#101st fic

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

Ft. Tuco's sexy pocket gun bulge and Blondie's desperate attempts to not be Into That.

[saintmalosunsets]

I want more information about this scene that may or may not have been partly filmed. Doc Roe with a GUN?! I need to know the context.

[pookielious]

Hold Me Closer

eugene roe x babe heffron

☆

It had been only a few hours since gene had patched heffron up, they where still at the line, planning to move forward into a small town  in attempts to gain more territory. Bastogne was in ruins, the bodies left in the ruins of the town where far to dangerous to get out right now, but Bastogne was still used as a aid station it was the best they could do till another supply drop would come , hopefully in the near future. 

It had been a relatively quiet day at least for the front, some firing here and there but nothing easy company hadn't seen before

"So where'd you get this auh?" Heffron spoke up finally , looking  at the stripped blue fabric of his make shift bandage "Kraut drop it or sumn'thin?",

"No" gene answered tiredly "found it in bastogne— when we took Gordon I think" he said,  his eyes on his hands, beat up and stained with dried blood 

"I heard you tellin'  winters about bastogne, is it really that bad there?" Heffron question,  shifting a bit to but his hands in his pockets

"Its in ruins ," he answered honestly " they bombed the whole thing" he stared off at his hands , picking at the blood under his finger nails as he reimagined the scene of it all, fires and the cracking sound of the wood houses giving "nothin' left but they're still taking wounded men there"

"Gave us a merry Christmas " babe retorted sarcastically, Renée is all that Eugene thought about , for chrismas they'd taken her away, his chrismas gift was all that was left of her. A scarf. "Right" Eugene said in reply so much for a christmas 

" 'ey Gene?"

"Hm?" He hummed glancing red at the redhead

"Merry christmas " babe smiled softly

" merry chrismas heffron" 

Babe laughed a little laying back in the fox hole "are you ever gonna stop with the 'heffron' shit?" He questioned

"Probably not" he said truthfully, he didn't fancy calling people by their nick names, it just made things alot easier at least  in his mind. just as babe opened his mouth to talk the two heard a shot then strangely enough a splash the two looked at eachother confusedlt; gene straightened up  and babe grabbed his gun, crouching and looking over at the line, nothing ?

"Medic !" A familiar voice called out

The two waited a second 

"Doc!" The same voice called out

"Was that a sniper?" Babe said confusedly looking at Eugene who stood up from his crouching position  "I don't know"

"Go! Com'on" heffron said quickly peeking over the foxhole at the line , he figured it was just a sniper or somthing  he saw no other shots or any sort of flashing and Gene complied getting out of the hole and running to where the same voice called him

A he was close to the line he knew that, there was a short drop down a small hill he hadn't seen and he practically rolled down it

"Doc !? You okay?!" A voice yelled out, different than the one before , joe toye he figured out  "im fine!" Gene continued and stood up , making his way towards toye again as he saw another figure and half of another one , he would've paused if it wasn't for the adrenaline rushing through his body from the fall and the sniper "What's going on—" the ground shook and the sky flashed "wouldya get me out!" Luz , who was the half body gene had seen yelled "yer gonna get me shot!"  The man shivered, flopping like a fish to try and wiggle himself out if the water, it was a almost humorous to watch

due to the shock to his muscles and the weight of his gear it was a useless effort Gene looked confusedly, he was half submerged in a now ,leibgott,  who had been the 3rd figure gene had saw was trying to left him out  

The 3 managed to get him out without getting  shot, he was drenched he had been fully submerged for only a few seconds but he'd been in the water for a good minute, enough time partnered with the cold it was good enough to get him a bad case of hypothermia "toye go get a jeep! And some blankets, towels, anything we need to get him dry !" Toye nodded and ran off ahead of the two,  leibgott and gene carried Luz who had started shivering violently

Once they got back up to the company they set Luz down and started getting all of his gear and top layers of clothes off "ain't that gonna make him more cold?!" Liebgott questioned rather loudly "he's gon' freeze to death if we dont!" 

Toye came back running with a blanket , nearly tripping over someone's fox hole and a few  sticks and the ground that where to be used as camouflage  for the foxholes "dry him off quickly!" Gene ordered and the 3 started to rub him off rather aggressively with the cover,  gene knew they couldn't have a fire for them nor would he be able to start of quick enough with wet hands, he stood up, ripping the medic arm band off of his jacket that was held on with some strategic sewing and mostly safety pins and stuffed the syrettes and morphine into his back before also taking that off, he then unzipped his jacket and knelt back down with the help of leibgott he got it onto Luz "awh– d-oc youre-" where the only words Luz could get out

The jeep pulled up with in seeing distance and the 3 got up , picking Luz back up again "don't you worry about me" gene insisted, gene let go of Luz and grabbed his sopping wet equipment, placing them in the passenger seat  foot rests of the jeep "toye, go with him make sure they get him  inside of somewhere,  broken building or anything that'll get him protected from the wind, ya here?" Toye nodded and hopped into the passenger seat at as jeep sped away.

At first the feeling of cold hadn't him, he'd noticed the strange looks he'd gotten from most of 2nd battalion he'd saw as he ran around , bandaging wounds, mostly accidental ones from being scared by the sudden shoots but after the adrenaline had finally wore off it came at him hard, gene really wasn't made t  handle the cold all that much, Louisiana was a much more hotter climent then western Europe . he made is rounds, checking up on everyone else incase he'd missed anything or to hear if they needed anything as usual , buck had taken a notice as gene stopped at his foxhole 

"Where your jacket?" Buck started, looking up at him as he ate a makeshift snowcone with the powered lemonade that was common amongst the soliders 

"With George Luz sir" gene managed, crouched next to the foxhole, holding himself to keep some warmth

"Luz?" buck questioned,  the confusion plastered is normally plain expression, dancing around in his ice blue eyes "Why does Luz have it?"

"Needed it more then me, " gene continued "Germans lured toye 'n him  with some supplies — they ain't notice it was over some frozin' over lake" he shifted slightly, he knew he needed to stay moving in order to lessen the feeling of cold "liebgott tried to get them outta there but snipe cracked the ice, Luz fell right in" 

Buck sighed softly "right" the blonde nodded, thinking for a moment  " check with Nixon and winters they're probably hanging about , see if they can do anything for you"

Gene simply nodded and stood up, continuing his arounds

He hasn't managed to spot nixon or winters, they always went around in a pair so he doubted he'd find just one of them sitting around, he got back to his foxhole and jumped in, curling up in it as he shivered helplessly. the cold stung his arms  and there was nothing he could do about it 

"Woah there" he heard the familiar Philadelphian accent of Edward "correct me if I'm wrong doc but I 'on think stripping is gonna keep you all that warm" 

"Real Perceptive heffron" he spoke through his shivering

"What happened?" Heffron hopped into the hole, putting his gun down along with his helmet

"Luz fell into a lake, gave it to him" gene summarized to save from explaining for the 3rd time that day

"Here," heffron took off his scarf and crawled on his knees closer to the medic, wrapping the scarf around his neck and part of his face "my grandma used to wrap me up like his" heffron tucked the end of the scarf back into itself so it wouldn't come loose and unwrapped 

"Never needed to be wrapped like this before" 

"Your from the south right?" 

Gene nodded "Louisiana, bayou chou" 

"Ever fought a croc? Yall got those down there yeah?"

"Not dumb enough to so no— I used to see'em alot when I was younger, my grandfather wrestled one right infront of me once" 

"I saw one in the zoo once" there wasn't any crazy wild animals in Philadelphia, it was a major city after all, nothing crazy like the costal states like Louisiana "had–" he laughed a little " had a pigeon trynna steal my cheese steak one time, never fought somthing harder in my life" 

Gene smiled a bit at the sheer image Of Edward trying to fight a pigeon off 

Heffron stood up half way peering over edge of the foxhole "aye' garnere?"

"Aeh?" The man hummed, peaking up from his hole

"Ya Got a blanket? Docs cold" 

There was A brief pause as Bill presumably looked around "yeah" Bill said , balling up the blanket and throwing it over to heffron"thanks" the other said as he caught the blanket

He looked down at gene, he looked pitiful ,his nose and cheeks where a rosy pink color while the rest of him had palen more then usual, his teeth chattering so hard he could hear it, heffron knelt back down again and wrapped him in the blanket "how about we get you into town doc?" Heffron offered, putting his hands on genes shoulders above the blankets and rubbing the to make some sort of heat with the friction 

"I have to stay on the line, case of anymore of those bombs " the southerner sighed softly  , holding the blanket shut with his hands 

"Right" heffron bit his lip , there wasn't many ways to stay warm in the front lines, especially without all of the promised snow gear that hadn't gotten to them yet,  much less without at least a jacket but just then a idea popped in his head

He gently took oneside of the blanket and sat next to gene, closing the blanket  with the hand and wrapping his other around the medic "whatdya' doing?" Gene asked quietly "keeping you warm— somone aughta do it " the ginger smiled proudly , gently rubbing Eugene side with his ungloved hand , Eugene simply accepted his fate, there wasn't much else he could do if he wanted to avoid frost bite, gene tiredly leaned against heffron , resting his head on his shoulder

The two stayed like that for a while, Essentially cuddled up as the sun started to lower more, there hadn't been any attacks since Luzs , gene had figured this meant the the Germans had turnt in for the holiday, the chrismas joy had carried throughout the line, the sounds of singing and laughing was heard throughout the camp, much to the dismay of those trying to keep the group of loudmouthed men quiet, the singing had lowered but hadn't came to a complete stop, the sheer chrismas cheer seemed to have made the Lieutenants and commanders let it slide just this once, for the morale of the soldiers 

Edward and Eugene had been half asleep in their foxhole, babes idea of warming him up had worked somewhat, it had managed to warm him up to enough to stop the teeth chattering, it wasnt to the same effect as having a jacket on but it was relieving enough to keep him from hypothermia 

"Thanks babe" gene finally spoke 

The words made the ginger grin ear to ear 

"Course' angel" 

"Angel, huh"  Eugene closed his eyes

"Could be eugina or sumn' if you prefer" babe joked, gently stroking genes side

"No, I like that" 

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 2: Out of the Woods

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: here's chapter two, guys! thanks to everyone who responded to the first part! y'all made my day! without further ado, enjoy! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Summary: Operation Overlord is upon Easy Company, and the brave paratroopers get their first taste of war.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, blood

Hundreds of tents lined the muddy fields surrounding the Upottery Airfield in preparation for Operation Overlord. (Y/n) found a dry spot amongst 2nd platoon and laid out all of her supplies. Looking at the various grenades, mines, and other random items, she groaned. “How am I supposed to put all of this in a pack? It’s ridiculous!”

“Tell me about it! ”Joe Toye scoffed from her right, staring down at his pile. “I’ve got a three-day supply of ‘K’ rations, chocolate bars, charms, candy, powdered coffee, sugar, matches, compass, bayonet, entrenching tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, my webbing, my .45, canteen, two cartons of smokes, Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenades, Gammon grenade, TNT, this bull, and a pair of nasty skivvies!”

Perconte rolled his eyes, tired of Joe’s rant. “What’s your point?”

“Come on,” Toye fumed. “This stuff weighs as much as I do! Probably twice as much as (y/l/n).”

“Yeah, yeah,” she chuckled as Joe continued.

“I still got my chute, my reserve chute, my Mae West, and my M-1.”

Frank got up and walked past the group, calling over his shoulder with an amused expression. “Where are you keeping your brass knuckles?”

“I could use some brass knuckles,” Toye sighed, sitting back on his heels.

(Y/n) finished readying her pack and attempted to lift it over her shoulder with a grunt.

“You and me both, Joe,” she gritted, failing the first few tries.

The fourth time, it weighed considerably less, and she was able to wobbly sit it on her shoulder without tipping over. A proud smile grew on her face, but when she turned and saw who was there, her lips formed a fake pout.

“Nix, you know I could’ve done that by myself?”

The officer laughed, his bright smile making an appearance. “Sure, I thought watching you fail three times was enough.”

Realizing he just admitted to watching her, he shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “Two years. Two years of training led us here. Crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, looking around at all her fellow soldiers. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

“Well, time did seem to crawl by when we were with Sobel.”

“Absolutely. I still remember his dumbfounded face when Luz impersonated Major Horton. It was the best day of my life.”

Vest came by with pamphlets, handing them to every soldier, announcing they were from Colonel Sink.

“George,” (y/n) called. “Can you do Sink?”

“Does a wild bear crap in the woods, son? Uh, sweetheart?” He corrected, cringing. “Doll? Your majesty? Great and mighty (y/n)?”

(Y/n) raised her eyebrows at him, smirking. “Nice try.”

Cracking a smile, he held up the paper and began reading it as the Colonel. “Soldiers of the regiment, tonight is the night-,” his voice lowered, becoming serious as he continued. “-of nights. Today, as you read this, you are en route to the great adventure for which you have trained for over two years.”

