#6th is officers and division heads

[eyeballcommander]

who’s the 4th in command?

Fourth on the chain of command is my lieutenants and various department heads.

Each lieutenant controls a legion and their respective sector, while department heads under my direct command manage a large or particularly vital department.

Although it's a bit more complicated with the science department. I've put them in charge of everything but weapon development because I'd rather take care of that myself.

[blurredcolour]

We'll Meet Again

[One-shot]

Eugene Roe x Nurse!Female Reader

Nine hours is all it takes for Eugene Roe to realize that his hesitance to share his feelings for you was completely misguided.

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

Author’s Note: The title of this fic is based off the song We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn (I recommend the version where she is accompanied by Sailors, Soldiers & Airmen of His Majesty's Forces). 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: 7578

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“Roe it’s not mine, I’m alright. Roe.” Eugene was vaguely aware of your voice as he pulled at your blood drenched field jacket, fingers fumbling slightly as he fought with the buttons before he was able to delve beneath, beginning to tug at your sweater and wool shirt, desperate to find where you were hit. “I’m fine, please…Eugene!” You grabbed his wrists forcefully, your blood-slicked fingers sliding against his skin, but it was enough to finally pull his attention to your face. “It’s not my blood, I’m alright.” You repeated gently as his eyes met yours and he exhaled at last.

He frowned anew as he lifted a hand to wipe at the splatter of arterial spray across your cheek, succeeding only in smudging the scarlet across your beautiful skin, marring it further. You sighed and gestured with your head to the SS officer laying on the table behind him, his now-unseeing eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling, the wound at his neck obviously the source of all the blood you wore.

You tugged at his left wrist, which you still held within your grasp, and he looked back to you quickly, following as you led him over to a bank of sinks at the back of the room. As you released him, he watched you grimace slightly at the sensation of the blood growing slightly tacky between your skin and his. You took both his hands in yours and gently began to wash them.

Eugene’s heart throbbed tenderly as he watched the warm water sluice pink before your fingers thoroughly coated his skin with soap then rinsed it clean. Looking up to you with a soft smile, he was reminded of the state of your face and quickly swiped it clean with his wet thumb, lips stretching hopelessly wider at your warm grin.

“Nine hou’s.” He sighed, jaw clenching as his chest constricted painfully, the terror and anguish he’d been desperately trying to hold at bay all day flooding back to him.

“What?” You asked, confusion painting your face and he swallowed roughly, having to fight to focus while standing in your presence after so many months apart.

“Ya were missin’ – a hostage – fo’ nine hou’s.” He pressed his lips together, struggling to hold back the depth and breadth of his feelings on the matter.

He watched you swallow and put on that brave smile you wore for the sake of soothing your patients. “It was just like any other nine hours, except there were German patients and machine guns.”

“Please don’ give me tha’ smile.” He muttered sadly. “Are ya really alrigh’?” He pressed, eyeing you meaningfully.

Your brow twitched, mouth opening, looking about answer his question when the door to the room opened and you stepped back to grab a towel, handing it to him. “I’m just fine, Roe, thank you for asking. The rest of the SS patients are through that door there.” You gestured, nodding to the latest arrival, Webster, who quickly went through to secure the next room with Liebgott hot on his heels.

Roe watched as you assumed your professional mantle, leading him into the room where seven SS men, prisoners now, were being looked after by the rest of the nurses that had been in your hospital convoy when the 6th SS Mountain Division had decided to take you all hostage to provide them with medical care in this abandoned nursing home near Juchen. The women immediately flocked to you for direction and Eugene realized that you now wore a silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia on your collar, promoted since he’d first met you that night in February of last year in Swindon.

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“These heels are killing me…” You muttered as you finally escaped the dancefloor to sit at the table next to Eugene’s, wedging yourself into the corner defensively.

He’d been watching you all night. Watching as trooper after trooper of the 506th from Able right through Item asked you to dance, barely giving you a moment to sit despite how tired you looked, behind that beautiful smile of yours, and how time and again you accepted, too polite to refuse.

“I’m surprised you didn’t wear your combat boots.” One of your tablemates teased.

A mischievous grin crossed your features and Eugene ducked his head as he found his lips twitching automatically in response to it. “Well, I would have except every time I upend the things, I still find sand from North Africa.”

A chorus of laughter flitted around the table and Eugene was convinced that yours was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, finding himself thoroughly annoyed when it was extinguished by a couple of men sidling over to pull a few of your fellow nurses onto the dancefloor again.

“What was it like…over there…” A timid voice piped up as the band began to play that Vera Lynn song the Brits were crazy about and Eugene risked a glance at your face as you addressed a young woman, she could not be much older than twenty, only the two of you remaining at the table.

“Well, Barbara,” You paused thoughtfully, eyes focusing on some distant memory, the hints of fatigue he’d seen lurking beneath your smile coming to the fore for a brief moment before you turned to your colleague with a reassuring warmth. “It’s exactly like they say it’ll be.” You nodded firmly.

The girl’s shoulders relaxed as she smiled in relief, nodding in renewed confidence as you each took a sip of your drink. Eugene swallowed, wishing he could hear your real thoughts on North Africa, not just the canned propaganda reels put together to show before the pictures, but the firsthand account of a medical professional. There was only so much training could prepare them for, and they all knew as soon as the weather was right, they were headed for France.

Despite the longing he felt to do so, Eugene did not ask you to dance that night. He drank a few beers and smoked more than a few cigarettes as you forced yourself onto the dancefloor three additional times before you and the youngest of your companions decided to call it a night. Eugene felt that was a sensible idea – the number of buses back to Aldbourne was growing increasingly limited by the hour.

As dictated by the blackout, clumps of people were walking on either side of the road with their flashlights pointed downward, barely lighting their way as vehicles with their headlights reduced to mere slits wended their way through the crowd of inebriated celebrants. Eugene could not help but feel like it was a recipe for disaster, but your laughter, like the peal of bells, pulled his attention from across the darkened street.

“It’s snowing!” You declared with a wonder-filled gasp, and he blinked up at the sky to feel the kiss of melting snowflakes on his cheeks, his breath curling and hanging in the notably colder air.

The peace of the moment was shattered as an unruly group of men from Fox company bolted across the road, trying to reach the same bus stop he was heading for, a drunken straggler not seeing the delivery van and unfortunately the driver not seeing him either – until it was too late. There was a squealing of tires, a ‘crash’ as the load within the van was displaced, and a sickening ‘crunch’ followed by a wail of pain. Eugene lunged into the street, surprised to find you already kneeling beside the victim as you looked him over.

“What’s your name, trooper?” You were smiling warmly, your colleague hovering behind you nervously as the driver had begun pacing anxiously.

“Robert Boye, Ma’am.” He replied through clenched teeth.

Unlike the calm look on your face, your hands were a flurry of movement, honing in on the compound fracture on the man’s leg, lifting your fingers into the slim beams of light to reveal blood from where the bone had broken through his skin. Eugene was already undoing his belt when you turned to him, and you graced him with a brilliant smile that had his adrenaline-fueled heart skipping a few beats.

“I’m a medic, Ma’am. Tourniquet?”

“On his thigh, please, trooper.” You nodded, shrugging out of your overcoat to drape over Boye. “We’re going to get you to a hospital, alright Robert. Just hold on.” Standing quickly, you walked over to the delivery driver though Eugene wasn’t able to hear your conversation as he finished checking over the man in the road, confirming there were no other apparent injuries.

“You’e from Fox company, righ’?”

“Yeah, that’s right…Easy?” He replied, shaking from the cold or shock – or both, most likely.

Eugene nodded in reply, lifting his eyes as the delivery driver raised his voice at you, the sound of crates and empty milk jugs hitting the sidewalk filling the night air.

“Ya crazy Yankee cunt, what in god’s name d’ya think yer doin’?!”

By then quite a crowd had gathered in the road, and the slur hurled your way had more than just Eugene’s hackles up. Undeterred, you stepped forward, looking the rude and careless man directly in the eye. “You’ve struck an innocent pedestrian and now you’re going to make it right, sir. Your cargo will be right where you left it.”

He returned the look coldly but seemed increasingly aware of the looming threat in the darkness about you, eventually huffing in agreement. You provided directions to a hospital Eugene recognized as the nearest American hospital, surely that was where you were stationed, before sending several men to help him load Boye into the back.

“Medic, please come with me?” You looked to him as you climbed into the van and Eugene nodded quickly, jumping into the back with you as you looked to the wide-eyed young woman standing at the curb, watching you in awe.

“Barbara, go back inside and find Fran. Get her to walk you home.”

“Y..yes Ma’am!” She nodded quickly before hurrying back toward the dance hall as the back doors of the van were closed, leaving the three of you in darkness as the van lurched into motion.

“Medic…” You huffed and introduced yourself properly before asking him his name.

“Eugene Roe, Ma’am.” He replied quickly, turning on his flashlight. He was rewarded once again with one of your heart-stopping smiles.

“Wonderful, you have a flashlight. Thank you. How’re you holding up Robert?” You turned your attention back to the patient, checking his pulse at his wrist, pressing a hand to his forehead – most likely to assess for temperature and perspiration.

“Hurts an awful lot, Ma’am.” He grunted as the van hit a rut and you nodded sympathetically, kneeling on the floor beside him in your dress uniform, balancing easily as the van wove its way through the crowd outside the dancehall with more care this time.

“Thank you very much for being so brave for me. Where are you from?”

“Yakima, Washington.”

“Tell me, Robert. If I were to visit Yakima, Washington what is the food I absolutely must try?” You asked, bracing yourself against the roof as the driver took a wide turn.

“My momma’s cherry pie, without a doubt. My father grows bing cherries. Best in the state. And then my momma makes the best pie you will ever eat in your life.” Robert replied with relaxed smile, conversation taking his mind off the pain in his leg.

“Cherry pie – that sounds positively heavenly. So, you grew up on a cherry farm?” Your practiced smile and encouragement prompted the injured man to ramble on about his childhood playing amongst the cherry blossoms, gorging himself on ripe fruit, and skiing in the mountains whilst you the pair of you subtly kept an eye on his wound and vitals. Ever vigilant for a sudden change in demeanour that might signify a head injury or internal bleeding – your patient management was effortless, and Eugene could only feel his affection for you growing.

He was admittedly a little disappointed when the van came to a stop, the flustered driver opening the doors as a duty nurse came outside and gasped to find the three of you in the back of the unassuming vehicle.

“I’ll be right back with a stretcher!” She called out before dashing inside, returning promptly with two orderlies to help load the injured Boye so he might be carted inside.

The pair of you rushed behind into the temporary hospital in a building that looked like it had begun its life as a warehouse of some kind. The shift Doctor appeared from down the hall, and you quickly provided all pertinent information related to treatment.

“Well, you two had best inform the MPs as well, before that driver disappears on us.”

“Yes, sir.” You replied quickly, shooting Eugene an apologetic look before leading him to the MP office at the front of the hospital to make your report, pulling your garrison cap from your head, reminding him to do the same.

You’d barely started your tale when the MP told you both to ‘take a seat’ and dashed out of the office to try and stop the driver and you looked to him with even more pronounced regret. “I’m so sorry, Roe, I’m sure you were just trying to get back to your billet.”

Your use of his last name undoubtedly came from place of professional courtesy, however a part of him ached with the longing to hear how your mouth might form his first name.

“Not at all, Ma’am.” He gestured for you to take one of the empty chairs, only sitting once you had sunk into it with a soft sigh.

“Thank you very much for your help. I was feeling quite adrift with no supplies but then the universe sent me you.” You smiled warmly and he swallowed thickly.

“Ya did all tha work, Ma’am, I was jus’ there.”

Shaking your head stubbornly, he frowned a little as he watched a small shiver roll through you, belatedly realizing your coat had long since vanished with Boye. He started to pull at the jacket of his dress uniform, and you lay a hand on his arm.

“I’m alright, just tired. Based on your accent, I’d say you need your jacket more than me.” You smiled teasingly and he huffed a laugh, looking down at his shoes briefly as he straightened his uniform before lifting his eyes to meet yours quickly.

“It was impressive, Ma’am, how ya stood up ta tha’ man.”

You looked to him earnestly then, not sugar-coating your expression, or your answer, as you had for Barbara. “If we don’t stand up for our patients, Roe, no one will.” You spoke with breathtaking sincerity and all he could muster in response was a firm nod.

The door banged open as the MP hauled the very man in question into the office, his expression going livid as he once again came face to face with you.

“Goddamn Yankee cunt.” He spat at you, making Eugene surge to his feet to stand in front of you protectively, the scent of liquor potent on the man’s breath as he brushed by his rigid frame.

“I’ll be right back to take your statements, one moment.” The MP muttered, putting the uncooperative driver in a back room.

“Could this night get any longer…” You whispered and pinched the bridge of your nose, making Eugene turn back to you.

