#cramberry's compositions

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

Oh my god chapter 15 already?? FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF this definitely doesnt mean mega angst will be coming no sir

Chapter 15: Losing My Mind, Drunk On Jazz And Wine, That's What Love Will Do To You

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, no beta we die like, well you know, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks

Summary: After a reprimand from up high over recent events, Eve tries to boost morale before their next mission. Zuss makes a move.

Snippet under the cut, for maximum fluff ull need to click the link in the chapter title above ;)

“I’m worried about Red.”

Robbie’s hands pause on her calf for a second before continuing wiping dried blood away.  The graze is small enough she won’t bother Clifton, but the angle is too strained for Eve to do herself, so she’s asked Robbie to look at it for her.  Normally, that would be fine, except with every brush of his fingers against her skin, her heart does a flip and she needs to remind herself to keep breathing.

“Why?”

“Did you see him earlier?  The look on his face, when the truck was leaving…and when we were goin’ for Anna, he froze up, kept starin’ at Luna.”

The dog perks up, starting to recognize the name Eve’s been using.  Robbie sighs, wrapping a bandage tight around Eve’s calf.

“I told you he doesn’t like dogs.”

Eve hums.  Robbie definitely knows more that he’s not sharing.  She can’t be mad, he’s just being a good friend to Red.

“He also got a letter from Hazel a few days back.  College and Aiello think it’s a Dear John letter, she wrote his full name, no nickname.”

“No way.” Robbie lifts his head to grin at Eve’s disbelief. “The two of them are - hell, it’s sickening, how in love they are.  I don’t believe it for a second.”

“I don’t think she’s cutting him loose, either,” Robbie agrees. “Still, Daniels hasn’t opened it yet.”

Another hum. “How can he not open it?  I mean, yeah, bad news, I understand that, but the not knowing would eat me alive.”

She had put off reading her ma’s letter by max five minutes, unable to leave it go.  How can Red leave his letter for days now?  She’s all for the outta sight, outta mind style of thinking, but not for things like this.

Robbie laughs. “Don’t get any ideas.  Opening someone else’s mail is a felony, angel.”

She pouts. “Yeah, yeah.”

The dog groans as she stands from the floor, padding up to the cot and jumping up, curling around Eve.  She absent-mindedly starts petting her, and the dog lays her head on Eve’s leg, sighing.

“You still callin’ her Luna?” Robbie asks, starting to tie off the bandage.

“Yeah.  You still callin’ her Lucky Strike?”

A grin. “Yep.”

“Why?  I know they’re your favorite to smoke, but that can’t be it.”

“I don’t know, it was a lucky strike, I guess.  The fact she didn’t get hurt too bad in that explosion, that we found her and freed her.  Just seems lucky.”

Eve hums, nodding her head.

“Why do you call her Luna?”

Finished, he doesn’t move, still kneeling in front of Eve.  He lifts his head, eyes focused on Eve, face earnest and waiting for her response.  Her eyes flicker down to focus on the dog, not knowing how to handle being the center of his attention.

“I like the moon.  And there’s this song I like, ‘Clair de Lune’, and it’s just so pretty.  I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.  Guess I just wanted to name her after something pretty.”

“‘Clair de Lune’,” Robbie repeats, quiet, and Eve glances back over to him.  A small smile greets her and her heart swells.  He looks at her with such open affection, could it be that…?

No, don’t be silly.  He’s just nice, she’s reading too much into everything, projecting her own feelings.  He doesn’t feel the same way she feels about him.  No way.

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

“Hey, Red, how ya doin’?”

Eve’s found him by himself in the tent, and she’s going to try and use the time to check in on him, make sure he’s okay.  Part of it is because she’s concerned as his friend, but another part of it is because she’s worried about him becoming a liability in the field.

Red’s glance up at her is skeptical.  She must not be as casual as she had been trying to be.  Oh well.

“Can I be honest with you?” she starts, walking in and sitting next to him on his cot.  He rubs a hand over his eyes, sighing heavily but nodding.

“I’m worried about you, bud.  You didn’t look so hot out there today.”

Red leans forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.

“Sorry,” he mutters, muffled.

“Shit, don’t apologize.  I’m just…I’m worried, Red.  Don’t want something to happen to you because something’s wrong.  If I can, I’ll fix it.  Or we can fix it together.”

Red’s silent for a long while.  Eve waits, fingers interlocked and flexing against each other.

“I’ve told you ‘bout Paul before, right?  My brother?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s dead.” Red’s voice is blunt, but there’s a tiny tremor underneath his words. “Died when I was a kid.”

“I’m sorry, Red.”

Eve’s had her suspicions.  Nothing concrete, just the way Red talks about his older brother, the past tense, only ever writing to Paul in his notebook and never sending or receiving letters.

“It was…” Red trails off with a little, shaking inhale. “We were out huntin’ wolves.  They had been killin’ our cattle.  Weren’t ready, wolf got on top of Paul, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”

“Shit.” Eve places a hand on Red’s shoulder, not knowing what to say.  Robbie was really putting it mildly, then, saying Red doesn’t like dogs.  Damn, and a double whammy.  Having to see Luna in her element and watching Anna lose her sister?  No wonder he was in that trance.  Two kids, having to watch their older siblings die in front of them, years and worlds apart but experiencing damn near the same thing.

“Red, you’re my friend,” she says. “One of my best friends out here.  One word, and the dog’s gone.  I’m serious.”

Red sits up and Eve removes her hand, meeting his baby blues as he faces her.

“O’Shea, you love that damn dog,” he says.

“Yeah, and I love you, ya big oaf.” She links her arm in his, resting against his side. “If the dog brings up bad memories, messes you up, I’ll send her off to the back.  Outta sight, outta mind.”

She’ll miss her, of course she will, but she’d do it in a heartbeat if it means Red feeling safe.

“You really would, wouldn’t you?” Red asks softly, eyes flickering across her face.

“I’d do anything for you boys,” she responds easily.  Red huffs, shaking his head.

“Wish Pierson’d be more like that,” he mutters, scuffing his boot on the ground.  Annoyance flickers like a flame in her chest and Eve pinches his arm, making him yelp.  If only Red fuckin’ knew…

“I’m trying to be very nice to you right now,” Eve says. “Please don’t insult my friend like that.”

Red’s face twists but he holds himself back, thank God.  Another sigh.

“You don’t have to get rid of the dog.”

“Red, I’m serious-“

“I know you are, and ‘m tellin’ you it’s alright.  Honest.”

Eve hesitates, unsure if this is one of those times she should keep insisting or just take Red at his word.  He must see this because he shifts, shoving her shoulder with his.

“Keep the damn dog, O’Shea,” he repeats.

“Okay, okay!  I got it.” Eve waits, breathes in and then out. “So, I heard you got a letter from Hazel that you ain’t opened yet.”

Red groans, leaning away from her but she keeps them connected through their arms, grinning at his drama.

“C’mon, Red, just open the thing!”

“I will!” he snaps. “It’s my business, y’all need to keep your noses outta it!”

Eve lets go of him, hands held up. “You got it, pal.  Won’t say another word about it.”

She mimes zipping her mouth shut.

“You’ve been spendin’ too much time with Zuss,” Red accuses, glaring at her.  She shrugs.

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

“I liked you better before you were snarky.  Maybe makin’ the two of you friends was a mistake.”

“Hey, don’t credit him with my sass, I didn’t get it from him.”

“Well, your sass’s definitely worse when the two of ya are together.  Same for him.  ‘Nd the two of you won’t ever leave me alone.”

“That’s because we care about you, Red.” She leans over to pinch his cheek but he swats her hand away before she can. “We’ll take a knife in the gut for you, give up a new dog for you, it’s up in the air which one of those is worse.”

Red shakes his head but he’s laughing, shoulders shaking as he tries to suppress his laughter.

“Don’t know if Zuss’ll agree with you,” he gets out, and Eve grins.

“I don’t know, man, I think he was just bein’ dramatic.”

“I’m tellin’ him you said that.”

“Don’t, I’ll have to deal with his bellyachin’ for who knows how long.”

“Aw, we both know you love him.”

Eve nearly chokes.  No, he doesn’t mean it like that, he just means in general, like how she just said she loves Red.  He definitely doesn’t mean that she loves him.  Definitely not.  Only Nora knows that, right?  Right?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I can’t stand him, with his stupid face and his stupid voice and…”

She wiggles her fingers vaguely in the air and Red outright laughs now.

“Sure, O’Shea,” he says around chuckles, and Eve narrows her eyes at him.  Before she can respond, the flap of the tent flies open and who should enter but the man of the hour himself, grinning that stupid cocky grin of his.

“You mooks havin’ fun without me?”

“Aw, party’s over.”

Robbie clutches a hand to his chest. “You wound me, angel.  I’m the life of the party!  Scooch!”

He shoves both of them aside and plops himself in between them, linking arms with them.  There’s barely any room for all three of them and Eve nearly flushes with how she and Robbie are pressed together.