The message hung in the air as each paratrooper took it in. They were going to war. The realization washed over (y/n) like a bucket of ice water, and her mind flashed with the faces of the men she’d come to call brothers. 

Don, George, Skip, Alex, Frank, Lip…

It could be the last time she saw some of them.

“Hey,” Nix smirked and pointed at the various mohawks Lieb had given some men, oblivious to her anxiety-ridden mind. “I think you should try that hairstyle.”

She rolled her eyes and playfully smacked him on the chest. “Whatever.”

When he didn’t reply, she followed his line of sight to Lieutenant Meehan, who stood atop a jeep. ”Easy Company! Listen up! Gather around me.”

Once Easy was fully gathered, he continued. “Now, the Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog. High winds on the drop zone. No jump tonight!”

Grumbles broke out from the men as they looked at each other in disbelief.

“The invasion has been postponed. We’re on a 24-hour stand-down. Drill sergeants, take charge.”

(Y/n) looked up at Nix as he lit a cigarette, shaking her head with a groan. “Great.”

“What?” He shrugged. “Can’t put up with me for another 24 hours?”

“You know what? You’re insufferable, Nix.”

JUNE 6th, 1944: UPOTTERY AIRFIELD

The channel cleared the next day, and the jump was back on. (Y/n) removed her helmet and grabbed the grease paint from George’s outstretched hand. 

“I hate this stuff,” she grumbled, twisting off the cap.

She felt someone take the small can from her hand and recognized the culprit by their low chuckle. 

(Y/n) turned to face him with a playful scowl. “Why are you so immature, Lewis?”

“Lewis?” He gasped, a hand flying to his chest. “Oh, I’ve really done it now.”

Her scowl broke as she shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

“See, I think you’re overthinking this,” he stated, holding up the tin. “All you have to do is get a glob,” he scooped a few fingers into the can. “-And rub it on your face, like so.”

To (y/n)’s dismay, he quickly reached out and smeared the paint down her cheek with a proud smirk.

“See? Voilà.”

Mouth hanging open, she snatched the can from him, hardly concealing her newly formed amused smile. “I hate you,” she deadpanned as she started toward the rest of her platoon.

His hand reached out and grasped her wrist. “Hang on. Let me fix it.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

Lew knew her well enough to see that it was taking all her willpower to keep the corners of her lips from curling into a smile. He thought it was an admirable attempt, but he could see straight through her. 

What he didn’t expect was her glare to drop completely when he lightly tugged her closer by her wrist. An unreadable expression passed over her face, and Lew discovered he might not be able to read her as well as he thought. 

Peering down at her, he softly brushed her (y/h/c) flyaways from her face before leaning down to be at eye level with her. (Y/n)’s breath hitched slightly at the gentle touch, and she looked up to meet his eyes. 

“Don’t make me look like a raccoon, okay?” She whispered, nervousness flowing through her veins.

With a nod, he got some paint on a few fingers and cupped her jaw with his other hand before making lines across her forehead and cheeks. Tilting her face up softly, his touch trailed down her nose down to her lips. Nix’s gaze stayed there for a moment, swallowing thickly as he noticed their curve and the slight pout they were shaped in.

‘It would be so easy to lean in and…stop,’ he caught himself.

“Uh, all done,” he murmured, dropping his hands to his pockets.

(Y/n) blinked, coming down from the high of his touch. “Thank you,” she replied, her gaze locked with his. “Do you need any help with yours?”

Snapping out of his daze, he smiled bashfully. “I’ve got it.”

A few seconds later, Dick approached them, all geared up and ready to go. “It’s time.”

D-Day had begun.

Staring at the solemn faces of Skip and George across from her, the endless possibilities of what could go wrong flooded her mind as her stomach began to churn.

What if their stick blew up?

What if she was captured?

What if she was killed?

(Y/n) looked up at the sleeping man beside her, admiring his face in the dim light of the plane. Her eyes followed the curve of his nose down to his parted lips as soft breaths passed through them. Even covered in grease in a dark C-47, he was still breathtaking.

What if he was killed?

When they first met in that putrid-smelling mess hall in Toccoa, (y/n) never would have guessed what would become of the pair. The mysterious aura that first drew her to him was quickly wiped away after a few months, revealing a kind, but complicated, man who was sometimes too smart for his own good. 

He was there to vent to when Captain Sobel revoked her weekend pass because her hair was “too long,” and was simply always there to support her. Through the new COs, new bases, and even new countries, he’d been a constant. Over the last two years, he’d been there for her, and she realized that if anything happened to him, she wouldn’t know what to do.

Sure, she was close with the other men in Easy, especially 2nd platoon, but those relationships were… different. Her heart didn’t skip a beat when George Luz or Chuck Grant walked into a room. Their smile didn’t cause heat to rush to her cheeks. 

He was her best friend. There was no other way to describe it. 

But do best friends look at each other the way they do?

Her thoughts continued to run rampant for the next hour as the paratroopers got closer to their destination. To her left, Tab was deep in thought, as well, pulling at his bottom lip as he usually did when thinking. Pulling herself from her thoughts, (y/n) nudged him with her shoulder. 

“So, I heard you got a present from home.”

He dropped his hand to his lap and grinned as he fished something from his bag. “Yeah, courtesy of the Kokomo police department.”

Floyd showed her the revolver with a proud expression. “It feels good to have a little bit of home with me.”

“That’s great, Tab. I’m glad you’ve got support like that from home.”

“What did your folks have to say about you joining up?” He asked.

(Y/n) took a deep breath before answering, willing the memory from her mind. “They weren’t thrilled, that’s for sure.”

He elbowed her side gently with a chuckle. “Well, we’re all real glad you decided to join this mess. Who else is gonna keep all of us straight?”

Laughing to herself, (y/n) leaned her helmet back against the rumbling wall of the plane, wishing sleep would welcome her soon. Her eyes shot open after a few minutes when the aircraft shook with turbulence. Nausea crept up her throat at the movement, and she groaned at the realization she wasn’t going to get any rest.

Time seemed to stretch on forever sitting on the hard metal seat of the plane. Some of the other men started to rouse and have small conversations around her, but all she could think about was her parents. Could they stand to lose another child?

Tears burned her eyes as her mind replayed the moment they heard the news about Pearl Harbor and her brother’s fate. Her mother’s wails when she collapsed onto the floor beside the radio. The deep ache in her chest didn’t seem to go away with time, and she doubted it ever would.

(Y/n) was pulled from her thoughts by a gentle hand on her shaking knee.

“You’re gonna be okay, (y/n/n).”

Lew.

“Yeah,” she sighed, furiously blinking away her tears. “I’m not worried about myself, though.”

“Don’t worry about me, alright? Stay focused on yourself.”

(Y/n) smirked and raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I was worried about you, mister ‘yale know-it-all?’”

At that moment, Nixon was thankful for the dark plane, for she couldn’t see the flush that crept across his cheeks. “Only by the kind way you speak to me,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. 

Within seconds, his face became serious. “But I mean it, (y/n). Please be careful.”

“I will, Lew. You too, okay?” She replied, grasping his hand atop her knee.

Their conversation was cut short by the red light flashing on beside Dick. Nodding at each other, they prepared for what was about to happen.

“Get ready!” Lieutenant Winters yelled above the rumble of the plane. “Stand up! Hook Up! Equipment check!”

Following orders, they stood, hooked up, and started checking their helmets, followed by pulling on the harnesses of those in front of them. George stood between Nix and (y/n) in line, separating the pair.

“Don’t enjoy this too much,” George jeered back to her as she checked his equipment. 

Through his humor, she could see the fear that each of them felt. 

Dick’s voice filled the plane again. “Sound off for equipment check!”

“Ten okay!”

“Nine okay!”

“Eight okay!”

“Seven okay!”

Hearing her heartbeat in her ears, (y/n) attempted to push her fear deep down. 

“Six okay!” Chuck yelled, tapping her on the shoulder.

(Y/n) repeated the motion for George, shouting. “Five okay,”

“Four okay!”

“Three okay!”

“Two okay!”

“One okay!” Winters finished, looking out the jump door.

Within seconds, the cloud cover dissipated, and explosions filled the air, violently tilting the plane sideways. (Y/n) lost her balance and fell back onto her seat with a curse. Luckily, Chuck grabbed her harness and hoisted her back on her feet in front of him. 

As the plane continued to shake beneath their feet, she looked through the small window at the stick beside them just in time to see it get hit and go down in flames. Her mouth went dry at the sight, and she prayed that they wouldn’t share the same fate.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Someone yelled at the back of the plane.

Lip turned behind him. “Does that light look green to you?”

The man didn’t get to respond as gunfire ripped through the plane, peppering him with shrapnel.

“I’m hit!”

Among the chaos, the green light flicked on, and Winters called out to them. “Let’s go!”

Without hesitation, he jumped out the door, followed by Gene, Lew, and George. Following Luz, (y/n) didn’t even look before pushing herself out the door.

The first thing she felt was the wind whipping at her equipment as she fell through the air. Anti-aircraft shells exploded around her, adding to the deafening cacophony surrounding her. Explosions, screams, gunfire…it was a sound she’d never forget.

Even with her parachute deployed, the ground was fast approaching. To her panic, she couldn’t see her DZ anywhere. To make matters even worse, the wind guided her toward the dense forest instead of one of the many open fields surrounding her. She tried to pull up on the risers to change her direction, but it was too late. Within seconds, she flew into the tall European oak trees she tried so desperately to avoid.

All air left her lungs as she slammed into a tree, sending her falling through the branches. The sound of snapping wood filled her ears and she hissed at the sharp stings that covered her body as she fell. 

With a jolt, her descent was abruptly stopped, causing her to swing into a nearby trunk with a thwack. (Y/n) groaned at the impact, feeling pain seep into her already bruised and battered body. 

“Great,” she hissed, looking up at the tangled chute. “Of course, I landed in a freaking forest.”

Seeing she was only a few feet off the ground, (y/n) let out a sigh of relief and reached for her knife. When she looked down, she cursed at the missing bag that was supposed to be attached to her leg. 

‘At least I didn’t put anything important in there,’ she thought.

The (y/h/c) quickly cut herself free of the chute and fell through the air again, landing on her feet with a wince. Even though she couldn’t see herself, she knew she had to look rough. The stinging from various cuts and scratches torso, arms, and legs were a dead giveaway to her appearance. 

Pulling out her M1, she quietly made her way to a clearing better illuminated by the moon. She stayed near the edge, wary of being seen, and used her compass and map to try and figure out where she was. After a few minutes, she discovered she was a few miles west of the rally point. Just as she was about to move, a drip of red on her map stole her attention. (Y/n) took off her helmet and began to run a shaky hand through her grimy hair when a sharp pain flared from her temple, making her groan at the searing sensation. Pulling her hand away, she gasped to see it covered in dark red. 

The paratrooper quickly grabbed a bandage and gritted her teeth, tying it the best she could.

“Head wounds bleed the most,” Doc Roe had said in a medic seminar. “You’re gonna go through bandages quick.”

 She gently placed the helmet back on her head and took a deep breath. “You can do this, (y/n),” she muttered under her breath as she started moving east toward the rally point. “You can do it.”

She’d made it to the ground, but she wasn’t out of the woods, yet.

D-Day Plus Three: Sainte-Mère-Eglise, France

Since Nix finally made it to Sainte-Mère-Eglise on June 7th, his eyes searched the crowd for one face. Every day, he kept a constant check on who arrived and who they’d seen or heard from, and for two days, he couldn’t rest.

On the third day, he overheard some men from the 82nd.

“Did you see the broad?”

On instinct, he rushed out of the makeshift company CP onto the street filled with exhausted paratroopers, ignoring the concerned looks from the men as he quickly made his way to the front of the town. 

“Thank God,” he whispered, seeing her wobbly figure from a distance. 

Her downcast eyes didn’t see him approach as she dragged her feet in the mud, too tired to even pick them up.

“You’re late to the party,” Lew chuckled, trying to mask his relief.

Despite the ringing pain in her head, her eyes shot up to meet his. When their gazes met, she let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. He made it.

A tired smile grew on her blood and dirt-covered face. “Nice to see you, too, Lew.”

Extending his arm out to her, Nix pulled her into a tight embrace. It was like his mind needed physical reassurance she was there. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmured into her helmet.

Leaning into his chest, she let the rhythm of his heart calm her fear. Even in a warzone, she felt safe in his arms. “I was worried about you, too.”

A chuckle reverberated through his chest. “So you were worried about me, huh?”

Pulling back to look at him, (y/n) smirked. “I take it back.”

His playful expression changed to concern as he noticed her pale face and the blood beneath her helmet. “Hey, what happened? You’re bleeding.”

(Y/n) ducked her head to the side. “I’m fine, Lew. Really.”

“Come on, let me see,” he urged, gently unclasping her helmet. 