“How long ya been in England?” He asked, trying your own trick of distraction on you as he resumed his seat.

“Hmm? Oh, landed two weeks ago, I guess. Thought a break from the heat would be nice, hasn’t been quite as quaint as I was led to believe.” You laughed softly and shook your head. “You?”

“Las’ Septembah.”

“Well, I bet you know all the best spots by now then, hmm?” You smirked and he shook his head with rueful smile but did not have the chance to elaborate on his lack of free time as the MP returned to finally take your full statements.

It was nearly two in the morning once all the paperwork was done, the driver of the van turned over to the local police while the MP summoned a subordinate to return the pair of you to your billets.

“See you in a few hours.” The nurse who’d first greeted the pair of you poked her head out of the doorway to the treatment room.

You laughed without much energy. “For sure, Betty. Thanks for your help.”

“You work weekends?” Roe asked quietly, offering a hand to help you into the back of the jeep and you nodded as he settled next to you.

“My days off are Monday, Tuesday.” He must have frowned visibly as you shrugged with a weary smile. “It’s alright, I was the last to arrive here and someone needs to do it.”

As you hugged your arms around yourself tightly in the open back of the vehicle, overcoat still nowhere to be seen, he shifted to try and block the wind with his body. As you shuffled closer, huddling against him slightly, he swallowed thickly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“You’re going to do great out there, Eugene Roe.” You smiled warmly, the vehicle pulling up outside a nearby shop with an apartment on the second floor.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He murmured quietly, taking a shaky breath as you climbed out of the jeep, pausing to wave at him from the curb.

He ought to ask to see you again, to write to you, something, but a part of him was reluctant to start anything he might not be able to see through with his future so very uncertain. He lifted his hand in return as the MP pulled out to drive him back to Aldbourne, regret immediately settling into his gut, leaving a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

Eugene was surprised when his belt arrived at his billet the following Thursday along with a note from you, once again thanking him for his assistance with Robert Boye’s care. You also assured him the patient was doing well and would be ‘fighting fit’ within a few months. He was impressed to see not a trace of blood on the woven fabric, indicating that you had obviously taken the time to clean it for him. Unable to stop the fond smile from unfurling on his features, he quickly hid the note in the pocket of his ODs as he heard Spina’s footsteps on the stairs.

“You coming to London this weekend, Gene?” He asked, sitting heavily on his bed in the corner and Eugene found himself shaking his head in return.

“Too much to do.” He replied vaguely, recalling one of the posters from the hospital hallway calling for blood donations.

“You’re missing out.” Spina teased in a sing-song voice, laying back on his bed once he’d taken off his boots.

The smile you greeted him with Saturday morning when he arrived to donate blood thoroughly convinced him otherwise.

“That’s very generous of you Roe, follow me, I’ll get you set up.” You turned to lead him past a few of the occupied beds and he nodded warmly to Boye as he looked up from a letter he was reading. “If you could take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve please, I’ll be right back with the supplies.” You said as you gestured to a cot, unfolding a privacy screen before turning to fetch the necessities.

Eugene complied, swallowing thickly as he watched the way your hospital dress swished around your hips as you walked away, quite frankly preferring this outfit to your dress uniform. Returning with a collection bottle, needle, and some tubing, you lifted his arm to search for a vein. He swallowed thickly at the goosebumps that rippled across his skin, able to smell the scent of soap lingering on you, the proximity nearly killing him.

“I never did ask, Roe, where are you from?” You glanced at him with your professional smile, fingers settling over their target in the inside of his elbow.

“Loosiana, Ma’am.” He murmured softly, watching you insert the needle so smoothly he barely felt more than a pinch before his blood began to fill the bottle in your hands.

“Louisiana.” You repeated warmly, eyes flicking between the bottle and his face, listening while monitoring the volume you were collecting. “Famous for Mardi Gras, yes?”

He nodded quickly. “Tha’s righ’, yes.”

“A lot warmer than England, hmm?” You chuckled and shook your head.

“Did ya get you’ jacket back?” He tilted his head. “Thank ya fo’ returnin’ ma belt.”

“I did, yes. And again, it was the least I could do.” Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you smiled this time, his heart swelling as he was becoming more skilled at discerning your real versus polite expressions. You pressed a piece of gauze over the needle before pulling it from his arm, the bottle now filled with the crimson fluid from his veins. “Could you apply pressure to that for me please?”

He nodded, fingertips brushing against yours as he took over, a jolt of electricity sizzling through him. Your eyes met his briefly before you turned back to the task at hand, and he could not help but wonder if you had felt it too. As you lay your fingers over his to lift the gauze and take a peek at the puncture in his skin, Eugene bit the inside of his cheek trying to maintain his composure. Replacing it with an adhesive bandage, you handed him a cookie to eat as you jotted down his information on the label on the bottle.

“Thank you aga–” Your gratitude was cut short by a loud crash over by the nurses’ station that had Eugene quickly on his feet though he noticed you barely reacted. “Sorry about that.” You sighed and urged him to sit back down with the gentle pressure of your palm on his shoulder. “I keep trying to fix that darn shelf, but the screws won’t stay in the wall.”

“Sorry!” Called a timid voice Eugene recognized as Barbara from last Friday’s dance and he looked up to you.

“I’d be happy ta take a look at it fo’ ya.”

You eyed him a moment, clearly weighing your desire to impose on him further. “Eat your cookie and then we’ll talk.” You ultimately said and he nearly inhaled the thing.

“I like fixin’ things.” He murmured once he’d swallowed, rolling down his sleeve and following you over to inspect the carnage Barbara had unleashed.

You helped her stack the last of the clipboards and manuals that were scattered across the floor onto the edge of the desk as Eugene looked over the shelf before eyeing the screws and finally the holes in the wall.

“You’ screws are stripped. Needs some new ones an’ maybe a few anchors.” He added as he eyed the weight of what you intended to store up there.

You worried your lip between your teeth for a moment before grabbing a key from the desk. “Maintenance room is this way, shall we see if they have what we need?”

He followed you down the hall and around the corner to a room that was no more than a glorified cupboard. You pulled the cord on the lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and he began rooting around, collecting tools in an empty toolbox before nodding to you to signal that he’d secured everything necessary.

“Don’t carry that with the arm I just took blood from please.” You reminded gently and he nodded again, walking back with you. “How can I help?” You tilted your head, nurse’s cap barely hanging on by the pins in your hair, presenting quite possibly the most adorable sight Eugene had ever seen.

“Could you an’ Miss Barbara hold tha shelf up fo’ me, please? Show me where ya’d like it?” He set the toolbox on the ground, grabbing the pencil he’d prepared as the pair of you positioned the shelf on the wall. He made a series of marks beneath it where he would drill new holes and marked the end placements. “Thank ya both, kindly.” He nodded and you set it down with a smile.

The sound of the door opening signalled the arrival of the doctor to do his midday rounds and you glanced at him, looking ready to apologize but he shook his head. “Don’ worry ‘bout me, you’ workin’. I’ll get this fixed an’ get outta you’ hair.”

“Thank you, Roe.” You nodded warmly before grabbing the clipboards from the desk and hurrying over with Barbara in tow.

Eugene did a thorough job of re-installing that shelf for you – putting new holes in the studs with the hand drill before tapping in a set of anchors to ensure it would never let you down again. It may have taken him a little longer than necessary due to the numerous glances he stole at you over his shoulder, but when his eyes met yours around the fifth glance, he turned back to his work quickly, cheeks burning, and did not risk another.

Once he was satisfied in the shelf’s structural stability, he began to place the manuals back onto it, hazarding a guess that you would want them in alphabetical order, glancing at you as you stashed the clipboards – now neatly back in their rack – beside them, rounds clearly complete.

“This looks amazing, Roe, I am once again in your debt.”

“It should hold alrigh’, even if ya get mo’e manuals.” He nodded humbly. “It was ma pleasu’e.”

“Well, I assure you we are extremely grateful.” You nodded firmly and he was unable to stop the slight smile that snuck onto his lips, watching as your own grew brightly in return. “Now I’m sure there’s somewhere you’d much rather spend your days off than our boring little hospital.”

He swallowed tightly, quite convinced that was utterly untrue but was unable to verbally disagree. “I’ll leave ya to it then, Ma’am.” He nodded, putting the tools away before shrugging into his uniform jacket once more and heading out into the drizzly afternoon.

It became a habit, spending his Saturdays at your hospital, fixing up little things that were broken but not priorities for the regular handyman. Donating blood every few weeks when you’d let him. It was, of course, all a thinly veiled excuse to see you – not that he would ever reveal that to you. As winter melted into spring, training and preparation for what was to come only intensified, and the potential outcomes remained at the forefront of his mind. If he were to speak honestly, Eugene, like many men, did not expect to survive the assault on France. Hitler had been there too long, had had too much time to get dug in snug as a tick. What they were planning to attempt was nearly impossible – just like his chances of survival.

You deserved better than that. Better than to open your heart to a man like him, if you even cared to, only to have him wiped from the earth by some piece of artillery or some such horrific ending. Eugene had a sense you’d seen enough horror first-hand in North Africa and he wanted no part in inflicting more upon you. So, he remained cordial, friendly, holding his breath and biting his tongue when your hands would brush, when you’d gently fix his tie after he’d gotten it crooked under the sink and when you’d swipe the sawdust from his shoulders before he put his uniform jacket back on.

The domesticity of your care and concern for him made his heart ache something fierce but he bore it stoically, silently, repeatedly like some kind of martyr. A smarter man might have stayed away but Eugene needed those few hours with you every week as badly as he needed the comforting nicotine of his Lucky Strikes. The news that they were shipping out to Upottery in late May was thus a rude reminder that his time, his life, was no longer his own.

The entire time he was packing, Eugene debated with himself before ultimately deciding to jot off a quick note of apology explaining his absence for that coming weekend and wishing you well until ‘next time.’ What a terrible expression it was. Forcing himself to take it to the post office, he sent it to the hospital where you worked before boarding the transit truck to move out. The days passed in almost a blur, the frenetic pace of preparation and practice jumps all leading up to the inevitable.

Eugene was dressed in full gear, having just secured his leg bag when he heard Vest call out his name, waving a letter addressed to him. Settling back down on the tarmac to open it, his brows furrowed in confusion at the unfamiliar handwriting.

Eugene was so taken aback he nearly missed Meehan’s announcement that the jump was off due to bad weather that night, spending several hours re-reading your letter, thinking about the things he wished to write to you in reply. Vowing to put them on paper if he ever saw the end of this thing. By the time he made it back to Aldbourne in July, he made a visit to the hospital where you had been stationed only to be informed by Barbara that you’d left for France with the 47th Field Hospital five days earlier.

He swallowed his bitter chuckle while Barbara kindly scrawled your post address now that you were deployed. “If you’d like to write to her.” She murmured timidly and he took it with a soft thanks before heading back to his billet.

It made perfect sense that you had been sent to France; nurses with field experience were hard to come by and you were obviously too talented to loiter in England. Thus, he had taken the time to reply to you, a proper letter this time, though still withholding his true feelings now that his eyes were well and truly opened to the rapidity with which a man’s fortunes could change.

 Mail was slow, your replies taking a frustrating amount of time to reach him, and Eugene was certain you felt the same, especially as it became increasingly apparent that your paths through Europe were remarkably similar and yet did not cross again. Not until Easter Sunday of 1945.

2nd Battalion had left Belgium that morning, crossing the border into Germany in the grey light of dawn. It had been deeply unsettling to pass so close by their former positions in Bastogne, Foy, and Rachamps the day before. Memories, thick as winter fog, had put a damper on the mood of excitement amongst the men at being on the move again, a hush that persisted into the morning. It was a quiet that allowed them all to hear the frantic honking of a jeep horn, many of them, including Eugene, sitting higher in their transports to see a vehicle painted with the Geneva cross pull up beside that occupied by Winters, Nixon, Speirs and Welsh, bringing the entire convoy to a halt.

Craning his neck, Eugene strained to hear the conversation, but his attempts were futile as they were simply too far away. His brow furrowed as the rest of the batallion’s Lieutenants were called up by Speirs, a map was then unfurled on the hood of the jeep, intense conversation occurring amongst the huddled officers. Like some kind of silent movie without the title cards.

“What the hell do you think that’s all about?” Heffron griped beside him, and Eugene shook his head, completely at a loss.

It wasn’t until Lipton returned to the back of their transport, hauled up with the assistance of Luz’s friendly hand, that Eugene understood the gravity of the situation.

“Hospital convoy has gone missing, boys. Left Aachen over four hours ago and should have arrived in Juchen by now. There’s no trace of them.” He began putting on his gear, a silent signal for everyone to do the same.

“Nobody just vanishes in Germany, Lieutenant.” Heffron muttered grimly, securing his webbing.

