually.

Your face twisted in confusion, breath hitching. As your brain short-circuited by the unexpectedness of what sounded like both an insult and a compliment from this objectively attractive man, you came up rather empty. 

He reveled in the lack of a retort, smiling almost slyly. “I mean it, though. You- Ow!” His head jerked downwards and a muffled smack! resounded in the entranceway, his chin hitting his clavicle as a woman with fiery red hair and pale, freckled-kissed skin appeared behind him. Walking forward, she regarded you apologetically.

“Sorry about him, lovely. His name is Sirius. He’s a twat. I’m Lily.” She spoke, her voice warm and kind. An offended shriek came from the black haired man behind her.

Now close up, her deep green eyes twinkled with fatigue, golden flecks sparkling like sun through trees. “I heard you’re a mail carrier?” 

You nodded, letting out a deep breath. “Yes. I have a letter from another Order base,” you replied gratefully, lifting the envelope in your hands for her to take. She did so, inspecting it before handing it off to a man who stood to the side. You hadn’t noticed his arrival. He had sandy hair and looked a little gaunt. Silver scars stood out against slightly tanned skin, faded with time but no less visible. He inspected the letter, reading the return address carefully.

Sirius peered over his shoulder, reading it alongside him with a hand on his bicep and another on his hip.

With a sigh, Lily looked at you again. “Thank you, dear. Really, I’m sorry about them.” She smiled sympathetically as if she’d experienced the same thing. She likely had.

“It’s… alright. I don’t get much interaction these days.”

“That so? Is the Order really working you so hard?” 

“Well, I’m sort of the only delivery person, other than owls.”

“I see. And-”

Footsteps barrelled down the hallway, crashing into Sirius. The source of the footsteps was another person, slightly taller than the black haired man. He had curly, dark brown hair and circular glasses. 

Sirius hit him on the shoulder, the two laughing mirthfully before the new person shifted his attention to you and Lily. “Oh, are you why I heard the door earlier? Who’re you?”

Before you got the chance to answer, Lily did it for you. She looked at the man with soft eyes, softer than what she faced you with. His look was worse. “The Order’s mail carrier.”

Snapping out of his trance, his mouth formed an ‘o’ as his eyebrows raised. “Really? I thought we only had owls. Nice to meet you,” He smiled, shoving past Sirius who huffed dramatically. “I’m James.”

James put a hand on Lily’s shoulder, the hand drifting to the middle of her upper back.

You nodded, muttering a ‘nice to meet you’. Your hands played with the button of your mail bag.

The sandy haired man, now holding the letter, looked up at you. “When- sorry, my name’s Remus. When was this sent?” He asked, his tone kind but with an undercurrent of stress. Warm brown eyes looked into your own. 

“It was an urgent letter, so, um… gosh, uh… sometime around four, just this afternoon.” Remus nodded, smiling appreciatively. Your hands drifted from your bag to your front, allowing you to wring them together under the eyes of so many people. 

“It’s almost… what, half past eight?” said Sirius. “That’s fast, love. That base is, like, five hours away by train.”

James whistled as Remus nodded thoughtfully. Lily tilted her head.

Half past eight. 

Dangit.

You perked up, hands flying to the bag on your hip. “Oh, no, I’ve got to go,” you blurted out. “I’m sorry, I need to be somewhere by nine!”

Lily nodded mirthfully, “Of course. Well, if you ever need to deliver to us again, you know who we are,” she smiled.

You muttered a quick reply, already finding your way to the door. “Uh, yes! It was nice meeting you all! Um-” you stumbled, latching your bag closed as you found the door handle. It swung open. “Have a good evening!” 

There were mixed replies of ‘you too’ as you rushed out the door.

Before you managed to shut the door, there was a muffled, unheard yelp of “wait!” before it slammed closed. 

Finding the same alley, you transformed into that same barn owl and took flight.

Meanwhile, a curious someone was peering out the front window.

...Sirius now understood your ability to deliver mail at record time.