A hiss left him, seeing the blood-soaked cloth haphazardly tied around her head. 

“(Y/n),” he sighed, one hand tilting her jaw to see the wound while the other peeled back the bandage. The gash ran from her right temple to just above her ear. “This is deep. You’re gonna need stitches. Let’s go to the aid station.”

His tender touch left her speechless. “Ok-okay,” she whispered, following him to the medic tent.

The coppery smell of blood hit her like a ton of bricks the second she entered the tent. Men were lying on cots, missing limbs, and crying in agony. (Y/n) froze, unable to tear her gaze from the carnage before her. A guiding hand on the small of her back urged her to keep walking. 

“Come on, (y/n/n). This way,” Lew muttered.

He led her into another tent that was less crowded and sat her down on a nearby cot. “I’ll go find Doc. Stay here.”

Laying back on the cot, (y/n) allowed her body to fully relax for the first time in almost three days. Soreness gnawed at her muscles, leaving behind a dull ache that drained all of her energy. Within a few minutes, her eyes began to droop, and sleep finally welcomed her.

“She’s in here,” Lew said, Doc Roe in tow. “She’s got a nasty cut on her head.”

The cajun nodded. “Alright, I’ll take a look. You know head wounds bleed a lot.”

Walking into the room, their expressions softened at her curled-up form on the cot. “Is it okay if she sleeps,” Nix asked, crouching next to her.

Grimacing, Roe shook his head. “I really should check her head, sir.”

With a nod, Lew gently shook her shoulder. “Hey, (y/n/n). Doc’s here to check your head.”

She weakly groaned and sat up slowly. “I think I could sleep for a week.”

Chuckling, Gene held his index finger up in front of her face. “Follow my finger.”

After a few seconds, he sighed, grabbing a suture kit from his satchel. “Doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but that cut’ll need stitches.”

Roe carefully cleaned the wound as (y/n)’s eyes screwed shut. “You ready?” He asked.

Keeping her eyes closed, her hand shot out beside her, grasping onto Nixon’s hand tightly. “Lew, please talk to me. Say anything, I don’t care, just talk.”

He squeezed her hand in response as she let out a hiss when the first suture pulled through her split skin.

“When I was in college…” 

With Lewis Nixon’s warm and reassuring hand in hers, along with his distracting words, the pain became bearable. In the small medic tent in Sainte-Mère-Eglise, Eugene smiled to himself, witnessing the intimate moment between the two.

“Ce sont des idiots.” He muttered to himself. “Des idiots en mal d’amour.”

tag list: @softguarnere @mrsgeorgeluz @flowers-and-fichte @inglourious-imagines @peggyvan @rebeccapearson @hxad-ovxr-hxart @im-chinese-believe-it-or-not @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @titiglt

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[footprintsinthesxnd]

Love and War

Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter

Synopsis: Bob Floyd never expected to fall in love during the war, especially not with a pretty, young nurse during basic training. But love works in funny ways and can their love stand the rest of time, the war and the distance that separates them. Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Austria May to August 1945

Hitler was dead. The Germans had surrendered. The war was over in Europe.

Bob’s blue eyes gazed lazily over the tranquil landscape, the birds were singing, a light breeze brushing gently through the trees, the aquamarine lake was still. Bob couldn’t believe that in all the destruction they had witnessed a beautiful scene like this lay between all of it. After all this bloodshed somehow Easy Company had ended up in this paradise. The ruckus behind Bob pulled him reluctantly from his thoughts as Albert and several of the other paratroopers came running down the path, dressed in their PT kits and barefoot.

“Come on, Bob,” Albert called, racing down to the stone jetty. The paratroopers all pulled their white T-shirts over their heads before diving into the calm water below. A chorus of hollers and whoops followed as they began to slash around in the shallows, throwing water at each other.

A joyful smile spread across Bob’s lips, his eyes shining slightly with unshed tears. This is how their lives should be, young and joyful, living full and happy lives. They all deserved this after the years of their youth that had been stolen by this god forsaken war.

“Bob, come on!” George, one of the other paratroopers hollered, his boyish grin infectious. He reminded Bob a lot of Jackson, his youthful enthusiasm making them all feel younger than their years.

“Alright, i'm coming down,” Bob called, beginning to undo his uniform jacket as he made his way down the slope and towards the jetty. He pulled his clothes off quickly, leaving himself in just his underwear before diving into the cool water below. It was colder than he expected, taking a sharp intake of air as he resurfaced, coming face to face with the smiling men around him. Bob laughed loudly, throwing water at Albert, shouting gleefully. They spent the rest of the afternoon swimming and splashing around in the waters edge. By the time Bob and Albert were sitting back on the jetty their skin was pale and wrinkled from their time in the water.

“What will you do after this?” Albert asked, eyeing Bob curiously, squinting in the late afternoon sun.

“Probably get some food, I guess,” Bob sighed, toying with the wedding band hanging from his dog tags.

Albert groaned, letting out a light laugh, “no I mean after the war, when you go home.”

“I don’t know. We don’t even know if we are going home yet. Captain Nelson said that it’s highly likely we’ll be redeployed to the Pacific.” Bob sighed, he’d love more than anything to go home, back to the States with his wife. It had been five months since he’d last seen (y/n), since he’d last held her in his arms, kissed her. Bob dreamed of the day they would be reunited, finally able to be together as man and wife should be.

“But after that, well I’m gonna go home, back to Louisiana with (y/n). We’re gonna have a big house with lots of room for all our little Floyd’s.” Bob smiled at the image, thinking of (y/n) sitting on the swinging bench on the porch, a baby in her arms while she watched their other children playing in the garden, Bob by her side.

“Me too,” Albert replied, his eyes overcast and tearful. “You know I haven’t even seen my baby girl grow up. She’s gonna be four years old before I get home to her, I missed so much.” He let out a strangled sob, burying his head in his hands. Bob was a little stunned, in all that they had been through Albert had rarely cried, never showing his true emotions. Gripping hold of the man beside him, Bob pulled him into a desperate hug, ignoring the feeling of their damp skin against each other. He pressed a small kiss to the medic hair, cradling him, rocking him slowly. Before the war Bob could never imagine having this kind of connection with another man, he’d had male friends and they’d hugged each other before but with Albert it was different. He loved him. Not in the way he loved (y/n) but he loved him and he would die for him. Albert’s tears eventually slowed, his sobs becoming quiet mumbles into Bob’s chest. “It’s ok Albert, I’m gonna get you home to them. I promised you back at Toccoa I would. I’m not about to break that promise.”

Albert looked up at him, tear stained cheeks, his bottom lip wobbling slightly.

“Thank you, Bob. Thank you for everything.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bob’s knuckles wrapped on the large oak door, waiting for a reply to enter. The voice from the other side was gruff but Bob knew that was just the way Nelson spoke to everyone.

“You wanted to see me, Sir,” Bob stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He removed his cap, tucking it into the belt of his uniform before saluting the Captain.

“Floyd, take a seat.” He motioned for Bob to take a seat on the otherside of the desk, perching on the edge of the chair in anticipation. Nelson took a log sip of his coffee, savouring the taste and almost killing Bob with the suspense. “Do you know why I called you here?”

“No Sir,” Bob replied hurriedly.

“I called you here because the army has a proposition for you, a battlefield commission to make you a Lieutenant if you’d like to pursue a career in the army after the war.” Nelson spoke firmly but his eyes shone with the unspoken adoration that he had for all his men. “You have proven yourself to be an exceptional soldier and an even more exceptional man. It has been an honour to serve beside you.”

“Sir, the honour has been mine…” Bob began but Captain Nelson raised his hand, cutting off his speech.

“Now don’t be so modest now, Sergeant. Now I understand that you have a wife, correct.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And I’m sure you are desperate to return to her.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“But this is a great opportunity and one that I would not wish for you to pass over lightly but I do understand your situation. I haven’t seen my wife and daughters for God knows how long. I have missed much of their childhood and I would not wish that on any man.”

Bob nodded in agreement, he already knew his answer. “Truthfully Sir, I am honoured but I have fought long and hard for my country, I have bled and lost friends for my country and I would really like to go home to my wife.”

Captain Nelson nodded, “I suspected as much and honestly I cannot blame you. I wish you and your wife a long and happy life full of peace. Happy VJ Day Sergeant Floyd, you're going home.”

“Sir, is it… really?” Bob stared back in disbelief.

“Yes Bob, the war is over.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Taglist: @bradshawseresinbabe @wkndwlff @a-reader-and-a-writer @callsign-phoenix @imjess-themess @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover @okiegirl24 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @airedale17 @shadowolf993 @flyboyjake @topguncultleader @callmemana @t-nd-rfoot @desert-fern @cherrycola27 @green-socks @jstarr86 @starkleila @alexxavicry @roostette @floralfloyd @soulmates8 @depressed-friend-blog @mayhemmanaged @shanimallina87 @shadowsintheknight @bcon24 @cassiemitchell @genius2050

[flame-x]

The One Where Munkustrap Tells A Story

Hello! I'm back with another short fic because I wanted to do something small celebrating 100 posts lol

It was a quiet evening, and for once Munkustrap was free. The preparations for the upcoming Ball were going smoothly— for once. He’d promised the kittens a story if they danced all their parts more or less flawlessly, and they had. And so he found himself outside the nursery, a story in mind. 

“Tell us a new one!” Carbucketty demanded as soon as he stepped inside. Munk chuckled and put his paw on his chin, pretending to think hard.

“Why, I think I’ve told you all the stories I know already!” He exclaimed. A loud clamour of protests broke out, catching the attention of cats outside the nursery. Many of them who had no other obligations that evening settled down to listen in, and some of the older cats chuckled. Nonetheless, they too eventually got sucked into the tale— Munkustrap really was a Storyteller like none of them had ever seen or heard tell of.

Back in the nursery, the grey protector had raised his paws in surrender. “Alright, alright!” he exclaimed, laughing. “I have a story.” He sat with his back against the wall and instructed the kittens —including the older ones, who apparently didn’t think themselves above his storytelling yet— to sit in a semicircle around him. Cettie, Electra, Olivia and Tabbygirl were competing for the place closest to Bill Bailey, who for once was looking irritated at their attention and plonked himself down next to Tumblebrutus, Carbucketty and Misto. Pouncival, as usual, was sitting the furthest away and slightly elevated, on a large shelf. Rumpleteazer and Mungojerrie slipped in the entrance and sat by Victoria and Quaxo, the latter of whom was shaking his head at whatever substance Sillabub had gotten on her paws. Jemima had somehow ended up in Munkustrap’s lap. Socrates, Plato and Victor were nowhere to be seen. Jellylorum and Hysperia began to hush the chattering.

“Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, lived a princess named—”

“Was she pretty, Dad?” Sillabub interrupted, tapping his shoulder. At least three “Shushes!” rang out.

“Yes, Sillabub, she was the most beautiful princess to have ever lived. But she was no ordinary princess, and her name was—”

“Why wasn’t she ordinary? And why is the story about a yucky princess? Why can’t it be about pirates?” Another interruption, this time from Tumblebrutus, who was scrunching up his nose at the prospect of a story about a beautiful princess. More kittens hissed at him to be quiet.

“Because the last story was about pirates, Tumble,” Munkustrap explained patiently, “And if you’d let me finish one sentence, you’ll find out why she’s no ordinary princess.” The patched kitten muttered an apology and the story continued.

“Her name was… Victoria!” The queenkitten of the same name burst into giggles, as did the rest of the gathered cats. The grey tom smiled. “Her name was Victoria, and she was no ordinary princess, for you see, she wasn’t really a princess—”

Several small and intrigued gasps echoed around the den. “She was an archer, and she was working with the famous outlaw known as Robin Hood, who’s real name, though few knew it, was in fact… Mungojerrie!” Snickering broke out, and the storyteller swept on. 

“Robin Hood had a sidekick, who became known as Little John. His real name was Pouncival.” The story continued, and more cats gathered to listen as Munkustrap's voice rose and became almost spellbinding, seeming to dance in and out of one’s ears and whirl around in the breeze, the laughter and gasping of the kittens as the music in the background. Though his voice was solo as he reached the climax, what with the kittens holding their breath in anticipation.

“Victoria had no other choice but to trust Mungojerrie,” Munk said, his voice hushed, “The fire was growing larger and wilder by the minute. So she leapt out the window.” More gasps broke out, and if there was a tear or two rolling down Electra’s face, well, no-cat noticed. 

“Down, down, down she fell, all 30 tail lengths of the drop! Victoria closed her eyes and braced herself, waiting, but—! Mungojerrie caught her in the nick of time! ‘Let’s go, Pouncival!’ he yelled and they clambered into the cart and took off into the night! The phoney king was defeated and the gold he’d stolen was returned to the people. The good king returned and, upon learning what had gone on in his absence, declared that the faux princess, Robin Hood and Little John were no longer outlaws, and instead were heroes!” 