“So,” he whispers, eyes gleaming, “what are we gossiping about?  We tellin’ secrets?  Did Daniels read Hazel’s letter and it’s actually good news and he was freakin’ out over-”

Robbie yelps as Red shoves him off the cot.  Unfortunately for both Eve and Red, Robbie only tightens his grip on their arms and they both get dragged off with him.  Robbie groans as Eve lands roughly on his back, and then they both gasp, air driven out of their lungs as Red lands on both of them, all three of them a tangled heap on the ground.

“Get offa me!” Robbie wheezes out.  His elbow digs into Eve’s side and she whines, shoving at the back of his head, still trying to catch her breath.

“That’s what you get-”

Red is muttering, even though he is slowly removing himself from the top of the pile.  Eve groans and rolls herself forward in a somersault, sprawling across the ground once she’s free.  Robbie flips himself over so he’s on his back now, dramatically catching his breath.

“Didn’t realize you had to weigh the same as the damn cattle you raise, farmboy,” he says, glaring at the Texan.

“I’ll sit on you again,” comes the ominous warning from Red.

“Angel, help me-”

“Oh, no, you did this all yourself, you keep me outta this.  Think I bruised a rib, Christ.”

The tent flap opens again, this time Aiello and Stiles walking in and stopping short at the sight of the others.  Eve picks her head up, gives a two-fingered salute.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Aiello mutters, shaking his head and heading toward his own cot.

“I thought you were better than this,” Stiles laments, standing by Eve’s head.  Eve glances at Zuss next to her, grins at the spark in his eye.

“Oh yeah?” she asks, and then her and Robbie both lunge, grabbing at Stiles’ arms and dragging him to the ground.  Red laughs as Stiles sputters, crying out when his glasses get knocked off in his fall.  Robbie’s draped over Stiles’ back, yapping about him loosening up or something, and Eve’s giggling as she picks up the man’s fallen spectacles.

“A bunch of fuckin’ children,” Aiello grumbles.  Still hanging off Stiles, Robbie whips around to point at the New Yorker.

“Keep talkin’, asshole, and I’ll have Daniels sit on you,” he threatens, and Eve doubles over with laughter, clutching her stomach at the terrified look on Aiello’s face.

[hadsadeath-blog]

Welp, here's the video of my first show, have fun!

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

Happy Update Day! Also known as Sunday lol. This chapter lowkey fought me a bit, but at last she's done and released into the wild

Chapter 10: Don't Call It a Comeback, I've Been Here for Years is now officially up!

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining

Summary: The Bloody First liberates Paris, featuring more flashbacks to basics and the formation of the gang.

Little sneak peak below, the entire chapter is up on ao3, linked up above in the chapter title!

“Remember,” Eve says, keeping her voice low. “It’s all about being quiet.  We go in fast and silent.  Don’t let anyone get upstairs or set off any kind of alarm.  And for fuck’s sake, only shoot Jerry, don’t forget about the prisoners.  Control your fire.  Everyone have their silencers on?”

Everyone nods.  Eve lifts her head up, looking for the moon.  She’s a thick crescent, nearly half illuminated, and there’s a smattering of stars not covered by clouds.  Taking a deep breath, Eve looks back down, gesturing for Woods to take the door.

As soon as he opens it, Eve and Marsh move in.  Marsh remains low, in a crouch, and Eve is directly behind him, aiming over him, and the two immediately get to work.  They’ve gone over this dozens of times, and it pays off.  Marsh starts on the left, Eve looking for immediate threats, and when Del and Woods come in behind them, they focus their fire on the right.  The silencers do their job, and they’re so quick most of the soldiers down here don’t even have a chance to yell.  It helps to have the element of surprise - some of the soldiers are drunk, others strewn out and playing cards, unprepared for an attack.  Eve’s eyes find the stairwell leading upstairs, and she watches it intensely as they all move into the cellar to make sure no one darts away to alert anyone to their presence.

It takes less than a minute.  On Eve’s command, Rojas and Pig flank the stairwell, knives out, ready to dispatch of any unlucky Germans who may happen to wander down to the cellar.  Lowe and Woods man the door leading to the courtyard in a similar fashion, and Eve, Del, and Marsh clear the rest of the cellar.  Marsh pulls a ring of iron keys off one of the dead Krauts and tosses it to Eve.  There are two resistance members imprisoned down here, a man in one of the cells who’s free after Eve unlocks the door, and a woman who exits from a room at the far end of the cellar.  Neither of them speak English, and there’s no one in their squad who can speak fluent French, but they both mutter a quick “vive la resistance” and help themselves to the dead Germans weapons.

Waiting at the stairwell, the time passes for the gates to blow, and nothing happens.  Eve shifts nervously, grinding her teeth together, and her squad feeds into her anxious energy.

“What if it went off and we didn’t hear?” Rojas asks.

“You dumb or something?” Dellucci responds. “You don’t think we’d hear the fucking bombs?”

“Del’s right,” Eve cuts in, even though the words physically hurt to say. “We’ll hear them, and probably feel them, too.”

“But why haven’t they gone off yet?” Pig, this time.

“Something went wrong,” Del says. “We should attack, now.”

“No.  We wait for the signal.”

“It’s not gonna come, they failed-“

“We don’t know that-“

“Knew this was a stupid fuckin’ mission-“

“Shut the fuck up and get ready,” Eve snarls, whipping around to glare at her squad, and their whispered comments silence. “We just need to wait.  Rousseau’s not going to fail.”

But it’s been over a minute, now, and still nothing.  If something has gone wrong, the rest of the platoon will sink back, away from the Garrison to regroup and get a new plan of attack.  Eve’s squad, though?  They’re stuck here.  Trapped at the German headquarters in the middle of a city crawling with Nazis.  They can’t attack the Garrison with just the six of them, plus the two resistance members.  But if they escape out the courtyard, where will they go?

If Rousseau and Crowley failed, then Eve and her squad are as good as dead.

Expendable, a voice hisses in the back of her mind, and that’s the moment a distant thundering boom rocks and shakes the cellar.

“Go, now!”

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

BACK ON SCHEDULE hope ppl reading this enjoy long, looooong fics bc this babey is gonna be huge

Chapter 13: Feed Me Promises, Keep My Heart Well, I'll Sing You Songs Until The Darkness Does Recede

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, no beta we die like, well you know, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks

Summary: Eve is superstitious. First platoon meets an oddball. Dellucci experiences karma. Pierson is...nice? With special guest Boris Karloff!

Snippet as always under the cut!

The next few days are just travelling, patrolling, and exploring.  They run into a few platoons of Germans early on, getting stuck in those pesky hedgerows, but the attack doesn’t last very long and there’s practically no casualties.  The city is far behind them now, and instead there’s more and more farmlands, fields, forests.  Some of the land has been scorched, destroyed as the Germans left, but some of it is untouched.  The rolling green fields are a breath of fresh air - literally - but Eve loves the forests the most.  Unfortunately, they stick to the farmlands and fields, which is better, she supposes, and everyone settles into the monotony of their travels.

Eve is just starting to settle, finally letting go of the stress of the city, when she hears it.  It’s late at night, actually early in the morning, during the witching hours, and Eve’s on watch while everyone else sleeps.  Lowe is the only other person awake, on the other side of their little camp.  She can’t see or hear him, not unless he yells, and so she’s practically by herself.  The rest of the men are sleeping close by, and mist swirls around their still bodies, Eve’s boots, nearby tree stumps.  She hums under her breath, tapping her foot softly as her eyes lazily scan their surroundings.

She may be bored, but she’s still alert, but only for any signs of German soldiers.  As such, when the demonic, grieving, screeching wail cuts through the air, Eve’s heart just about gives out right then and there.  She jumps, lifting her rifle up and putting her finger on the trigger as she staggers a few steps forward, the rabbit thumping hard in her ribcage with every thundering beat of her heart.  The shriek rises in pitch and Eve blinks in the inky darkness, her shoulders tense and mouth thick and dry with terror.  Then, abruptly as it started, the keening cry vanishes, leaving only the rustling of the men and trees and the pounding of her heart.

No man could make that sound, Eve’s certain.  She’s heard men scream, in fear, desperation, pain, grief, and she knows there is no way on Earth that a man could scream like that, with such volume and horror.

A woman, maybe?  Had a woman just been attacked?  No, no, that scream was not made by a person.  It had been too…not of this world.

Foxes make unholy noises.  Maybe a fox?  There had been that time when she was a kid, clinging to her momma and listening in horror to two foxes shrieking and fighting over a kill.  But as unholy as those foxes had sounded, they were still nothing compared to this wail, now.  A chill runs up her spine, and she spins to see if anyone else has heard the terrifying scream, becoming more unsettled when she sees no one has stirred.  How has no one reacted, woken up?  It had been so loud, left her ears ringing.  She checks with Lowe, but he just gives her an odd look, and she sinks into her thoughts, unease swirling in her gut.

It’s Zuss she goes to a day later, when she’s checked that no one else had heard it, when she’s had time to think about it.  She’s convinced, stubborn in her belief, and Zuss watches her with an amused expression on her face as they tramp through more fields.

“It was the goddamn Hag of the Mist.”

Robbie huffs out a laugh. “Who?” he asks. “Listen, if it was as loud as you say it was, why didn’t anyone else hear it?  Or her?”

