#brass bull

[squirmydads-creations]

Reaper bones 2012 Kickstarter monsters; an intellect devourer, a bullete, and a brass bull. For the Bones I find I like working on the monsters a lot more than the indidual or character figures.

[yourcoffeeguru]

Vintage Bronze Brass Chinese Year of the Ox Feng Shui Granting Bull w Dragon || swtradepost

[chronivore]

Burning Inside

[sleepyminty]

Absolutely losing it that we are now able to be an absolute dick to abnomalities in the new mirror dungeon

Except for lost passenger

[chiefatticcreator]

Lewd Status: Love at First Sight: Timido Cute finds herself in a different world when the heavy steps of Taurox get closer and closer behind her.

Love at First Sight: Muse gets charmed and uncontrollably attracted to the first person they laid their eyes upon. Can specify who the person is.

Taurox did not know where the strange woman came from, save that it had been from some kind of magic portal, nor did he care very much. The only thing that paused him from raising his axes to add another layer of blood to them was a look at the girl's body. With a huff, the beastman made a noise of pleasure. Of all the human women he had killed and slaughtered, this one had the most attractive body he had seen. Snarling, he charged her, wanting to violate her.

[cephydots]

project moon keeping up the sexy sfx...

[hedgehog-moss]

I went to see the transhumance last week and it was an experience! I've lived here for five years and I'd never been to this event despite it being advertised in the library & town hall every year because I thought, it's just cows crossing a town on their way to their summer pastures, it's not that interesting—but I didn't realise that people turned it into a whole party, as people tend to do. When I arrived in town I found that a nearby field had been (temporarily) turned into a car park to accommodate the many, many visitors who came to see the spectacle—and I was like, maybe I've been missing out on something.

The town was festooned with tassels and garlands (some of the cows were also festooned, with big pompons on their horns) (festoon is a really great English word.) When I arrived there was a thriving little market with several cheese stands, because of course people would take this opportunity to sell their cheeses. They also sold bread, fruit, and cow milk-based desserts including ice-cream, so you were covered if you wanted lunch. (Unless you're lactose intolerant. I'm sorry.)

There were also folk dancers, and a contest going on where you had to guess the weight of an absolutely massive bull (see above). (My guess was way off, he weighed 1 200 kg!) There was a stand with a guy selling beautiful, framed photos of his cows. In one photo a cow was whispering something in her friend's ear. Nearby some prize cows were waiting to be paraded around and one of them was wearing a halter with a little heart <3

(I was invited for apéritif at a neighbour's house a few months ago, he's a retired farmer and he had old Kodak photos of his cows from the 1980s and 90s all over his house. He remembered their names and personalities.)

There was also a stand selling a dizzying variety of cow bells, and I've been resisting the temptation to buy a cow bell for five years now because, well, it's such a cliché tourist thing to buy, but I will probably end up buying one someday. It's hard to resist their allure. I'm not sure which of my animals will have to deal with the humiliation of wearing a bell for a few hours and being photographed cosplaying as a cow against his will.

(Definitely Pirlouit.)

I was buying an ice-cream and asking the vendor if the cows were fashionably late when finally, the herds started arriving. One herd would cross the town, with onlookers clapping and cheering (including from their balconies), then people went back to buying cheese and watching the dancers or the brass band, and commenting on the prize cows strutting on the plaza, then another herd would arrive half an hour later and children would run ahead to warn everyone "They're coming!" (kids love being sentinels) and people would eagerly gather again to clap and cheer as they walked past, and it went on like this all day. You'd think you might get tired of eating ice-cream and clapping for cows but no, people were still enthusiastic when the last herd came.

Imagine being a local cow, and every year when your owners take you to your summer pastures in the mountain you cross a town where people are eating cow milk ice-cream and clapping for you gratefully as you walk past, and buying cow merch (like bells) and admiring an exhibit of framed photos of you and your friends, and watching cow supermodels walking the catwalk on the plaza, and just as you think you've reached maximum levels of appreciation you reach the entrance of town and there's a lifesized statue in your honour in the middle of the roundabout. These cows must have such solid self-esteem.

[thecupidwitch]

Elements And Their Correspondences

Earth

Direction: North

Time: Midnight

Season: Winter

Color: Green, brown

Zodiac: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn

Ruling planets: Venus and Saturn

Tarot Cards: Pentacles, Coins

Tools: Pentacle, salt, stones, dirt, crystals, wood, flowers

Cystals: Emerald, Jet, tourmaline, quartz, onyx, azurite, amethyst, jasper, peridot, granite.

Animals: gopher, bear, wolf, ant, horse, stag, deer, dog, cow, bull, bison, snake, worms, moles, voles, grubs

Herbs: Oak, cedar, cypress, honeysuckle, ivy, primrose, sage, grains, patchouli, nuts, magnolia, comfrey, vetivert, moss, lilac, lichen, roots, barley, alfalfa, corn, rice.

Rules: Grounding, strength, healing, success, stability, sturdiness, steadfastness, foundations, empathy, fertility, death, rebirth, wisdom, nature, animals, plants, money, prosperity.

Water

Direction: West

Time: Dusk

Season: Fall

Color: Blue, Indigo, Sliver

Zodiac: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces

Ruling planets: Moon, Neptune, Pluto

Tarot Cards: Cups

Tools: Ocean, sea glass, cup, bowl, seaweed, hag stones, cauldron

Cystals: Moonstone, pearl, silver, aquamarine, amethyst, blue tourmaline, lapis lazuli, fluorite, coral, blue topaz, beryl, opal, coral

Animals: fish, snake, frog, crab, lobster, eel, shark, dragonfly, seahorse, dolphin, sea otter, seal, whale, alligator, crocodile, beaver, octopus, penguin, salamander, turtle, starfish, koi, coral, barnacle, manta ray, manatee, jellyfish, nautilus, heron, duck, geese, crane, swan, water birds, ammonite, dragons, serpents

Herbs: seaweed, aloe, fern, water lily, lotus, moss, willow, gardenia, apple, catnip, chamomile, cattail, lettuce, kelp, birch, cabbage, coconut, cucumber, comfrey, eucalyptus, gourd, geranium, grape, licorice, lilac, pear, strawberry, tomato

Rules: emotion, intuition, psychic abilities, love, unconscious mind, fertility, self-healing, reflection, lunar energy, deep feelings, curses, death

Fire

Direction: South

Time: Noon

Season: Summer

Color: Red, Orange

Zodiac: Aries, Leo, Sagittarius

Ruling planets: Sun, Mars

Tarot Cards: Wands or Swords (depends on belief system)

Tools: Athame, candles, swords, wands, dagger, lamp, flame

Cystals: Carnelian, red jasper, bloodstone, garnet, ruby, agate, rhodochrosite, gold, pyrite, brass, fire opal, lavastone, tiger's eye