A series of groans emerged from the kittens as they realised what the next line of the story would be.

“Then, they all lived happily ever after,” Munkustrap finished, giving as best a small bow as he could while sitting on the floor with Sillabub nearly asleep in his arms. 

“Why didn’t Mungojerrie and Victoria k-k-kiss at the end?” Etcetera queried through a yawn. The real Victoria made a face of disgust. “Gross! I’d never kiss Mungojerrie!” Mungojerrie stuck his tongue out at her. 

“It’s just a story. But now—” Munkustrap heaved himself up as best he could, awkwardly shifting the now-sleeping Sillabub onto the arm that hadn’t gone dead, “—it’s time for bed.” 

As the adults inside the den set about getting the kittens to bed and actually sleep —“I can see you peeping at me, Rumple!”— the adults outside sat back to digest the story.

“He’s really something else,” Skimbleshanks said thoughtfully, scratching his chin in thought.

“Who, Straps?” Alonzo questioned the ginger tom, who nodded. “Well, it’s in his blood, isn’t it?” he stated, and went back to washing his paws. Well, it was obvious, wasn’t it? Everyone knew Old Deuteronomy was a storyteller too, though maybe not one quite so good as Munkustrap.

“Alonzo is right. Sure isn’t Tugger the same? All the young cats listen to him,” Jennyanydots said, looking up from her knitting.

“And Macavity,” Alonzo added in a low tone. Tension spread through the gathered cats at the mention of his name.

“Come now, Alonzo, we shan’t talk about him so close to the nursery,” Jenny said, looking back down to her knitting and shaking her head. 

“I daresay he has magic,” Skimble said into the lull. The others looked at him in confusion. “I remember hearing a tale once upon a time—”

“That all Jellicles have magic? Come on now, Skimble, you can’t tell me you believe an old legend like that?” Alonzo interrupted him drily. 

“I’m sceptical, of course. Though sometimes I wonder… Well, Hysperia knows more about this kind of thing.”

“Did someone say my name?” As if summoned, the brown tabby emerged from the entrance of the nursery and made her way over to them. Jenny greeted her warmly. 

“We were just discussing Munkustrap’s talent. Skimble here reckons he has magic.”

“You know more about magic than I do, Hyperia. What do you think?” the ginger tom in question asked her. 

“Ah,” Hysperia said heavily, settling herself down next to Jenny. “I was wondering when cats would begin to notice. I’m surprised it took so long, honestly.” Alonzo opened his mouth but Hysperia continued.

“Munkustrap is a gifted —very gifted— Storyteller. Essentially he can captivate an audience with ease. His voice is almost spellbinding, it draws the listener in. He could rally an army if he put his mind to it. Old Deuteronomy is also a Storyteller, but his skill is far surpassed by Munk’s. Gus, too, though he is stronger than Old Deuteronomy.”

The other cats digested this information. “What about Tugger?” Skimble asked. 

Hysperia chuckled. “Tugger has a different gift, though there is a similarity. Tugger has Charisma.” The others laughed, but Hysperia said, “I’m completely serious. It’s real magic. Though granted, his particular gift seems to have more of an effect on younger cats.” 

Alonzo shook his head, unconvinced. “I’ll believe you about Straps, and maybe Tugger, but there’s no way all Jellicles have magic.”

Hysperia gave a small smile. “Think about it. Look at the kittens, for example. Bill Bailey seems quite… charismatic, does he not? And have you ever noticed how Jerrie and Teazer always manage to get up to so much mischief whilst hardly ever facing the consequences? Darn good luck, I’d say. And doesn’t Pouncival always seem that bit… faster than the other kittens? Not to mention Mistoffelees and Jemima…”

Alonzo snorted. “Whatever kitten stories take your fancy, I suppose.” Hysperia just smiled again. 

“Well, I believe it anyhow,” Skimble said, cleaning his whiskers. 

“It’s a nice story, though I’m hesitant to believe it,” Jenny said, refocusing on her knitting. 

“Why, Jenny, you’re one of the more gifted ones!” the resident magic expert exclaimed in surprise. 

“How so?” 

“Take a look at all that you do with your mice and cockroach friends. Not everycat can do that, you know.”

“Please, dear, that’s just patience and a willingness to communicate,” Jenny chuckled. 

Hysperia smiled a knowing smile. “If you say so.”

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

my fixation has gone from giving tesilid the horrors to giving hestio the horrors. he's now the newborn chaos of the 101st round and ephael and hestio jr are absolutely horrified by the insanity in his eyes + how nonchalant tesilid is about it all. the evil red-eyed hestio is pacing around the room thinking aloud about his evil plans to destroy the world, and tesilid is giving him oogly eyes. what has the world come to.

[she-wolf09231982]

What happens in Liebgott’s foxhole, stays in Liebgott’s foxhole 😈😘

smut ,Joe liebgot and the reader dry humping and slightly pleasing eachother in there foxhole in the cold

Body heat - Joe Liebgott x F!Reader

Anon, I loved this prompt! Thank you! I hope you enjoy it! ;)

Warnings: 18+ content sorta, dry humping, making-out, cursing, she/her pronouns, 1st person pov (female).

A/N: I have the biggest respect for the real life heroes of WWII (and all other wars, past & current), this work & all other works is based on the actor(s) and character(s) portrayed in the Band of Brothers series.

A/N pt 2: This was fun to write and I enjoyed the idea a lot! Hope y'all enjoy it! Please comment, like, reblog :) :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another gust of wind lifts the tarp covering the top of our foxhole, blasting cold, wet air around us effectively stealing what little warmth we'd managed build up around ourselves.

"Goddamn it! When this is over, I never want to see the rain or snow ever again." I grumble, pulling the blanket tighter around myself, but it's damp and can only do so much.

"Quit bitching, you're ruining the mood." Liebgott smirks at the glare I shoot him.

"Fuck you." Any venom I have in my voice is lost as my teeth chatter.

"Would love to, but it's too cold." I see him shiver slightly.

"Glad to know that's the only reason." I roll my eyes.

"Course it is." He shoots me a wink and I feel a little bit of heat crawl up my neck and cheeks. Suddenly I'm thankful it's pitch black right now so he can't see my blush.

"Shut up." I mutter half heartedly, shoving his shoulder before attempting to get comfortable next to him. We are silent for a few minutes as, I assume, we try to get semi warm enough to doze a little until he speaks again.

"You know...sharing body heat is a great way to get warm." His voice is low but the words bounce around us on the wind. Again, I send a thank you to the universe that he can't see how flushed I am. I turn my head to tell him to shut up again and find his eyes already on me. The heat in his eyes has the words dying on my tongue.

"What?" Is all I can manage to get out, which I mentally kick myself for. Real smooth. His hand slips out from under his own blanket and grabs mine, tugging me towards him.

"Come here." He moves me around like I'm his own personal ragdoll, rearranging our blankets so one's over the top of our heads and shoulders and the other is around my back with the ends tucked behind him. The new position has be straddling his lap, our bodies centimeters away and our faces so close we are sharing each others breathes. I can feel his hands rubbing up and down my thighs, squeezing my hips every other time. My own arms are draped around his shoulders.

Joe nudges my nose with his. "Told you this would be warmer." All I can do is nod, making him smirk. "I don't know about you, but my lips are still cold."

At his words my eyes drop down to his lips and watch as his tongue runs over them, then look back to his eyes that haven't lost their heat. I make the split second decision to worry about the consequences and what-ifs at a later date and close the gap between us. He eagerly kisses me back, moving one hand to the back of my neck to hold my head where he wants it, while the other wraps around my waist to keep me flush against him.

Our tongues meet and we enjoy a long exploration of each others mouths; licking and sucking and nipping. After a particularly sharp bite on my bottom lip, I grind down onto his lap and then groan at the feel of his growing erection beneath me. I grind down again and this time Joe groans with me.

"Do it again, baby." He pleads against my lips. When I do he kisses me again to muffle the noises we make. I move one of my hands to grip his upper arm tightly to help my leverage and swivel my hips until I find the angle that gives us both the pleasure we need. Once I find that I set a hard pace that Joe eagerly lifts his hips to match.

Soon the cold around us is forgotten as we focus on keeping the other quiet and chasing the pleasure building inside us. Joe lets go of my neck and I feel both his hands grabbing my ass, using it to press me harder against him. My pace starts to become erratic.

"Fuck, I'm close Joe." Joe gives me a hard nip on my jawline and whispers in my ear.

"I got you, let go baby." My head turns to the side and I bite down hard on his shoulder, trying to hide my moan as much as possible. As I'm coming down from my high, I feel Joe's movements becoming more frantic. I turn my head away from his shoulder, nipping at the bit of flesh exposed on his neck and then his jawline.

Three thrusts later he stills beneath me, breathing heavily as he lets out curses and my name. We melt even more into each other, enjoying the post-orgasm bliss and warmth we created around us. Just as I'm drifting off, I feel Joe drop a kiss on the top of my head and my heart flutters.

But that's something to address at a later time.

[blurredcolour]

Born To Be Yours

[One-shot | Sequel to We'll Meet Again]

Eugene Roe x Nurse!Female Reader

Despite the end of the war in Europe, violence still finds its way to the men of Easy company. Thankfully, Eugene knows just where to find you to get them help.

Warnings: Language, Weapons, Canon Typical Violence, Smoking, Treatment of Wounds, Medical Procedures, Hospital Settings, Questionably Written Cajun Accent, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [Kissing, Necking, Dry Humping] - 18+ ONLY

Author’s Note: Slight warning - the events of this fic are centered around the shooting of Sergeant Charles E Grant. The title of this fic is based off the song 'Yours' by Vera Lynn. For your reference, the Cajun pronunciation of cher, Eugene's term of endearment for the reader, is 'sha.' Just to help you really imagine it in your head. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 3887

-------------------------

This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to be happening. Not here in Austria after the surrender of the German army. Not today, the anniversary of D-Day. And yet here Eugene sat, balanced over a stretcher bearing a motionless Grant, holding an IV of blood above his head as Speirs sped down the road toward Saalfelden where the 47th Field Hospital was set up on the edge of town. Talbert rode in the front seat, frequently glancing back at them over his shoulder.

It was a miracle Grant was still breathing after receiving the headwound, continued to breathe through the frantic bandaging and loading onto Speirs’ jeep.

“Where’s the nearest surgeon?” The Captain had barked and Gene had answered easily, known it immediately, because the nearest surgeon was with you.

After parting ways in Titz, following that very eventful Easter Sunday, your hospital had stayed precisely where it was intended to be – twenty-five kilometers behind the line as they advanced across Germany. You had surprised Eugene by sending your next letter not by post, but in the pocket of an ambulance driver who had been all too happy to receive a pack of smokes from you for his trouble. Your ingenuity had opened his eyes, and he’d sent his own reply back two days later, postage paid with chocolate from his rations.

Being able to write one another without the censors having a say, to share every detail of your daily lives without fear of the letter going missing – as long as you each chose a trustworthy deliveryman of course – was a relief after all the delays in communication the pair of you had previously endured. Eugene was admittedly disheartened when he learned that your station in Austria would be in Saalfelden with the majority of the 101st Airborne while Easy and the rest of 2nd Battalion found themselves a further seventeen kilometers down the road in Zell Am See.

There remained a remarkable number of things for him to do, and the lack of ambulance traffic, while a blessing, severely impeded your correspondence once more. In short, Eugene was feeling awfully guilty about the fact that he had not managed to visit you since the war in Europe had ended. As the jeep pulled up outside the requisitioned gymnasium that had been turned into the 47th Field Hospital, he was not certain if he hoped you were there or not.

He jumped off the back of the vehicle as Speirs and Talbert grabbed each end of the stretcher and the three of them rushed toward the building. Eugene hurried a few steps ahead to pull the door open, wincing a little as Speirs shouldered it open fully, sending into the wall with a ‘bang.’ There was a scurry of footsteps from down a hallway to the right before you stepped into view, clad in your white and brown striped hospital dress, a brown cardigan over top with the sleeves pushed up to your elbows. Concern etched your features.

“Follow me.” You said quickly, rushing to pull open the next door into the gymnasium itself. “On the table right there please, sir.” You gestured to a makeshift exam table built of filing cabinets and a cot.

“Chief Nurse?” A young woman poked her head out from behind a privacy screen and Eugene nearly tripped over his own feet.

Last he’d heard you were Assistant Chief Nurse, promoted after your natural leadership of the group of nurses during your nine hours of capture. You’d gone and gotten yourself promoted again. He fought the urge to grin at you proudly as they carefully set Grant down as instructed.

“Shirley, go fetch Dr. Brock from his office immediately.”

“We need a surgeon.” Speirs rasped and Eugene watched the girl halt her progress across the room and look back to you questioningly.

“Dr. Randall then, quickly.” You amended, shifting to begin triage on the patient by checking his vitals as Speirs took Grant’s hand in his tightly.