“That’s why it’s the Bean-Sidhe !”

Zuss blinks, frowning in confusion, and stumbles as he trips over a hidden dip in the ground.  He mutters a curse under his breath and Eve smiles fondly.  The tables have turned, now.  In the city, Eve had felt off-kilter and Zuss had been perfectly at ease, but now, out in nature with not a single building in sight and nothing but land, it’s Eve who’s sure-footed and Robbie who’s unsteady.

“What did you just say?”

“It’s Irish,” Eve explains. “A banshee!”

“I thought you said it was a hag?”

A groan and a roll of her eyes. “The banshee is the Hag of the Mist!  My mam told me about them, from back in Ireland.”

Zuss’s forehead is still creased as he frowns.

“A banshee is a Faerie Woman,” Eve continues. “She comes at night, and she lets out the most unholy wail you could possibly imagine.  She screams as a warning, or an omen, or something.  My momma told me that the banshee waits outside a family’s home and screams to let them know a loved one is about to die.”

Zuss hums. “Have you ever heard a banshee before?”

“No.  My mom hadn’t either, but she said her mother heard one the night before her brother died.”

Zuss cracks a small grin. “So it’s not real.  Just a made up scary story, then.”

“It’s not made up!  I heard it that night, I swear!”

“I thought you said it appears outside people’s houses?”

She purses her lips. “Well, I don’t exactly have a house right now, do I?  But I’ve heard people scream, I’ve heard animals cry, and I know that was something not of this world.”

Zuss outright laughs at that, and Eve flushes with embarassment.

“Fuck you!” she snaps, but she’s not really mad, even though she does stretch out her stride to move ahead of him.

“Oh, c’mon, angel!” He’s still grinning as he hurries to catch up with her again. “I just didn’t think you believed in all that kinda stuff!”

“What kinda stuff?”

Robbie waves a hand in the air in front of them. “I don’t know, all that stuff!  Ghosts, and goblins.  Should I warn you the next time I see a black cat?”

“Shut up, will you?  So what if I’m superstitious?  Ugh, you’re just like Nora.”

“Oh, Nora doesn’t believe in all that either?  Consider me shocked .”

Eve snorts, turning her face away and lifting a hand, pretending to itch at her nose to hide her smile.

“It was probably just someone screaming.  Maybe artillery?”

“I’ve heard more artillery than you, I’d recognize it in my sleep.”

“Maybe you actually fell asleep standing up-?”

“It was a Bean-Sidhe, I know it!  If you’re just gonna make fun of me, I’ll go back to my own squad.”

“Oh, come on, angel!” Zuss bumps her shoulder. “I won’t laugh anymore.  I swear.  Cross my heart.” And he does, pulling his face into a somber expression, lips turned down and eyes wide.

“Whatever.”

He drops it, back to casual. “So, why’d you say they scream again?  A warning?  Coulda used that before the train, I’ll tell you that-”

Eve’s lips twitch as she fights a grin. “No, it’s not that kind of warning.  It’s an omen, that someone in your family is gonna…”

She trails off, chewing on the inside of her cheek.  She tries to be optimistic, especially about Emma.  She’s heard rumours that the Airborne have gone back to England, have a break before they have to go back into combat again.  So she should be fine.  As far as she knows, everyone else in her family is doing well, except her grandfather.

She hasn’t gotten any letters from home since her stay in the hospital.

“Could it be, like, any of the soldiers?  Since it appeared here?”

Robbie’s voice is softer than before, and she appreciates it.

Eve considers his words for a few seconds. “I don’t think so.  It’s always a family member who passes.”  Her fingers flex on her rifle and she takes a shaky breath in. “I mean, my grandfather is sick, and Emma…”

She doesn’t want to think about that.  Her father’s been having those back issues again - what if they got worse, or something went wrong?

“Hey, I’m sure everything’s fine.  Besides, maybe banshees aren’t right all the time.  You know, like those near death experiences!  You said she’s supposed to show up outside a house, but she didn’t here.  So maybe there’s some give and take here, some room for interpretation, if you will.”

Eve hums, but she doesn’t say anything, worrying her lip.  Would she get a telegram if Emma was killed in action?  Or would she have to wait for her parents to receive it and then send a letter to her?

“So, you didn’t see her at all?”

He’s trying to distract her from thinking about death and instead focus back on this creature, and she takes the bait easily.

“No.  I don’t think you’re supposed to.  All you hear is the scream.”  She shudders again, the wail echoing in her mind. “The caoine .”

“Damn.”

There’s still a tingling in the back of her mind, a worry and dread that someone she loves is dead and she’s just left in a state of unawareness.

“Well, what do you think she looks like?  I’m picturing some old, hunched over old woman, covered in warts!  She’s mean, and she’s got ugly, gnarled teeth-”

Robbie bumps her again as he holds up a hand as if to show gnarled teeth, grinning at her, and she shakes her head with a smile.

“No, no, I think she’s tall, and young, and-”

“No, she has to be short-”

“You’d never even heard of her until five minutes ago!"

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

I promise the chapter did still go up on Sunday, and then I promptly passed out before I could make the tumblr post😂 i may or may not have woken at like 4 in the morning convinced i posted the chapter with nothing in it and it was just a blank page

Chapter 18: From Cradle to Tomb, It Isn’t That Long A Stay

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, no beta we die like, well you know, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Summary: After six months of nonstop combat, the Bloody First is finally taken off the line for rest. OR Eve has a family reunion of sorts, Nora and Zuss scheme, and everyone tries to find their own way through their grief, whether it be through crying, drinking, singing, or reminiscing.

Snippet under the cut! Full chapter on ao3 and linked above :)

Heaving breaths, cold rain seeping strength away from strained muscles, smoke and mud on his tongue, the earthy scent of rot filling his nose, the choked, gurgling gasps coming from blood-stained lips only a foot in front of him, dark red blood pouring from a gory wound and mixing grotesquely with rain and mud, bony fingers shoving against the gore, stormy blue eyes stretched wide and terrified, dark mud contrasting sharply on ghostly white skin, angry red marks crawling across her neck and up her cheek-

Explosions and bullets getting closer, the thick buzz of panic in the air, control on the situation finally snapping with one final order that he has no choice but to follow, screaming and thrashing limbs, Daniels nearly taking him and Zussman down as they try to keep their balance in the slippery mud, the cold, sinking dread when he looks up, sees her still with him, stationary as a statue-

His voice ringing out, sharp as a whip, Zussman’s following a second later dripping with panic, arms straining and legs struggling to keep his balance as he takes the full weight of the big Texan, throat hoarse with a bark at the smaller private, eyes trained on Evelyn and the shake of her head, the way her body collapses when Zussman tears her away from Turner, the sight of that ghostly face smeared in mud, haunting silvery blue eyes drilling right into him as she turns-

“Pierson?”

Pulled from his memories, Pierson looks up, glaring at the girl standing in front of the tent flap. She’s soaked - it’s raining again, when isn’t it raining in this fucking forest - and she’s taken to wearing a scarf now in some attempt to cover up the thick necklace of bruises around her neck. It doesn’t really work, not with the finger-shaped splotches of blue and purple that curl over her jaw and up onto her cheek. He doesn’t know what’s worse, seeing those stark bruises or meeting her wide blue eyes.

“Just got back from patrol,” Evelyn continues. Her voice has returned, but there’s still an underlying raspiness to it that she hasn’t been able to shake. Her eyes flicker around the small tent, zeroing in on the flask in his hand before landing back on his face. “No casualties, but Jerry’s pushed in even closer, couldn’t go out as far as we were supposed to.”

Pierson grunts. Why are they sending her on night patrols? Her skin is so pale and translucent - sickly - that she just about glows in the moonlight, and with those damn blue beacons she has for eyes, it’s a miracle she’s survived even one night patrol.

“Just great,” he bites out, glares harder at Evelyn. “Why are you telling me? Davis is who you should be reporting to.” Technically, she doesn’t need to tell Pierson shit. He may be the platoon sergeant, but they’ve lost so many officers in the past couple weeks that everything and everyone reports back to Davis. Senior noncoms, lieutenants, even their captain bit it three days ago.

“I know, and I did,” the girl murmurs. She’s very much a girl right now - she’s not a sergeant, not one of the nurse corps’ most efficient first lieutenants, just a kid. A kid who had nearly been strangled to death, a kid who he almost left to die because he grabbed a different one to drag off the hill.

Would’ve been your fault, just like with-

“I wanted to check in on you,” Evelyn says quietly, interrupting his thoughts. His temper flares - he doesn’t need anyone to check in on him.

“What, because we’re friends?” he finds himself sneering. Is it his temper speaking, or the whiskey? Doesn’t matter, her face twitches quick as a camera flash before smoothing out again. Good, maybe she’ll finally leave him alone, finally stop wasting her efforts on him. Two years of her following him around like a lost puppy, and he’s never been able to shake her. He should’ve tried harder, in the beginning, before…before. Maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe she wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have been shot in Marigny, trapped under the train outside of Paris, strangled and nearly left for dead on a hill in the Hürtgen Forest.