Animals: Lion, snake, coyote, fox, ladybug, bee, shark, scorpion, horse, mantis, tiger

Herbs: Cinnamon, cloves, ginger, allspice, basil, cacti, marigold, chilis, garlic, mustard, nettle, onion, heliotrope, hibiscus, juniper, lime, orange, red pepper, poppies, thistle, coffee, jalapenos, lemon, cumin, saffron, coriander

Rules: Energy, will, destruction, strength, courage, power, passion, lust, sexuality, anger, war, new beginnings, protection, loyalty, transformation, action, movement, achievement, creativity, desire, willpower

Air

Direction: East

Time: Down

Season: Spring

Color: Yellow, gold, white, light blue, pastels

Zodiac: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius

Ruling planets: Mercury, Jupiter, Uranus

Tarot Cards: Wands

Tools: Feather, wand, staff, incense, broom, bell, sword, pen

Cystals: Amber, topaz, citrine, jasper, agate, pumice, alexandrite, amethyst, fluorite, mica, clear quartz

Animals: Birds, flying insects, spiders, bats

Herbs: Bergamot, lavender, marjoram, peppermint, sage, dandelion, bluebell, clover, frankincense, primrose, lemongrass, pine, aspen, yarrow, violets, vervain, myrrh, dill, anise, aspen

Rules: Intelligence, wisdom, knowledge, logic, thought, communication, truth, inspiration, intuition, memory, creativity

Tip jar

[isakvaltersnake]

things from the 2001 television programme band of brothers that haunt me to this day:

- we’re paratroopers lieutenant, we’re supposed to be surrounded. not to be your 60 year old military obsessed uncle about it but that line goes hard

- nix’s little giggle he does sometimes

- I’ll never forgive them for leaving gene’s medic training out of their training montage. in fact you know what? go back in time, film a parallel sequel of the other 9 eps from gene’s pov

- popeye’s “they called you guys too?” and the way his accent specifically scratches my brain

- they gave me moose heyliger and his massachusetts accent for like 20 minutes then the narrative snatched him away from me and i still miss him

- the way meehan looks at winters after he tells him to close the flap, in fact let’s talk about how every single one of winters’ commanders are obsessed with him in one way or another he truly is the it girl

- the chaos and fear that precedes gene and the calm and comfort that follows him

- I know everyone thinks “we’ll go to chicago, I’ll take you there” is the insane line but the one that actually makes me lose sleep is “what, and give up all this?” THAT MAN SAID I WOULD RATHER LIVE THROUGH THE HORRORS OF WAR THAN HAVE LIVED MY LIFE WITHOUT YOU

- alley is So Beautiful and I don’t think we collectively talk about it enough

- babe being some rando replacement in episode three and whilst his other replacement friends are being absolutely roasted he is immediately adopted by bill and then gets gene fucking roe of all people to connect to him?? he’s too powerful I need to study him

- speirs being this ghoulish terrifying boogeyman until lip is anywhere near him then he’s suddenly dimples and kicking his feet and giggling

- speaking of lip and speirs their little sarcastic in jokes, lip finishing speirs’ sentences fml it’s giving married

- you been working out? IN FRONT OF EVERYONE?? LIEB YOU SLUT?? THEN YOURE GONNA LAY IN HIS BED WAITING FOR HIM??? insane behaviour

- the unexplored but high potential friendships and the way I wanted like 16 more episodes for shifty and lip, nix and luz, nix and web, sisk and perconte, winters and gene, grant and tab, lieb and alley, speirs and harry, etc

- the more haggard and bitchy nix gets the hotter he gets. he also must be studied.

- “you should pack up those ears and go home” ok sobel kinda ate with that one ngl

- speaking of sobel the little confused/bewildered/piss-pants faces he makes david schwimmer the actor you are

- the silly little wide stance pennywise ass run hall does before he gets murked RIP king

- klepto speirs ilysm

- joe toye and his brass knuckles are v sexy

- sink letting nix give winters his oak leaves was very shipper girl of him

- lip harry nix speirs winters in the eagle’s nest dream blunt rotation

- the unsustainable amount of cunt served by nix, frank, babe, and luz at all times is truly a marvel

- tab really checked lip’s dick and balls mid battle and honestly that’s friendship

- bit parts for simon pegg, tom hardy, andrew scott, james mcavoy, michael fassbender, jimmy fallon ?? bob casting director you will always be famous

- peacock is so fine if he was even a little good at his job I’d be obsessed with him (special shout out to the scene of him getting sent home on furlough)

- I could list out every one of their meaningful little moments together but really it’s babe and gene just tethering and grounding each other and how they seem to gravitate to each other out of blind instinct? that’s some Brontë whatever our souls are made of bullshit I’m afraid

- ok I know I said I wasn’t talking about little meaningful moments but gene staring across the convent at where babe is sitting, lost in the peace

-bull in replacements getting imprinted on by a bunch of baby ducks and being SO PLEASED ABOUT IT he’s not the stepfather, he’s the father that stepped up

- speaking of, the underutilization of bull in the back half is such an out of character bad call

- you are officers, you are grown ups, you oughta know. HE’S RIGHT AND HE SHOULD SAY IT AND THAT’S ON GENE BEING THE ONLY ONE ALLOWED TO TELL OFF WINTERS

- I know nix and winters are married and whatever but the real married couple behaviour is luz constantly pissing off joe and joe immediately letting it go

- lip and speirs and their mutual competency kink

- I’M REAL SORRY FRANK skinny ilysm

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Kinktober - Day 8

8th — almost getting caught/ public sex, Sebastian Vettel

The previous day I The next day I Kinktober masterlist I Main list

Sebastian was the kind of man who was well-liked by everyone, popular and envied. He was a charmer, a heartthrob, and a flirter until he met you. You were a rarity, a scandalous deviant that could match his perversions, keeping Sebastian’s interest. To him, you are a total goddess who granted all his wishes in life by staying by his side. 

Now that he had won his fourth title, he ended a season that was not his best with Red Bull, and currently, he was looking forward to a fresher start at Ferrari. 

Big band music filled the penthouse, the Ferrari’s Christmas party in full swing. You were hung on the arm of Sebastian Vettel, the new driver for the Italian team, and also your husband. You guys had just got married a few months ago, on the summer break during the 2014 season. 

“Your ass looks great in this dress,” Sebastian spoke in your ear, grabbing the fat of your bottom in his large hand, giving it a good squeeze. 

“All for you, Mr.Vettel,” you grinned, sipping the champagne and grinding back against him, trying to rile Sebastian in the middle of the party. 

“Careful. I’m in a mood tonight, doll. Don’t test me, or you may end up somewhere you don’t want to be,” Sebastian warned, dark eyes burning through your clothes. 