[bluecanvasshoe]

HELLO!! im SO sorry to anyone following Everything Eats..... i swear i'll try to update soon, but life got super hectic and i haven't found the motivation to write it.

but..... uhhh...... if u wanna check out a little snippet of a WIP about my own characters then..... uhh............. read more.......... :-) for context, here's little info about the characters without spoiling later stuff:

the year is 1944, ww2 is raging, and this section takes part in november whilst they're fighting in Holland! all characters are from the us army..... but who knows......... we might get canadian soldiers...... perhaps............ Joseph Michal Landy, or Joe, is a married man from Louisiana; 22

William Cremashi, or Bill, is a not-married man from New Jersey; he grew up with a single mother and one sister; 23

Eugene Katz, or Gene, is from Philadelphia; he's 23

All are in G company and are infantry men :-)

wc: 3k

cw: death, blood, war, relationships.... EWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, ptsd, depression, injuries

“My god,” Joseph Landy croaked, looking at the sight in front of him. A calloused hand covered the scarred lower-half of his face, his helmet taken off and held to his chest by his left hand.

The tent was dark. Mid-November light squeezed in through tightly-bound canvas, the light assimilating weekly and bathing the already unsettling picture in an eerie glow.

“Don’t say the lord’s name in vain, Joe.” Said William Cremaschi from beside him, arms crossed and tone too light for what they looked at. His hands grabbed at his pant leg, his knuckles nearly white.

Joseph huffed, looking away from the numerous bloodied, empty uniforms spread out upon the ground. “Shut up, Bill; I don’t need your goddamn jokes.”

William huffed, “don’t want a little humour?”

“No.” 

“Hardass. And you’ve got a wife.”

“Don’t talk about her like that. And what’s she gotta do with anything?”

“Have respect for the dead,” said a voice from ahead of them. Blonde hair, a cross necklace and a lack of helmet; Sergeant Eugene Katz. He sidled up beside the two soldiers, having returned from where he and a replacement for G Company sorted dog tags. “...I helped the Red Cross girls sort uniforms.”

Landy and William could hear the little crack in his voice, but ignored it nonetheless.

“You? You ain’t a medic,” William muttered, not looking up at Katz.

“Dupont is a medic.”

“When did you begin talking to Dupont?” Landy questioned, turning his gaze away from ground.

Katz rolled his eyes, leaving the tent. Landy turned, happy to leave as he followed Katz. William turned after Landy, taking in a breath as he exited the make-shift room. Upon leaving the suffocating confines of the humid tent, they squinted at the invasion of bright, white light filtered by clouds.

Soldiers chatted around them, shrouded in a mist of cigarette smoke, gunpowder and sweat. A hated Captain of I Company, Captain Aiello, shouted orders at his men.

William, huffing, cleared his throat. “‘And I can tell you this because I have the training! I saw none of you men at West Point!”

“William, shut up.” Landy huffed, nudging him as another haughty officer walked by. The older man shrugged.

“Goddamn cornball,” whispered William, “most NCOs here are cornballs.”

Katz raised his hands briefly, “well, we all have our moments,” he said, trying to pause the inevitable conversation in favour of leaving for the sleeping tents to play Poker with the other G Company boys.

“‘Our moments’?” William suddenly asked, his tone sharp and curt. The area almost seemed to quiet around them, the bustle of the other infantry boys dulling for a split second.

William turned to face Katz, the blonde man a little taken aback. Still standing in the cold camp, surrounded by other COs and soldiers, both Katz and Landy felt a sinking feeling in their stomach at what was about to come.

Landy grabbed William by the shoulder, jolting him back from Katz and snapping the slightly older man out of his anger. “Jesus Christ, Bill, shut up. You can bitch about this later,” he snapped, voice slightly hushed under the curious gazes of close soldiers.

Katz shot Landy a thankful look, and Landy shook his head. William sighed, rubbing his eyes and turning away from Katz. 

—

William Cremaschi never liked the army. Everyone knew that.

In the ships carrying soldiers to England, he’d complain about everything; from the heat of the cabins to the haughtiness of COs, everything was the fault of the army. And he wasn’t totally wrong in his hatred, but fellow soldiers never figured out why he harboured such potent distaste.

“Is that a ‘Dear John’ letter, Anderson?” Asked Landy, lazing upon an uncomfortable bed with a crappy, old book in his hands.

“No,” replied Corporal Spencer Anderson, reading a letter he’d picked up from the mail station. “It’s from my ma.”

William, seeing an opportunity, sat up in his bed with a lit cigarette between his chapped lips. “Tell ya-”

“William,” Katz admonished, an old bible held in his right hand. “Not now.”

“Katz, c’mon, you-” “Leave him alone.”