“It’s been a week, Pierson,” she starts again, ignoring his prior words, and she won’t meet his eyes, staring off somewhere over his shoulder. He inhales sharply. “I really think you should -”

“I think you should get out.”

Cold, precise, low. Those blue eyes - still trusting, still youthful, despite everything - meet his brown ones at the words, obviously not happy.

“Pierson-”

“Get out.”

He stands, draws himself up to his full height in the tent, and Evelyn’s shoulders slump in defeat. It’s a low blow - she hates being at a height disadvantage, and he knows this - but he needs her to leave. She sighs, steps back to the exit, one hand reaching for a flap. She hesitates and he scowls harder. Why is she so goddamn stubborn?

“Please don’t do this,” she says in that low, quiet tone, looking like a damn kicked puppy.

“Out.”

She’s gone in the blink of an eye, and it’s just him again, but he doesn’t feel any better, slumping back down into his seat. It’s for her own good, he tells himself. The sooner she leaves him, the better.

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

They’re leaving. Thank God, they’re leaving the Hürtgen.

The crushing, shameful feeling of admitting defeat and pulling out of the forest, leaving it to the Germans, is overshadowed by the immense relief that comes from finally leaving the Death Factory. With every mile the trucks go, the weight of what happened lightens ounce by ounce, tension slipping from shoulders, men slumping on each other as they allow themselves to relax for the first time in weeks.

O’Shea and Pierson are some of the only ones not relaxing. Red can see the platoon sergeant on the other truck, somehow isolating despite being on an overcrowded transport truck - it would be impressive, if Red didn’t dislike him so much. O’Shea’s with Red and Zuss on their truck, and she’s standing, leaning in the corner against the rails of the truck, Zuss on one side of her and occasionally steadying her when they hit an especially rough patch of road. She had given up her seat almost immediately, making sure everyone else was as comfortable as they could be, and she watches them now, exhausted eyes roaming over each soldier as if she’s afraid one of them might disappear if she’s not careful. She’s been hypervigilant ever since Hill 493, checking almost obsessively on the men like on overprotective mother hen. She and Red had another talk a few days after the Hill because he had still felt bad about blaming her for Turner’s death - Christ, he really is gone - but she had just brushed him off like before, turning it to be about him and how he was handling everything.

They stop right around the border into France, refueling or doing something, Red isn’t really paying attention. Another line of trucks heading another way along the border, toward Belgium, are close enough for the different divisions to eye each other. The other division doesn’t look like it came from rest and relaxation, so they must be just changing locations. The Bloody First is lucky - they’re finally fully coming off the line. Only because they lost too many men to justify putting them back into action, but still.

Red’s lost in thought - he’s been doing that a lot, lately - and as such, he doesn’t see the change in O’Shea, doesn’t hear her sharp gasp, but he does notice when she spins, jumping and leaning up onto the skeletal rails of the truck, jostling Zuss who bumps hard into Red.

“Angel, what the hell-?”

“Christ,” Red mutters, and then O’Shea smiles - honest to God smiles - and Red’s stunned, because he’s pretty sure that’s the first time anyone in the platoon has smiled in weeks.

“Lee!” she calls out, leaning further out and staring at the transport truck across from them. “Lee Sweeney, hey!”

A stocky, barrel-chested private appears through the group of men, hoisting himself up onto his own railing, an answering smile on his chiseled face.

“Evelyn O’Shea,” he says back, raising his voice to be heard. “Fancy meetin’ you here!”

“What are the odds, huh?”

“Well, considering we’ve been in the same general areas, it’s more of a miracle that we haven’t run into each other yet.”

O’Shea laughs, and now the rest of the truck is watching with interest, craning their necks to see this mystery man.

“Didn’t realize you knew where I was,” she says, and the man, Lee, shrugs.

“The family kept me updated,” he replies. “You know how they are.”

A groan. “Oh, I can only imagine. Surprised they even mention me, when Emma had to go and one up me with the whole Airborne thing.”

Lee’s eyes twinkle, and Red puts it together then - they’re related, somehow. Now that he’s looking, he can see it in the nose, the bump in the bridge, and the softness in the silvery blue eyes.

“Emma still gets the most attention,” he jokes. “Emma jumped in Normandy, got a bronze star, she’s moving through France, she’s really showing Jerry what’s what-“

“She’s not even fighting them, she’s a medic-“

“-and that other one, Eve or whatever, I think she’s a man now? Might be pushing into Germany, but not jumping out of planes like that sister of hers.”

O’Shea laughs again, snorting, and Zuss turns to share a glance with Red, surprised. At the movement, O’Shea seems to remember them, glancing down.

“Oh, sorry, guys,” she says, then gestures to the man. “This is my cousin, Lee Sweeney.”

He gives them a two-fingered salute.

“You keepin’ her outta trouble?” he asks. “Or is she behaving herself?”

“Ach, shut your yap, I was always the responsible one-“

“When you weren’t getting into fights-“

“You don’t shut that trap I’ll show you a fight-“

A chuckle from Lee. “It’s a good thing it’s me here and not Emma, two of you’d be tearing each other’s hair out by now.”

“Don’t get me started. It would be her fault anyway, she’s the one who’d start something and then pretend she didn’t because she’s the damn baby-“

“I am so glad my parents never had more kids.”

“Speakin’ of kids, how’s my godson?”

Zuss’s head snaps up, first at O’Shea and then to Red, shock and confusion coloring his face. As Lee fumbles around in his pockets, Red focuses on his friend, frowning.

“What the fuck is a godson?” Zuss asks, and O’Shea peers down at him.

“He’s Lee’s kiddo,” she answers, looking amused. “I’m his godmother.”

Zuss just looks even more confused. “You’re a mom? I’m - is this some Catholic thing?”

O’Shea gets distracted by Lee finally finding what he’s looking for, and Zuss turns to Red helplessly.

“When a baby gets baptized,” Red explains, “the parents pick two folks to help raise ‘em and help ‘em with their faith. Usually family or friends.”

“So it is a Catholic thing.”

“More of a Christian thing, I ain’t Catholic, I’m Christian, ‘nd I have godparents. ‘M guessing Jews don’t have godparents?”

Zuss shakes his head, and Red suddenly frowns as he realizes something.

“Oh, Christ,” he mutters, and Zuss’s eyebrows furrow. “The baby, Hazel and I, we’re gon’ have to pick godparents. Aw, hell. How the hell’re we gon’ pick?”

It must be a photo of the kid that Lee’s pulled out, the cousins stretched between the trucks as O’Shea coos over the photograph.

“Well, I don’t think I’d be able to help the kiddo with their faith,” Zuss says, elbowing Red with a grin, “but I’ll help ya raise the little twerp if ya need it!”

Red rolls his eyes, fighting a grin of his own. “Yes, ‘cause you’re such a great role model.”

Zuss’s grin widens, and then they all jerk as the truck rumbles to life. Zuss grabs onto the back of O’Shea’s jacket to keep her from falling off the truck, and she hands the photo back to Lee.

“He looks so serious,” she continues, as if nothing has happened. “A regular little you, what a junior!”

“I can’t believe how big he’s gotten,” Lee responds, voice thick with bittersweet homesickness. “When this is over, we’re all meetin’ up for ice cream down in Philly.”

“Only if you’re payin’,” O’Shea teases, and then softens. “We’ll have to go see the Phillies, maybe he’ll become a future baseball star.”

“I’ve got my sights on football for Junior.”

She wrinkles her face but still smiles, and then the truck starts to move. She stays hanging off the railing, watching her cousin.

“You stay out of trouble, y’hear?” Lee calls out with a wave.

“Right back atcha!” O’Shea yells back, waving just as enthusiastically, and it isn’t until they can’t see the truck anymore that she curls back inside their truck, and then actually collapses down on the bench, even though there’s only a sliver of room. Red tries to scoot down to make room, and then he watches in amusement as Zuss doesn’t budge at all, the two of them squashed together in the corner. He grins and shakes his head, and Zuss narrows his eyes at him.

“So that was your cousin?” Zuss asks, turning to face the redhead.

“Mhm. We spent a lot of time together when we were kids.”

Zuss hums. He opens his mouth to say something else, but then O’Shea shifts against his side, yawning and resting her head on his shoulder, eyes slipping closed. His mouth snaps shut, and moving slowly, he shifts his arm so that it loops through O’Shea’s, and she sighs as she slumps more of her weight on him. She must really be exhausted, O’Shea rarely falls asleep like this, lets her guard down in front of everyone.

When Zuss turns his head to look at Red again, he scowls at the Texan and mouths ‘stop’ at the way he’s grinning at them. Red just laughs lightly, getting louder when there’s a soft click from across the truck. Zuss’s head swivels and he glares at Stiles as the man lowers his camera with a grin.

“What?” he says. Zuss straightens, opening his mouth to snark back, but O’Shea tightens her arm around his, shifting her head to get more comfortable.

“Leave it, Zuss,” she mumbles, and he immediately deflates, earning several muffled chuckles from the men in the truck.