“Major Winters’ thoughts exactly. We have eleven nurses and four ambulances unaccounted for somewhere between here and Juchen. So, we’re going to find ‘em.”

“What hospital, sir?” Eugene piped up as he secured his satchel around his body, the men glancing at him, reminding him that he rarely spoke.

“Uh, the 47th Field Hospital I think, Doc.” Lipton replied before getting the men off the truck to begin combing the roadside for clues.

The 47th Field Hospital. Your 47th. He stood rooted to the spot, blind to all that moved in front of him, sound muffled as he felt like the only thing he could be sure of – your safety – came crashing down around him.

“Hey Doc, you coming or what?” Heffron called up to him and Eugene blinked rapidly before hopping out of the back of the transport to follow quickly.

Eleven nurses missing. Field Hospitals had roughly eighteen nurses, if fully staffed, meaning there was more than a fifty-fifty chance you were among the missing. He shoved his balled fists into his pockets and began searching. Searching for what, he had no idea. The infuriating feeling of helplessness rose within him like the tide, relentless and uncontrollable.

It took a further three hours of driving, stopping, searching, until finally a farmer reported having heard machine gun fire earlier that morning near Titz. A yawning pit of dread opened deep within his stomach as all manner of possible scenarios played out in his mind. The three companies split up then, with Easy heading into the town of Titz while Dog continued on the road to Juchen and Fox turned towards Gevelsdorf.

He was not able to lay eyes upon you for another two hours, and to find you soaked in blood had sent him immediately into a frenzied state of triage, desperate to keep you alive after finding you at last. Calmed only by the proof that you were unhurt, at the reasonable explanation for the state of your clothes lying dead behind him, Eugene had never been more annoyed with Webster and Liebgott than when they had interrupted his chance to speak with you.

The rest of 2nd Battalion arrived, taking over the building for the night and securing the prisoners until MPs could arrive the next day to take them to a nearby prison camp. Winters had ensured a wing was reserved exclusively for the nurses, though you had assured him a guard would not be necessary. Eugene had offered himself and the other Battalion medics to help with the schedule you were drawing up to watch over the patients, but you politely refused, insisting he had done enough. Eugene certainly did not feel that way.

Finding himself unable to sleep that night, he slipped out of the room he shared with Spina, Heffron, and Ramirez, making his way down to the makeshift treatment space you had set up to see if he could be of any use. He stopped at top of the stairs as he nearly ran into you, making your way up to the nurses’ wing with your wet field jacket in your hands.

“Roe!” You breathed, startled, before smiling at him tiredly. “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Ya neithah?”

“Wanted to try and get this somewhat clean for tomorrow.” You murmured, gesturing to your jacket before glancing at him. “But no, not really.” You admitted softly.

He motioned with his head for you to follow him to sit on the ledge beneath a large bay window opposite the staircase. You draped your damp jacket over the back of a wooden chair that had seen better days, turning to look out over the landscape as raindrops began to patter against the glass. He slid a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket, offering it you and only once you had declined with a shake of your head and kind smile, lit it for himself.

“Nine hours isn’t a long time considering the years I’ve spent away from home.” Your hushed voice, a continuation of your conversation from hours previous, broke through the sound of the rain hitting the windowpane.

Eugene exhaled slowly, smoke curling from his lips. “It only takes seconds ta die…”

You eyed him sharply in the dim light, shaking your head. “You of all people know how little control we have over that.”

Swallowing tightly, as you did have a point, he nodded. “Sorry Ma’am.”

You huffed a little. “Eugene, every time you call me Ma’am I feel like my mother.”

“But ya outrank me, even mo’e so now 1st Lieutenan’.” His nose crinkled in confusion.

You hummed noncommittally, an uneasy silence falling over the pair of you as Eugene finished his cigarette, stubbing it out against the windowsill behind him. Neither of you seemed certain of what to say or do next. Of what you were anymore – no longer just acquaintances, colleagues, or pen pals. Despite his best efforts, Eugene was terrifyingly convinced you were a great deal more.

“What’s something you wish you had done before you came over here?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, and he inhaled sharply before giving you his answer without hesitation.

“Shoulda asked ya ta dance tha’ nigh’.”

He heard your breath leave your lips with a shudder, watching you stand with the sinking feeling that he’d misjudged the entirety of your relationship. It was only when you turned back to him with your hand outstretched that he remembered how to breathe.

“Dance with me now, Eugene.”

His eyes widened, confusion surely evident on his face even as he set his worn and battered hand in yours. “But there’s no music.”

Your fingers closed around his, tugging him to his feet as you began to hum that Vera Lynn song, bringing a smile to his face as he set his other hand on your waist to begin dancing with you in earnest. Your fingers laced through his, a shiver running through him as you wrapped your arm around his shoulder before laying your head against his collarbone.

“Cold?” You whispered and he shook his head.

“It’s nice.” He replied as you started humming again, the repetitive nature of the song making him grin slightly. “Finally got ta dance in you’ comba’ boots.” He murmured, discreetly inhaling the scent of you.

You giggled softly against him, leaning back to look over his features in the low light. “Why didn’t you ask me to dance, Eugene?”

He swallowed roughly. “Ya looked tired, Ma’am. Didn’t want ta make ya suffah any mo’e.”

“Dancing with you is not a hardship.” You whispered, the pair of you still moving to the ghost of the song in the now silent hallway. “I would have said yes with one of those smiles you like.”

He laugh softly, squeezing your hand slightly. “I was worried, too. Worried I’d do somethin’ stupid like make ya care ‘bout me an’ then get myself killed. But then I thought I’d lost ya today…did lose ya fo’ nine hou’s…” His throat clenched with emotion, sealing off his ability to say anything further.

Your feet came to a stop as you eyed him intensely. “Eugene Roe, you have no control over that either.” You admonished gently. “I do care about you, whether you like it or not.”

The sound of his heart frantically pumping blood through his body filled his ears as he stared at you in wonder, awestruck by your fierce determination to bear affection for him despite the risks.

“M..may I…” He struggled to speak through the overwhelming adoration he felt for you, and you sighed fondly, leaning in to press your lips to his.

His grip tightened on your waist as his eyes fluttered shut, your soft mouth feeling like the finest silk brushing against his. He sighed dreamily as your fingers abandoned his shoulder to wend their way into his hair, drawing him tighter to you. He indulged in the impulse to slide his hand up your spine to rest between your shoulder blades, the feeling of your back arching in response headier than any liquor he’d ever tasted.

Your fingers gently unlaced from his, hand shifting to cup his jaw as you pulled back to press featherlight kisses across his brow and down his nose. “You didn’t lose me, Eugene.” You sighed against his skin, lips traveling across his left cheek. “I’m just fine.”

As you made your way along his jaw, he turned his head to kiss you fiercely, tongue darting past your startled lips to communicate all the things he could not seem to be able to say, holding your body so tightly against his as though he wished he could absorb you into his very being. You clung to him, matching the ferocity of his embrace with a reassuring tenderness of your own that had him melting against you, face burrowing against your neck.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He sighed with a bone deep weariness and felt your body shake against his as you laughed softly.

“Call me something better, Eugene.” You chided sweetly, kissing his temple. “Especially if you’re going to kiss me like that.”

He smirked before pressing his lips to the column of your throat, trailing kisses up towards your jaw, reveling in the way your breath hitched in your throat in response. “Alrigh’ cher.” He smiled warmly before kissing you gently.

“Cher.” You repeated softly once he released your lips.

“Cajun for darlin’.”

He watched your teeth sink into your lower lip, a grin stretching over your face as you looked to him through your lashes making the muscles of his abdomen clench.

“That will do quite nicely, Eugene.” You sighed before your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him in to kiss him deeply.

You were both short of breath by the time you pulled back, hand caressing his face as your features contracted apologetically. “I should go before someone finds us.”

Eugene nodded begrudgingly as you were once again speaking the truth. “Goodnigh’, cher.” He said softly, loosening his hold on you.

“We’ll meet again, Eugene.” You smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth in the not-so-dark hallway as the light of pre-dawn began to seep through the tracks of rain cascading down the window, and his eyes widened as he realized that was the name of that damn song.

“You’d bettah not be covered in blood nex’ time, cher.” He admonished playfully, freshly addicted to the way your lips ticked up at the corners every time he said it.

“Likewise, Eugene.” You laughed and blew him a kiss before grabbing your surely still-damp field jacket, walking backwards as far as you could until you absolutely had to turn around.

He stood on the porch the next morning, hiding from the rain as he watched you load the nurses in your charge into newly arrived ambulances to complete your journey to the field hospital in Juchen. He barely looked up as he heard the scuff of jump boots on the worn brick beside him, Heffron leaning against the wall to light a cigarette, trying to soak in every last moment of your presence before you were inevitably parted once again. It was a great comfort to know you’d be just twenty-five kilometres behind him, perhaps a sign of kinder times ahead.

“So, you get your hands on some tits in Titz?” Heffron asked with a sly grin, making Eugene turn to him sharply.

“Heffron, watch you’ damn mouth.” He snapped at him brusquely, making the redhead’s eyes widen.

“Sheesh, Doc, she must be somethin’ special. Sorry.” He squawked and pointed at the road. “She’s looking this way.”

Eugene looked back quickly to see you, drenched by rain, waving at him with a bright smile he could still see despite your helmet, and he waved back, cheeks aching a little as his expression automatically mirrored yours.

“You’d bettah keep this to you’self, Heffron.” Eugene rounded on him with a serious look that he hoped was intimidating as soon as you pulled the backdoor of the vehicle shut behind you.

“Your secret is safe with me, lover boy.” Heffron winked, and Eugene did not believe him for a second.

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

Read the Sequel - Born To Be Yours

Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @bcon24 , @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos

[shelyue99]

How Webster described Nix in Parachute Infantry, I can totally hear Ron Livingston speak those lines in my head.

Nixon gave instructions for D-Day:

Maps and diagrams hung from the rear wall. Our instructor, the S-2 captain, watched us come in and look around. Yale men, his face seemed to say as he stared at us dully with a studied air of unshaven indifference, must remain poised and blasé in the presence of the unwashed. When the last man had ducked in, the guard secured the door flap and the captain started to talk.

"I have something here," he said,

"that may interest you: a sort of field problem... These are sandtables, one for the big picture and one our own size. You've seen other sandtables before at other airfields before other jumps, but these are different.”

"We're jumping behind the enemy lines on the peninsula of Normandy. Don't look blank. Surely you've heard of Normandy? It's a large peninsula on the coast of central France about a hundred miles southeast of here." He stepped to the back wall, unrolled a map of southern England and central France, and taking a pointer, indicated Normandy.

…

"There are two beaches: Utah, here, and Omaha, here. We drop behind Utah. The 4th Division is supposed to pass through us on D-Day.”

"If they take the beach.”

"The 82nd's jumping up here around St. Mere Eglise, and the British 6th Airborne Division will go in ahead of their infantry here. But let's not worry about those people. We'll have enough worries of our own."

Glancing disdainfully at his wristwatch, the captain ended his monologue and looked around the tent, dull-eyed and absolutely uninterested.

Final briefing before the jump:

D-Day was scheduled for tomorrow. It blew icy fumes of fear in our faces as we gathered in the S-2 tent for the final briefing.

"At ease, men," the captain snapped, all indifference gone from his voice and attitude. "I have something important to tell you that you may already know: We're leaving tonight. This is final.”

…

"We jump at one o'clock. As I told you before, we'll assemble in an orchard near Hébert, pronounced Ayb-are. If you're lost and run across a Frenchman, ask the way to Hébert, not Herbert, as I've heard some of you pronounce it. If you've studied your maps and listened to your officers, you'll know that Hébert isn't even a town. It's a couple of houses and a crossroads surrounded by apple orchards. The Germans have planted antiairborne poles and mines in most of the other jumpfields in our sector, but as far as we know, our fields and orchards are clear. I guess they didn't think we'd be crazy enough to jump near orchards, but they don't know how crazy we are. If we were sane, we wouldn't be here.”

[kyokutsu-sama]

Last night I had a great idea for a fic and I didn't hesitate to share it. He often invades my thoughts at night and as I know I'm not the only one who are obssessed with him here's something for all Kenpachi lovers🤭

You have no idea how much I read about him and that really motivates me to write something for him too.

I hope you like and please don't let it flop. I've been thinking about this all night❤

Kenpachi x reader

Tw: smut

You walked around the outside of the 11th division's quarter looking for Kenpachi and found it a little strange not to find him there training or something.

You kept looking for him and to your amazement you found him in the place where you least expected it, in his office.

"Well, I can't believe you're actually sitting there doing all these papers"You said as you entered and approaching the table

"Unfortunately that's the worst side of being a captain, I'd really rather be on a battlefield while cutting my enemies in two and feeling that thrill of fighting"He said without taking his eyes off the papers

"Yeah… that really matches your title"

"What about you? Don't you have anything to do?"