Shirley fled the room, returning in less than a minute with a dark-haired man wearing a white coat in tow – surely Dr. Randall. A cigarette hung for his lips as he looked to Eugene for the hand off.

“Shot in the head with a pistol, maybe twenty minutes ago? Bandaged and given blood by IV.”

He saw Shirley hand you a chart out of the corner of his eye and you quickly noted these things along with the vitals you’d been taking when the surgeon had walked in. Dr. Randall leaned down to lift the bandages, inspecting Grant’s wound.

“Jesus.” He muttered.

“What?” Speirs asked, looking to him quickly.

“He’s not gonna make it.” Dr. Randall said, taking a slow drag on his cigarette.

“Ya can’t operate on him?” Eugene asked incredulously. This man was a surgeon, this was his job.

“Not me. You’d need a brain surgeon. And even if you had one, I don’t think there’s any hope.” Dr. Randall rubbed at his eyes, obviously just as worn out from the endless number of casualties he’d born witness to, before walking off.

Eugene’s eyes slid to meet yours where you remained next to the spot recently vacated by Dr. Randall; felt his throat clench painfully at the look of deep sympathy you were sending him.

Speirs took a breath and turned to Talbert, breaking the stunned silence that had fallen over the group. “You find the shooter, I want him alive.” He pointed at him for emphasis before turning back to Eugene. “Come on help me.”

“What’re you doing?” Talbert asked, grabbing the end of the stretcher.

“We’re gonna go find a brain surgeon!” Speirs declared before they were off and running back towards the door.

“There’s a German hospital further into town, follow this road for five blocks then hang a left.” You spoke quickly, hurrying to hold open the doors to ease their progress back to the jeep.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” Eugene nodded quickly, ducking slightly as it had begun to lightly rain while they were inside.

“Take care.” Your voice shook a little and Eugene looked back to you once he’d resumed his perch on the back of the jeep, watching you wrap your cardigan tighter around yourself as you stood in the rain, staring at him intently until the vehicle jerked into motion as Speirs took off in the direction you had instructed.

The hospital was easy enough to find, thanks to your directions, and Talbert secured another jeep there to carry out Speirs’ orders to find the shooter. The brain surgeon was not currently on duty, but Speirs was undeterred and demanded his home address, from which he fetched him out of bed to operate immediately.

“It will take several hours.” The German surgeon had warned them when Speirs had asked where the waiting room was.

“We’ll wait.” He had replied flatly, and Eugene had followed after him as a nurse led them into an empty room filled with worn chairs and a few side tables with outdated German periodicals.

Eugene watched Speirs sink into one of the chairs while he found himself unable to sit down, wandering the perimeter of the room quietly, mind turning over all manner of things, but always coming back to how reluctant you had looked to see him go. The guilt within him had multiplied astronomically – he had been a fool to not rush to see you the instant he could, and now your first interaction since Easter was purely professional and surely terrifying. Precisely why he had been so very reluctant to admit his feelings to you in the first place.

“Doc, if you’re not going to sit down, go talk to that pretty Chief Nurse, would you?” He muttered, pulling the garrison cap from his hair.

Eugene’s head whipped up to look at his commanding officer in shock. Shock at the fact that Speirs had had the wherewithal to notice the looks you had been exchanging over Grant’s prone form. Shock that he was allowing him the liberty to visit you. Pure shock.

“Otherwise, it’s going to be a very long couple of hours.” There was a dangerous edge to the man’s voice that made Eugene swallow nervously and nod sharply.

“Yes sir, I’ll be back in a few hou’s then, sir.” He moved to slip out of the waiting room.

“Be careful out there, Doc.” Came Speirs’ parting command and Eugene nodded once more before heading out into the street, thankful that the blackout was no longer in effect and he had the assistance of streetlights to retrace his steps back to the Field Hospital.

He made a much quieter entrance this time, finding the nurse, Shirley, at the desk near the door in the gym.

“Oh, you’re the medic from earlier – how is your man?” She asked in a hushed voice as she stood.

“In surgery with a German brain surgeon now…I was wonderin’ if I migh’ speak ta you’ Chief Nurse?” He tilted his head, and she nodded quickly leading him down the hall to an unassuming office door.

“She’s still here, working late again.” She laughed softly and knocked.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He nodded as she nodded in return before heading back into the gym as your door swung inward.

“Gene…” You breathed in surprise, peering into the hallway as if to confirm he was truly alone.

“Cher…” He murmured in response, tremor in his own voice this time, and your fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling him into the moderately sized office.

Your arms pulled him into a tight embrace as you nudged the door shut with your foot. He buried his face into your hair, fingers curling into the knit of your cardigan against your back.

“I’m right here, Gene.” You sighed soothingly, arms holding him so tightly, so warmly, Eugene was convinced you might actually be able to fuse his broken pieces back together. To make him feel whole again.

“Merci, cher.” He managed to find his voice after a moment, pulling back slightly only to press his lips to yours tightly in a physical expression of his gratitude.

Eugene felt the tremble that rolled through your body in response, his hands gripping you tighter as your fingers wended their way into his hair making him shudder in return. There was something about your touch tonight that felt like he was playing with fire, your entire presence loaded with explosive charge that could set him off at any moment. He pulled his lips back quickly before he did something wildly inappropriate in your office and panted against your mouth.

“M’sorry I haven’ come ta visit ya.”

Your response was a breathless laugh that made him bite the inside of his cheek.

“I’ve barely left this office. I’m beginning to think this promotion was a curse disguised as a blessing.” You smirked and stole one more kiss from his lips before straightening to look over his face warmly.

“It’s late, and I know ya don’ work nigh’s no mo’e…” He tried to keep the admonishing tone in his voice light, but he was admittedly upset you were working after midnight, something that even he was aware was unusual for a Chief Nurse.

“You know too much, Gene.” Your fingers smoothed his hair gently, restoring order to the strands you had put into disarray, a fond smile stretching his lips as he truly adored hearing you call him ‘Gene.’

His heart had nearly stopped when it had appeared in your letters but to hear it leave your lips was heaven itself.

“Let me walk ya home, tha man who did tha’ is still out the’e.”

He watched your eyes widen before you frowned deeply, shaking your head in dismay. “Did you find the hospital?”

“German brain surgeon’s operatin’ now…”

You took a slow breath before nodding. “I usually have an MP escort me, are you sure you don’t have to get back?”

He shook his head. “Grant’ll be in surgery a few hou’s longah. Cap’n Speirs won’ leave ‘till it’s ovah. Told me ta ‘go talk to that pretty Chief Nurse’ if I wouldn’t sit still.” Gene smirked ruefully and you blinked rapidly before biting your lip.

“Perhaps we have not been nearly as subtle as we thought, Gene…”

He laughed softly under his breath as he watched you turn to collect your things, sliding a small utility bag over your shoulder before turning out the desk light. The desk itself was still covered in stacks of files and he couldn’t help but frown as it seemed that your late nights had barely made a dent in the work your new position had foisted upon you.

“Wait here.” You said once you’d locked your office door and walked a little further down the hall to knock on another door.

He could barely make out another man’s voice, it didn’t sound like Dr. Randall, so presumably Dr. Brock, before you swung by the desk in the gymnasium to wish Shirley a good night. One last stop at the MP office to the left of the entrance where you informed your usual escort you had someone to walk you home before the pair of you were able to step out into the damp night. Thankfully, the rain had stopped falling but the puddles on the ground were plentiful as Eugene offered his arm. He could not help his fond smile as you took it without hesitation, hugging his elbow close as you walked side-by-side.

“I’m quite close to the hospital actually.” You gestured down the road and he nodded, turning that way.

“Tha’s how ya knew…”

Your soft laugh made his stomach quiver slightly though he did not miss the yawn you tried to smother.

“Ya been workin’ late a lot, cher?” He prompted softly, vigilant to your surroundings but so far, the streets were quiet.

“Mm.” You nodded slowly before sighing. “Seems the Chief Nurse before me was not such a fan of paperwork. Maude was a fantastic leader, we’re lucky to have her as the Assistant Director of Austria base, but if I had known what was awaiting me in that office…well I’d probably have asked to help her more when I was her assistant.”

He felt you tug on his arm and looked down to you quickly to see you pointing across the street to a modest apartment building.

“We’re quartered here.”

Eugene nodded and led you across the street as you fished for the keys in your bag. He couldn’t help but notice that you were in fact only a few blocks from the German hospital where Grant was still undergoing surgery. He said another silent prayer to guide the hands of the surgeon to success as you led him up to the building entrance.

A pair of sharp cries cut through the night, making the both of you freeze briefly.

“Hey!”

“Stop right there!”

The voices were still a block or so away, but belonged to men that Eugene knew a well as his own family.

“Inside cher, now.” He said quickly, pulling you toward the building.

“Second floor.” You uttered quickly and he pushed you up the stairs front of him, hands on your hips as he could hear the voices of Talbert and Malarkey growing closer, accompanied by footsteps splashing through puddles and the rumble of a jeep engine close behind.

You stopped at an apartment door and Eugene noted your struggle to line the key with the deadbolt, gently but firmly taking it from you to unlock the door and push you inside. He was quick to close and lock the door behind him, wanting you nowhere near the drunken madman who had already killed at least two people tonight. He heard you take a breath as you turned back toward him and he gently covered your mouth with his palm, shushing you softly as he listened for further noises from the street below.

They sounded as if they were right outside, their voices rising up through the stairwell as his wide eyes bored directly into yours.

“Yeah, that’s him!”

“Get in the jeep you son of a bitch.”

The sound of the engine faded off into the night and Eugene waited a full minute before lowering his hand from your mouth, the only sound remaining being the pounding of his heart in his ears. He heard you suck in a breath, the only warning he was afforded before your lips collided with his. He stumbled slightly, startled a moment, before the adrenaline in his veins was transformed into white hot desire. His hands clutched at your lower back, pulling you tightly against him as he blindly stumbled toward the doorway he had glimpsed upon entering your apartment.

He felt your body impact with something behind you and pulled back from your lips quickly to see he had backed you into the kitchen table. He felt you rise up onto your toes, seemingly intent on sitting on the tabletop and his hands quickly seized your hips, aiding you in your efforts by hoisting you the last bit of distance. He could not help the smirk that graced his features as you gasped at his strength; hard-won through years of training and carrying wounded from the battlefield. His mouth quickly returned to yours, shuddering as your tongue met his eagerly, your fingers once more burrowing into his hair.

Eugene’s lungs began to ache from a lack of oxygen and he reluctantly pulled back from your lips only to begin trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your throat. Your shaky exhale filled his ears as your fingers began to tug at the buttons of his OD jacket, sending his own in search of the same on your cardigan. As he pushed the fabric out of the way, he slid his hands along your sides, sucking at the hollow of your throat, exhaling hotly against your skin as you parted your legs for him.

“Cher…” He rasped against your skin, gulping at the whimper that fell from your lips as he stepped closer, nestling between your thighs.

Your body felt so hot against him, even through his ODs and wool trousers, he was helpless not to press as tightly to you as possible, not even leaving a hairsbreadth of space. Your fingers curled into the front of his wool shirt, hips bucking against his slightly as you whimpered again.

“Gene!” Your gasped and he kissed you fiercely as his lower abdomen grew heavy with arousal, blood rushing to his already hardening length as he rutted against you obligingly.

The moan that rattled from your throat into his mouth had his head swimming, his baser instincts immediately taking over, demanding he do anything and everything to draw that sound from you again and again. His hands shifted to grip your thighs, pulling your body even tighter to his as he continued to move against you, delighting in your repeated cries of pleasure which he devoured hungrily. He barely noticed your persistence against the buttons of his uniform shirt until he felt your hands sliding around his torso with only the thin barrier of his undershirt separating your skin, a groan falling from his lips as he tore them from yours.

“Merde.” He hissed, screwing his eyes shut against the salaciously delicious friction between your bodies.

“Mm! I know that one…” You giggled breathily against his neck before your lips were on his skin, making his hips rock sharply against yours.

“Feel so good, cher.” He groaned again, hands shifting beneath the hem of your dress, beneath the hem of your slip, to find the bare skin of your thighs. Quite possibly the softest thing he’d ever touched.

“Yes, Gene.” You whined against his kiss-dampened skin. “Don’t stop.”

He grunted in agreement, fingers tracing higher to grip your hips, increasing the friction yet again as he rutted his fully hard cock against your underwear. The moan that fell from your lips contained an almost anguished tone and he had to grit his teeth against the desire to climax at just the sound of it. Your fingers were digging into his back through the cotton of his undershirt, hips echoing every motion of his as his fingers delved past the edge of your underwear to curl into the soft flesh of your buttocks.

“Oh god Gene I’m…” You panted, head rolling back, and he nodded vigorously, eyes latching onto your face, desperate to watch you fall apart in his arms.