You turned, letting his hand rest on your ass while you looped an arm around his neck. 

“I’d go anywhere for you,” you grinned, tempting Sebastian with a messy, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue slotted with yours, swallowing moans as he pushed into your mouth.

The festive ambiance of the Ferrari Christmas party melted away as you and Sebastian disappeared into your own world. His hand gripped you possessively, his large palm squeezing your curves with an unabashed hunger. Even though you were surrounded by the top brass of the Ferrari team, you felt like you and Sebastian were the only two people in the room. The low hum of chatter, laughter, and music became background noise as the heat between you two intensified.

“Mr. Vettel, huh?” Sebastian murmured with a smirk, the playful light in his eyes not masking the fire burning beneath. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll forget we’re in public.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, igniting that delicious thrill you always felt when you tempted him. You knew Sebastian had always been the charming flirt, the man everyone wanted a piece of, but with you, it was different. There was an intensity in his gaze, a deep craving only you could satisfy, and you loved pushing him right to the edge.

You brushed your lips against his ear, your breath hot and teasing. “I like when you forget,” you whispered, your voice low, daring him to lose control, right here, right now. The desire to see him unravel in public, the powerful Sebastian Vettel at the mercy of his own need, was intoxicating.

He groaned softly, his grip on your ass tightening, and for a moment, you thought he might drag you out of the party then and there. The idea sent your heart racing. His tongue brushed against yours in that open-mouthed kiss, and it took every ounce of restraint to keep from moaning too loudly. You could feel his restraint slipping, his body pressing closer, radiating heat as his lips devoured yours.

But Sebastian was no fool. He knew how to bide his time, how to savor the build-up before the release. As much as he wanted to take you right there, he’d make you wait. He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re playing a dangerous game, doll.”

You grinned, licking your lips, savoring the taste of him. “Isn’t that why you love me?”

His eyes flared with desire, but there was that glint of control in them too, the kind that told you he wasn’t done teasing. Not yet. “We’ll finish this later,” he promised, his voice husky. “But when we do, you’ll be begging.”

You smiled knowingly, your body thrumming with anticipation. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

After some very close dancing, a couple of nips to your neck that Seb kept giving you, and a not-so-quick kiss in the corner that had your body pressed into the wall and Seb’s hand on your body, you were led to the current position you were in. Sebastian led you out of the party, through hallways, until you found yourselves in the privacy of a room away from everyone. His eyes burned with lust, dark and dangerous, as he closed the door behind him. He didn’t waste a second, his hands were on you again, tugging at the straps of your dress as he growled lowly in your ear.

"You have no idea how much I’ve been holding back," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, his voice a mixture of promise and threat. You knew whatever restraint he’d shown tonight was about to break.

You leaned into him, a smirk on your lips, teasing him as your own fingers played with the buttons of his shirt. "Then don’t hold back anymore."

A low, almost feral growl rumbles in my chest at your words. In one swift motion, He yank the straps of your dress down, exposing your shoulders and the tantalizing swell of your breasts.

“Mein Gott, this is pure heaven, Schatzi” 

His touch becomes urgent, mapping out your body like a track he’s memorized. He finds the zipper at your back and slowly pulls it down, feeling your breath hitch in anticipation. The dress pools at your feet, leaving you in nothing but a lacey bra and matching thong. Your body melted into him as he kissed his way down your neck, his hands now fully exploring, his fingers slipping beneath the lace of your bra, teasing, making your breath hitch again.

"Seb, someone could still,..."

His mouth was suddenly on yours, cutting off your words, and when he pulled back, his voice was a soft command. "Let them. You’re mine, and I’m going to take my time with you."

Sebastian’s words sent a thrill through you, your heart pounding in your chest. The possessiveness in his voice, the way he spoke like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, it set your body alight. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you even closer until you were pressed tightly against him, feeling the hardness of his body against yours.

"I’ve wanted this all night," you whispered, your own voice shaky with anticipation. Your hands moved to the waistband of his trousers, unbuttoning them with trembling fingers, eager to feel him, to match the raw desire that was building between you both.

Sebastian’s voice was low, dripping with a mixture of guilt and desire as his hips pressed into yours, the heat between your bodies almost unbearable. His hand slipped down to your thigh, rubbing slow, tantalizing circles into your skin, his touch sending a ripple of anticipation through you. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with intensity, but there was a softness behind them, a recognition of the time he’d been distant.

"I’ve been selfish," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "Neglecting my poor missus where she needed me the most."

His words were laced with an apology, but there was a hunger beneath them, a need to make things right in the way only he could. His other hand slid around to your lower back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, every inch of him pressing into you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his body tense with restraint, and yet he moved with a deliberate slowness, savoring the moment.

"...and I should apologize," he added, his voice dark and sultry, the guilt evident, but his actions betraying the lust that burned underneath. His hand on your thigh squeezed gently, teasing, making your breath hitch as the warmth of his touch seeped into your skin.

You could feel the tension building between you, his body pinning you in place as if he was waiting for your permission to continue, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. You leaned in just enough to brush your lips against his, a silent invitation, and that was all it took.

He flips you around and hands already at your cunt. You can feel his movements as he hinges you at the hips, working your thong down the meat of your thighs. He grabs big handfuls of your ass, kneading you open so he is face-to-face with your dripping pussy. He gives it a light slap before fingering you open for him. 

"This what you've been hidin'? Getting soaked like a fucking slut?" He's knuckle-deep, working his digits in and out of you with little resistance. You're struggling not to moan, knowing how thin these walls are. 

“Gotta be quiet Schatzi. You don’t want to give these Italians a show, do you?” He withdraws his fingers and pushes his pants down, unleashing himself from his boxer briefs. He pushes you back down and pushes himself in. 

He sinks himself to the hilt, burying himself inside you with a low grunt. He pauses, clutching your hips tightly. "This what you wanted, huh?" He pulls out slowly, only to thrust back in hard. He picks up the pace, slamming into you with force. "You better clench that pretty little kitty, or I'll finish on your back instead."

“N-no, don’t pull out, Seb…” You clamp your hand around your mouth to smother your moans, but the slick sounds of your hole fill the room regardless. 

Hands spreading the globes of your ass, he forces you deeper, harder. You've never seen him like this, so desperate for your cum. Your tits shake with the force of his thrusts, another thread coiling up at the base of your stomach. You're both lost in the bliss of it all when there's a knock at the door. It was Britta’s voice.

“Are you okay in there, Y/n?” 

The door handle rattles and your heart jumps at the thought of her coming in. Did Seb lock the door? You rack your brains, unable to think properly. 