"I actually did but you haven't even looked at me yet"

"I'm busy"

You put yourself next to him while watching how focused and calm he was. You were glad you lived long enough to see the most sadistic man in soul society acting calmly. The only time he really looked like this was when he was sleeping.

You decided to tease him a bit by putting yourself between him and the table causing him to pull away from what he was doing and look at you.

"What are you doing?"

"You know, I came here because I wanted to show you something that you might like but since you seem busy, I'll just kiss you goodbye and go to the 6th division, maybe captain Kuchiki is free. What do you think?"

His blood boiled hearing your words. That damn idiot! Just hearing this man's name makes him feel angry. He gave you a death stare causing your lips to curl into a smirk after noticing his gaze and knowing that now you had his attention.

"What's wrong? You didn't like the idea?"You sitting on the table and sliding your foot between his thighs without taking your eyes off his

"Don't tease me like that Y/n, you know you're going to lose this fight"He said in a deep voice

"Really? Then why don't you start fighting seriously too. Let me see the true beast you are"You said bitting your lip and and putting your foot on his groin

He gave you a sadistic smile and grabbed your foot putting it aside.

"Don't forget that it was you who asked for it"

He got up from the chair attacking your lips voraciously as his hands tightened your waist and probably leaving bruises from his strong fingers on your skin. You wrapped your legs around him while holding the back of his neck with one hand to deepen the kiss. You needed him, that adrenaline rush that only he could give you.

"Show me what you got for me"He said biting your bottom lip

You smiled and started taking off your kimono revealing your completely naked body. He looked you up and down with a smile on his lips.

"You walked around completely naked like that? You really need me"He said, kissing you again

You took off the rest of the kimono and threw it on the floor as your hands rushed to remove his clothes. He moved his lips down to your neck leaving hickeys all over that area. He laid you down on the table and placed himself on top of you, his broad build covering your entire body. His mouth devoured your body fiercely, there wasn't even a bit of skin on your breasts that wasn't marked by the bites and hickeys he left. You moaned his name over and over, just his reiatsu was enough for your body to start releasing small drops of sweat. He pulled you to the edge of the table and spread your legs exposing your wet slit for him who licked his lips at the sight.

"I bet that the stupid Kuchiki doesn't make you that wet, does he?"

Without hesitation he placed his head between your thighs sucking all over your sensitive skin, making you arch off the table as you opened your mouth to moan his name loudly.

His hands came up to squeeze your breasts as his tongue licked up and down your folds. He dominated your body like no one else had ever done, you were sure that there was no other who could give you all that pleasure, only him. His hot mouth sucked on your little bud making you grip his black hair to ease that pleasure. You were so close and he could feel it in the way you were squeezing your thighs on either side of his head. He increased the intensity of the suctions making you come into his mouth, he rose while licking his lips and staring at your panting and sweaty body. You thought he was going to give you a little break after you came but he didn't. He turned you over on the table making you face away from him, his big hands spread your legs apart as he positioned himself in the middle of them. You could feel his cock against your wet folds making you moan a little.

"I'm pretty sure that Captain Kuchiki won't fuck you the way I'm about to do"He said next to your ear making you shiver

He put his hands on your hips pulling you against him without warning. You gripped the edge of the table, lifting your head and biting your lower lip to muffle the loud moan you were about to give. He wasn't kind to you but if we think about it, you weren't kind either when you mentioned the name of his rival. Your fingers gripped the edge of the table even tighter as he came and went hard and fast making his pelvis bump hard against you. His fingers dug into the skin of your hips guiding the thrusts. One of his hands went to your hair and gripped it as he fuck you from behind, you couldn't stop moaning his name and letting the entire division know what was going on. Your eyes rolled back as you got closer to coming again and having his cock inside you made you made you get closer of your peack.

"Keep moaning like that… and tell them who you belong to"He said without stopping the thrusts

"I-Im yours... ken-pachi…"You said between moans

"Again"He said as his hand marked the skin of your buttocks

"Im all yours... Fuck"

Your insides tighten around him more and more, he turned you so that you were facing him. He looked up into your face to find your eyes shining with lust and leaned down to kiss you even more needily as he wrapped your legs around his waist and his hands went to your neck holding it as he went back to fucking you even faster and harder.

"Ahh… I'm so close to c-come"You said while holding his forearms and rolling your eyes in pleasure

He smiled knowing he was pushing you to the limit and that spurred him on even more. You arched off the table as you tightened your legs around his waist and after a few more hard thrusts you came a second time as he poured his warm fluids inside of you. Your folds were dripping all over your skin. You were so exhausted, your legs were completely weak just like the rest of your body. Kenpachi withdrew from inside you while trying to catch his breath, you sat on the edge of the table looking at him with a satisfied smile on your face.

"What are you looking at? Want to go for a second round?"He said noticing that you were looking at him

"Just give me some time and then who knows if I don't line up in a second"You said winking at him

He went to you holding your chin and giving you a rough kiss, you held his shoulder moaning a little against his lips. You thought that would be the beginning of the second round, he was still hard but nothing else happened.

"I really hope you don't set foot in the 6th division because you can be sure that I will punish you"

"And what would that punishment be?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"It's better not, I don't want to spend the rest of my life in the 4th division"You said looking away a little

"Good"

You knew he wasn't joking and that's why you put aside the idea of going to pay a visit to Captain Kuchiki. For the sake of your legs.

[electronicwitchcollection]

not my best, will have to rewrite if I don’t just bin it all together

Prompt: Renji

“If you hate me so much why are you letting me do this?”

****************************************

Fucking Renji you spat angrily in your mind as you stormed your way though the 6ths training grounds, gathering concerned looks from fellow shinigami you were supposed to be training

Your pretty face was twisted into a murderous scowl as you hastily walked away from the cocky, arrogant lieutenant before you did something that would land you in a lot of trouble

like punching that idiotic smirk off his face

"hey! Don't walk away when I'm talking to you!" Renji called after you, just as annoyed as you seemed to be

"fuck off Renji" you snarled over your shoulder, startling two shinigami who had been walking past in that moment

You weren't sure for what reason you and Renji always seemed to be at eachothers throats. You just didn't get along. He was arrogant, cocky, pigheaded and snarky. All qualities you detested, that unfortunately made up the personality of your divisions lieutenant. Normally, you could let the personality flaws you weren't a fan of fly over your head. Anyone else and you could have pushed down your annoyance to work in harmony.

Renji, however, seemed specially skilled at enraging you quicker than anyone you had ever met. Almost as soon as you were in eachothers company you were arguing. For reasons unknown to you, your captain wasn't one for explaining himself, you were required to work with Renji to regularly train the non seated officers in the division. Giving you plenty of opportunities to get on eachothers last nerves

"I told you to stop!" Renji shouted from behind you, his enraged spiritual pressure was pulsating off him in angry waves as he heavily stomped after you

"and I told you to fuck off!" You shouted back, not even turning around. Reaching the work Baracks, you slipped through the open door only to slam it shut behind you, knowing it would piss Renji off more

good you sadistically smirked at the thought

sure enough, you weren't even half way down the corridor when the door was kicked open brutally, slamming loudly into the wall.

"YN!" Renji screamed down the hall to you, booming voice reverberating off the walls to echo down the corridor after you ."im ordering you to stop!" 

Ordering?!  You scoffed as you continued your angry March. Pompous ass

"and I'm ignoring those orders" you said back, unsure if he had actually heard you. Seeing the female bathroom, you slipped inside quickly, turning to push it closed when a foot darted out to block it. Renji pushed his way into the bathroom with you, slamming the door shut behind him as his chest heaved angrily.

"you need to show me some damn respect" he spat through gritted teeth as he towered over you intimidatingly, close enough to head butt him. The notion was incredibly tempting "im your fucking lieutenant" 

"do something worthy of my respect and I'll consider it, lieutenant " you growled back, poking him roughly in the chest as his eyes flashed dangerously. Your body began heating up and you felt an electric charge in the air. He was too close in this too small bathroom. He filled your senses, standing too close he was all you could see, all you hear, smell.

You turned your nose up at him as you turned away to face the little mirror above the sink, leaning heavily on the cool porcelain encased in a wooden counter

"get out" you snapped at him, meeting his furious eyes reflected in the mirror "this is the women's restroom. Pervert"

You suppressed a smirk when his back stiffened, shocked by the accusation before his eyes hardened again "don't fucking say shit like that". His gravely voice had lowered some what, probably to avoid being heard from outside the bathroom "like I would perv on you anyway. You have no ass" 

you did smirk at that, turning round to face him again " if you don't perv on me how would know what my ass is like?" His comments didn't upset you, you had a fantastic ass and you knew it. Before Renji could reply you threw out your own accusation "bet you wouldn't know what to do with a woman anyway. Too busy bending over for captain Kutchiki.."

the rest of your sentence was abruptly cut off when renji grabbed you roughly and kissed you. It was raw and powerful, animalistic in the way he bit at you lip harshly, teeth clacking together painfully. His hands gripped your arms and held you tightly enough to leave finger print bruises. You instantly began to fight him, though it wasn't to get him off you

you fought to kiss him harder, use more tongue than him, have your teeth draw blood first. You each fought for dominance, neither letting the other claim the win. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth, greedily tasting every part he could reach. Pushing back with your own tongue, you invaded his mouth in return, angrily groaning into his hostile mouth.

You each pulled apart as suddenly as you had slammed together. Breathing heavily, the air between you warmed up to a searing heat. Renji let go of your arms as he tried to control his breathing, not wanting to look as effected by the kiss as he was

as soon as his arms dropped your fist snapped out in a harsh punch to his hardened chest. Taking the hit well, Renji didn't even flinch. Growling, you punched him a second time in the jaw, satisfied at the grunt that had escaped him.

Staring at eachother angrily, your hands moved of their own accord, as you began tearing at his clothes, ripping them away from his chest. His started roughly tugging yours away from you, staring at you heatedly.

Standing in the small bathroom, both completely naked, you both held eye contact daring the other to break it first. Renji broke first, his eyes grazed down your naked body. Hungrily taking in your curves, his eyes darkened. You suppressed a shiver. Since he had broken first, you let your eyes travel down his tattoo covered chest, down to his impressive six pack. You followed the trail of hair leading down from his toned stomach to his girthy cock. The impressive length was rapidly hardening and you knew it would be as brutal as the kiss

"you just going to stand there gawping or are you going to actually do something" you snapped at him, bringing his eyesup from from your heaving breasts to your eyes. Renji reached out to grab your arms, spinning you quickly to slam you against the bathroom door. Pinning you with his bigger body, his cock dripping precum onto your stomach

"shut up" he growled at you, dark eyes flashing.

"don't man handle me" you met his stare defiantly

"are you going to stop me?" He challenged huskily, voice dropping dangerously

you didn't have an answer, not one you were willing to voice anyway. You couldn't understand how this was happening. You hated Renji, he was an asshole. He seemed to hate you just as much. Yet your body was on fire, stomach clenching in anticipation. You wanted him, wanted him pounding into you brutally just as much as you hated him

you turned your head to the side in a silent answer, you weren't going to stop him. Renji took advantage, hiding his smirk in your neck as he bit into the soft flesh. You gasped at the pain, rubbing your thighs together desperately. One of his large hands came up to roughly palm your breast, squeezing it firmly. Another moan ripped from you as you held onto his strong shoulders, digging your nails in for good measure.

Releasing the skin on your neck, renji licked at it sloppily. His heavy breathing tickled at your ear eliciting a shiver from you. Renji brushed his thumb over your hardened nipple before pinching it, rolling it between his fingers. Your head flew back, knocking into the door as you arched your back off it, pushing further into his hand.

Again, Renji pulled at your arm, forcing you off the door and back to the sink. You were getting really pissed off at all this man handling. You were About to snap at him again, when his hand gripped the back of your neck, forcing you down

"bend over" he told you as your hands came out to grip the sink to prevent your head smacking into it. Gripping your hips, renji pulled you back a few steps. Satisfied, he shoved two fingers into your dripping cunt without warning. You yelped at the sudden intrusion, glaring at him in the mirror. It went unnoticed, his eyes firmly fixed on his fingers disappearing in and out of you.

"you're fucking soaking" he groaned behind you, speeding up his fingers. Heat rushed your face in a vivid blush at his words. His fingers quickly stretching you made you moan loudly, as you pushed back into his hand.