“Ha, ha, laugh it up,” he mutters. “Buncha mooks.” Still, he reclines against the back of the truck, doesn’t twitch a muscle for the rest of the drive, mutters under his breath whenever the driver hits a hole, and ignores the jabs sent his way when the other soldiers try to get a rise out of him. Red just watches fondly, smiling to himself when he notices at some point that they’ve intertwined their fingers, laughing at his friend whenever he shushes someone for getting too loud. Yeah, he knew it was a good idea to get them to be friends all those months ago, knew it was going to be the start of something great. Now, he just wonders how successful he’d be if he tried to convince them that Longview would be the perfect place for a wedding.

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

It’s update day! We’ve got…a lot to unpack.

Chapter 16: Now I’ve Got That Feeling Once Again, I Can’t Explain, You Would Not Understand

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, no beta we die like, well you know, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Summary: Aachen was supposed to be bad - they lost so many taking that city. It doesn’t take them long to realize the Death Factory is going to be much, much worse. OR Eve adds on to her list of traumatic experiences, Zussman gets drafted into the army's habit of secret-keeping, Red gets big news, and the gang goes for a stroll through the woods.

Chapter specific warnings/TW: Suicide, please tread carefully

Snippet under the cut, its actually not the beginning of the chapter like usual but instead somewhere in the middle (just felt right), full chapter linked in title above

“Angel, you’ll never believe - what are you doing?”

Eve turns, tilting her head at Robbie as he stops in front of her.  His hair looks especially fluffy today - focus.  Aiello and Stiles are trailing along behind him, the New Yorker snapping at a muttering Stiles.  Luna, cradled in Eve’s arms belly up, perks her head up at Robbie’s voice, tail thumping against Eve’s torso.  He absent-mindedly gives her a scratch behind her ears, still staring at Eve quizzically.

“We’re seein’ how long she can hold Lady for,” Woods pipes up, answering Robbie’s question.  Her squad is lounging around the fire, a fresh pot of coffee brewing.

“Why?”

“Want to know,” Marsh grunts out, shifting on the tree stump he’s sitting on. “Nothin’ better to do.”

“Why?” he asks again, focusing on Eve again this time, and she shrugs.  It’s entertaining the boys, so why not.  Everyone’s content, everyone’s safe.

“So far she’s at thirty-seven minutes,” Lowe says, checking his watch. “Which means OK is out, he bet thirty-five minutes.”

“You wanna get in on it, Zuss?” Woods asks.

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon-“

“I’m not betting on O’Shea.  Besides, we’ll probably get pulled for a patrol before she gets tired and drops her.”

Eve inclines her head.  Honestly, that’s the best answer anyone’s given.  Shame he won’t put money or a pack of cigs on it.

“What am I not gonna believe?” she asks, getting back to what drew her attention in the first place.  Robbie’s eyes spark and he opens his mouth.

“Daniels is gonna be a daddy!”

Aiello speaks before he can even utter a word, and Robbie whips around, smacks the back of his helmet.  Aiello swats back at him as he moves for a cup of coffee.

Eve nearly drops the damn dog.

“What?”

Robbie faces forward again, former irritation trading in for glee. “Hazel’s pregnant!”

“Hazel’s pregnant?”

Unable to gesticulate, arms full of Luna, she begins to pace in front of her friend. “Oh, my God.  That’s what the letter was about.  Christ in heaven, she’s pregnant?  Goddamn.  What a fuckin’ letter.  Red?  A dad?  Fuck, he’s barely an adult!”

Robbie laughs. “He’s only two years younger than us, angel.”

Eve hums distractedly.  Even though she was confident Hazel wasn’t calling it quits, she was still expecting bad news.  Hell, anytime she’s gotten a serious letter, it’s because someone’s died.  The opposite of death is really throwing her for a loop.

“That’s…fuck, that’s big.  How’s Red takin’ it?”

Robbie wilts a bit, genuine concern flooding his expression. “Think he’s gotta take some time, process it.  Hell of a letter to open, ya know?”

Red’s become more sullen and snappish with each passing day, still his usual self mostly, just dulled down and tired.  This is probably either going to make him worse, or make him better.

“We’re gonna have to pull overtime to make sure farm boy makes it back home,” Robbie jokes, and Eve snorts, rolls her eyes.

“Knowing him, he won’t make it easy for us.”

“This kiddo’s gonna hear all about how Uncle Rob saved his dad’s life and dragged his ass back home at the end of the war.”

That gets an actual laugh out of Eve and she shakes her head, Luna wriggling in her arms.  Robbie grins, eyes warm, bumping his shoulder against hers.  Being in the forest and surrounded by trees and plant life - what hasn’t been destroyed, at least - only highlights his irises, much to Eve’s frustration.  It makes it that much harder not to just sit and stare.

“Can’t believe Red’s gonna be a dad,” Rojas says.  OK echoes his agreement from where he’s bent over practicing his letters, Lowe quietly offering corrections.

“He’s gonna be great,” Eve states. “Remember that little French girl?  She adored him, and he was so gentle with her.”

“What do you think they’re gonna name ‘im?” Lowe asks.

“Him?  What if they have a girl?” Woods replies, scraping at his tin of food.  The lanky man is always eating, but no matter how much he vacuums up, he always remains skinny as a beanpole.

“That baby’s gon’ be a Ronald Daniels Junior, mark my words-“

“My gut says a baby girl-“

“Sarge, what does your womanly intuition tell ya?”

“Womanly intuition?” Eve repeats, a smile on her face despite herself.  Robbie barks out a laugh.

“Stiles, smack him for me.”

“Hey, wait-“

Stiles dodges Robbie’s deflections, hitting the back of his head with a nice smack.

“What the hell does she know about bein’ a woman?” Aiello grunts out. “She’s more of a man than half the bastards in the company.”

Her boys immediately start protesting and yelling at him.  Eve bites her lip, fingers digging into Luna’s fur.  He’s not wrong, exactly.  Eve’s never been the best at being lady-like.  Never managed to fit in with what the world decided a woman should be.

“Don’t listen to ‘im, angel,” Robbie says, catching her eye and grinning slyly. “You’re as womanly as they come.  I mean, do I really need to bring up Marigny again-?”

“You bastard.” She kicks his shin, scowling, watching him wince and yelp. “I told you to never bring that up again, Christ!  You swore!  You swore you wouldn’t mention it again!”

“Mention what?”

“Nothing!”

Robbie shoves at her, laughing now, and she nearly tumbles over.  Luna squirms as Eve tries to rebalance herself.

“You fucker-!”

“Shit, Davis is coming-“

At Stiles’ hushes warning, the platoon quickly straightens, their banter falling silent.  Eve drops the dog, Luna landing on her feet and shaking.  The scrap of red, white, and blue fabric - more a bandana, really - twists around her neck as she sits and scratches at it.

“Everyone gather round!” Turner calls out, and more men from the platoon begin to shuffle over.

“Where’s Daniels?” Stiles hisses out.  Robbie’s already on his way over to the tent to grab their friend.  Eve watches as Pierson glares at his back before turning his scowling expression on her.  Great.  Pierson’s in a wonderful mood.  She scrunches her face up back at him, resists the urge to stick out her tongue, and his scowl deepens as he looks away.

Davis is blunt and gruff as always as he explains their mission to them today - take Hill 493, or die trying.  Eve tunes out the rest of his speech - she hates these infuriating spiels.  They’re so obviously fake, but it still helps some of the men, or maybe it just makes them feel better.  Whatever.  Eve had spent the early morning being briefed with Turner and Pierson, fighting against the clawing despair and fear in her throat.  Every day gets worse and worse, but the Germans won’t fall back, won’t give so much as an inch.  It’s pissing off command, and if they get pissed off, they take it out on the officers, the noncoms, the grunts, push them even harder, become desperate with their attacks.  She’s heard that the Russians have orders to shoot men who don’t push forward in battle - she wonders how close command is to relaying similar orders, because they’re making it pretty damn clear that failure is not an option.

“No mission too difficult.  No sacrifice too great.” Turner doesn’t sound any more enthused than Eve feels. “Duty first.”

“I can’t hear you!” Davis barks, and Eve nearly winces.  Yeah, the higher ups are pissed.

“No mission too difficult, no sacrifice too great!  Duty first!”

Turner’s second try seems to satisfy the colonel, and he nods his head once.

“That’s right.  Now, get ready to move out!”

Robbie turns, makes a face at Red and Eve.

“Duty first.  Back to the ole meat grinder.”

“Amen, brother.”

Eve wrinkles her nose. “Please don’t call it a meat grinder.  Ugh, duty first.  Feel like I’m home again, with my ma.  Aoibheann, stop complaining.  There’s work to do.  You’ll rest when you’re dead.”

The boys laugh at the Irish lilt she adds to her tone.  She grins, ignores the pang of homesickness in her heart.  What she’d give to hear her mom’s voice just one more time.

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

We made it to Aachen baby! this has one of my favorite scenes ive written in it :)

Chapter 14: They Work And Sleep, And Work Again, In The Darkest Nights They Howl

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, no beta we die like, well you know, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks

Summary: The Bloody First makes it into Germany and encounters a city called Aachen. OR Eve gets angry, Robbie asks questions, vulnerabilities are shared, secrets come out, the squad fights, and Eve unknowingly stirs up past trauma for a friend.