Sebastian notices the way your pussy clenches at the thought of someone walking in, seeing you both like this and speeds up. You paw at the hand migrated to your pussy, trying not to moan out loud. Logically, you know if you told him to stop he would, and you should tell him to stop. But something about the stormy look in his eyes, the fervour and energy that he uses to fuck you…. 

“Answer her, Liebe. You don’t want her to come in here and see us like this, right?” He whispers into your ears while keeping up with the pace, pounding into your pussy. 

“Britta, I’m ok. Just need to fix the outfit a little bit then I will come back.” 

“Sure. Also, did Seb with you, ‘cause I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Maybe he has sneaked off somewhere to have a drink with Kimi?”

“Ok, I’ll go get him right now. Do you need anything?”

“I’m all good, Britta. Good luck finding him.”

Sebastian pulls you up by your hair, your back arches and his arm wrapped around your middle, holding you up. “Good girl, you did so well, Liebe and for that, I think you deserve to cum on my cock.” his lips against your ear.

You nod your head, knowing if you speak, you’ll just be rambling incoherently. “Gonna cum for me, aren't you? You’re my good girl.” He says.

“Come on my cock first, Schatz. Wanna make your slick pussy feel so good, smear my dick with your cream.” 

You drop your mouth open and you moan loudly when your orgasm gush out over Seb’s wide cock. He continues thrusting up into you as he feels you crumble on his dick. 

With a clenched jaw and gritted teeth, Sebastian finally saw stars as he came deep inside of you, hitting your insides with his frothy come, pulsing himself in and out of you as he rode out his high, his thighs quivering.

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[yourcoffeeguru]

Vintage Bronze Brass Chinese Year of the Ox Feng Shui Granting Bull w Dragon || SWtradepost - ebay

[tozettastone]

For the prompt ask:

1. Deidara & Sasori are isekai-ed into a fandom of your choice

Or

2. Any Naruto character is isekai-ed into a xianxia story

I'm going with 'Deidara & Sasori are isekai-ed into a fandom of your choice.' Except I actually asked @mixelation to pick the fandom, and they gave me Hannibal. :)

--

Sasori Akasuna, if that's actually his name, runs a tiny gallery that can't possibly be making enough money to sustain itself. It's three floors tall and skinny, built of dark brick some time shortly before the turn of the century, and it stands tall and straight among its huddling neighbours in an out of the way bend of an ill-favoured river, where the smell of refuse rises and falls over the course of the day as the current passes.

Will Graham parks across the river and walks there with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He is here to talk to the owner, a man with whom it is almost impossible to get an appointment — unless, apparently, you are law enforcement.

The FBI has reason to believe he might be connected to their latest killer.

The reason Hannibal has come along is... less constructive.

"He's a tremendously skilled artist," he says, walking at Will's side with a spring in his step. Will can't equal his enthusiasm, just as he can't equal his hand-tailored woollen coat. "But he speaks to nobody. I wonder if he finds other people distracting."

"I'm not here to talk about art," Will points out. He can't help himself.

He's also not sure that what Sasori does is art. Call him uncultured.

When he makes to Sasori's place of business, the front window is entirely taken up by a taxidermy chimera: the big cat's head separated from the cervine body and a pair of vulture wings that must be almost a metre each. In the gaps, there's a steampunk nightmare of gears and chains and strange brass designs.

It must be associated with some kind of motion sensor set-up, because as they approach, the mechanisms begin to move and so too does the chimera, piece by immaculately preserved piece: the head turns, the cat's jaws open to show long sharp teeth, the wings curve.

"Magnificent," breathes Hannibal. "Look how smoothly it moves: bird and beast all in one. It could be alive."

"It's certainly... unique," says Will, clipping the words.

He flashes his ID to the black eye of the camera in Sasori's doorway, ignoring the way the cat's head follows him from the window display, teeth bare and eyes utterly empty. The intercom hisses with static. The door clicks open, allowing them both into the building.

It isn't noisy on the street, but the second they enter all the sounds from outside disappear utterly. The river, the distant traffic and the crying of the crow perched upon the bridge railing are all equally lost to an oppressive hush.

The carpet is old. The floor creaks. There's a smell in the air of an old place that sees little daylight.

The air is the slightly cool room temperature familiar to conservationists everywhere. A dehumidifier waits like a silent sentinel for when its services are needed. And lining every wall, case after case, shelf after shelf, are relics of the dead.

Hannibal pulls off his dark coat and slings it over his arm, revealing a powder blue, three piece suit that fits him like a glove, and immediately goes to inspect a case full of colourful birds.

Will doesn't remove his outerwear. He is distracted. He spins slowly, taking in the room.

Dead things stare at him from case after case, climbing up the walls. Their veins and bones and guts are all internal machinery now, and their eyes are glassy and blank. Sasori is indiscriminate about his animal models: there are goats and bulls alongside wild cats, bears and the snarling faces of wolves. Some are combined with each other into fantastical chimeras; others are perfectly lifelike.

Will spots a dog. Its face is so well-preserved and lifelike that it might be about to bark.

The centrepiece of the room, standing tall and proud, is a stag. It is magnificent: four or five years old, with heavily muscled neck and shoulders and enormous antlers. It makes no noise, but its ears swivel to follow them through the room, exactly the way a live buck's would.

It sure is... something.

This, Will senses, is Sasori's design. Careful. Precise. A perfectionist. He is exacting in his demands for these works: You will not rot. You will last forever. Or else.

Will licks his lips. He glances at Hannibal. It's impossible to say if he also senses the driven and aggressive personality behind these artefacts. If he does, it won't show.

Will is so distracted by the vast array of creatures that he doesn't immediately notice Sasori Akasuna himself arriving.

The first he knows of him is a sharp voice saying: "Don't touch that."

"I apologise," Hannibal says easily, turning away from a dead lammergeier, which is frozen with its wings spread and its body hunched, as if defending prey. (It is the only bird whose diet is mostly bone. Sasori has made its bones into metal.) "The work seemed very fine, but I'm unfamiliar with the taxidermist's craft. These extraordinary specimens retain more mobility than I've yet seen elsewhere."

He might say he's unfamiliar, Will notes, but Hannibal is undoubtedly a man who has seen a great deal of taxidermy.

Will turns to look at Sasori, too.

Clearly Hannibal has found and sighted the man, but for the space of one whole breath, Will can't even spot him.

It's impossible to tell Sasori Akasuna apart from the rest of the room. In that second, he blends in seamlessly with all the perfectly-preserved creatures on display.

Then Will exhales. That's stupid. He can see Sasori just fine. He's the only other human being in the room. It's not that cluttered.

Although by all accounts he's been in this one spot for almost a decade, Sasori looks no more than twenty. He is a short, slight man with at least one East Asian parent, although he has no obvious accent. His hair is dyed a shade that could be called any number of things — dark cherry, merlot, garnet — but which Will naturally associates only with blood. His skin is as smooth and unblemished, like a doll's.