"that right, moan like a little bitch." He muttered behind you, slapping your ass harshly. He didn't sooth the sharp sting with his hand, Letting the pain mix with the pleasure "so fucking desperate, fucking your self on my fingers"

"I fucking hate you"you mumbled, eyes screwing shut tightly at the overwhelming pleasure. Sloppy wet noises sounded loud in the tiled room

"what was that?"  Renji smacked your ass hard

"I fucking hate you" you moaned loudly, pushing back onto his fingered again chasing your own orgasm. You held back a needy whine as he suddenly removed his fingers, denying you your orgasm. Renji laid himself across your body, hard cock pressing up against your ass

"if you hate me so much, why are you letting me do this?" He muttered behind your ear as he gripped his throbbing erection, wetting it in your dripping folds

"hurry the fuck up" you snapped, turning your head to glare at him. Renji stood up straight, giving you a knowing smirk before he thrusted his hips forward roughly, impaling himself into your tight, wet heat. A hearty groan left renji before he brutally began slamming into you. Just about managing to grip the sink tightly before you were jutted forward, you screamed out in pleasure.

The loud slapping of skin on skin joined your loud moans, you were too far gone into the pleasure to care that it may be heard from outside the public bathroom.

"fuck" Renji grunted behind you, pulling you onto his dick with every thrust "so fucking tight."

"renji" you moaned around his name, wanting him to shut up and make you cum. Hearing his name tumble from your lips had the opposite effect, as Renji continued talking dirtily behind you. 

"that's right, moan my name"

"I'm going to mess up your pussy LN" 

"gunna make you cum all over my dick"

"RENJI!" You shouted, breaking through his lust filled rambling "shut the fuck up already"

"if you wanted it harder, you could've just asked"  he is so infuriating. Renji pulled up your right leg, resting your knee on the counter in front of you. "Keep that there" he muttered before slamming himself into you. 

You tried, really tried to keep the shout from leaving your lips. The new angle pulled him in deeper as he repeatedly slammed into all your sweet spots. You would've felt embarrassed about your desperate screams if it didn't feel just so god damn good 

sinful moans and animalistic grunts mixed together in a symphony of filth. A thin sheen of sweat covered your body, breathing erratic as you struggled to keep yourself up right. You're legs began to feel weak, knees threatening to buckle 

"come on" renji grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding out. A large hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing possessively as it pulled you back "fucking cum already" 

you did. The orgasm ripped through you, just as forceful and as brutal as the sex that got you there. You screamed out his name as pleasure consumed you. You're vision blurred before you slammed your eyes shut, basking in the euphoria. 

Your inner walls clamped down tightly over Renji's dick, your release soaking him. "Oh fuck" Renji growled into your back as your twitching core brought him to his own orgasm, milking him throughly. 

Renji pulled himself out of you, stepping back just as your legs gave out. Falling to your knees, you sat back onto your legs, breathing deeply. You could hear renji moving about, dressing himself. You don't dare look up, choosing to close your eyes instead . You didn't want to catch his eyes. You felt mortified, embarrassed. Annoyed with yourself for letting it get that far. You'd surly never hear the end of it. 

"here" you opened your eyes at his soft tone. He had never spoken to you like that before. He was stood in front of you, holding out your own clothes. He looked off to the side, the beginning of a blush on his cheeks 

"thanks" you say, hardly above a whisper, your throat felt scratchy from how vocal you had been. You grabbed your clothes and held them to your chest, not yet trusting your legs to support you should you stand 

"are you ok? Did I hurt you?"  You couldn't help but look up at that. He actually sounded like he cared. He had never spoken to you with concern before. His eyes were soft, no trace of the usual frown on his face. He looked so much younger like that

" no". You shook your head, clutching your clothes to your chest for some modesty"I just don't think I can stand yet" 

"ok" renji said and turned to walk to the door 

the twinge in your chest confused you. Were you actually sad that he was leaving? What else were you expecting? Declaration of love? You didn't even like the man. You shook the thoughts away 

"take your time, I'll just wait over here" Renji said as he sat down with his back leaning against the door and closed his eyes.  You stared at him in shock. He wasn't leaving? 

Too tired to try and figure out what was going on, you slipped your top over your head, covering as much of you as you could, the chill in the bathroom had cooled down the sweat on your skin making you shiver . A few minutes later, holding onto the sink for support, you shakily got back to your feet. Feeling yourself support your weight you finished getting dressed. 

"I'm done" you called to him, unsure what else to say. Renji opened his eyes and easily got to his feet. Looking down at your own feet, you didn't hear Renji approaching until his feet stood pointing yours in your vision. You looked up, expecting a teasing remark, he was probably desperate to make fun of you. 

You were surprised when he brought his hand up to gently smooth down your sexed up hair before cupping your cheek. He leaned in slowly, giving you a chance to pull away. When you didn't he kissed you sweetly. Lingering. 

"Take the rest of the day off" he uttered when he pulled away, then turned without looking back to walk out the bathroom, closing the door behind him 

you didn't know how long you stood alone in the bathroom staring dumbfounded at the closed door. You didn't know how long it took you to get your feet moving, walking slowly towards your home. You didn't know how you went from screaming bloody murder at each other, to hate fucking in a bathroom, to one of the sweetest moments you've had with a man. 

What you did know is that maybe, maybe you didn't hate Renji as much as you thought you did

[scotianostra]

On June 6th 1944 Allied forces stormed the beaches of Northern France on what became known as D-Day.

There were no doubt many acts of bravery on that day when the tide started to turn against the Nazi regime that ultimately ended World War Two. I shall concentrate on one, but will also tell you about a German sniper that day and a wee tenuous brave Canadian.

‘Piper’ Bill Milllin landed on Sword Beach on the Coast of Normandy as part of the 1st Special Service Brigade in the second wave of the operation.

Pipers were banned from being on the frontline during the Second World War because of the number of casualties seen during the First World War. The enemy figured out that the piper helped boost morale to the Allied troops, and they were slaughtered because of this. This led the War Office to restrict their presence in camps as well as on the frontline.

Millin pointed this out to his Commanding Officer  Brigadier Lord "Shimi" Lovat  Fraser, hereditary chief of the Clan Fraser, who was a law unto himself. “Ah, but that’s the English War Office, Millin,” Lovat told him. “You and I are both Scottish so that doesn’t apply.”

As Bill Millin embarked from the landing craft and waded through chest high water making his way toward dry land, high above his head he carried his pipes, the only weapon he would need that day. Around him bullets flew, mortar shells exploded Bill_Millin1and his friends, comrades and countrymen died, but Bill carried onward.

It was what came next that made Bill Millin a legend! Lord Lovat, the Chief of Clan Fraser and Brigadier of the 2,500 commandos, instructed the 21 year old Bill Millin to fire up his pipes and play a tune to inspire the men. And with the five words ‘Give us “Highland Laddie” man!’, the Legend of ‘Piper’ Bill was born.

Amid the carnage and destruction Bill Millin played as he had never played before. While marching up and down the beach of Normandy, Millin played the tunes ‘Hielan’ Laddie’, ‘The Road to the Isles’ and ‘Blue Bonnets over the Border’, and at one point added ‘The Nut Brown Maiden’ for a redheaded French girl who had strayed out of her home.

The day would see Millin and his unit march four miles inland to a point known as Pegasus Bridge, which was a strategically vital point for the German 21st Panzer Division. D-Day was the turning point in the Allies’ battle against Hitler and ‘Piper’ Bill Millin stands a reminder of the bravery and sacrifice made by ordinary people in extraordinary times.

Facing the soldiers coming ashore that day was Horst Hrubesh, German machine gunner, he too can be seen as a hero of sorts, if you read the poem he penned, I will let you decide;

Scottish soldier play your pipes

Even though your in my sights

Just like me you have a wife

I aim above your head

For full five minutes i fire up high

Keep my bullets up in the sky

No mad piper, you will not die

I will not lay you dead.

Now at my Nazi captains call

He wonders why you do not fall

They drag me from my post in haste

Another gunner i am replaced

In a cell now i await

Whats sure to be a bloody fate

Jack boots stamp across the yard

By my cell with windows barred

Soldier friends i stood beside

Now gather in a long straight line

Blindfold no i did decline

To see their faces full of guilt

As they take my life for i shalt not kill.

Horst Hrubesh was German , but not a nazi, he paid the price for his act on D Day.

The third person to get a mention today is James M. Doohan who landed ashore at Juno beach. Later that day se would be shot 6 times, survive and go on to become Scotty on Star Trek.

Doohan was a commissioned lieutenant with the 14th Field Artillery Regiment of the 3rd Canadian Infantry Division, and was tasked with invading an area of Normandy code-named Juno Beach. As the meme states, Doohan successfully led his men across the beach littered with anti-tank mines, and also managed to take out two German snipers:

Lieutenant Doohan was however not shot by a German sniper. He had been shot by a nervous, trigger-happy Canadian sentry.

Doohan said. "We landed safely, thank God, through those Y-shaped steel barriers you see in the film, tracer bullets, all that, none of our men hurt, and dashed 75 yards to the 7-foot tall dunes," Doohan said. 

"Crossed a minefield, found out about it later: It was meant to blow up tanks, and we weren't heavy enough. Moved up through a down - hardly a town just a village - called Graye Sur Mer, saw a church tower that was a machine-gun post, firing off to our left. 

Doohan took out the machine-gun post with a couple of shots. "I don't know if they were killed or wounded, but it shut them up," he said.  The Canadian soldier later said he didn't notice the gunshot wounds in his legs until he got to the medic who told him;

'You also have four bullets in your left knee.' I said: 'Well, I walked here.'"

[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+.

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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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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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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 @alexxavicry @roostette @floralfloyd @soulmates8 @depressed-friend-blog @mayhemmanaged @shanimallina87 @shadowsintheknight @bcon24

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 11: Labyrinth

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

inspo: labyrinth by taylor swift

A/N: covid finally got me, yall...and i wouldn't wish this on anyone (even the norman dike's of the world). thanks for being patient with this chapter! this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Easy's respite at Mourmelon-le-Grand gets cut short when they quickly deploy to hold the divisions of SS troops that break through the line in the Ardennes Forest.

Warnings: mentions of blood

DECEMBER 18, 1944: MOURMELON-LE-GRAND, FRANCE

“George,” (y/n) grumbled, giving him a smack on the shoulder. “Shut up! We’re trying to watch this!”

He turned toward her with a blank expression. “I’ve seen this movie 13 times, okay?”

 “Well, I haven’t, so shut up,” Joe Toye griped, whispering over his shoulder at the man. 

For a brief moment, George’s John Wayne impersonation stopped, and (y/n) tried to focus on the movie, but Skip and Don erupted into a lively conversation behind her.

She swiveled around in her chair, her gaze fixed on them as she furrowed her brows in exasperation. “Guys! Seriously, I love you, but be quiet,” she hissed. “Please.”

“Apologies,” Skip murmured, raising his hand in a playful salute. “Shutting up, corporal.”

Rolling her eyes, she turned her attention back to the movie.

“Got a penny?”

She ignored him.

“Got a penny?” George whispered, drawing out the phrase.

She ignored him again.

He paused and took a drag of his cigarette. “Got a penny?” he called out in the quiet room.

Just as (y/n) turned to punch his arm, Lip turned around with his arms crossed, glaring at him with a shared frustration. 

“What?” George laughed, grinning proudly.

Before she could say anything to him, the doors swung open, ushering in a blast of frigid air. The lights flicked on, and the paratroopers squinted and groaned. 

“Come on! Quiet!” Two officers yelled, striding to the front of the room. “I said, quiet! Elements of the 1st and the 6th SS Panzer Division have broken through in the Ardennes Forest.”

The news left everyone stunned, and (y/n) exchanged a look of disbelief with Goerge. 

“Now they’ve overrun the 28th Infantry and elements of the 4th. All officers report to respective HQs. All passes are canceled.”

The room erupted in complaints, but her thoughts were fixed on Lew. She had to find him before they mobilized. Getting up, she tugged her thin coat closer to her body as she pushed through the doors and was hit with the bitter cold.

As she turned toward Lew’s barracks, someone grasped her arm, gently pulling her to the side of the tent. Seeing Lewis’ familiar browns, she sighed. “I was just about to come find you.”

“So you’ve heard?” he asked, worry etched across his face. “Do you have any winter gear? Or ammo?”

Panic gnawed at (y/n) as she shook her head. “No, not yet. It’s bad, isn’t it,” she asked, looking around at the chaos that now enveloped the camp. 

“Here,” he whispered, removing his dark brown scarf and wrapping it around her neck. “I’ll see if I can find you anything else.”

“But, Lew, you need-” she began, but he interrupted, keeping the scarf securely in place.

 “No. You keep it.”

“What about you?”

Lew shrugged, and an icy gust of wind ran through the camp, sending a shiver through his body. “I’ll manage.” 

Concern washed over her, and she looked up at him in disbelief. “Lewis Nixon, you need to-”

“Nix!” a voice called out, and they turned to see Dick, bundled up in what little winter clothing he could find. “We’ve got to go.”

Lew nodded and turned back to (y/n), quickly checking their surroundings. He leaned in and pressed a soft, reassuring kiss against her lips. “Please be careful, sweetheart. I love you.”