Anderson looked up briefly, scratched his neck, and shuffled a little further away on his bed.

William, after a moment of angry silence, stood up. “‘M going for a smoke.”

“...You’re already smoking?” Landy raised an eyebrow, looking towards William.

“Yeah, but a smoke is different. I’m leaving.”

Landy and Katz were, to put it lightly, concerned. Many soldiers had rapid changes in behaviour. It was normal, considering the horrors they saw everyday. But William? He rarely did.

He was crude, but he wasn’t mean. He’d complain, but not like this. He wouldn’t sulk.

He snapped, got angry, but every soldier did. Except, when an outburst was avoided, he wouldn’t circle back to it for a while. So this was not normal.

Landy stayed back as Katz stood up, placing his bible down carefully. Sergeant Anderson, a little relieved at the departure of the two squabbling soldiers, seemed to relax on his cot again.

Exiting the tent, the chill of Dutch November hit him. Katz walked up to William who stood at the edge of the camp overlooking a typical farmland area. He stepped upon the yellowed grass and was shrouded in shadow by heavy clouds overhead. The rest of the camp seemed quiet; I Company was out on some sort of mission, and the others must be doing who knows what to avoid the seemingly imminent rain.

Katz was observative. He noticed the slight tremble in William’s hand that held the cigarette, reminiscent of the way he hesitated to open letters from home every time one came. The tensity in Katz’ shoulders dropped, a sigh leaving his nose.

Katz was always better at regulating his fellow soldier’s emotions. He had a backbone, a sense of security in himself that managed to keep somewhat intact. William and Landy learned to trust in his advice, partly because of their close bond, but also because everyone trusted Katz.

“William,” he muttered, looking at the man with understanding.

“What?” He snapped, obviously upset. His breath, smoky in a mix of cigarette smoke and cold air, came out sharply. “Can I not just be alone? Jesus, I ain’t gonna kill someone. You and Landy are so goddamn paranoid. I don’t give a shit that you’re- you’re loved by everyone, Eugene, I just want you to leave me alone.”

Ouch.

The blonde-haired man crossed his arms, his hands sliding between his chest and biceps for warmth. “Landy and I know you’re upset. But-” “But what? The hell do you want, Katz? For me to apologize? I’m sorry I’m being a dick, alright?”

A heavy, uncomfortable silence settled.

“I was drafted here,” William continued with fury, looking at Katz pointedly. “I watched the damn thing with my sister. Watched my birthday come up.” The brown-haired man looked to the dark, swirling sky and swaying poplar trees. “You enlisted, ‘Gene, you enlisted.”

Katz didn’t speak, only shuffled closer. The body heat between him and William was reassurance enough for the other man.

“I didn’t want to see- see bodies. I don’t wanna see dead people. The- the tent, I couldn't… Jesus, I want to be at home with my ma and sister. I want to see my cat, ‘Gene. I want to be home. Now I can’t-” William’s voice cracked. He dropped his cigarette, having abandoned it long ago, and brought his hand up to his face. His thumb and forefinger dug into his eyes. Deep lines formed around his mouth that twisted into a heavy, trembling frown.

Katz put a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, his head leaning forward to look at William’s hidden face and hunched shoulders. An empty guilt relit in his ribcage.

“I don’t sleep, Eugene. I just hear bullets.”

Katz slid his hand to William’s opposite shoulder, pulling him in closer to himself. William didn’t resist. “All of us do.”

“I ain’t weak, ‘Gene. I’m not.”

“I know.” Katz replied quietly, his thumb brushing the wrinkles along the shoulder seam of William’s jacket.

Wind brushed against their skin, ruffled their clothes. Poplar trees swayed. Clouds moved languidly, unrushed and undisturbed. 

Their breathing matched, and William took his hand from his red, bloodshot eyes. He blinked, glancing at Katz, who met his gaze immediately. They looked away.

So for a moment, Eugene Katz and William Cremaschi stood together. Under slow clouds, surrounded by poplar trees, quiet and unbothered. 

Bullets didn’t ring out. Not in their world.

(different chapter starts now!)

Two days.

Two goddamn days.

Two days in waterlogged foxholes. No friends. Just mud.

Whilst Katz and William had actual work to do, Landy talked with Anderson.

Spencer.

Goddamn.

Anderson.

He droned on and on for hours. How he still had the energy to scream dramatically during a firefight was a mystery. And the worst part? Anderson was too nervous to talk to any other man; only Landy.