Snippet as always under the cut, link in the chapter title!

“You FUCKER!”

Even above the roar of the fighters in the sky, the artillery pounding into the earth around them, the popping of guns and squelching of bullets digging into skin, Eve’s voice cuts through, sharp as a knife.  There she is, dragging two men with her behind the half-destroyed barn first platoon’s using as cover.  Robbie watches, catching his breath with Pierson and the others - the Bloody First is pulling back for the day, the flyboys dropping their loads on the Krauts.

“You goddamn son of a bitch, I knew you shouldn’t’ve come back yet-!”

The object of Eve’s fury is the cowering, limping soldier she’s got by the collar of his jacket, and she hurls him at the wall, in stark contrast to the gentle way she drops the other man, Lowe, to the ground.

“Ain’t my fault-!” the soldier, Graham, yelps out, trying to defend himself, but that just makes Eve angrier, puffing up and shoulders drawing all the way up to her ears.

“Oh, it’s your fucking fault, pal!” she spits out, just about roaring as she looms over the soldier.  He tries to push himself up but crumples, face twisting with pain.  Eve lunges for him, ripping up his jacket and exposing his side and back.  Even from yards away, Robbie can make out fresh blood, ripped stitches, mottled bruising.  Eve snarls, reaching down and yanking up his right pant leg to expose more of the same abused, tender flesh.

“Look at this!  Look at it!”

Graham’s eyes are twisted shut and his face is half turned away from Eve.

“This didn’t happen right now!  You tore these who fuckin’ knows when, and lied and put yourself and my fuckin’ men in danger!  All because of what, of pride, because you didn’t want to miss out on all the action?!”

“I didn’t - I didn’t mean -”

“You left the hospital before you were ready!” Eve’s voice is booming and cracking across the rubble like thunder and lightning.  Oh, she’s not just angry, she’s furious.

“You tore your fuckin’ stitches and lied to us!  And now Lowe’s been shot because you were too hurt and he had to save your fuckin’ ass!”

Eve’s fist curls in the front of his jacket, pulls Graham up, and she points at Lowe, still laying on the ground, hands pressed against his bleeding thigh as Clifton finally comes to him.

“Look at him!” she all but roars. “This is your fault!  He could’ve died because you came back too fuckin’ early!  You weren’t fuckin’ ready and now he’s paying the price for your mistake!  What if he died saving you?  Huh?  You wanna write that letter home to his mama, tell her why exactly her son won’t be coming home?  You piece of shit!”

He yelps as she throws him back down.  She towers over him, hands clenched into fists at her side, disdain and disgust in her eyes, the snarl of her lips.

“You’re leaving,” she huffs out, “and you’re not fucking coming back.  Go.  Now.”

Eve turns her back on him, kneeling next to Lowe, body and face instantly softening as she talks with him, a comforting smile on her lips now.

“Holy shit,” Daniels murmurs, glancing back at Robbie with shock.  Robbie doesn’t say anything, but his neck prickles with the feeling of an oh so familiar stare.  He turns to his right, and there’s Pierson, cold brown eyes trained on him.  The man smiles, all teeth - like a wolf, Daniels had once said, with Eve snorting in agreement, though Robbie thinks they each took that phrase differently.

“Got off easy,” Pierson says lowly, and his eyes flicker down to Robbie’s side.  Despite the wound being fully healed, the scar twinges as if knowing it’s being mentioned, and then Pierson’s off, gone in a flash without another word.

Robbie’s jaw tenses, teeth grinding together as he turns his eyes back on Eve, who’s now helping Clifton get Lowe on a stretcher.  It’s hard to believe it’s the same Eve, so gentle now compared to the barely restrained fury from only a few minutes prior.  Graham is gone - he must have fled as soon as Eve was finished with him.

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

“Why didn’t you yell at me like that?”

Zuss catches her on watch that night.  Eve sighs, shifting against the fence post she’s leaning against and avoiding his gaze.

“Whaddya mean?” she asks, even though she knows exactly what he means.

“In Marigny,” Zuss continues. “When I came back.  Today you bit that guy’s head clean off, but you barely even raised your voice at me.”

Only did when you yelled at me first, Eve thinks.  The fields are vibrating and glowing as bombs and artillery slam the Germans, softening them up for more attacks tomorrow.  They’re not gonna give up Aachen easily, but the Allies are relentless and determined, slowly but surely weakening the perimeter around the city.

“You didn’t come back with ripped up stitches,” Eve finally answers, eyes still trained on the destruction. “Nobody got shot pullin’ you outta harm’s way because you were too slow or weak or hurt to take care of yourself.”

All at once, that anger simmers back up to the surface.  She inhales deeply, cooling herself down, and exhales nice and slow.  No point getting all worked up again.

“You almost did.”

Robbie’s voice is so quiet and low she nearly misses the words.  She finally turns to face him, surprised.  His jaw is clenched, eyes downturned.

“You pulled me outta MG fire, practically laid on top of me.”

Eve’s mouth opens, closes. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

I would’ve done it regardless of any wound or injury.  I would do it anytime, for any reason.

“Because I didn’t get shot.”

It’s a weak joke.  She tries to strengthen it by leaning and bumping his shoulder.  He rolls his eyes, shoving back at her.

“I’m serious, angel,” he says. “Pierson said-”

His face twists at just the mention of the platoon sergeant and Eve fights a smirk.

“He said I got off easy.  What, do I get special treatment?”

“Why the fuck were you askin’ Pierson-?”

“I wasn’t, he just said it - don’t change the topic.  Answer the question, O’Shea.”

Those eyes lift up and lock onto hers, and a lump swells in her throat.

“I don’t - sort of, okay?” She huffs, finally manages to tear her eyes away from the moonlit green and back to the explosions not that far away. “Honestly?  Because even though you can be reckless, you’re usually not stupid.  You came back with a wound healing nicely, and I trusted you to not be stupid because you’re my friend.  Yeah, I was still worried, but I trusted you.  Graham’s not my friend, and he came back with a wound that was all tore up before he saw combat.  He was stupid, so I bit his head off.  You were just an asshole, but at least you weren’t stupid.  Besides, I don’t like to step on Pierson’s toes - back then I woulda just kept an eye on you, let Pierson do the yellin’ if it came to it.”

She grins, and Robbie rolls his eyes.

“Gee, thanks,” he drawls dryly, and Eve exhales a laugh through her nose.  She softens, fingers fluttering along her rifle.  She pictures those animals, resists the urge to find and trace over them in the dark.

“Probably wouldn’t’ve yelled at you like that, anyway,” she continues softly. “Don’t like to yell at my friends.  Woulda just been…I don’t know, upset.”

What would it take for her to get that angry at Robbie?  She doesn’t know, and can’t even imagine what it could be.  After everything they’ve been through, all that he knows about her and accepts…she’s gone too soft, she needs to salvage this.

“Clearly you don’t have the same problem.” Eve sniffs, tilting her chin up, and Robbie sputters, stepping forward to try and get in her eyesight.

“Wait, now hold on just a second-”

He must see the grin breaking through because his voice drops off.

“Oh, that’s real funny,” he snarks. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

“Only because I was shot-“

“That is not why I apologized!”

Zuss plants himself in front of her so she can’t avoid him.  She smiles down at him lazily, loving the crinkle in his forehead as he frowns.  He’s so easy to rile up.

“I’m serious, angel.”

“Geez, Zuss, I was just pullin’ your leg-”

He pokes her in the chest, leaves his finger pressing against her collarbone, and she breaks off as air freezes in her throat.  Her smile fades, and she just stares down at him, lost in that green again.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you then,” he says firmly, and his finger drops. “And I don’t plan on yelling like that ever again.  Maybe - maybe I was wrong, coming back so early.  I didn’t really think about how others could get hurt because of that.”

“I don’t care if you, or anyone else, comes back early,” Eve replies. “I just care that you come back ready.  I don’t wanna see you or anyone else get hurt because of something like pride.  It’s not worth it, not out here.  Hard enough to survive as it is.”

The crease in his forehead smooths out and his lips curve into a small smile.

“Alright,” he says. “Next time, you have my word I’ll be ready.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

Eve lifts two fingers to her lips for a kiss, then presses them firmly against the St. Michael’s pendant poking out from Zuss’s coat.  He inhales sharply, and she raises her fingers up to the sky, eyes up to the heavens.

“Michael, make sure there is no next time, please and thank you.”

Robbie lets out a small, airy laugh. “What - did you just say a prayer for me?”

“Just because you got the pendant doesn’t mean you can go temptin’ fate.  Christ, I can’t believe you, ‘next time’, you’re killing me.”

His laugh continues, getting louder, and Eve shushes him.  He moves back to lean against the fence, shoulder pressed to hers solidly.  She preens at the contact, tries not to show it.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” he says, and she can hear the grin in his voice. “Won’t go testing Saint Michael again.”

“You test him every day.”

Robbie snorts, trying not to laugh too loudly again.

“Glad he’s helpin’ out some Jew who hustled his pendant.  I need all the help I can get.”

He grins at her, and she matches it with ease.