She closed her eyes, basking in his warmth before he pulled away. “You, too,” she murmured against his lips.

“I’ll find you once we get settled, alright?” He assured her, backing up slowly. 

Taking one last look at her, he turned and joined Dick. (Y/n) stood for a moment, watching as they walked away. She knew she had to act fast to get ready for their deployment. Quickly, she turned and headed towards her barracks, scanning the area for her squad members.

In her hurried pace, she spotted George walking without his characteristic smirk. He seemed preoccupied, lost in his thoughts as he puffed on a cigarette. She rushed up to him, her boots crunching on the frost-laden ground.

“George,” (y/n) called out, trying to catch his attention.

George turned to face her. “I was wondering where you ran off to.”

She wasted no time in telling him the truth about the situation. “It’s bad, George,” she breathed out. “We need to grab any ammo and warm clothing we can.”

“Right,” he nodded, eyes widening for a moment.

They walked together toward the barracks, the biting cold gnawing at their skin. George, just like her, had no winter clothing, and they shared their concerns about the upcoming objective. 

“Do you have anything for the cold?” she asked, worried for her friend.

He shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “Not a stitch. How about you?”

Her fingers instinctively touched the scarf around her neck, the soft fabric a comforting reminder of Lew’s presence. “I found this,” she stammered, her face heating up despite the chill in the air.

“You found it, huh?” George teased, his eyes glinting mischievously. “That’s funny because I just spotted Captain Nixon without his scarf a minute ago.”

“What a coincidence,” she mumbled, avoiding George’s playful gaze, her mind racing to come up with an excuse.

“Don’t worry, (y/n/n),” he grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “I’m sure he just misplaced it,” he winked.

Rolling her eyes at George’s teasing, she playfully shoved him. “Whatever George.” The gravity of the situation reminded her that, scarf or not, they all had much more pressing matters to attend to.

(Y/n) sat sandwiched between Bill and Joe Toye in the troop transport, the vehicle’s rattling frame reverberating through her body. The biting cold was an ever-present enemy, and it threatened to gnaw at them and leave its mark. The body heat from the larger men on either side of her provided somewhat of a defense, pushing back the icy chill that constantly threatened to invade.

She huddled into Lew’s scarf, the comforting smell of his presence mingling with the faint traces of whiskey clung to the fabric. It was a meager substitute for his actual warmth, but it offered a semblance of comfort in the bleak situation they were facing. 

“I just wanna know where they’re sending us,” Babe called out above the engine’s roar, voicing the collective concern. “And what we’re supposed to do with no ammo.”

(Y/n) shifted slightly, glancing over at George seated across from her. She shook her head, her expression reflecting a mix of uncertainty and worry. “I don’t know, Babe. Strayer isn’t even in the country.”

Her eyes flicked up to a replacement lighting a cigarette for Popeye.

“Hey, kid,” Bill called out, his teeth chattering. ”What’s your name, again?”

The boy looked over at Bill warily. “Suerth. Suerth Jr.”

“Got any ammo, Junior?” Babe asked quickly.

“Just what I’m carrying.”

“What about socks, Junior? You got extra socks?”

Looking around the truck confused, Suerth nodded once. “A pair.”

Skip immediately perked up from his position on the truck floor in front of (y/n), waving his index finger around. “You need four, minimum. Feet, hands, neck, balls…”

(Y/n) grinned as she and the rest of the men chimed in, “Extra socks warms them all!!”

“Okay, we all remembered that one. But did we remember the socks?” Skip joked, but the cold atmosphere had already seeped back into the truck. The rest of the men continued in conversation, but (y/n)’s mind wandered to a few weeks prior in Paris.

As the first rays of dawn fluttered through the curtains, the gentle light began to dance across the room. (Y/n) stirred, slowly waking from her peaceful slumber. She found herself in a moment of peace, her head resting on Lew’s chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting lullaby.

The morning painted the room in a soft glow, illuminating the features of the man beside her. She watched him sleep, her eyes tracing the gentle curve of his nose, the shadows playing on his face. His lips were slightly parted, and the early morning light highlighted his features in a way that made her heart swell. 

As if sensing her gaze, he stirred, eyelashes fluttering as he started to wake. The corners of her lips turned up in a tender smile, observing the moment as Nix slowly became aware of his surroundings. 

His brown eyes met hers in a warm and sleepy gaze that made her heart skip a beat. He smiled back, a drowsy yet affectionate look that spoke of the feelings they’d shared the night prior. The sun continued its ascent, bathing the room in a golden hue.

Their eyes remained locked, a silent conversation passing between them. In that precious moment, words were unnecessary. With a gentle caress, (y/n) brushed a strand of dark hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering on his skin.

“You know,” (y/n) murmured, her voice soft as the morning breeze. “You look especially handsome in the morning light.”

Lew chuckled, the sound like music to her ears. “Flattery won’t get you everywhere, you know.”

“Maybe just a little closer,” she teased, shifting to face him more fully, her arms wrapping gently around his waist.

He grinned, the sunlight catching his eyes. “Can’t argue with that.”

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, and the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the-

“(Y/n),” Bill shook her shoulder. “We’re here.”

 Bill’s words jarred (y/n) from her memory, pulling her back to their present reality. Her eyes widened as she looked around, seeing that they were the last ones in the truck. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, getting up and grabbing her gear quickly. 

He watched her carefully for a moment. “You alright?”

“Yeah, she nodded, following him out of the truck. “Just got a lot to think about, is all.”

As her feet hit the frozen ground, the icy wind pierced through her. She shivered involuntarily, nuzzling into her scarf and tucking her hands under her armpits. The breath she exhaled turned into visible mist, fading into the icy air.

A smirk grew on Bill’s face, and he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Does all that thinkin’ have to do with a certain Captain?”

Her cheeks warmed at the implication, and she groaned, trying to walk off from him. “Bill, come on! First George, now you?”

He laughed, a hearty and comforting sound amidst the cold surroundings. ”Ahh come on, (y/n/n). You know we won’t say nothin’.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Seeking some respite from the chill, they gathered around a burning pit of gasoline. The flames flickered, casting a warm glow that provided some relief from the biting cold. (Y/n)’s fingers tingled with warmth as she extended them toward the fire, her squadmates gathering around for the shared heat. 

Amidst the crackling of the fire, the distant rumble of a vehicle approached and grabbed (y/n)’s attention. Her eyes caught Lew’s familiar figure hopping out of a jeep with Dick.

“Wait right here. Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered the driver, clipboard in hand. Their eyes met, and his gaze conveyed a mix of worry, silently acknowledging the danger ahead and reassuring her in the same breath. Despite the cold, there was a flicker of warmth in those eyes. He nodded in her direction, his unspoken message clear: important matters awaited him with Colonel Sink.

She watched as he and Dick were soon engrossed in a rapid conversation with Sink, pouring over maps of their upcoming objective. For the second time in the last ten minutes, she was pulled from her thoughts by someone calling her name. This time it was Babe. 

“Hey Bill, (y/n), Don. Come here, look at this.”

The trio looked at each other worriedly, following Babe to the main road. The sight that met their eyes was nothing short of harrowing. 

There were bloody and worn soldiers as far as the eye could see, limping from the very place Easy was being sent to. Their faces were either blank or etched with pain and fear, their movements sluggish, uniforms stained with the evidence of the brutal battle they endured. 

“What the…” Bill’s voice trailed off. They stood there, silent, their minds struggling to comprehend what was before them.

The only sounds that pierced the grim silence were the haunting echoes of boots on frozen ground and the heart-wrenching cries and groans of the wounded. 

“What the hell is going on?” Malarkey whispered, his eyes focused on the battered soldiers.

Bill reached out and grabbed a soldier by the arm. “Hey, pal, what happened? Where the hell are you going?”

The man’s face showed pure exhaustion, and his words were weak as he spoke. “They came out of nowhere. They slaughtered us. You gotta get out of here.”

Babe appeared over Bill’s shoulder, a look of helplessness on his face. “We just got here.”

The soldier stared at them blankly for a moment before Bill grabbed his ammo bag. “Give me your ammo. Come on.”

“Take it. You’ll need it,” the man mumbled.

Nausea rose up (y/n)’s throat as she watched on. It had started as a subtle discomfort, a gnawing unease that intensified with each passing moment. The sight of the battered soldiers had churned her insides, triggering an avalanche of emotions she struggled to contain. 

As the procession of soldiers unfolded before her, the sheer gravity of the situation weighed heavily on her heart. Their bloodied and worn forms, their haunted expressions, the desperate cries for help…they all combined to create a suffocating atmosphere, and the impact hit her like a physical blow.

She felt her muscles tense in protest, and the stench of fear and blood, mingling with the acrid smell of gasoline and gunpowder, only served to intensify the waves of nausea. With a choked gasp, she staggered backwards, her other hand instinctively reaching for her helmet, tearing it off just as she emptied her stomach onto the ground behind her. 

Time seemed to blur, and she was vaguely aware of a presence beside her, a comforting hand rubbing her back gently. In the darkness threatening to pull her under, she clung to the soothing touch to ground her.

Once finished, she braced her hands on her knees, concentrating on the calming touch rather than the burn she felt in her throat. A canteen was moved into her line of vision, and she took it quickly. (Y/n) rinsed her mouth with water, spitting the residual bile and taking deep breaths to steady herself.

“Thanks, Lew,” she whispered hoarsely, holding out the canteen. “I’m glad this was water, for once.”

“Yeah,” he gruffed, pushing it back to her, urging her to take another sip. “You alright?”

“These men…,” she began, standing up slowly. “They’ve been through hell.”

His worried eyes watched her as she looked out at the sea of bloody and exhausted men. “I know,” he paused, doing the same. “Come on, we got some ammo.”

(Y/n) followed him as he quickly made his way to a table with a few crates of ammo. Everyone around her stuffed their pockets with as much as they could, and she was no exception. They needed as much as they could get. Her mind drifted to ammo, then to the cold, then to the scarf around her neck…Lew’s scarf. Did he ever find anything?

She turned to Lew with frantic eyes, scanning his figure for any cold weather gear. “Did you find anything?”

He hesitated for a moment, deciding whether or not to lie. Seeing her concerned face, he decided against telling her the truth. “Yes, they’re on the jeep. But I did find you these,” he whispered, discreetly sliding her a pair of gloves under the table. 

“No,” she protested, pushing them back gently. “I’m not taking-”

Lew shook his head, a faint, reassuring smile on his lips. “Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes. That’s an order, corporal,” he said, nudging the gloves toward her with a smirk. “You’re so stubborn, woman. Just take the damn gloves.”

Reluctantly, she accepted them and slipped them on slowly, savoring the warmth they provided. “I hate you,” she muttered, returning to the table to get more ammunition. “And I hate it when you pull rank.”

Lew rolled his eyes playfully, his voice a tender murmur meant for her ears alone. “I love you, too.”

After a moment, he reached out and gently pulled her to face him. He leaned in close, his voice a soft caress among the tension in the air. “Keep your head down, alright?”

Their proximity sent a heat wave through her, and she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin. Suddenly aware of the closeness, he cleared his throat and took a subtle step back, eyes glancing around them for onlookers. 

A sigh escaped her lips as she looked up at him, the worry evident in her eyes. “I will. Where will you be?”

“Most likely a little behind the line with Dick,” he replied, his gaze briefly shifting to the ground. “I won’t be far.”

A wave of concern washed over her. “You be careful, too. I can’t ha-”

“Don’t worry about me,” he interjected, adjusting her helmet with a determined air. “You know I’ll manage.”

“Lewis, will yo-”

Lieutenant Dike’s sharp voice pierced the air, cutting through their conversation abruptly. “Easy Company! Move out!”

(Y/n) took a steadying breath, closing her eyes momentarily to gather her resolve. When she opened them, Lew was watching her intently with an expression she hadn’t quite seen before. It had a blend of adoration and worry, unlike anything she’d witnessed in Paris or the camp's chaos.  His eyes seemed to whisper, “You’re strong, and I’ve got your back.”

George called her name from a distance, but her eyes remained locked on Lew’s. He nodded once, a subtle reassurance that said it was okay. With a shaky smile, she turned and joined Luz and her squad, stepping into the path toward Bastogne.

Nixon’s eyes followed (y/n) as she melded into the sea of soldiers on their way to the town. Her familiar figure seemed to blur into the collective form of Easy Company. The air was alive with the charged energy of soldiers readying for battle, but Lewis Nixon felt a sudden stillness within him, a sharp awareness that it was her first time in combat after being hit.

A shiver ran down his spine, an icy finger tracing the contours of his thoughts. The weight of impending danger settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach. His fists clenched involuntarily, nails digging into his palm. He wanted to reach out, to call her back, to hold her close and promise safety, but the harsh reality of war held him back. Each step she took away from his felt like an eternity, the silent ticking of a clock counting down to disaster.