So now, Landy was trapped in one of those waterlogged foxholes whilst his friends worked and talked somewhere else about feelings and sadness and all that stuff Joseph Michal Landy would never step foot in himself. But, instead of being able to wallow in not sadness about his loneliness, Anderson talked on, and on, and on.

Every part of him ached to be home. To be in the peaceful air of his wife, to be calm and happy and away from a gun for the rest of his life. Oh, how he misses his Cindy. His Cindy who hasn’t sent a letter in so long. He didn’t want to think of what his mother mailed to him not long ago.

“-My ma hated peaches, I tell you, she never liked them! So why were we eating peach-”

“Landy?”

The mentioned man’s head snapped upwards at the call of his name. Anderson looked at the interupter’s face with apprehension; an expression that ignited an annoyed tinge in Landy’s chest.

Thank the lord, a new face greeted his eyes.

Said new face? Dupont.

Some god looked down upon him with mercy and sent him educated, to-the-point Dupont.

He immediately felt relief as he looked up at Henry Dupont, the F Company medic, who was accompanied by another Private.

“Hey, Doc.”

“We’re going to drop off a man at the aid station; I was told you were looking to help with transportation?”

Joseph nodded, sighing as he stood up.

“Where're ‘ya going, buddy?” Anderson asked, looking up as Landy hauled his ass off of the frozen, hard ground. Joseph looked down at him, a little confused - did Dupont not just say what he was doing? - but replied, “Aid station,” and left.

A little curt, but he was needed.

Climbing out of the foxhole, Landy stood next to the medic and private, who already began moving when Landy got to his feet. Catching up, he adjusted the helmet on his head. “Wait, seeing as we’re evacuating a guy, why aren’t we movin’ faster?”

Dupont turned his head to the side, looking at Landy out of the corner of his eye. “The man has trench foot. An awful thing, but not as dire as, say, a bullet wound.”

Landy nodded. Good enough, he supposed; but maybe Dupont had sensed his silent cries for help and came to whisk Joseph away from Anderson. “Yeah, yeah, gotcha’... um,” he glanced at the Private, the face of an anxious replacement he had not yet met. “Yeah… okay.”

—

The aid station was an old church with high ceilings and a few old murals. The Private stayed in the jeep as Dupont talked with a woman helping the wounded men. Landy stood like a dumbass at the entrance of the aid station.

“Do you need help?” A woman asked from beside him, her voice accented; french. 

Landy jumped, his eyes tearing away from the countless men on cots to face the nurse. She wore a dress, the sleeves of which rolled up to her elbows. Evidence of wounded soldier’s’ suffering stained the front of a worn, beige apron, turning it a frightful red. Meeting her eyes, he discovered how she resembled his wife, who was undoubtedly beautiful, so she was beautiful by association. 

His wife. She hasn’t sent a letter in… almost a month?

“Uh, no,” Joseph muttered, a little startled.

The nurse nodded, short brown hair swaying at the movement. “Do you need-” “Aliette! Aides-moi!”

The woman, Aliette, looked to where the voice came from; farther down a crowded hall. “Une seconde! Désolé!” Looking back to Landy, she sucked in a quick breath. “If you need any help, ask a woman with, uh, with blonde hair. Shorter than me.”

Before Landy could say anything, she took off down the hall.

“Um-” “I don’t like this place.”

“What?” Joseph looked to the cot, seeing a man with no left leg staring at him.

“I said, I don’t like this place. I- the ceilings, I don’t…” He swallowed hard, glancing up briefly. “ They’re tall. It-It scares me.”

Landy felt for the man, frightened and alone in a crowded space. He’d seen many in various situations. One who screamed until his voice was hoarse. He screamed so loud that Joseph heard him above an intense firefight. Another faked illness to be sent back. It was so heartbreakingly obvious, but rare mercy was taken upon him.

Was his wife afraid? Did she fret over his return quite like he dreamt about it?

Changing his mind after seeing the hollow eyes of the soldier in front of him, he realized that he did not know how to respond. Maybe Katz would, though.

Landy didn’t recognize the man, and he couldn’t say there wasn’t a chance they hadn't met; faces were very often lost on him no matter how hard he tried to remember.

“Corporal?”

Landy jumped. Dupont, who startled him, laughed a little. “Apologies, Landy. I dropped the man off. We’re ready to leave if you’re alright with that.”