“We’ll be havin’ words if he stops now.”

“Goin’ toe to toe with a saint for me, angel?”

She would do anything for him, Eve thinks.  Of course she’d yell and rant and curse at some high and mighty saint over Robert Zussman.  Wouldn’t be the first time she’s gotten angry in her prayers, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Careful, think your head’s gettin’ a bit big there, when was the last time you got your ego checked?”

An outright “ha!” this time, and Eve shushes him again, fighting back her own laughter.  He jostles her where their shoulders are connected, and she jostles him back.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” Robbie says as they quiet down. “Think you scared the Krauts off with all that yellin’ earlier.”

“Oh, if only.” She sighs. “You should head back, try and get some sleep.  Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

“When’re you getting relieved?”

Eve’s eyes slide up to find the moon.  A sliver, now.

“Bout an hour,” she answers, watching a wispy cloud cross the crescent, nearly covering it entirely.

“I’ll stick with you, then.  It’ll take me that long to fall asleep, anyway.”

Silvery blue eyes find soft green.  It’s a lie, they both know it.  Zuss can fall asleep in five seconds flat, he’s got almost everyone in the platoon beat when it comes to that.  His eyes are steady, and he leans heavier against her, cementing his place by her side.  She looks away, a soft smile on her lips, flowers blooming in her chest, and begins to hum Billie Holiday’s “When You’re Smiling”, Robbie breathing quietly by her side.

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

SHES FINALLY DONE. through the end of a job, three interviews, an impromptu family shopping trip/dinner, and catching yet ANOTHER horrible cold all in ONE week i finished my chapter :)

Chapter 12: I'm Always Running From Something, I Push It Back But It Keeps On Coming

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, no beta we die like, well you know, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks

Summary: Eve deals with her own insecurities, the ugly side of Post-War Paris, and the consequences of her risky actions. She and Robbie have a talk.

Snippet below per usual, also fairly dark chapter, please be mindful of the tags, ao3 link in chapter title above

Sunlight streams in through the dusty window, filling the room with a warm, yellow glow.  Marsh and Woods are bickering lightheartedly, each sitting cross-legged at either end of the ratty couch Woods has been sleeping on.  There’s cards in between them - Eve has no idea what game they’re playing, or who’s winning.  She’s never been good at any of that.  She’s strewn out on the floor on the other side of the room, one arm thrown lazily across her eyes, one knee propped up in the air with the other leg stretched out.  It’s hot, all three of them in just their tanks, jackets and shirts removed for some kind of relief.

There’s a timid throbbing edging at her temples, but it’s mild and easy to ignore unless she moves her head too quickly.  She’s surprised her hangover isn’t much worse, but then again, she didn’t really drink that much, and she spaced it out over several hours.  Marsh has no hangover whatsoever, only having had two glasses of…something, the entire night.  He’s utterly at ease now, had even teased Eve when she had crawled out of her room early that morning, unable to sleep.  At least something good came out of last night.

Eve sighs, shifting a bit as her ass starts to get sore.  Whatever.  Floor time is much needed right now, no matter how much her backside complains.  She has no plans to meet with anyone today, and she doesn’t know if she wants to.  Théa would be fine, she concedes.  They parted on fairly good terms.  At least, Eve thinks so.  What if Théa was lying?  What if she doesn’t want to see her?

There’s no way she’s going to meet with Nora today.  That woman is probably nursing a horrible hangover, and Eve’s been on the receiving end of a miserable, hungover Nora too many times.  And Nora would just bother her about last night, about what she and Théa had gotten up to, and Eve cannot tell her that they are no more, that Eve is…

Damn.

And that’s why she can’t really meet with Zuss today, either.  At least, not yet, not until she makes a plan on how to deal with this.  A crush no more, she cannot deny it, and there’s no way she’s going to do a stupid thing like tell him.  What, is she crazy?  And lose one of her best friends?

He’ll be disgusted, whispers that horrid little voice in her mind, or he’ll laugh at you, like the boys back home.  Or worse, he’ll just feel bad for you, embarrassed-

Eve cuts off the thoughts by grinding the heels of her palms into her eye sockets until she sees red.  That’s probably the worst, she decides, because Zuss is a kind person, underneath that troublemaker exterior.  She can practically picture that pitiful expression on his face as he lets her down easy-

God fucking damnit.

This is hell.  She’s in hell, plain and simple.

She’s not going to do anything about it.  She can’t tell him, and she obviously isn’t going to get over him - she already tried that, and it just ended up making everything worse - and so she’s going to have to learn to live with it.  Just act normal.  What’s normal?  She can’t ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist, like she originally planned when it was just a crush - was it ever just a crush? - so just focus on being normal, on not drawing attention to herself, on her squad and the war.

Yeah.  She can do that.  Probably.

“You’re a cheating bastard!”

Eve lifts her arm, squinting at the two on the couch.  Marsh stands, stomping away from a grinning Woods gleefully collecting his winnings.  Marsh paces for a few seconds before stopping and sulking, glaring around the apartment.  Eve rests her arm across her forehead so she can still watch her boys, needing some kind of distraction.

“I can fix that for you,” Marsh says suddenly.  Eve frowns, confused.  He’s looking into Eve’s room, but she can’t see at what.  Groaning, she pushes herself into a sitting position, peering around him and in.  She doesn’t have anything really out, just some clothes, a book.  Certainly nothing that needs to be fixed…wait.

“Are you talking about my bandeau?” she asks, dumbfounded.  It’s the only thing she can think of.  It’s poking out of her pack, the ripped edge of it glaringly obvious.  She’s been putting off fixing it because she’s shit with sewing, and she doesn’t want to ruin the already shitty, precious elasticity.  It’s her only one, though, and she desperately needs it in good condition.  Right now, she’s just wearing a normal brassiere she’s kept from the nurse corps, binded it tight to make it secure because they never gave her one that actually fit.

“Bandeau,” Woods murmurs, putting on a voice.  Eve grabs the nearest object - a rolled up sock - and nails him in the ear with it.  He yelps.  Eve looks back at Marsh.

“Is this just some weird perverted excuse to touch my underthings?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.  She knows Marsh isn’t into women - at least, he pretty much confirmed it last night - but still.

Woods snorts and Marsh flushes bright red.

“No,” he snaps, embarrassed. “No, I-my ma owned a boutique.  Back in the States, I used to help out in the store, help fix and sew things that needed mending.  I’m pretty good, if I don’t say so myself.  But it’s just an offer.”

Eve chews on her lip for a moment, then lowers her head as an acquiesce.

“Be my guest,” she says. “Saves my fingertips from being stabbed thirty seven times.”

Marsh grins, disappearing into her room for a few seconds before reemerging, bandeau in hand.

“I’ll have it done by tomorrow at the latest,” he says, and Eve gives another thumbs up as she reclines on the floor again.  She groans as there’s a rap on their door, but whoever it is doesn’t wait for an answer before swinging it open.  Marsh hurriedly shoves her bra in his pack before the newcomers can see, and Eve rolls her head over to see who it is, not getting up off the floor.

“Mornin’, y’all,” Red drawls, stepping into the room with a smile. “Nearly afternoon.”

“Hello, Red,” Eve intones from the floor, fluttering her fingers at the Texan.  He’s followed by the rest of the squad, Aiello looking bored and Stiles nearly gray from his hangover.  Zuss is the last one in, quiet for once, and his eyes land on her and then flicker away lightning fast.

Well, that’s…odd.

“Christ, are you hungover, too?”

Aiello’s peering down at Eve, standing next to her head with his hands on his hips.  She grunts, smacking his leg with a hand.

“First College, now you.  What did the two of you get up to last night?”

“Don’t blame Stiles on me,” Eve says, which is a lie. “I was out with Nora last night.” Technically not a lie.

“‘Fraid I’m to blame for Stiles,” Marsh speaks up. “Mixed card games with liquor last night.”

“Obviously, I didn’t win,” Stiles mumbles.  It’s a lie they rehearsed the night before, minus the hangovers. Believable and protects them from their scandalous, illegal nighttime activities.

The others start ragging on Stiles, but Eve’s neck prickles.  Her eyes slide across the room, tracking over to Zuss, who’s still hovering by the door.  His arms are crossed, and his eyes - a mellow mossy green, now - are looking back at her, eyebrows pinched together in a frown, but as soon as she looks at him, he glances away, at Red.

Something’s wrong.

“Whaddya think, O’Shea?”

Eve blinks, pushing herself up onto her elbows and looking back at the others.

“What?”

“Lunch?”

Eve half shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

Aiello snorts, rolling his eyes. “What, are we not good enough company, your highness?”

“Shut up, Aiello.” Red frowns at him but Aiello just scoffs.

“What?  Surprised she ain’t palling around with that French gal again.  Attached at the damn hip, the two of you.”

Zuss shifts impatiently by the door. “Are we going or not?  I’m starving.”

“Let me get my jacket.”

Marsh and Woods echo her statement, and within a few minutes they’re all out and in the street, heading off to the nearest café, market, or store they can find.