He's wearing a dark, oversize coat and sandals that reveal his toes, which seems like a strange combination.

"The puppets are built and preserved for performances," Sasori says, turning his face to Hannibal. "Art is my calling."

"So I see! I have heard your performances are magnificent."

Magnificent, yes, supposedly — but also invitation-only, according to both the brief from Jack and to Hannibal himself. Will himself is reassured by this idea, because he definitely doesn't want to watch these dead things all come to life.

"Yes. They are." Sasori's eyes drift from Hannibal to Will and back again.

Even to Will, who can empathise with a brick wall, it is challenging to read any expression on his face. Botox, he thinks. It explains how young he looks, too. A little. If you don't look very closely.

Will tries to match the man to the creations. There's something missing. He can feel it beneath his ribs.

But he's not here to think about what's wrong with Sasori. It's the man's broader network that seems suspect. A small favour. Still, he can't stop picking at it.

What's he missing?

"I have heard," Hannibal is pressing delicately even as Will furrows his brow and tries to make sense of the picture before him, circling around a fever dream of a creature crafted from the remains of a wild cat, a goat and a peacock, "that some performances have a guest list so restricted that the invitees are not permitted to know or speak to one another at all. That they must arrive in masks and veils, and are forbidden to remove them until they leave again."

Will startles and half-turns towards Hannibal. What?

Sasori doesn't even blink. "Yes. What do you want?"

There's a hesitation. The world pauses for breath. Hannibal goes quite still, but Will can see from the set of his shoulders beneath his immaculate pale suit that this abrupt demand has annoyed him.

Presumably he wants to talk for forty minutes about the nature of art before they get to the mass murderer.

"We have some questions about a man who used to live here with you," he interjects, before the interaction can go even further off the rails.

Sasori blinks, eyes rolling in a strange and unsettling display.

Like a doll himself, Will thinks. Then he blinks the thought away.

He can't be a doll. That's... ridiculous.

"Deidara," says Sasori. "What about him?"

He says it so certainly. He has only ever had one housemate here. It's unclear if they were only housemates.

Will takes in Sasori's entire person with a look. He glances around at the displays.

"A fellow artist, I'm guessing," Will says, taking a leap of intuition. Who else would live with a man like Sasori?

Sasori's doll-like eyes fix on Will. "Deidara believes himself to be an artist, yes."

'Believes himself to be' is a strange way to put it. Does Sasori have a leg to stand on, when it comes to who is really creating art? The distance might be very obvious to Sasori himself, but it's not particularly clear to Will.

"We believe he might have bombed a church and killed sixteen people," Will says, watching carefully to see how this statement lands.

Sasori does not look as though this surprises him in the slightest, but it's hard to say if that's meaningful. Sasori has so far displayed the flattest emotional affect of anyone Will has ever interviewed.

It's so marked, in fact, that the ancient reptilian part of Will's brain keeps insisting that Sasori has more in common with his artworks than the other humans in the room. Will would like to rise above the impulse to believe his instincts in this case. Flattened affect is a symptom of a wide array of disorders and disabilities, and none of them are inhuman.

"And?" Sasori prompts. "What questions do you have for me about it?"

There's not even a hint of doubt. Sasori clearly believes his housemate capable of building and detonating a bomb in an act of premeditated mass murder. That's important, too.

Frustratingly, Will can see why Jack wanted him to do this interview, even though on paper it feels like a waste of his time. Sasori is hard to read and very, very strange.

"We'd like to ask a few questions about the last time you were in contact with him."

Despite his entire personality, Sasori seems outwardly pretty cooperative. He has a precise memory, and seems to recall the details of text messages — the pair's primary method of communication, even when they were living in the same house — to the minute of their receipt. He is meticulous.

Will already told the behavioural analysis unit that the bomber was acting out some kind of aesthetic compulsion, but Sasori seems to understand it in more detail:

"Deidara uses art to embrace the transience he believes is the end state of all things by unmaking artefacts in the span of a second, usually explosively," Sasori says. Then, apparently unable to help himself, he adds: "Transience — the art of a single moment — is an incoherent and flawed thesis."

"The simple passions of a mind that cannot grasp eternity," muses Hannibal, running his knuckles over the glass that separates him from a dead monkey, which is trapped, forever, screaming silently in rage. This is a rather romantic assessment, but the statement certainly captures Sasori's attention.

"Yes," he says slowly.

Despite what he actually says, he does not sound entirely as though he agrees with this assessment. It is at precisely this point that Will realises Sasori and Deidara are not artists making ends meet as indifferent housemates. They are life partners of some kind. They are very probably lovers.

Sasori says hasn't seen Deidara for a week. This meets their timeline perfectly. Will doesn't — cannot — trust it. But he can either write the answer down, or he can tell Sasori he thinks he's lying right to his blank doll-like face.

He licks his lips and writes it down.

"Before we go, Sasori," says Hannibal, hesitating before he pulls his coat on again, "will you tell me something?"

"What?"

"Do these chimeric creations represent the pinnacle of your art? Are they what you display at your most secret performances? Or is something more challenging the star of your show?"

There are some dogs who, once they've bit down on a man's limb, have to be choked out before they'll let go. Hannibal occasionally reminds Will of just such an animal.

"No," says Sasori, tonelessly. "The chimeras are not my most important works."

That's when it happens.

It always does, with Will. Eventually.

For one hideous, dislocated moment, Will Graham understands this man totally. He can see what grotesqueries might lie in the workroom above this display, just by looking Sasori in his lifeless face. He can almost feel the hours of meticulous work in his own hands and back and shoulders, turning the coarse materials of the human body into works of art that will last thousands of years at least.

He has no respect for their bodies. He doesn't care about the person who inhabited each physical form at all. They are raw materials. It is the work of his hands that renders them art. His towering ego is in every touch.

For a breathless, hanging second, the hollowed insides and smooth articulated limbs and wired jaws of Sasori's victims are beautiful to Will, too.

Then that second is over.

Will's brain screams that Sasori isn't a person.

This time, Will believes it. Oh, he may once have been human. But he's not, now. Sasori knows it — he's proud of it. And because Sasori knows it, now Will does, too.

Will does not feel sick. Feeling sick requires internal organs. Right now, Will can't feel anything.

"That's all we need," he says, sounding just as flat and toneless as Sasori. The thump of his heart feels strange and hollow, like the heavy ticking of a metronome. Thump goes the meaty clockwork that moves his body, so loudly that Will almost startles at each shocking new beat. "Thank you for your time."

Sasori doesn't say they're welcome. That's because they're not.

When they exit the building at last, the outside sounds are deafening: the river roars, a dog barks. Will's heart is no longer the primary feature of the soundscape.