Eugene had long been convinced that you could do everything with grace, and you once again proved his assumption correct as your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, your mouth falling open to emit a soft wail of pure ecstasy. Burying his face against your neck, he cursed harshly as his hips bucked sharply, all sense of rhythm and control abandoning him as his orgasm immediately overtook him. Sliding one hand out from beneath your skirt to brace against the table lest he collapse onto you, he smiled sheepishly as you grinned up at him, your lower lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sorry, Gene…” You murmured, running your hands along his back soothingly, your chests brushing against one another as you both struggled to catch your breath.

He shook his head quickly and then tensed. “Do ya….are ya the only one billeted in he’e?” He glanced back toward the hallway, suddenly aware of how much noise the pair of you had made.

Your bright peal of laughter caught his attention, and he turned back to you quickly.

“You ask me that now, Gene?!” You teased, gripping the back his neck to pull him down for a lazy kiss as he huffed a laugh against your lips in reply. “No, just me. Chief Nurse perk.”

He relaxed with a nod, straightening slowly as his legs finally felt like solid muscle and bone once more.

“The washroom is just down the hall if you wa–”

“Be my wife.” The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.

He had intended to make more of a spectacle of it. Hell, he had intended to have a ring to put on your finger. But the way you were looking up at him now with glossy eyes still hazy with pleasure, crinkled at the corners as you smiled his favorite smile to date – he was helpless to hold them back.

Eugene held his breath as he watched your eyes widen, your mouth drop open, as his unexpected statement hung in the air.

“Are you…proposing to me Eugene Roe?” You exhaled and he gulped roughly.

“I understand if ya don’ wanna marry me, I still have ta go ta tha Pacific an’…”

“How could I say no, Gene, when I was born to be yours.” You eyed him softly but there was something about your words, and the way your lips were twitching with mirth, that tugged at the back of his brain.

“Cher are ya quotin’ Vera Lynn again?” He huffed and grimaced playfully at your answering laugh, yet felt his heart begin to beat double time as your hands cupped his cheeks and your expression grew serious.

“Eugene Roe, I would love to be your wife.” You nodded firmly and sealed your acceptance with a firm kiss that made his heart soar.

-------------------------

Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @phyllisthefirst, @footprintsinthesxnd, @she-wolf09231982

[thetomorrowshow]

Okay so basically I have posted 100 fics on ao3!! Wow!!! Anyways here's the top five wips that could be posted as number 101 pls vote ty

Explanations of each one under the cut!

1. Jimmy goes through some really traumatic stuff and turns to terrible coping methods. I'm really proud of this one and excited to start posting it! super angsty though. Heavy themes of s/a and addiction. ~35k words. M. Title: oleander

2. Jimmy goes missing and shows up on hermitcraft a year later - but he can't remember anything of his life before. Joe Hills takes him in! ~65k words. T. Working title: yranac

3. What more can I say. The final part of the trust au is here! There will be short stories (and a sequel???) to follow, but this wraps up the main storyline. ~7k words. T.

4. Jimmy and Scott are well-adjusted and happy now - until some mysterious force starts amplifying the powers of everyone in the city, causing serious problems - in both Scott's control and his relationships. ~40k words (i don't really remember how long it is tbh). T

5. This fic is my pride and joy, and i'm so sad i've barely written anything in it. College au where Scar falls madly in love with a beautiful woman at the bar - who doesn't let him know that she is, in fact, Grian from his study group. No word count and no working title because i am only like two chapters in. T

I think the vote would be fun but i may not listen to it in the end and choose what i want, but it very well could influence my decision!!

[vodika-vibes]

Hi! You posted about maybe writing a scorch fic and wanting an idea, so what about something like retired medic reader who finds scorch after he got shot a bunch of times and fell of a cliff, and they are kind of like “well i not really doing anything” so they take him home where they get to know each other better and then join the clone rebellion as like a way to make amends for all the stuff he did (whether he had a choice or not) when working with hemlock?

Obviously you dont even have to consider this idea, I’m sure whatever you write will be awesome!

Have a great day!

I'm Retired

Summary: You’re a retired military medic. Formerly the medic of the 101st Battalion under Pong Krell, you were forced into early retirement when the Jedi mutilated your leg after you threatened to report him to the Jedi Council for his actions during the war. So you did. You left the Republic and settled on a planet far from the core, bought a dog, a cabin in the woods, and a droid to help you manage everything. The last thing you ever expected was to see a clone again. Still, Fate can be funny in some ways.

Pairing: Pre Clone Commando Scorch x F! Reader

Word Count: 1778

Warnings: None

Tagging: @bad4amficideas @justiceandwar98 @Mira-Loves-Star-Wars @tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstarar @trixie2023 @kimiheartbladeartblade @padawancat97 @falconfeather23435

@etod @n0vqni

A/N: You sent me this idea and it had me in a death grip, so I had to write it! Thank you~

Join my taglist HERE

Life is change. 

Babies change into toddlers, who change into children, who then change into teenagers, and then adults. 

It’s just a fact of life.

Life is change.

And no matter how much you might hate it, you have no choice but to accept it.

Still, your life has been pretty steady since you were forced out of the GAR several years ago.

Not stagnant, because that suggests that you haven’t been improving your home, or yourself, in the last couple of years. But stable. Your cabin is now, wholly, self-sufficient. You don’t need to rely on anyone for food, water, or seeds to grow more food.

Your greenhouse is thriving, as are your animals. And you really only need to visit the local village when you need clothes or other specialty goods that you can’t be assed to make yourself.

This morning, however, you don’t have to go to the village, or to the larger city that is several hours away. 

No, this morning you’re taking the dogs (Burrito, Taquito, and Chorizo) on a nice long walk. It’s a nice day, after all, and the dogs have been cramped in the yard for the last couple of days since the massive storm rolled through several days ago.

You drop your whistle around your neck, so you can call the dogs back to you, and then you open the gate to allow the dogs to tear out of your yard. You trail after them at a much slower pace, sure that they’ll come back to you if you call for them.

Besides, you can’t run anymore anyway.

You trail after the sound of barking dogs, taking your time, though you soon realize that the dogs are leading you toward the lake. You can’t help the sigh that falls from you, at least one of the dogs is going to need a bath if they decide to go swimming.

You start walking a little faster, hoping to stop them before they get into the water, but by the time you arrive at the shore of the lake, all three dogs are in the water.

Unusual.

Taquito hates water.

It’s about that moment that you notice that Chorizo, the largest of the three dogs, is dragging a person. And your heart drops into your stomach. Even from a distance, you can recognize Kartan-class armor.

You lift your comm to your lips, “Peabody, I need you to bring the emergency gurney and the speeder to the lake. Quickly.” You drop the comm back into your pocket after your droid gives his confirmation and your hands curl into fists.

You’re retired. You should bring him to the village doctor to take care of.

Chorizo drags the clone to the shore and the three dogs pull him onto dry land. You see the blaster burns on his armor and you painfully drop to your knees next to him, swiftly removing his helmet to check for a pulse.

His pulse is weak, but it’s there.

Swiftly you remove the rest of his armor, dropping the pieces on the sand next to you as you remove each piece, and then you cut off the top of his blacks. 

Judging by the damage to his armor, he was shot and then fell from a high distance…the mountain most likely, if you had to guess.

But even so, he’s incredibly lucky.

If he had been wearing standard clone armor he’d be dead.

Kartan-class armor is a step above what normal clones wore, after all. More expensive, too.

You hear the speeder pull up, and the sound of Peabody setting up the emergency gurney, and then he’s at your side, helping you back to your feet, before easing the clone onto the gurney and loading him back into the speeder.

You pick up his armor and set it in the backseat, with the dogs, and then climb into the passenger’s seat with a heavy sigh. So much for your retirement.

Oh well. It’s not like you were doing anything anyway.

Scorch wakes up from, what feels like, a very long nightmare.

He doesn’t open his eyes as he wakes, though. For the first time in, what feels like, years he’s not in any pain. His head isn’t aching, and he feels like he’s in control of his body, rather than a passenger.

He’s warm, and lying on a soft bed, and the room he’s in smells like fresh bread…and if this is a dream, he’s not ready to wake up.

And then something cold presses against his hand, and his eyes snap open.

Scorch turns his head to the side and blinks at the black and white dog peering up at him. It whines and bumps Scorch’s hand with his nose again, and without really thinking about it, he lifts his hand and pets the dog on the head.

There’s the sound of heavy footsteps, and slowly Scorch sits up as the door slides the rest of the way open and a woman appears in the doorway. She blinks at him, seemingly unsurprised to see him awake, and then she enters the room properly.

There’s a tray of food floating next to her.

“That’s Taquito,” She says, “He’s a herding dog, and knows he’s not supposed to be in here.”

“He’s a good boy,” Scorch notes, awkwardly.

She smiles at him, it’s a nice smile, “He is. He’s trained as a service dog, I guess that he popped in here because you needed him.” Slowly she sinks into a chair, a pained grimace on her face. That’s about the time he notices the leg brace wrapped around her leg.

“I didn’t mean to take your service dog from you,” Scorch says immediately.

She looks surprised and then shakes her head. “Chorizo is my mobility support dog, but he’s outside right now. I rarely need him in the house.” Lightly, she pushes the tray towards him, “Here, food.”

“Thank you,” Scorch accepts the tray and eagerly picks up a piece of toast, “I’m Scorch, by the way.” He adds, before taking a bite.

She introduces herself and then settles back to watch him eat. “I am, was, a medic for the GAR.” She adds absently. “For the 101st.”

Scorch pauses, “That battalion was wiped out, Doc”

Doc’s smile is slightly bitter, “That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” She then waves her hand, “Anyway, you’re in pretty good shape, all things considered.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re lucky that you have Kartan armor though.” She points out, “If you had any other type of armor, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Or any conversation, for that matter.”

Scorch grimaces, “That close?”

“Yeah, that close.”

“Alright, so how am I?”

“You have scars,” Doc motions to his chest, which now has a lot more starburst scars on it, “Though the majority of the damage came from the fall, you were little more than a bruise for well over two weeks.”

“Well, at least nothing broke?”

“You got lucky.” She repeats, “It’s a miracle that nothing broke. My guess is that you were unconscious when you fell so you didn’t tense up to cause more injuries.”

“...what?”

“Like, when a drunk driver gets into an accident and walks away unharmed.” Doc explains.

“Oh, right.”

She pauses and lightly taps her lower lip, “You weren’t awake to consent to it, but you needed brain surgery.”

“I did?”

She motions to a small jar sitting on the side table, a jar that he didn’t notice until that moment, “I pulled that from your brain. Resting on your brain, rather than in it. I thought, maybe, it was shrapnel at first, but shrapnel doesn’t generally stop and settle on the brain.”

Scorch picks up the small jar and lifts it so he’s able to look at the small piece of metal, “It looks like a computer chip.”

“It does.”

“I had a chip on my brain?!”

Doc gazes at him, consideringly, “It does answer a lot of questions.”

“It does?”

“Questions like, why would the clones turn on their Jedi, en masse, when they’ve been so loyal to them for three years?”

Scorch doesn’t say anything for a moment and then he drops the jar back on the table, “I spent the last year or so feeling like I was a passenger in my own body. No matter how much I tried, I had no control over my actions. Do you think…do all of my brothers have one of these?”

“Probably.” She crosses her arms, “I have to admit, the Emperor did come up with an excellent way to remove the Jedi from the galaxy.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because I’m not blind or dumb.” She counters, “Honestly, the Jedi played right into his hands. As soon as they agreed to fight in his war, they lost. It’s so…dumb.”

Scorch falls silent, and his hands curl into fists as he pushes the hover tray away from him, “I killed kids.”

Doc is quiet for a moment, “It’s not your fault.” She finally says.

“It doesn’t matter, I still did it. I pulled the trigger. I killed them.”

“You weren’t in control of your own body.”

“You think that’s going to be any comfort to the families of the kids I killed?” Scorch asks.

She averts her gaze for a moment, and then meets his gaze steadily, “Okay, so what do you want to do?”

“...there has to be some way for me to make amends.”

“Are you looking to make amends, or are you looking to punish yourself?” Doc asks.

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

“No. Not at all.”

“I guess…both. I want to do both.”

Doc rests her chin on the palm of her hand, “I suppose I can make a couple of calls, reach out to some old friends. See if there’s a place for you in the rebellion.”

“...just me?”

“I’m retired.”

Scorch picks up the jar holding the chip and shakes it in front of her, “I can tell.”

She scowls at him, “I took an oath, I wasn’t about to let you die.”

Scorch just shakes the jar a little more.

“Fine! Fine.” She stands with a wince, “I’ll find out if there’s a place for us and the dogs in the rebellion, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. No one wants a half-crippled medic.”

“I do!”

“Eat your damned breakfast, you jackass!”