The soldier turned his head away and Joseph felt a pang of strong guilt.

“...Uh,” he looked away. “Okay. Yeah, alright, Doc.”

—

Nighttime. The moon. Crickets.

Singing?

“Shut up!”

No more signing.

Until… a whisper. “Ay, Landy?” 

William Cremaschi!

“Christ, William?”

“What happened’a Bill, huh? You ain’t Katz.”

“Okay, Bill, alright, what?”

William peered into the foxhole, glancing at a sleeping Anderson next to Joseph and making a face. “Cheating on your girl with Spencer, huh?”

“Shut it, Bill, I’m not- just… stop.”

William held his hands up, laughing quietly.

Landy huffed. “Where’s Katz?”

“In our foxhole, c’mon.”

“Wait, where have you two been?”

“Workin’, ‘cause we’re Sergeants now and a Captain died. We’ve got slack ta’ pick up.”

Landy’s eyes widened and he tilted his head. “A Captain? What? When?”

“November fourth, not our company. Now move your ass, lazy,” William whispered harshly.

Taking a brief glance at Anderson, Landy slipped out of the foxhole and crouched behind William as they quickly moved to another hole. Eugene Katz was sitting in it, fiddling longingly with a cigarette but knowing they had to respect light discipline.

Katz looked upwards at the shuffling, lighting up at the sight of William and Landy. “Hey, you two,” he said.

“Hey, ‘Gene,” William dropped in followed by Joseph, all three of them shuffling close to each other in favour of warmth and space.

A silence fell over the three; there was no need to catch up. They all had been through the same things recently.

A moment lapsed before Landy pressed into the dirt behind him, slipping a folded piece of paper from his shirt’s breast pocket.

“What’s that?” Asked Katz, glancing over.

“A letter,” Joseph replied. “I’m going to send it to my wife.” 

He unfolded it, but it was practically unneeded; you couldn’t see the scrawl of cheap ink in the nighttime’s shadows.

“Your girl? I mentioned her earlier, and you ignored it, Joe.”

Joseph sighed, a familiar tightness twisting in his chest.

“I think she’s cheating.”

Silence. Katz shuffled, facing him a little.

“What?” 

“I think-” Landy swallowed, “I think she’s cheating on me.”

“Oh, Jesus…” William muttered, “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean ‘ta- I wouldn’t’a mentioned her if I’d known, Joe…”

“I didn’t tell you, Bill, you couldn’t’ve known,” Joseph replied, voice hushed and defeated.

Katz put an arm around his shoulders, reassuring and heavy. “It’s not your fault, Joseph.”

William followed, shuffling closer. 

“I really love her.” 

They didn’t reply. Everyone knows about Cindy.

“I don’t wanna know for how long. I just want to go home and see her.”

“You shouldn’t,” muttered Katz.

Joseph blinked. He’d dreamt about returning home to Cindy. He dreamt about the morning he’d wake up, see her, and know that she was his wife and he was her husband and that they made it through a war. That they’d built a life together that worked and flourished and held space for them both. But she clearly didn’t dream of the same things as he.

“...I know.”

Crickets filled the silence.

William put a hand on Joseph’s shoulder, a grounding gesture.

“We’re with ya,” he said, “you ain’t alone.”

And Landy still would never step foot in sadness or feelings, even if his friends did.

But sometimes, sadness and feelings weren’t spoken emotions, and that’s something he learnt early into the war after being screamed at by his drill instructor in boot camp.

But he still felt it. Everyone did, and no one could hide it, but the best thing about being where no one was happy was that it never had to be outwardly discussed.

And that was enough for Landy to always know that he was never really alone.

[bluecanvasshoe]

Our General is Cool??

AU where The Order of the Phoenix is an actual army! *This is an introduction to the characters' roles and the theme! If this is enjoyed, i'll consider writing a bit more about it!*

Pairings: Slight Wolfstar, Jily

Content warnings: mentions of war (Wizarding War and very very slight mention of WW2), mention of lice, slight angst, Sirius and James are both kinda sad, Peter is acting a little suspicious, cigarettes, smoking, allusions to killing (looting)

Summary: A new mission is on the horizon; one that G Company doesn't have enough soldiers for. However, it seems that this is among many responsibilities of 20 year-old soldiers amidst a war.