He goes back to his car, a little too fast to be polite. He sits in the driver's seat and clutches the steering wheel. Hannibal closes the passenger-side door with a thump a minute later.

"An interesting man, wouldn't you say, Will?"

Will starts the engine and gives it a few moments to warm. He talks when he pulls out from his car space and into the sparse traffic of the little-travelled riverside road.

"I'm not sure," he says slowly, "that Sasori Akasuna is a man at all."

"Ah," says Hannibal, unshakable and sanguine as always, "the perennial question of philosophy."

"I was thinking more about... biology," Will admits.

"Were you?" A pause. "And what did you conclude?"

He's a doll, Will thinks. He's a doll and he makes other people into dolls. If you cut him, I promise he won't bleed.

But these are not the kinds of thoughts a man tells his psychiatrist if he wants to keep doing field work. And so Will ignores the great shadow that passes between himself and the sun — the towering shape of Sasori's preserved stag, moving with all the beautiful mechanical efficiency of a polished watch escapement — and instead says, "He's lying about the bomber. They're close."

"Hmm," says Hannibal, as if he doubts it. But in the end he only raises his eyebrows and tilts his chin inscrutably. "I suppose we will have to see."

(Will isn't a gambler, really. But would bet virtually anything that Hannibal will be receiving an invitation to a performance very shortly.)

[narwal-ed-in]

ARMY GLITTERATI - (Band of Brothers x Bimbo!Reader)

✨glitterati✨- /ˌɡlɪt̬.əˈrɑː.t̬i/ - 1940's slang for famous people, glamorous people, in the spotlight.

Summary: “You want to become a combat medic for the 101st?” “What, like it's hard?”

Warning: Period typical sexism, Fem reader, she/her pronouns, slight body shaming (not directed at reader). NO BETA READ. I WROTE THIS JUST NOW SO PLEASE DON'T EXPECT MUCH.

No disrespect to the real veterans of WW2, all my BoB fanfics are based on depictions by actors in the miniseries.

Borders by @plutism

BEFORE TACCOA

The war is raging and everyone is doing their part to help the men on the front.

For you, that mostly meant trying to look your best at all times, no matter how inconvenient the situation.

"Looking good is a ginormous part of the war effort, it's good for boosting troop morale. I saw it on a poster at the teaching hospital" You reasoned with your father after he complained about you buying another pair of shoes and some expensive vanishing creams.

"Darling, I think they meant that we should all keep our appearances up, not buy out our local department stores"

"Oh my god daddy, you're suffocating me! I'm just doing my part by looking nice..." you glare at your father in his work clothes and eye him with a grimace "...and clearly you're not"

When you get a telegram informing you that you've been selected to participate in a program that aims to send female medics into combat you jump on it.

This is going to be so much fun.

"I'm going to be the talk of the town when everyone finds out. Not even Reverend Smiths boring old story about dying for ten minutes in a car crash and seeing Jesus will be able to outdo this!"

Your supervisors at the hospital are shocked that you've been chosen, seeing as you're not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

You had once walked out of an operation because it was bloody and you were wearing white (all the nurse uniforms are white).

You hoped you wouldn't be assigned to the army or the airforce.

The army is too basic, and if you were stuck on an airbase somewhere then nobody would be able to see how fab you always were.

The navy was your goal, their uniforms were sooo cute, you were just dreaming of all the ways you could style it.

It's just your luck when you get assigned to airborne.

"THIS BLOWS! I'm in the two most unglamorous branches at the same time"

After your initial breakdown you realized it wasn't that bad. If you were jumping out of planes it just meant that your hotness would have a bigger audience since it would literally be raining down from the sky.

"When the Germans see all this falling from the sky, they're going to flip their friggin wigs! AHHHH"

CONNECTING WITH EASY

You're assigned to Easy company and meet the men a few months into their training at Camp Toccoa.

You show up randomly in the middle of the day.

Although the men had been told a woman would be joining them and they had been expecting you, they hadn't been expecting YOU.

You were a ditzy thing and looked like you’d jumped out of one of their pin up postcards. The brass surely couldn't expect them to put their lives in your hands.

"I'm sooo happy to meet everyone. You know, the other girls in the program are such massive liars, they said airborne was where all the uggos went, but that's so not true. After all, I'm here"

You always woke up an hour earlier than the rest of Easy so you would have time to put your face on.

It was one of your tenets to never be seen by anyone outside of family without makeup on, or with your curlers in.

Malarkey, Skip, Penkala, Shifty, Bull, Christenson, Lip and Winters had all been kind to you from the beginning, expecting nothing in return.

But some of the guys had other ideas.

George was one of the men that befriended you initially. And although he did have the ulterior motive of getting it on with you, he eventually stuck around because he actually liked you.

You guys have great play-flirting banter and you're both very entertaining people to be around, especially when you're drunk.

On the rare nights anyone gets passes they want to be around you and George because they know that's where the funs at.

You get sloppy drunk with George, flirt with men from Easy and other companies all night, then end up with your shoes off at 3am, sitting on the curb and crying about one of your ex boyfriends.

Perconte was one of your original detractors but when you found yourselves making the same brain dead comments about obvious things, you both decided to put your two half braincells together to form the singular braincell you share between yourselves.

Talbert was trying to get into your pants instantly. Nobody was surprised.

But just like George he grew to be genuinely fond of you.

What was surprising was Joe Toye taking you under his wing.

Toye could see that you were absolutely clueless and the worst part was, you had no idea.

Toye couldn't bear the agony of watching you skip around camp with your happy-go-lucky attitude, harping on about celebrity gossip nobody cared about.

"Y/N!" Toye yelled as you all got dressed to run Currahee "Why the hell is your PT shirt pink?!"

"Isn't it just the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen, Joe? I put a red handkerchief in with my laundry. Cosmo said carnation pink is the color of the summer"

Huffing and puffing, Toye took out one of his spare shirts and forced you to wear it.

"And when you give it back, it better not be fucking 'flamingo pink'" Toye said.

"Oh honey, this isn't 1939, flamingo pink is so over. I wouldn't be caught dead in that. You know, Joe, sometimes I feel like you don't care about fashion at all" You scoff at his cluelessness as you walk out.

Joe Toye is secretly your best friend in the company.

Toye taking you in meant Gaurnere and Johnny Martin had to be around you, much to their chagrin.

They didn't want some girl hanging off of them.

You win Gaurnere's respect when you coach him on what to write to his girlfriend back home to assure her that he's serious about their relationship when she began doubting his intentions.

And you win Johnny's respect when you help him find the most romantic gift for his wife for valentines day.