“Thank you, Doc!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

Scorch watches her limp from the room and then focuses on his meal again, a small grin on his face. Maybe, with her help, he’ll be able to find his pod brothers. Even if she’s going to complain the whole time.

[alastorsbookie10228]

HIII :)) i saw ur post saying that u wanted requests yk for fics, and i have one:)

i'm currently sick rn and i feel so freaking bad i'm fr dying 😭 like everything hurts omgg and i was hoping for like a sick comfort fic from specifically angel dust since he's my fav hazbin character i love him sm he's so pretty oh my goodness 😭❤️

but yeah, if ur okay with writing that can u pls?? thank u so so much and i read some of your work and OH MY GOODNESS YOURE AN AMAZING WRITER!!! like ahhhhh! but yeah. and if u can can u pls make it gender neutral?? if not then u can js make it wtv ur comfortable with:) thank you ! :)

Fluffy comfort

Angel Dust x sick!gn!reader

(omg stop ur so sweet ahhh!!! i'm so happy ppl read my work!!!)

the hotel was awfully quiet this afternoon...a little too quiet. a bored Angel Dust sat at Husk's bar, head held in his upper set of hands as he sighed for the 100th time that hour.

"just go check on reader, Angel. we're all worried, but i'm sure they're okay!" Charlie said and placed a hand on Angel's shoulder. a 101st sigh left Angel's mouth as he stood up.

"yeah, you're right. i'll go check on 'em."

with that, Angel was ascending the stairs.

you were curled up in a mess of blankets with a warm Fat Nuggets in your arms. you coughed for what felt like the trillionth time that day and threw another dirty tissue into the trash bin by Angel's vanity. a cold chill ran through your body as you shook slightly, curling more into the fetal position and snuggling Fat Nuggets more, which didn't seem like an issue to the snoring pig.

a knock was heard at the door. "hey baby, it's me, Angel." you heard, responding with a raspy groan, worsening the condition of your already raw throat. you heard the door creak open and saw the line of light from the door, contrasted with the tall shadow of the spider demon.

"oh, toots...what happened, baby?" Angel walked over to you and placed his hand against your forehead. "christ, you're practically on fire! hold on, let me get you a cold rag and some soup!" Angel quickly rushed off, leaving you a trembling mess and clutching onto the snuggly pig.

minutes later, Niffty swung the door open, still latched onto the knob as it swung open with no intentions of letting go. Angel walked in with a tray of food and a sorrowful look in his eyes.

"don't worry, baby. i'll take care o' ya!" Angel sat on the bed beside you and put the cool rag on your forehead. he sat you up and helped you eat your soup and drink your tea, smiling softly when you thanked him.

"it's no problem, sugar. Angie's gonna tend to ya no matter what." Angel smiled and laid down beside you, pulling you onto him and running his hands up and down your back.

"sleep, baby. i won't go no where. promise."

and you drifted off.

and what are the odds that you get to return the favor the next day because you woke up rejuvenated while Angel woke up with a fever of 104ºF and a raw throat.

[pookielious]

How do you guys like end a fic ??😭😭 like I can't ever seem to do a good ending I swear like that's the only thing stopping me as of now for dropping more fics

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Love and War

Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter

Synopsis: Bob Floyd never expected to fall in love during the war, especially not with a pretty, young nurse during basic training. But love works in funny ways and can their love stand the rest of time, the war and the distance that separates them. Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ardennes Offensive - Bastogne December 1944

On the silver screen, John Wayne dressed in his Naval whites and Marlene Dietrich conversed, their figures dancing across the cracked wall as the projector shone the bright light onto it. Bob’s eyes followed the moving pictures thoughtlessly, his mind too busy with the prospect of a weekend with his wife. (Y/n) was currently stationed at a hospital near Paris, to Bob’s great relief. It meant that she was safe, she was reasonably out of harm's way. Miller and Jackson sat on either side of him, both their eyes trained on the makeshift movie screen.

“This film sucks, I’ve seen it before,” Jackson grumbled, earning a harsh shhh from the paratroopers in front of him. Jackson snapped his mouth shut, sinking into his chair with a pout on his young face. The lights above their head flickered on, the movie coming to a stop as two Lieutenants marched down between the aisles of chairs, ignoring the protests gc from the men. Lieutenant Nelson, who had been sat to the left of Bob, had his lips set in a hard, thin line, eyebrows furrowed as if he knew the impending doom that was going to be thrust upon them.

“Elements of the 1st and the 6th Panzer division have broken through in the Ardennes forest. Now they have broken through the 28th infantry and elements of the 4th. All officers report to respective HQs, all passes are cancelled.” A loud eruption of complaints filled the hall, all cursing, swearing, and praying to god. Bob felt his heart sink into his stomach, feeling the letter he'd written to y/n nestled in his breast pocket, waiting to be sent. He’d been relieved to see her again in Paris, while the other men were excited to blow some cash all he wanted to do was hold her close and know that for just that moment she was safe.

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The trucks tumbled along the dark roads, rocking back and forth over potholes and shaking the paratroopers that occupied them. The men huddled together in a desperate attempt to share their warmth, the frigid conditions caused a domino effect of shivers. Bob’s breath fanned across his face, icy droplets freezing nearly in mid-air and casting a mist over his face with each exhale. One man was passing a cigarette around, each man taking a long drag before passing it on to the next, the warm smoke filling their lungs, creating a small sense of comfort. The convoy shuddered to a halt and the soldiers hopped out, Bob suppressed a cry as his frozen feet hit the already-frozen ground. Thick snow poured over the edge of his boots, dampening his socks and causing him to shudder. Around them small fires appeared as fellow soldiers poured petrol into holes, lighting them to add some warmth to the glacial landscape, small furnaces of hope amongst the dismay atmosphere.

“I’m freezing my ass off already,” Jackson grumped, digging his hands deeper into his ODs pockets.

“You and me both,” Albert replied, teeth chattering uncontrollably. Bob just hummed in response, too cold to even find a reply.

“Let’s get moving. We’re in for a cold one, Boys.” Captain Nelson called out, ushering the paratroopers forward.

“But Sir, we’re gonna be surrounded.” A replacement private called out, his uniform new and shiny and he looked youthful, fresh-faced which is something many of the young men had lost.

“We’re paratroopers son, we’re meant to be surrounded.”

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Bright crimson seeped through the once-white crisp sheets, spreading the red stain deep into the fabric. The sheets that just moments before had held a soldier fighting for his life, as (y/n) worked tirelessly to stop the fountain of blood surging from his artery as the medic placed clamps in an attempt to stem the bleeding. It had been so pointless really to try and save him, he was long gone before he reached the medics' tent, his blood strewn across the crisp, white snow outside, but if you don’t try then you don’t know. Each of these men had fought in honour of their country and this man deserved to die safe and somewhat warm rather than in a foxhole in the dark somewhere. Or that’s what she told herself, gathering up the bloody sheets that had dried brown and crispy.

Screams of pain filled the aid station and (y/n) tried her best to block out the agonising wails of the men she passed, as if she could not hear them, as if it were a silent theatre production. When she first arrived in the field she had been left shaken and terrified, but as (y/n) worked and gained confidence as a nurse she grew used to the screams, the agony, the thick iron scent that filled her nostrils and the blood that dried sticky to her hands, the never-ending death that surrounded everyone.

The rain had started about half an hour ago and it echoed above her head on the canvas sheet, much softer than the gunfire just hours before. The sound of shelling in the distance and the occasional flash of gunfire reminded (y/n) of just how close to the battlefield she was, and as she stepped outside the scene of bloodshed continued. The battlefield lay quiet, for it was now a graveyard of the unburied. Their corpses lay among the debris of the battle, deep craters littered the area and the ground was slick with rain and blood. A bitter wind swept across the clearing, causing her to shiver, gritting her teeth as she walked along the risen, wooden platforms to the wash tent. (Y/n) abandoned the bloody sheets with one of her fellow nurses, (y/n) didn’t think she’d be able to remove the stains, but knew she would try. They were running low on supplies, so stained sheets were better than nothing.

(Y/n’s) dress blew around her ankles as she walked back to the aid station, the night would be long and with the continued shelling she knew more casualties would be arriving soon. Taking a moment to stop outside the tent, she leaned against the large wooden pole that supported the air station and sighed. Closing her eyes, she took a moment to breathe in the cold night air, placing a hand on her chest so she could feel the frantic beat of her heart beneath her fingers. Her ragged breaths let out steamy puffs of air into the darkness, rising above her like the smoke from the various fires dotted around the battlefield. (Y/n) moved to the left as another group of soldiers approached the aid station, carrying a wounded comrade between them. She could tell from the way he hung limp in their arms, face pale that he was dead but they hurried past her, fear evident on their faces, but the hint of hope in their eyes driving them forward.

She looked out across the scene of devastation, eyes drifting over the fallen soldiers, discarded weapons and rubble. Her eyes drifted to a figure that was hovering in the tree line, he took a seat beside one of the trees, his back hitting the tree with a thud as he slid down the bark to plant himself by the roots. His shoulders sagged and he was bent over, cradling his head in the palms of his hands. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d last seen Bob since he’d last held her in his arms since he’d last kissed her. It had been just two months since their wedding and yet it felt like years had passed. When she was first stationed in Bastogne (y/n) knew he was close by and dug in a foxhole somewhere in the Ardennes but to actually see him in front of her made her heart sore and she felt lightheaded.

When they had first met, his blond hair had been neatly parted and gelled down, silver framed glasses balanced on his nose, but now his face was weathered, covered in grime and blood, his blond hair in disarray and his glasses long since broken or lost. His once clean uniform was now scruffy and worn and the ‘screaming eagle’ insignia was barely visible under the layers of dirt. His helmet rested on the log beside him, the white spade emblem glowing against its dark background. (Y/n) pushed herself away from the tent and followed the wooden pathway towards the woods. The path didn’t follow the whole way to the trees and soon she was trudging through the copper-coloured mud, her boots slipping and sliding as she tried to keep her balance.

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Bob sat on the fallen tree, silently cursing the cold, cursing East Company’s new commander, having had Nelson promoted they were stuck with an inexperienced Lieutenant, cursing the Germans, cursing the whole damn war. He swore under his breath as his frozen fingers caught against the rough tree bark. All of his cursing was silent or mere whispers, as first Sergeant it was his job to keep up the morale amongst the men, a job that was becoming increasingly difficult as they were bombarded with shelling every night. It was during those nights when Bob was huddled deep in his foxhole with Jackson that he thought of you. He longed to see (y/n) again, your wedding feeling like an eternity ago when neither of them had any care in the world, for those three glorious days it was just the two of them. It hit him hard and suddenly - with a deep ache in his chest. He seemed to long for her more now than he ever had before. She had been his rock since Toccoa and now when times were at their toughest he craved her embrace.

Bob placed his hand on his chest, feeling (y/n’s) picture in his breast pocket, it was crumpled and worn, the corners curling over from the hours Bob had spent lovingly looking at her, running his thumb over her face. He needed a new picture, the one from his wedding day. He remembered the photographer telling them both to look at the camera and smile, as if they both weren’t beaming at each other, unable to drag his eyes away from his new wife. He would never forget how beautiful she looked, her makeshift wedding dress hugging her curves perfectly, her hair neatly pinned and her lips blessed with a splash of red lipstick. Bob let out a sigh, a small smile gracing his lips as his mind began to wander, too distracted to notice the approaching figure.

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Bob’s head whipped around as she approached, his shoulders tensed, his eyes scanning the darkness.

“Flash?” He called out, waiting for her reply to know if she was an ally or the enemy.

“Thunder,” (y/n) called out in reply, watching as Bob visibly relaxed as she replied with the correct countersign.

“Welcome,” he stood as she approached him, a wide smile gracing his lips, as she grinned back at him.

“Doll,” he cradled her face lovingly between his hands, running his thumb across her cheek so delicately as if she would crumble and disappear. (Y/n) knew he was trying to memorize her features like he did every time he saw her, it was as if he feared that each time would always be the last.

“Hey love,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she sunk into his embrace. His eyes raked over her frame, not in the hungry way that most of the men did but with a small smile. Her hand cradled the back of his neck, her fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck before pulling him down, her lips connected with his chapped ones. The kiss was tender yet passionate, full of the loving embrace that (y/n) had been longing for so long and that her letters just couldn’t convey. He pulled away briefly, his hot breath ghosting her skin bringing (y/n) back to the present as his lips began to press along her ear and neck.

“God, I’ve missed you.” He whispered, his blue eyes shining in the dim light with unshed tears.

“I missed you too, Bobby,” she swooped your thumb across his cheek, brushing away his tears. He pulled her down onto the log beside him, his arm wrapping tightly around her shoulders as he held her as if his life depended on it. Bob’s hand brushed over the stack of papers beside him, not daring to look down at them.

“What are you doing out here, Bobby?” (Y/n) asked, watching as his eyes drifted to the paper and pen in front of him, thumbing them between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m writing letters home.”