DISCLAIMER: This is not meant to portray the army from any country accurately. This is a fantasy world, and the representation of the military MAY BE WRONG. This is also not meant to discredit the seriousness of war itself!

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: hey........... i'm alive................ and it's my birthday!!

------

James and Sirius walked through the hallways of another Order headquarters nestled into an unsuspecting magical English town. Other wizards were loitering in the hall, awaiting orders or information. They’d been stationed there until further notice, as a push was planned on a Death Eater outpost.

“The Death Eaters we found,” James started, glancing at Sirius briefly. “They talked?” 

Sirius huffed, tilting his head as he stared down the dank hallway. “Eh… so I’ve heard. They talked about supply troubles, You Know Who's bloody dinner party… I heard some of the higher-ups are pretty chuffed we even got anyone from that mission, though.”

James, picking up his pace just a little more, reached the door to an office. He held it open for Sirius, shrugging. “Better than nothing, huh?” He smiled, “At least we’re the favourites.”

“Favourites, yeah,” Sirius mumbled, walking into the room. He crossed his arms, looking at a woman of a higher rank who sat behind a wooden desk. 

Based on what he’d heard, she was a muggleborn of Irish descent, though her dad was American. The woman was of average height with broad shoulders and frizzy hair that had been pulled in a bun. She looked beyond stressed, purple bags weighing down the pale skin under her eyes.

The room itself was lit by the warm glow of a desk lamp. The blinds were drawn, heavy brown curtains blocking the dim light of dawn. The old wallpaper had noticeable water stains, but it seemed to be in good enough condition, considering it wasn’t peeling from the walls. The building seemed to be relatively old, brown wooden crowning framing the upper edges of the room and matching the trimming that lined the bottom of the walls. The floors were dark, polished hardwood in every part of the command point.

James closed the door behind him, standing next to Sirius. “Evening, Lieutenant O’Shea,” James said politely.

Lieutenant O’Shea was G Company’s first lieutenant. She was kind but had always been a bit of a hardass. However, she still understood that the soldiers fighting in the war were yet to be full adults, and she sympathised with their situation. She protected her soldiers as best as possible.

“Black, Potter,” she said, looking up from a mission report. “I take it you’re filling in for McConnell and Matisse?”

“Yes, ma’am,” James replied, “they’ve been sent on a last-minute patrol. F Company’s general’s been working with ours, and I guess they’ve decided intelligence is more important.”

The woman nodded, looking between the two men. “Alright… Well, either way, we need men for this patrol. You know of it, yes? …Good. I trust you two, but we need at least five soldiers on this mission.”

Sirius raised a sharp eyebrow, looking at James briefly. “Are we going to be choosing our squad, or is that up to you?” He asked with a thinly veiled layer of annoyance, receiving a questioning look from James. 

Lieutenant O’Shea sighed and shot Sirius a look. “That’s up to you, but I have recommendations.”

James stepped in front of Sirius, sensing his increasing frustration. “Who do you think we should bring?”

She picked up the report she was reading through, putting it aside and opening a folder. “Well, we can start with Anderson,” she began, “then maybe Dupont and Khalili. They work well together. Durchdenwald is reliable, quiet. Uh… aside from that, it’s up to you. Choose who you want to be a part of your roster, and tell them at 1200 latest; I want your team’s roster by 2000 tonight. The patrol is at 0200 hours.”

James looked at Sirius, nodding for the both of them. “Yeah, alright.”

The lieutenant returned the nod, taking a moment to look at the two of them briefly. “Alright. Dismissed.”

Sirius and James left the office and returned to the hallway.

“Be honest,” James started, “what’s going on with you?”

“What?” Sirius replied, looking at him quizzically. 

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

Perhaps this was an inappropriate conversation to be had amongst other soldiers, but James didn’t mind. He was always like that; his feelings were often shared with those around him. He didn’t like to hold things in. And he especially hated it when his friends held things in.

Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes. He’d appreciate James’ forwardness on a normal day, but today was not a normal day. 

“Later, James,” was Sirius’ reply. His avoidance worried James, considering the fact that they were so close.

A few soldiers glanced at each other, their eyes drifting to the two.

Being in a war, it seems, spreads a lot of gossip. It’s a break from the seriousness of everyday duties, and an enjoyable pastime when guarding a station with a fellow soldier. It branches connections, allowing for people who normally wouldn’t interact to bond over the shared hatred of another person or scandalous rumours they’d picked up from the barracks or latrines.