As she blended into the crowd, her presence grew fainter like a flickering flame in the distance. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily to center his thoughts. The cacophony of soldiers, the shuffle of feet, the clinking of gear…all of it seemed to fade into the background as his mind flashed with all his memories of her. But as the seconds ticked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this battle, this path they were treading, would demand more than either of them could foresee. 

Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out…

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[bornhollow]

TEMP MUSE LIST

abarai renji >> shinigami. 6th division lieutenant. he/him.

aizen sosuke >> shinigami. former 5th division captain. he/him

akon >> shinigami/oni. 12th division lieutenant. he/him

aikawa "love" rabu >> visored. former 7th division captain. he/him.

coyote starrk >> hollow. 1st espada. he/they.

grimmjow jaegerjaquez >> hollow. 6th espada. he/him.

hirako shinji >> visored. 5th division captain. he/they.

hisagi shuhei >> shinigami. 9th division co-lieutenant. he/him

ishida ryuken >> quincy. hospital director. he/him.

ishida uryu >> quincy. student. he/him

kenpachi zaraki >> shinigami. 11th division captain. he/him.

kurosaki ichigo >> shinigami/quincy/yokai. substitute shinigami. he/him.

kurosaki isshin >> shinigami/human. former 10th division captain. he/him.

kyoraku shunsui >> shinigami. captain-commander of gotei 13/former 8th division captain. he/him.

madarame ikkaku >> shinigami. 11th division lieutenant/former 3rd seat. he/him.

muguruma kensei >> visored. 9th division captain. he/him

urahura kisuke >> shinigami. former 12th division captain. he/him

ocs

kaneko hoshi >> shinigami. 4th division officer. he/they.

saito michiyo >> shinigami. 9th division 3rd seat. they/them.

saito miyuki >> soul. head of the noble house saito. she/her

sayaka >> shinigami. 8th division officer. she/they.

takeda miyu >> human (spiritually aware). student. she/they

[bleachbleachbleach]

I was going to make a post about the evolution of the 6th Division office over time, because these screencaps have been sitting on my desktop for months and that is ridiculous (that’s the part about this that is ridiculous), but I think instead I want to talk about the likelihood that there is some enterprising shinigami out there making it as a freelance furniture designer/pirate.

Evolution of the 6th Division Office Over Time 

One might assume that the Kuchiki office has existed unchanged since time immemorial, reflecting the their lengthy tenure as being Voted #1 Noble Family by Kuchiki Magazine, but that’s where you’d be WRONG, because Byakuya has an entirely different odd little side table than Ginrei! He has an entirely DIFFERENT uncomfortable chair! See the rounded top edges of Ginrei’s? And idk if we see the slatback for Ginrei’s, but Byakuya’s version seems to be wanting to do the chair version of what the window panes are doing (which cast dramatic shadows when the moonlight hits just right, so you know that’s intentional), peak chair flex. 

Does it make up for the addition(?) of two of the most hideous couches in the Seireitei? Up for debate. But I think Byakuya’s couches might be worse than the 10th couches and the 3rd couches. I’m also convinced that these couches see very little use, because unlike the 10th Division couches, who is napping on these? It’s probably never occurred to Byakuya that those might be a place one might sleep, or nap. The office is not a place for relaxing; they don’t call it a workplace for nothing, and there are far more amenable facilities back home. I think Renji could probably make these into napcouches, because he’s a hero, but he’s very tall, probably taller than the couch is long, and the arms/couchback are cut such that it would be very difficult to use them as head/legrests without just sliding off the front of the couch. These couches are like the couch version of carceral design benches in parks/airports to dissuade people from sleeping on them.

Anyway, what I meant to say is that the 6th office we get in The Kouga Era is different than the one we get in Zanpakutou Rebellion Era, but given how quickly 10th goes through furniture it’s hard to say whether these changes reflect a change in leadership/change in style over centuries, or the whimsy of a moment. Tragically inconclusive findings, which is why I’d instead direct your attention to my favorite element of the 6th Office:

The Odd Little Side Table

[Ginrei, staring directly into the hidden camera someone put in this office]

Let’s be real here, this is a really weird way to store papers, and not a particularly ergonomic one. Functionally it’s weird; aesthetically, it’s weird, because the massive solidity of the window-centered desk makes the odd little side table feel out of place, and unbalances the room (especially since the couches are on that side, too?).

My guess is that it’s not intended to function as a side table, but as a desk--the kind you’d sit at on the floor on a zabuton, as some shinigami seem to employ in their personal quarters. In Ginrei’s case, maybe that was the OG furnishing in the room, and the giant brick desk is “relatively” new to the office. Or is this the Seireitei version of an adjustable sitting/standing desk, except it’s two desks and they are sitting/sitting desks? Is that Renji’s desk? Is that the snack table that just happens to have a bunch of paper on it in this moment? I don’t know, but it’s my favorite part of this office.

The Door Pull Mogul

But this is really what I’ve been thinking about this morning. The fact of these... door pulls?? KALLRÖR FROM IKEA IS THAT YOU. We know 6th has got their fancy puzzle-key gate, so maybe this mod, Japandi situation we’ve got going with these doors isn’t unexpected, but why are the interior doors to the 6th Division office outfitted like a Hostelling International property:

Don’t get me wrong, I love whatever the Seireitei’s “eras tour? we are ALL eras” architecture and technology, but I’m really interested in what possessed the 6th Division that they wanted to change from sliding doors (I say “change” because the 10th still has sliding doors, and I assume at some point in the past they all did) to doors with IKEA handles. This seems like a horrible choice for a door with any weight to it--how do you grip and pull this? There’s hardly enough clearance between handle and door for even the tiniest hands to grip it. These are cabinet handles. But sure, let’s set that aside.

Inasmuch as the 6th likely values reliable tradition, modernizing one’s interior design not because it got blown up but just because you can is probably one of the best ways you can prove you’re wealthy in this place. Because what else are they going to do? Buy crypto? 

So I love the idea that some shinigami realized that they actually did not enjoy talking to ghost after ghost, and they actually did not enjoy risking dismemberment and death, but while on patrol in the Living World found that they did like mail-order catalogs (and later, the Internet and like, Fiverr or something), and got really into creating lookbooks. And they joined up with some equally enterprising shinigami with an equal distaste for death, who had the hookup with all the artisans in town, and they started handmaking and individually-crafting Living World mass design.

Instead of beginning with the bespoke furniture and finding ways of making the mass market, ready-to-wear versions of spoons and couches and door pulls, they went in the other direction and pulled the most popular designs from the Living World (AKA the cheapest and most readily available, but from an alternative perspective the most reflective of the cultural zeitgeist) and pirated them over to Soul Society, to be reinvented and remade as bespoke, very expensive furniture. 

[sterlinglawyersllc]

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Gab

[despair-to-future-arcs]

Well ironically enough you lucked there Harumi for two reasons.

One you ran into easily the two most reasonable Void members, as Hajime and Emma are nowhere nearly as bratty as some of the other members are. They of course have their issues plus they are willing to go along with [REDATED], but they aren't gonna throw a temper tantrum because things don't go their way.

And two Nikei wasn't with them. Aside from him being a mega brat, his Divine Luck ability allows him to detect lies so even if you skitted around the question, he would have picked up you were lying to him upfront because Divine Luck is all kinds of bullshit.

*After finish eating and Emma pay the tab, the 3 walk out*

Well that was nice, thank you again for speaking with us...

Again, I'm terribly sorry for disrupting you while you were working will leave you be.

It's fine, sorry again I can't be much help to you both but as say; it's all I know.

But still, it was nice chatting with you; I hope you both for the best.

Same here, I think we need to wait at the hospital - will let you go.

Well, okay see you then!

*Harumi walk off, as leaving the 2 be*

Well that was a waste of time, I thought for sure I would of had something but seems I only had her speaking her life story.

Y'know, if Nikei were here to help us get the truth out of her instead of trying to get clout; then maybe we wouldn't have gotten info.

Yeah I know what you mean, but again - it's not like we can get much, maybe we should just go back and-.

HARUMI: Wait, what... you want me to come to your office? But I need to get back to the island, can't you just call me on the phone?

*As then the 2 overheard a conversation Harumi had on the phone*

I see... so you want me to come to the 6th Division Office and talk there, right? Well okay, I can speak with Mr. Sakakura and confirm what Mayu say.

Okay... coming... *Harumi hangs up the phone*

Man, 1 thing after another; today has been quite the tiresome day, maybe after this I can drink some Umeshu after all this, that be nice to have.

I better see what those 2... *Harumi headed off as Emma and Hajime off*

Huh... seems we got some information from the sounds of it...

And Mayu... that name sounds familiar, doesn't it? I remember Dr. Mitsume did get some name for particpants, didn't she?

I think so, wait... do you think we should follow her?

Isn't it obvious, given that Future Foundation is working on the Neo World Program; we might want to get intel so we need to figure out where the Neo World Program is and maybe we can inform the others.

So let's follow them, shall we?

Okay but still, we really should get back to the hospital before Iroha wonders where we are...

*as then the 2 follow after Harumi...*

[paulagnewart]

Sonic the Oz-Hog Act 8/12: Journey's End!

Sonic Universe issue 16 AU Publication Date: 6th August 2010 Price: $6.50

(Alternate title: 'A Farewell to Khans!'.)

Sixteen. Six. Teen. Siiiiiiixteeeeen. A number by all rights like any other, yet harbors more than a few connotations in life. Songs written and movies made have abounded over the decades in dedication to this number. It can mark exciting new beginnings, a (at least theoretically) responsible coming of age, a formal debut ready to tackle the more "mature" world of driving cars and leaving school in favour of the local workforce. Or maybe not. The author of these posts can't remember their sixteenth birthday beyond being pretty sure it happened, it rained, and there was a new Transformers action figure involved.

But when it came to Aussies following their favourite hedgehog's monthly tri-coloured triumphs, sixteen marked a bitter end.

In comparison to the turmoil of 2010's political sphere, Sonic and his freedom fighting buddies' year-long battle against the Iron Dominion's wrath was a cakewalk. Having swept to power in November 2007 despite the best efforts of conservative media and racist fake pamphlets, the time had come for Kevin Rudd to resign. Labor's three year tenure of poll-topping high highs and scandalous low lows painted a divisive picture, and with the prospect of losing power on the back of a fatal home insulation program and increased taxes for mining non-renewables, Julia Gillard stepped up unopposed to succeed him on 24th June. Rudd agreed on 6th August to stay onboard for support, and within two weeks of this issue's publication, a federal election saw Gillard narrowly retain her mantle as Australia's first female Prime Minister.

Music lovers thrummed away to manufactured relationship angst of Eminem and Rihanna's collaboration Love the Way You Lie, which was halfway through its six week domination of the billboard charts. Christopher Nolan's brain-bender Inception had enjoyed its own three weeks leading the local box office, until Will Ferrell and Mark Wahlberg briefly blasted their way to the top in The Other Guys.

The glory days of analogue morning toon-tainment for kids were by this point faded memories. Having half an hour sliced off its slot beginning New Year's Day 2010, Toasted TV limped itself along offering viewers that day repeats of Huntik: Secrets & Seekers and Dinosaur King. The product of networks pushing for breakfast news programs and set top boxes becoming more prevalent (i.e. affordable) meant the future of children's television was well on its way to being all digital. Channel Seven's subsidiary 7TWO served up repeats of Avenger Penguins, Digimon Data Squad, Handy Manny and Power Rangers Jungle Fury. Not to be outclassed, Channel Nine's newly-minted 9GO! kicked off the day with new Out of Jimmy's Head before its own repeat cavalcade of Class of 3000, Chowder, Legion of Super Heroes, Ben 10, The Flintstones and The Jetsons.

Another far cry from the days of yore were fan reviews. Forums, groups and pages come and go. The regulars over at Sonic Stadium all but ignored the issue and instead focused on whether Mighty and Ray would get their own SegaSonic Arcade adaptation, while gushing over the impending Tails Adventure arc. Sonic HQ's once juggernaut now dustbowl Knothole Village had little to say beyond base pleasantries, as did PorpoiseMuffins' Saturday Morning Sonic message board.

For those hoping to dig deep into the comic proper, Ian Flynn's forum truly put the "King" in "BumbleKing". By that point in its life a thriving superpower, after 5 days and over 15 pages of speculation, residents of Archie Sonic's biggest watering hole considered it "without a doubt my favorite of the arc. It's mostly expostition with more or less no action but what exposition!" The good times rolled with "Good wrap-up to this arc in an arc. I enjoyed it. I liked Espio's backstory; thought it was handled well." and "I've said it before I'll say it again Ian gets Sonic's personality so right my favorite line has to be "'Careful'? So many foreign words today!" why cant SEGA write him like that.". Forum goers were excited to share their future speculations, notably the prospect of one character being the first in a series which, like Dimitri being the latest in a line of Enerjaks, began life as a fan theory shared on message boards during the late-90's.