"Y'know, back home they call me the love doctor...Well, they used to, before I told Betsy Kline that Rob Jones was her soulmate but then he left her at the altar to elope with his housekeeper"

Sobel despised you from the moment he laid eyes on you.

Not wearing your red lipstick everyday was torture, but you had to stick to natural colours so Sobel wouldn't be able to tell what you had on.

He tried with everything in his power to get you kicked out, but much to everyones surprise, you kept up extrordinarily well with the men when it came to physical training.

"I do a lot of Pilates. It's really good for flexibility and helps you keep a positive outlook so you're not be such a 'negative nancy' all the time. Some of you could really use it. Some more than others..." you said as you side-eyed Skinny who just looked around incredulously

Eventually most of the men come to consider you a friend and a confidante since you give remarkably sound relationship advice.

"It's like sooo hard being the smartest person and the hottest catch in this camp at the same time"

The hardest nuts to crack in your immediate friend group end up being Leibgott, Cobb and Doc Roe, all for different reasons of course.

Leib was snide and arrogant and spoke to you like you were a silly little girl.

He didn't shy away from telling you how dumb he thought you were to your face.

Your relationship eventually becomes friendly but he will still be mean occasionally.

He always ends up apologising though and feels really bad when he makes you cry (the other guys nearly bite his head off whenever this happens).

"Jesus Christ, Y/N, stop being a baby already. I said I was sorry" Lieb said to you as you cried into your pillow.

"You can say sorry to me, Joey, but how are you going to tell Rita Hayworth you're sorry for saying nobody cares about her nighttime face washing routine?" You spoke inbetween sobs.

"I ain't saying sorry to Rita because I ain't sorry I said it. I stand by what I said. Nobody cares how some broad washes up at night"

"You take that back! That routine saved my life" You jumped up, pointing an accusing finger at the man.

"How the fu-"

"You're a horrible, horrible man Joseph Leibgott"

"Oh put a sock in it" Leib rolled his eyes, making you cry even harder.

Toye, ever protective of you, had enough "I swear to god Leibgott, leave that girl alone!"

Cobb was just straight up cruel to you and made sure you always knew "your place".

Roe didn't seem particularly close to anyone.

But as you all of you went into the more specialised aspects of your training and you and Roe spent more time together, he found himself looking out for you.

You were sitting alone on the grass after everyone had groaned and walked off the moment you started talking about an article you read in a magazine.

You sigh sadly, pulling at the grass when a shadow falls over you.

Bringing up a hand to block the sun you finally recognize who it is. It's Eugene Roe.

"I, uh, I was wondering if I could sit with you?" he asked.

You nodded excitedly and he took a seat beside you in the grass.

"What was it you were telling the others?"

You gasped "You really want to know?"

"I guess…"

Doc had seen everyone walk away, and although he didn't care much for mindless conversation, he knew talking to people meant a lot to you and had come over to cheer you up.

Without missing a beat you began one of your famous tirades.

By the end of your first year in Toccoa you end up finding your place.

Thanks for reading! Please like, comment and reblog if you want❤️

[wiltedprayers]

something i love about band of brothers is the little quirks and details in each of the soldiers' clothes, especially those that pop up after the war progresses when nobody really bothers with uniform regulations anymore.

my favorites from each episode:

sobel's wool jacket in currahee

toye's brass knuckles in day of days (didn't have a good choice clothing-wise for this one, sorry!)

talbert's camo handkerchief in carentan

bull in his undershirt in replacements

luz' scarf in crossroads

spina's hat and sweater in bastogne

dick using his lapels as a scarf in the breaking point

malarkey's beanie in the last patrol

nix's suspenders in why we fight

liebgott's entire outfit in points

[hottpinkpenguin]

Until My Bones Have Turned to Leaves

Joe Liebgott (BoB) X Fem!SoldierReader Part 1 of ? WC: 1772 Warnings: cursing, not proofread, canon-divergence A/N: omg it worked!! @redheadspark, TYSM for the BoB request. Also credit to one of my favorite singers, Lukas Nelson, for the title of this fic

First time Joe saw you, he’d laughed. Which earned him a prompt smack across the back of his head from Lip, and a glowering stare from Bull. Apparently Easy men weren’t supposed to laugh at the Experiment, as Joe had publicly dubbed you shortly after your arrival.

“I mean, c’mon guys, don’t fuckin’ sit there and pretend this shit is normal!” he’d insisted. At first, most of the men had agreed with him to some degree. None quite as vocally as him, but still, he saw it in their eyes. They knew it, he knew it too. A woman on the front was unnatural at best. Distracting at worst. 

Despite Joe’s best efforts, your presence in Easy Company settled in after a few weeks. The novelty wore off, and you’d shown yourself as more than just “some dame” who’d impressed the Brass. Steely under pressure, a decent marksman (even Shifty agreed), and a fearless courier. You were smaller and faster than most of the men, so Winters often tasked you with running commands back and forth from Command to Easy to the men in their foxholes and back. Joe would never say it out loud, but even he was impressed to see you out there in the bone-biting cold of Bastogne, dodging the Kraut artillery and artfully sprinting from one foxhole to the next. You’d barely been winded and your eyes were shining when you gave him the news: dig in, no reinforcements expected. 

Joe lost the few sympathetic ears he’d acquired during your first few weeks with Easy after you’d volunteered to take Malarkey’s place on the night patrol in Haguenau. For reasons that even mystified him, your selfless act made Joe angry. So. Fucking. Angry. 

“What are you playing at anyway, Ex?” he snarled in your direction. He’d shortened your moniker Experiment to something smaller and even less descriptive. Although he’d meant it to signify just how little time he had to waste on you, the men thought it sounded an awful lot like a pet-name. 

You ignored him and kept cleaning your rifle. You were one of eight preparing to head out for a nighttime patrol across the river to take a prisoner or two from the smattering of Germans still left in Haguenau, lobbing mortars and bullets across the river at a frequency just enough to pester the haggard regiment. The house you were in was one of the few homes on this side of the river still standing, although its interior was covered in a thick layer of dust and debris. The men had cleared off most of the usable surfaces, and were doing routine gear checks and prep for the patrol. Next to you, Bull raised a challenging eyebrow in Joe’s direction and popped the cigar out of his mouth. Unable to smoke on the front lines - “too much light and smoke” Major Winters informed them - Bull had picked up the habit of chewing off the butt ends of cigars. The nicotine made him feistier than Joe cared for, and doggedly protective of you. 

“Liebgott, what’re you on about?” Bull’s question sounded skeptical, as if he suspected Joe’s anger had deeper meaning. 

“Wasn’t talking to you, Bull,” Joe replied curtly, his eyes boring into the side of your skull. You swiped a few stray hairs out of your eyes and continued to ignore him. Joe felt his blood pressure creep upwards as his temper turned hot. 