James, despite his growing concern, was not willing to be the center of some new, company-wide gossip, lest he end up like Lieutenant Martin.

James nodded, giving him an awkward smile. Things usually weren’t awkward between them. “Alright… yeah, okay.”

—

Remus was in the dank basement of the same headquarters. Other soldiers flitted about around him, cigarettes dangling from their lips as they moved about.

The room itself was cramped, with low ceilings and walls made of red bricks lightened by warmly-toned light bulbs. Shelves with boxes lined the walls and crates were waiting to be unloaded. Some people were grabbing supplies from the basement and bringing them back upstairs.

Remus was usually found in supply areas. He wasn’t an official supply officer, per se, but was often given the task of taking note of necessary deliveries, their dates, and what was needed. He took stock of supplies and was trusted with that job by most NCOs.

Beside Remus stood a man named Ernest Hallward. He was known to most as Hall, though. “My dad, y’know, he fought in a war. A muggle one. They’re rough.”

The lycanthrope next to him hummed. He was in between zoning out and listening but was desperately hoping to be left alone. However, he couldn’t bring himself to turn the man down. He was always like that; a bit of a doormat.

Focusing back on the conversation, he saw Hall’s expectant look. “Uh…” Remus muttered, “Yeah, um, yeah. I don’t… know much about muggle wars.”

Hall was, unfortunately, given a window for more conversation. He smiled, thin lips curving upwards in obvious excitement to go on yet another rant. 

“They’re awful, I tell ya. My dad never talked too much about ‘em, but you can infer, ya’know? So, it was between America, England-”

Hall was, thankfully, cut off by Remus’ name being called.

The man in question pushed off of the wall, peering through the crowd. Marlene was the one who called him.

She walked over, giving Hall an odd look. He returned it with a confused raise of his brow. She, however, looked away from Hall, her expression melting away to offer Remus a smile. 

“James and Sirius are waiting at the first CP. Come on, Sirius’ll throw a fit if you don’t get moving.”

—

The sky was grey, the sun blocked by thick clouds. Sirius and James were at a tent where schedules were laid out. The chatter of soldiers filled the damp air, most still tired from waking up not much earlier than this current moment. 

Looking over the schedule, the two could see that a few good soldiers had night watch later that night, and would therefore be unavailable. A couple of replacements could do the job, but considering they were inexperienced and yet to abandon the title of Private, that was out of the question. 

The mission was simple in theory. A quick in and out to retrieve a prisoner or two more than they had gotten the night before.

You see, not far from where they were stationed, Death Eaters were holding the line. They hadn't made an attempt to cross the prairie over to where The Order had been held up, which raised a few questions and theories. 

Despite the curiosity of the soldiers, they valued too much the rare occurrence of a bed, warm food, and hot showers. Besides sporadic bursts of fire from the Death Eaters and light retaliation from the Order, a full-blown attack hadn’t been launched on The Order yet, so things were relatively peaceful. For now, the Captain of G Company had been making arrangements for ‘patrols’ that would cross the prairie in the dead of night with the goal of taking a few Death Eaters for interrogation. Despite how proud the general had been about the success of the previous mission, he still demanded more out of the company.

“Baümer isn’t available,” said James, “neither is Liebgott. Merlin, why is everyone busy?”

“They picked the worst bloody night for these stupid goddamn missions,” Sirius muttered, fiddling with a dirtied box of cigarettes. James gave him a worried look but respected his wishes to talk later.

Remus, who had told Marlene he’d be okay to walk alone, approached two of his friends. “Marlene told me I was needed,” he said, causing the two men’s heads to snap up towards him. “You lot better be happy, you know. I left my riveting conversation with Hall to be here.”

James snorted. “Hall? Sorry, mate. Would you like to go back?”

Remus scrunched his nose, silvery scars curving at the movement. “I think I’m alright here. What am I needed for?”

“A roster. We need to make one, Sirius and I, but can’t. There’s another patrol at 0200 tonight.” 

Remus found his spot next to Sirius and peered around his shoulder at the book. “Looks busy tonight. Are you sure the patrol is today?”

Sirius huffed, “Of course it’s today. Why would the NCOs ever make anything easier for us?”

Sparing a glance at the long-haired man, Remus looked to James with a worried incline of his brows. James shook his head in return, sighing.