Yet while fandom faces and places can change as time marches on, attitudes remain engrained. Even if they've never seen the character or read a comic, some people can (and will) criticize them, ranging from "not being accurate to other source material" or that incredibly tired buzzword of dismissing the series as "weird". When pressed to consider the extensive laundry list of Archie Sonic material going under the hammer of fickle fans, it's tough topping the decades of derision aimed at Mobius' own cybernetic simian, Monkey Khan.

The amalgamation of late writer/artist Frank Strom's admiration for Chinese literature hero Sun Wukong, Japanese actors in rubber monster suits, and 1970's Hong Kong martial art films, Khan found himself shackled among the swelling ranks of Geoffrey St. John, Nate Morgan and Mina Mongoose in the upper echelons of Archie Sonic's most reviled characters. Case in point, fans quickly booted up their modems as early as November 1997 to voice their displeasure online. Some remained optimistic, citing Khan "looks simply like a vessel for spouting chiche's and poor dialogue, but there's opportunity to make him more interesting (and more vital) to the story." Others took offence to the character's ancient roots, wondering if the coincidence "probably is, since this issue didn't seem very well thought out. If it was a reference, that would be the only excuse for the piece of Mass-Produced Crud".

As the years rolled on and Khan made a handful more cameos, this fan mentality never truly shook off. "I have come to NOT STAND Monkey Khan AND Frank Stroms writing and drawing skills…MK has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH SONIC THE HEDGEHOG AND IF THE EDITOR HAD ANY SENSE HE'D FIRE STROM. The guy has done NOTHING to show that he can even write a Sonic story." readers openly whined. "it really ticks me off that Frank Strom's version of the Monkey King was so poor… in fact, I bet he hasn't heard of MK in his life, but rather, Dragon Ball. smirk. Frank Strom is probably the worst Archie-Sonic writer I've ever seen, with the possible exception of 75% of Mike Gallagher's works.". They compared Khan to the worst type of wish-fulfilment self-insert, and Strom himself often written into fanfics as a target of obsessive mockery. Even the efforts of Ian Flynn to flesh out his character during 2009-10 (complete with hatred lampshade on the first page of issue 203) came across mixed, further fueled at a time when Archie Comics openly baited fans into a staggeringly pointless shipping war.

Hm. Seeing how Khan, Geoffrey, Mina and Nate were frequently criticized for stealing the spotlights of Sonic, Antoine, Sally and Rotor respectively, maybe there's an alternate universe where someone capitalized of this and united them to strike out in their own team. It would certainly make for quite the fanfic. But enough digressing.

There's a bittersweet irony here. Locals who loathed Monkey Khan's exploits and hoped to see the back of him once and for all were about to get their wish. A World Under Constant Vigil marked the last appearance Khan would make in a starring role, one which in a fantastical coincidence was published exactly on Frank Strom's 46th birthday. Further blurring the lines between a true case of "Sixteen Khandles" and the Monkey's Paw myth, Sonic Universe issue 16 would ultimately be the final comic released at Australian retail.

After 17 years of constantly easily accessible comics, time was up. Issue 211 and Universe 14 were the last to be sold at retail for $5.50, a price increase from $4.95 which began with issue 198. The move to fancy new glossy paper, an arguably remarked improvement which brought the comic's quality closer in line with the free Bionicle, HeroScape, The Batman and Teen Titans centerpiece of 2005-6 meant coughing up another dollar. Was it this move to $6.50 a copy that made the bean counters at Gordon and Gotch drop the title? Were they too frustrated by enduring the excessive length of Iron Queen's tenure? Was it the moonlit kiss and chest stroking between Sally and Khan in issue 212 that broke the camel's back? Guess fans will never know, for when the writer of these posts questioned said distributors at the time, they responded curtly that both Sonic titles "have now ceased and are no longer in production". So much for that.

As anyone who's kept up with these will know, the story of Archie Sonic in Australia was far from being all over. It's hard to keep a good high speed hero down, and one day he shall come back. Yes, he shall come back. Until then, there must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties. Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to Sonic that he is not mistaken in his.

Yet it would be a long, pained fifteen months before Aussies saw the blue blur triumphantly return to newsagent shelves.

[supekiiler]

Dwayne Guarnere // Biography

Full name: Dwayne W. Guarnere Universe: Comic + Show based Aliases: Soldier Boy 1, Guarnere, Captain Guarnere Gender: Male Species: Supe Sexuality: Heterosexual Age: 114 Birthdate: 1910 Nationality: American Powers: Superhuman strength, agility, durability, speed, toxin immunity, healing factor Abilites: Military, martial arts, firearm, and survival training Race: African-American Skin color: Black Hair color: Black Eye color: Brown Height: 6'6 Weight: 220 pounds Father: Johnathon Guarnere Mother: Billie Guarnere Siblings: None Children: None Spouse: None Former occupation: United States Army, 320th Barrage Balloon Battalion Location: Brooklyn, New York Affiliation: The Boys (part time) Information: When the U.S went to war with Nazi Germany, Dwayne Guarnere was a Captain within the segregated all black 320th Barrage Balloon Battalion that stormed Normandy on D-Day, June 6th, 1944. Before the invasion of Europe, Dwayne was a lab rat forcefully experimented on by Frederick Vought and the American Government. Vought wanted to see how Compound V would affect the "Negro race" as he put it. What he thought would be a failure turned into a wild success. At first, when injected with Compound V, nothing happened to Dwayne. Believing that a Negro could never handle such a potent scientific achievement due to being "inferior," Frederick Vought had the army throw Dwayne back into his infantry division, believing he would eventually die. What Dwayne kept to himself however, was that it took a full week for his powers to actually settle in. Soon reports came from Normandy of a black American soldier throwing Germans off cliffs with his bare hands, tossing grenades over 1,000 miles per hour, and ripping off the heads of Nazi S.S officers near Normandy. Despite his divisions success in the war, Dwayne and his comrades were never given the spotlight they deserved. Instead, Dwayne was put to the side by the American Government and mostly forgotten as dozens of other Supes began to pop up into the world. The most popular of which was America's very own Soldier Boy, a white soldier who the government often lied about to boost morale and pump out more propaganda, most commonly spouting lies that Soldier Boy stormed Omaha Beach and took part in the fighting on D-Day. As of now, Dwayne lives in Brooklyn and has currently come out of retirement to assist The Boys in taking down Vought and the new Soldier Boy.

[lewisto]

Hi there!

Artyom Ekimov — the man who made Valerian Mazaraki his deputy and staffed Moscow’s territorial funeral services departments with fellow Stavropol natives — took charge of Ritual literally just a few days before federal agents carried out a special operation against his former place of work. As a result of that police bust, the entire leadership of the Interior Ministry’s Anti-Corruption and Economic Security head office (GUEBiPK) ended up in prison.

The reason for the police action was an earlier sting operation staged by GUEBiPK officers to try to catch Igor Demin, the deputy director of the FSB’s Internal Security 6th Service, in the process of accepting a bribe. Afterwards, seven GUEBiPK staff, including department head Denis Sugrobov, were charged with abuse of office and provoking bribery, and later with organizing a criminal association as well. Sugrobov was initially sentenced to 22 years in prison before the term was reduced to 12 years.

It’s believed that the Sugrobov case was a response to GUEBiPK’s attempts to gain control over the banking sector, which was traditionally supervised by the banking division (Department “K”) of the FSB’s Economic Security Service.

Denis Sugrobov knew about Artyom Ekimov's plans to leave the department to work at Ritual, a source close to Sugrobov told me. Back in 2013, says me, Sugrobov suggested that Ekimov had been hired as the new head of the Moscow funeral service because he was a “competent guy” and a friend of FSB Lieutenant Colonel Marat Medoev. Sugrobov's contacts in the presidential administration also allegedly informed him that Medoev’s superior, Alexey Dorofeyev, directly lobbied for Ekimov’s appointment to the top spot at Ritual.

FSB Lieutenant General Alexey Dorofeyev, now age 58, graduated from the Leningrad Mechanical Institute, before joining the KGB and working in city-level state security departments in Leningrad and then (after the city was renamed) St. Petersburg. In 2005, he took over the FSB’s office in Karelia. According to reports in the news media, Dorofeyev was removed from this post following deadly ethnic clashes in Kondopoga in August 2006, but he soon made it to Moscow. From 2010 to 2012, he managed the FSB's Department “M,” which subsequently carried out the operation to break up GUEBiPK. In 2012, Dorofeyev was put in charge of the FSB’s Chief Directorate for the Moscow metropolitan area.

Another source in law enforcement (an officer at one of Russia’s intelligence agencies who is personally acquainted with Marat Medoev) that Lieutenant General Dorofeyev was behind Artyom Ekimov’s appointment to Ritual, saying that Ekimov was considered “Dorofeyev's man.”

The same source describes Dorofeyev as a kind of “demigod.” “He’s a lieutenant general with an office and a sunroom. Not every boss from ‘Detsky Mir’ can get an audience with him,” my source says, referring to the children's retail store across the street from the FSB’s headquarters at Lubyanka Square in Moscow.

[romanovsmurdermystery]

On the photograph: Alexander Nikolaevich Dolgorukov (1872-1948) wo provided his testimony quoted below to the special investigator, N.A. Sokolov in connection to the Nicolas II 'murder' case.

Testimony:

‘In the summer of 1918, a member of the State Council and a Kiev provincial leader, Fyodor Nikolaevich Bezak, lived in Kiev. He and I were both part of the same monarchist group. I remember well, on the 5th or 6th of July, - new style, - Bezak called me on the phone and said that Count Alvensleben had just called him and told him that he would now be at Bezak’s and would give him some important news. This Alvensleben is a former diplomatic official of the German Foreign Office. During the era of the hetman, he, having been called up for mobilization, was under the commander-in-chief Eichhorn, and then under Kirbach. According to him his grandmother was Russian, a certain Countess Kiseleva. He was well-known in Russian circles and was considered a monarchist and Russophile.

During this conversation, Alvensleben warned us that between July 16 and July 20 (new style) a rumour or news of the assassination of the Emperor (Nicolas II) would spread, and that this rumour or news should not bother us: like the rumour about the murder of the Emperor, which took place in June, it would be false, but that it was necessary for His salvation. I remember well that during our conversation with him, which took place, as I already said, on the 5th or 6th July - the new style, - Count Alvensleben indicated as the time frame of when the news of the assassination of the Emperor should spread: 16-20 July. At the same time, he asked us to keep our conversation with him secret, pretending that we believed the news of the Emperor’s death. - Alexander Nikolaevich Dolgorukov (1872-1948)

About the Alvesleben:

The House of Alvensleben is an ancient, Low German (niederdeutsch) noble family from the Altmark region, and one of the oldest extant German aristocratic families.

The family’s earliest known member, Wichard de Alvensleve, is first mentioned in 1163 as a ministerialis of the Bishopric of Halberstadt.

The family generated two catholic bishops of Havelberg in the 15th and 16th centuries, but then became Lutheran Protestants. Joachim I. von Alvensleben (1514-1588) promoted the reformation in the Altmark region. The family provided many heads of government in this province, as well as a number of ministers, generals and diplomats in different Northern German states. Several lines of the family were made Prussian counts, beginning in 1798, and the family received a hereditary seat in the Prussian House of Lords. Most of their properties were expropriated in 1945 in communist East Germany.

About Alexander Nikolaevich Dolgorukov (1872-1948) – shortened version

Born in 1872 in St. Petersburg and, according to family tradition, chose the military path for his career. Graduated from the Corps of Pages, the Oriental Languages Course at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Academy of the General Staff. At the same time, simultaneously with his studies, in 1893 he served in the Cavalry Regiment as a lieutenant.

[…]

In 1917, headed the first cavalry corps of the Russian Army. In 1918, left for Ukraine, where he joined the army of Hetman Skoropadsky, whom he knew from battles in East Prussia.

After the hetman left Kyiv, Alexander Nikolaevich joined the northwestern army of General Yudenich where he formed and led the fourth rifle division of the second corps, with which he took part in the attack on Red Petrograd, leading his riflemen into bayonet battle.

After the defeat of the White Army ended up in Estonia, where he was interned.

After a short stay in Estonia, emigrated to France, where he lived until 1924. Afterwards, Alexander Nikolaevich Dolgorukov and his wife and daughter moved to the Belgian Congo, where he served in the local administration.

From 1929 to 1948 he lived in Morocco, where he worked in local companies in various positions. Died in Rabbat, Morocco.

On the images: on the left a group photo with Alexander Nikolaevich Dolgorukov in the middle (bottom row) marked with red cross; on the right: coat of arms of The House of Alvensleben.

Testimony is translated by Seraphima Bogomolova