“Malarkey doesn’t need you stepping in all guardian angel on his behalf.” Joe knew it made your blood boil whenever he pointedly addressed your sex in front of the men. For that reason, he made a point to do it every chance he could. He had his theories about why the others had stopped grumbling about having to share foxholes and K-Rations and morphine with a woman - sex starved, most likely, he told himself - but he wasn’t fooled. No amount of fearlessness, courage, or capability would ever change the fact that you were a woman. You shouldn’t be here. Joe felt that deep in his heart just like he knew his own name. It was a fact that was threaded into the center of his bones. 

The new lieutenant, fresh out of West Point with a clean shave and pristine uniform, stepped into the room and gave a few orders. He was one of two who’d actually volunteered for the patrol - you being the other - and he’d gotten it into his head that he was in some way responsible for leading the patrol. Liebgott nodded vaguely in his direction, like most of the others. Lt Jones grumbled something about lack of respect for chain of command but didn’t press the issue further, his eyes settling on you. He regarded you curiously and intently, although without surprise. Clearly one of the other officers had briefed him on your presence. He tracked your movements as you checked the sight on your rifle, wiping the lens clean with a rag until you were satisfied. He lingered in the doorway, his gaze appraising you with the smallest curve on his lips. Your eyes remained trained on the gun in front of you, although Joe had no doubt that you were aware of the extra set of eyes taking in your every move.

“Can we help you, Lieutenant?” Joe wasn’t sure why the words slipped out or why they sounded so much like a challenge. His snappy retort surprised even himself. He caught a few of the men exchanging looks around the room, their eyebrows raised as if to say ‘here we go’. A muffled hush fell over the room as the men waited for Lt. Jones’ reaction. 

“Excuse me, soldier?” Lt. Jones settled his dark eyes on Joe, his expression hard but patient. He clearly wasn’t going to settle for an offhanded dismissal from an enlisted man, nor was he going to let Joe rile him up. Joe squirmed, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable and surprised at himself. What the hell was he doing, putting himself in the proverbial crosshairs of a man who outranked him? And over you? He chewed his lip and looked down, hoping the Lieutenant would allow his demur behavior to suffice for an apology and shove off.

“Private Liebgott asked if we could help you, Lieutenant.” If the room was muffled before, it descended into complete silence as your icy words slapped the floor. You’d stopped fussing over your rifle, your eyes trained on Lt. Jones with a spark of challenge. Joe had to forcibly close his mouth to keep it from gaping open in surprise. Were you of all people really stepping into the quagmire alongside him?

“Oh, I heard Private Liebgott quite well,” Lt. Jones replied smartly. Joe had a feeling from the way the Lieutenant said his name that Lt. Jones wouldn’t forget it any time soon. “I was simply surprised to hear a Private addressing one of his superior officers with such a tone of blatant disrespect.” 

“And I’m sure Private Liebgott’s question was made out of surprise to see one of his superior officers regarding an enlisted soldier with such a look of blatant lustfulness.” 

One single moment of silence lingered after you finished speaking before the room softened with the sound of poorly suppressed laughter. Lt. Jones looked around desperately, as if searching for an ally, his face turning redder by the moment. He spluttered something, looking utterly chastised, before Bull offered him a gracious exit. 

“Just apologize to Private Y/L/N, Lieutenant, and be on your way. We were all a little knocked off our feet when she showed up. She’s a sight prettier than the rest of these mucks, that’s for sure.” The men hollered in appreciation and mock offense as Bull stuck a hand out towards Lieutenant Jones like an olive branch. Joe, for his part, was watching you watch the Lieutenant. The sharp edge of your temper was softened by the men’s camaraderie with you, but there was a wariness in your eyes that got sharper as he mumbled a weak apology and skittered out the door, tail between his legs. Your eyes followed him until he was out of eyesight, and even then they stared blankly into the distance. It wasn’t until Bull gently bumped your shoulder that you seemed to fully come back to the room. 

“You oughtta be careful there, Wings,” he murmured under his breath. Wings was the nickname some in the company had taken to calling you after seeing you fly through the woods of Bastogne, as they said. Joe for one thought it was ridiculous, and unsurprisingly he made sure everyone knew it. “A lieutenant’s a powerful enemy to make.”

“You don’t need to lecture me on the dangers of refusing a powerful man’s advances, Sergeant.” You ripped the rifle off the table in front of you and slung it over your shoulder with a quick, cold movement. Without looking up at either Bull or Joe standing on either side you like bookends, you left the house, stepping out into the gathering twilight. Joe saw you disappear around the corner of the street, walking in the direction opposite from where Lt. Jones was undoubtedly licking his wounds. There was a hard set to your jaw that he’d never seen before, and a tired expression in your eyes. His feet were moving before he knew what he was doing.

“Leave it, Liebgott.” Bull’s hamburger-bun of a hand grabbed Joe’s shoulder firmly but not unkindly. Joe couldn’t decipher the tone of Bull’s voice, but he thought it sounded a lot like pity. He bristled, shaking off the Staff Sergeant’s paw. 

“Where’s she off to?” Joe’s question sounded petulant and nosy. 

Bull shook his head. “To cool off, most likely. Patrol’s in a couple of hours. She’ll be needin’ coffee before then.” 

For the second time in as many minutes, Joe felt like Bull was talking to him as if he were in on some secret when it came to you, although he couldn’t hazard a guess as to what that might be. He fixed Bull with a flat stare. That seemed to make the blonde Sergeant chuckle.

“Don’t worry, Joe. I’ll take care of her for you.” 

Unable to make heads or tails of Bull’s obvious misread of Joe’s contempt for you, he stormed off to a quiet corner of the house and threw himself down on an armchair. As the sun set over the frozen horizon outside Haguenau, Joe gave himself over to a dark mood as he waited with the rest of Easy for news on the night patrol… 

**more to come!! stay tuned and let me know if you want to be tagged

[slutforpringles]

"An all-out defense from the man who seemed to be one of Checo's main accusers. A change of facade by Marko that, after the choice made by the team's top brass, becomes obvious and necessary, but does not hide the fact that only a few factors - and, we repeat, they are all outside of those related to performance - will allow Perez to still be in his place. At least until the end of the season. Then we'll see…"

Huge props to Motorsport Italy for continuing to be the only media source in F1 not just repeating Marko's ridiculously fake PR narrative of why Perez has been allowed to continue at Red Bull post-summer break without any attempt at skeptical journalism or critical analysis. Also huge props to them for highlighting and calling out the rank hypocrisy and self-contradictory nature of Helmut's statements on the Perez/second driver situation before and after whatever corrupt grossness went on during last Monday's meeting at Red Bull.

via: Motorsport Italy | Marko si contraddice: "Perez è rimasto perché ha fatto bene"