“Um, anyways,” Remus murmured, “Beavin would be a good addition…”

—

On the very far left, the farthest point any Order member in G Company of the 51st Infantry regiment could travel to was a small schoolhouse in a magical town called Wendhill. This schoolhouse had been turned into the 3rd command point, or, as it was better known, the 3rd CP.

Lily Evans, a witch known for her good nature, talent, and title as the First Sergeant of G Company, was sitting at a desk in an office behind the main schoolhouse’s room. She was stressing over the next few missions that had been sent out.

The Order was becoming desperate. Nothing had happened for a week; they’d gotten information, but nothing worth their time or attention. So, because the war effort in the West had begun to let up, they were now pushing demanding, risky operations.

Bleak sunlight poured in through the window, the grey sky’s light clashing with the warmth of the candle next to Lily. A small watch sat on the table, an expensive thing that’d been looted earlier. It ticked rhythmically, displaying the time as 10:34.

“I wish we knew what he was thinking, You Know Who,” she said, her head resting in her hand as she looked down at a piece of paper. “Would’ve saved us the trouble. Nothing from the spies, either; this is exhausting.”

Peter Pettigrew was sitting at a chair he’d pulled up in front of the desk. He furrowed his brows almost unnoticeably, glancing away towards a window. His small eyes seemed tired recently; they’d gradually become more sunken in and dark. “Yeah,” he agreed meekly.

“I mean, we’ve lost so many men. G Company went into our last battle with 130 soldiers; we’re now at 80. How many more can we lose?”

“...Yeah.”

“And it doesn’t help that-”

The door was shaken by a knock.

Lily looked up and snapped out of her rambling. “Come in,” she called.

James stepped into the room, alone.

Lily instantly looked relieved, sinking into her seat with a sigh. “James,” she greeted. 

The man in question smiled at her, only looking at Peter when he heard the loud breath the boy let out. Was he nervous?

“Wormtail,” James called, “Sorry mate, but could I have a moment with Lily?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter nodded, fleeing from the room as soon as he was given the opportunity. James looked at Lily, shrugging with an odd facial expression. 

Lily shrugged back, raising her eyebrows momentarily. 

Walking over, James sat in front of the desk in the rickety wooden chair that Peter had just been sitting in. He propped his elbows onto the table, holding one of Lily’s hands in his and supporting his head with the other. “We have another mission tonight,” James muttered.

“Another?”

“Yeah. A patrol for prisoners, I ‘sppose.”

“Another…” she shook her head. “We can’t sacrifice more men. We should send a letter to General Beavin.”

“I heard he’s proud of our-”

Another knock sounded at the door.

The two groaned, separating their hands and looking to the door. “Come in!” Lily called again.

G Company’s captain, accompanied by Major Williams, walked into the room.

Major Williams was a tall man, his hair barely on the edge of being considered ginger. His uniform was always crisp, and his face was always shaven. Williams had been with them since training camp and proved himself to be a good and reliable combat leader.

G Company’s captain, Captain Katz, was similar. He had an American accent, the sound of which had become familiar in the army. Wizards from around the world had joined the war effort, not just the UK.

Lily and James jumped up from their seats, standing at attention with a salute. Major Williams smiled. “At ease,” he said dismissively, walking into the room with his hands behind his back.

“Sergeant Evans,” he looked to Lily, “Sergeant Potter. …I’m aware of the mission later tonight, and I know we can’t… risk another potential battle until more replacements arrive.”

The two looked at him expectantly. Captain Katz was called further into the schoolhouse and closed the door as he left.

“The thing is, I want everyone in G Company and F Company to have a full night’s rest.”

James’ eyes widened. “What?”

Lily’s eyebrows furrowed. “Pardon?”

“I will tell General Beavin that a patrol went out at 0200 hours tonight,” Major Williams continued, “and we were unable to retrieve any prisoners. No casualties.”

“...Sir, you wouldn’t be suggesting-”

“Potter, debrief the soldiers on your roster and tell them about the change in plans. I trust that they wouldn’t tell anyone, yes?” Major Williams continued, “And uh, tell your soldiers to visit the nearest delousing station.”

Lily huffed in embarrassment.

James giggled. “Understood, Sir.”

[bluecanvasshoe]

i think people have lost the plot when it comes to bestfriends. why are they kissing each other