“Oh, are you writing to your family? How are they keeping? ” She grinned at him, she wanted a distraction, so to hear the odd story from home was always welcome. (Y/n) couldn’t wait to meet his family when all this was over and when they could escape this hell together.

“I’m writing letters to my fallen comrades’ families, I feel I owe them that much. The army sends them the same bullshit condolences letters, but they didn’t know them, not like I did. I knew each and every man, where they came from, their hobbies, they were my brothers,” his voice was thick with emotion and tears brimmed in his eyes, threatening to fall. “You know it’s Christmas soon, hell they’ll probably get these letters right before Christmas.”

“I know you did, Love, I know,” (y/n) let her fingers trace the grimy marks along his neck, trailing loosely along the metal chain of his dog tags.

She looked on slowly as Bob tried to compose himself.

“I understand your pain, I watch the soldiers come back from the front blown to pieces and littered with bullet holes. It is heart-wrenching, to hear their screams of agony. Time and time again they cry for their mothers, and I can’t help them.”

Bob placed his hand under her chin, lifting it so he could look into her eyes. His eyes held all the woes of the world, the pain, the devastation, the love.

He wrapped his large outer coat around her shoulders, trying to shelter her from the cold. (Y/n) let out a strangled sob, her hand fisting into his jacket.

Bob pressed his lips to her hair, murmuring softly. “Don’t you dare think you don’t make a difference? All the men that have been returned to my company after being cared for by you and your fellow nurses speak so highly of you. You bring them comfort in their time of need and you love them in their final moments. The calm you bring is a gift from God. Don’t ever think you don’t make a difference. I may be their brother but you are their angel in the darkest times. You're my angel.”

Bob poured his heart out to her, confessing his feelings as she watched him carefully for any sign of lie as he spoke, but his face never changed, his eyebrows knitted in a firm line, lips moving softly as he spoke.

“It is not a gift. God would not give so much pain,” (y/n) sniffed. “You know you’re kind of my angel too,” she rubbed her hand over her cheeks. “I’ve been blaming myself for so long, every man we lost, each death has stayed with me and I can’t keep it bottled up anymore.”

“You don’t have to, you don’t have to, Doll. I’m here just like you’re here for me. Please don’t ever blame yourself.” Bob cupped her cheek in his large hand, his rough, calloused thumb brushing against her soft skin.

“Then don’t blame yourself either, Bob. I’ve seen how you are with your men, you’d do anything for them.”

Bob nodded, a small smile gracing his chapped lips.

“Would you like some help writing those letters? I know I didn’t know your men that well, but I may have been with them at the end. I know what they said.” (Y/n) took Bob’s hand in hers, running her fingers delicately over his cracked knuckles and squeezing his hand comfortingly.

“I’d like that very much.” She huddled closer on the log, Bob pulled the bag of dog tags from his pocket, fishing out one at a time to go through the names.

With each name, (y/n’s) heart wrenched at the thought of their poor mothers, girlfriends and wives receiving the heartbreaking news. It made her think of her brother, he was in the Marines fighting in the Pacific Theatre. She wrote to him, telling him all about Bob and he couldn’t wait to meet him when all this was over, but the thought of receiving a letter like this for him or Bob only brought further tears.

She dreaded receiving a letter like that from Albert telling her that Bob was gone. (Y/n) couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to receive that doomed letter. Bob must have seen her worried expression because he took her face between his hands.

“I’m here, Doll and I’m not going anywhere. I love you,” he admitted, his eyes watching hers for any flicker of rejection but there was none. You smiled brightly at him, cupping his cheek and running your thumb over his lips. “I love you too.”

Bob pressed his lips to hers, his fingers stroking through her bloody, matted hair, as she held onto the collar of his uniform, gripping it in desperation. His tongue ran along her lips and she gave in, letting his tongue dance with her own. She only pulled away when they had both run out of air, an embarrassed smile on Bob’s lips, his cheeks tinted pink. “I’m so glad I married you.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. “I’m so glad I made you mine.”

She sighed at his words, eyes closed, imagining their future together, a house of their own, living normal lives, maybe they would have a dog, maybe they would have a baby.

“I can’t wait to start our lives together, Bobby.” She admitted and felt his lips press against her neck once more. She wanted to stay like this forever but her hand brushed against the papers on Bob’s lap and she realised that they had a lot of work ahead of them.

“Well we better get back to writing those letters hadn't we, 1st Sergeant,” she smiled at him, taking the pen and paper from his grip. He smiled back at her, as she used his ‘new’ rank. The last time she had seen Bob he’d completely forgotten to mention his promotion, too caught up in his newlywed bliss. It wasn’t until she received a letter from him several weeks later that she found out. (Y/n) was so proud of him, Bob had proved himself time and time again.

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Between them, there were 18 letters written and sealed, ready to send to the awaiting families. (Y/n) looked up at Bob to see a relieved smile on his lips. “I may not have been able to help them in life, but at least I can bring their families some comfort in grief.” She squeezed Bob’s hand gently before standing and straightening her dress.

“Well, I better be going back. My patients need me,” she smiled apologetically at Bob, but he just smiled back.

“Please don’t go,” Bob pleaded, his watery eyes glistening in the moonlight.

“I’ll come back, my love, I promise but I have to go now.” She rubbed her hand over his cheek once more before stepping away, following the muddy path back towards the aid station, where she was met with the sounds of agonised screams. Taking a deep breath before entering the tent, Bob’s words rang in her mind as she hurried down between the isles of beds towards the medics.

“HOLD HIM DOWN!” Albert Miller shouted as she wrapped her arms over the wounded soldier. “Give him morphine,” Albert instructed and (y/n) grabbed the shot, injecting the medication into the soldier's leg. He groaned in agony, but slowly his movements slowed and he looked up at her, teary-eyed and with a toothy grin, “Are you an angel?” He asked, his voice weak as he feebly attempted to reach out to her.

“I am, Sweetheart, and I’m going to look after you.” He gazed up at her in awe, his eyes slowly closing as the morphine took effect. The medics began to work on his wound as (y/n) cradled his hand for a moment longer. She was going to look after him and Bob was right, to these men she was an angel.

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[softspeirs]

on leave

A/N: Obviously this goes without saying that there's almost no historical basis for this interaction to happen, except that there's a brief window of time in the late summer of 1943 where Easy and The 100th could have interacted... but that's why I love fanfiction. Thanks to @basilone for enabling me. Meet my BoB OC Kat Gray. You can learn more about her in Barren Soul. No pairing for this fic except a hint at something if you take a cue from Bucky Egan.

"You know, it's nice that the Airborne finally decided to show up." Bucky says, tilting his head and gesturing with his glass.

They've been back from Africa for two days, and the brass decided everyone could do with some leave. They've got a few days in London while the new replacements arrive, and it seems that half the units in the US Army had the same idea.

This pub in particular is packed with soldiers, airmen, and civilians alike.

Next to him, Cleven and DeMarco share an aggrieved look.

"What?"

"Can you just--" Gale straightens his jacket, leans in, "--try not to start a fight? For once?"

"Don't count on it." Bucky grins.

A roar from the corner of the room grabs their attention, and they shift on their barstools to watch how the game of darts is getting on. There's a new addition to the roster, Bucky notices.

"You're a cheat!" A man says, and the woman in question raises her eyebrows.

"When have you ever known me to be dishonest?"

"The last time you gave me stitches and told me it wouldn't hurt."

She rolls her eyes. "That was an accident, and you're too sensitive, Luz."

"Interesting." DeMarco says under his breath. "You ever heard of a woman in the paratroops?"

Buck smirks. "What, you haven't read the papers? Experimental unit."

"Any girl who can jump out of a plane is alright in my book." Bucky says, as he takes another gulp of his drink, "Probably a little crazy, but alright."

They interrupted by a First Lieutenant who looks like he's already had a few, but all the same, he squeezes in on the other side of Benny, signaling the bartender. "Majors, Captain." He says, two fingers at his temple in half-hearted salute.

"You with the Airborne?" Bucky asks, louder to be heard over the band.

"101st."

"100th Bomb Group." Buck says, holding out his hand to shake. "Gale Cleven. This is Major John Egan and Captain Benny DeMarco."

"Lewis Nixon." The man says, a few pints set down in front of him by the bartender. Nixon looks up in thanks and then turns back to the men in front of him. "100th Bomb Group... you're flying B-17s, right?" He whistles. "I wouldn't know what to do with a plane like that."

"Jump out of it, probably." Bucky says.

"Nix--" a female voice interrupts them, "Need a hand?"

The woman in front of them is brunette, her hair tightly pinned and tucked beneath a garrison cap. Bucky instantly straightens, grin firmly in place.

"I wouldn't." Nixon mutters, giving Bucky a look out of the corner of his eye. Turning to the woman, his face softens a fraction. "This is Corporal Kathryn Gray."

Introductions are made, and Bucky can't help himself. "What's a girl like you doing with an outfit like this?"

Her eyes narrow, and he gets the feeling he's put his foot in it, though he was just trying to be funny.

"A girl like me?" She asks, her tone neutral, but that steel look in her eyes. "What am I like?"

"Christ." Nixon mutters, running his free hand over his face.

"What?" Gray asks. "Just making conversation."

"Just starting trouble, more like."

"Funny," Buck says. "We just had a similar conversation. He elbows Bucky in the ribs.

"All good over here?" Another Lieutenant appears, this one shorter, eyes hard. His reddish hair and sharp jaw make him stand out among the rest of the group, but Bucky's not stupid enough not to notice the way they're all glancing over to the bar, prepared to close ranks if needed.

He holds his hands up. "Just fine, Lieutenant--"

"Welsh."

Benny interrupts, ever the peacemaker. "Gray, what line of work you in? We were reading about the women paratroops in the paper the other morning."

She turns to Benny with a smile, and Bucky frowns. He had asked the same question! Well, he asked it his way, and Benny has that unassuming way of talking. Even though they're both from the Midwest, somehow Bucky just doesn't come off as disarming as his friend from Chicago.

"Medic," she says proudly.

"Tough job." Buck says quietly, though his lips are quirked to show he means no harm. "What made you go that route?"

"Dad's a doctor. And I wanted to help." She says simply.

"Kat!" A loud voice bellows from across the room.

"Duty calls." She says dryly. "Majors. Captain." She looks back at her own Lieutenants. "Sirs." She says, but it sounds sarcastic. Bucky blinks in surprise at her tone.

Welsh and Nixon both grumble and roll their eyes, neither of them making any move to admonish her.

"She sure made that sound like an insult." DeMarco says.

"Word to the wise, in case you ever find yourself with a woman in your unit-- and you will, soon enough--" Nixon says, "She'll call you by your rank, but don't for a second think that means she takes you seriously or will listen to anything you say."

"And it's useless to try." Welsh says, and holds up his glass for Nixon to cheers.

"Sounds like my kind of girl," Bucky agrees under his breath, and gets another sideways glance from Nixon before he makes his excuses and heads off with Welsh, the both of them greeted with cheers, slaps on the back, and sounds of approval from their guys.

"He was right--" Buck says. "I wouldn't."

Bucky frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Over there." Buck tilts his head in the direction of the opposite corner of the room. At a table with one other man, there's another Airborne Lieutenant. Dark hair, darker eyes, and he's tracking Corporal Gray as she moves in the room.

"Huh." Bucky settles back into his seat, elbow on the bar behind him.

Buck turns around, chuckling when Bucky curses under his breath. "Better luck next time, Romeo."

Bucky watches as Kat Gray as she flits between her men, an easy smile on her face. They nudge her and crack jokes, and all bravado aside, he can see why she fits right in. These guys clearly care about her, and she about them.

She shows it with a quick touch to one mans arm as she leans behind him to talk to someone else, as she winks at another guy who rolls his eyes and nudges her in the arm as he claims the seat on her right.

A half hour later, they're getting ready to clear out when Bucky sees her approach, an armful of empty glasses in tow. She sets them on the bar on the other side of him, and nods her thanks when he takes the last few from her hands.

"How long left on your leave, Major?"

"Just one more day. Then it's wheels up." He says, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Good luck." She says simply. "I can't imagine what it's like up there."

Bucky feels the smile slipping off his face, but he does his best to try to keep it up. He doesn't want to think about flying right now. He doesn't want to think about Curt, or Buck flying in on no engines, none of it.

"You take care on the ground and I'll do my best in the air, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

He can't help it, he laughs. At her confusion, he grins. "I have it on good authority that when you say sir, what you really mean is--"

"Don't finish that sentence," Buck says, amused. "Corporal. Have a nice night. Good luck."

"You two, Majors." She says, and then she's off, a Sergeant and Nixon waiting at the door for her.

He sees the Screaming Eagle on her arm as she goes, and he shakes his head. "Lady medic."

"You're gonna need a medic if you don't get to bed soon." Buck mutters. "Let's go."