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

Update day update day update day! writing this chapter was a bit like wrangling those really hyperactive dogs at agility competitions just waiting to be set loose

Chapter 11: If She'd Hear Her Baby's Queer For All That Jazz

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining

Summary: Given a week off in the City of Love, the Bloody First recuperate from the past week and a half. This involves, but is not limited to, old friends, new friends, avoiding nightmares, taking risks, and trying to keep your head above water.

Snippet below the cut! Full chapter on ao3 and linked above!

The Parisian streets are an explosion of noise, and color, and celebration.  Everyone is cheering, and there’s so many people crowded together it makes the hot air thin.  Eve’s head rises above most of the crowd, giving her a bit of reprieve.  She doesn’t know how Marsh can stand it next to her, close to her side as they move through the thick torrent of people.

“You still with me, Marshy?” Eve quips, grinning down at the smaller man.  He scowls, then nearly gets bowled over by an enthusiastic woman who plants a kiss on his lips.  Cherry red lipstick smears across his lips as he tears away, moving past the woman and keeping pace with Eve’s long strides.  She laughs, watches as another young woman grabs Woods’ face with both hands and yanks him down, kissing him hard.  When he emerges from the embrace, he’s wearing a dopey smile underneath glossy red.

The atmosphere is joyous and infectious, Eve must admit.  It’s hard not to smile with how happy everyone is.  Dozens of French flags hang from windows and balconies, and the citizens celebrate with each other and with the American soldiers.  Men slap them on the back - Rojas was lifted into the air for a few seconds - and woman are liberal with their affections.  Lips brush Eve’s cheek, and her skin tingles.  Good God, she’s so touch-starved, it’s pitiful.  As physically affectionate as the men are with each other, most of them refrain from showing the same displays to her, much to her dismay.  It’s probably part of the reason she’s so much closer with her original squad - they have no issues pulling her into hugs, or when she nudges or leans against them.

Speaking of them, Red is expertly dodging every woman who comes within a foot of him.  Twisting his head this way and that, it’s comical watching him, but there’s a swell of admiration as well.  He’s so committed to Hazel, a rare occurrence in the war.  Most men won’t hesitate to get the chance to sleep with the first woman who looks at them, regardless of their relationship status.

A woman reaches for Zuss, fisting the collar of his jacket and kissing him, and Eve looks away, ahead, trying to find Turner and Pierson.  She’s managed to collect her old squad and Marsh and Woods from her new squad.  That had been easy - the three of them are quartered in the same tiny apartment.  Eve even has her own room, with a bed!  Sure, she might not have been able to sleep well in it - fists pounding into bone, white shards splintering and cracking, gray matter squelching against the ground - but at least it had been comfortable.  First squad is a block away from her, all four of them sharing a two room apartment, so it had been easy to meet with them this morning on their way to meet the lieutenant and sergeant.

Glancing around behind her, Eve can make out the rest of her squad slowly but surely making their way through the sea of Parisians.  Good.  As fun as this is, they still have to meet with Turner.  Last night, he had sent them to their quarters and told them he would have news of what to expect in the morning.  Eve murmurs an apology as she nearly elbows an older man passing by them, shifting uncomfortably at the ache in her foot.  The gash has healed nicely, helped by the fact she had stayed off it in the resistance warehouse, but it’s still irritated, especially by the attack the night before.  Still, it could be worse.

She’s so lost in thought she nearly misses the blur of movement in the corner of her vision, and then something crashes into her.  Eve stumbles to a halt, a spike of terror pinging around her ribcage before landing up on her collarbone, and then any thoughts flee as lips land on her own and she’s being kissed, hard.  She jerks back reflexively, surprised, and very nearly shoves the person away, reminding herself at the last second that she is not being attacked, she has just been kissed by an excited Parisian.

A woman, who’s leaned back but has an arm wrapped around Eve’s neck, fingers in the tuft of hair on the back of her neck, and as Eve steadies herself, she finds her hands lightly grabbing the woman’s hips to keep them both up.  Eve’s heart is thundering so loud her pulse is jumping in her throat, but it slows as the woman leans back another inch, seeming to realize that Eve was not expecting such a kiss, and Eve has the muddled thought that most men wouldn’t ever react as she is.

Warm chocolate eyes look up at her, slightly concerned but still sparkling with the joy of liberation, and Eve’s struck.  There’s flecks of gold and dark brown swimming in her irises, and they’re absolutely gorgeous.  The woman has high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, a wide smile with red painted lips and slightly crooked front teeth.  Long chestnut hair tied back in a loose braid, a red kerchief adorning her head, matching with a white blouse and faded blue skirt - the colors of the French flag.  A victory outfit.

“Je suis désolée,” the woman is saying, and her voice floats through the air like a symphony.  All Eve can do is blink at her, mouth dry and cheeks pink. “I am sorry, I did not mean to frighten you-“

It’s then that sound rushes back in.  Hoots and hollers, shouts from the nearby soldiers - some of them are laughing, some yelling that doesn’t she know the person she kissed is another woman?

Speaking of, the woman definitely doesn’t seem concerned or shocked at all about the fact that Eve is very much not a man.  From afar, it’s easy to mistake her for a man, but up this close there’s no way this Parisian is fooled.

Which means she knew, or knows, and is still holding her, still smiling at her, and Eve’s flush deepens as she stammers.

“I’m a woman,” Eve squeaks out.  Very nice, very smooth.  The woman blinks, smile fading, but it’s not because of her words, it’s because of the men.  Understanding dawns in those chocolate eyes, her lips parting in a little o, and she transforms.  Coyly, she gives Eve’s shoulder a slight push, as if offended or shocked - thank God it’s her good shoulder - and then she turns to the nearest man to prove that it was just a simple mistake, a misunderstanding, that of course she meant to kiss a man.

Unfortunately, the nearest man just happens to be Stiles.  After the woman releases Stiles from the embrace, Eve catches a glimpse of his absolutely disgusted expression, and it’s almost enough to shake her out of her stupor.  Almost.

“You know you’re supposed to enjoy gettin’ snogged by a gorgeous gal, right?” Aiello snarks. “Feel bad for her, though - ain’t much of a step up from kissin’ a girl.”

In the background, Eve can hear Zuss quip out, “I don’t see anybody tryin’ to kiss your ugly mug!”, but Eve’s just focused on the young woman still standing in front of her.  Those eyes land on her again, and, if possible, her cheeks get even hotter.

“I am sorry,” the woman says in her accented English.  She leans in closer, eyes twinkling as she winks, lowering her voice so only Eve can hear in the madness of the city street. “I saw a pretty girl - how could I have not kissed her?  Still, next time no kisses without warning.”

Pretty girl?  Next time?

Her whole face is sweating, hot as the sun and red as a tomato, and she stumbles and stammers over a sentence before giving up, embarrassed and completely thrown off kilter.  The woman giggles, and that does not help.

“My name is Evelyn,” Eve blurts out, panicking. “Evelyn O’Shea.”

The woman smiles. “Evelyn.” Her accent makes her name sound other worldly.  Something pretty.  Something beautiful. “My name is Théa Blaise.”

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

Ao3 Link

Pairing: Robert Zussman/Original Female Character

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love

Summary: Evelyn O'Shea just wanted to do her duty, for her family and her country, and get this war over and done with. At first, that just meant learning to be a nurse, but soon she finds herself leaving her medical division and trading in medical kits for guns and bullets, joining the Bloody First as a combat soldier. She's never been one to back down from a challenge, and with new and old friends at her back, she thinks she might just make it through this God-forsaken war in one piece. But if there's one thing she's learned in life, it's to hope for the best and prepare for the worst, and as she gets deeper into the war, as she begins to lose her heart to one of her squadmates, she starts to realize that there are things no one can prepare for, and that no one can come back from.

Actually terrified posting this but here's a fic I've been working on for forever! I try to update every Sunday!

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

Update day! Haha…yay :)

Chapter 17: And All I Remember is the Face of November Walking Hand in Hand With You and Me

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, no beta we die like, well you know, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Summary: The Bloody First tries to take Hill 493. OR Eve gets into a fight with a friend, gets down and dirty in the mud, and makes a promise she doesn’t know how to keep.

Tidbit under the cut per usual, full chapter on ao3 linked above

“I’m singin’ in the rain, just singin’ in the rain, c’mon, sarge!”

There’s a nearly hysterical twist to Woods’ forced smile, something delirious in his eyes.  Eve doesn’t respond, watches him hold out a hand and tilt his head back.

“I’m laughing at clouds, so dark up above!”

Eve’s hands twist together, pulling and rubbing at her fingers in agitation.

“Shut the hell up!” another soldier snaps from where he sits, knee bouncing like crazy.

“Fuck off!” Eve snarls, then feels bad.  Her control is slipping, that buzzing from Paris is back, swarms of bees under her skin.  The soldier drops his head into his hands.  Woods blinks up into the rain, breathing heavy.

“Woods?”

“Oh, I’m grand, sarge, don’t you worry about me!”

When Woods looks back down at her, there’s something mad in his smile now, and his eyes are hard.

“I’ve never felt fuckin’ better,” he continues, voice hard as stone. “I’m gonna make them all fuckin’ pay.”

She should’ve pushed harder to have Woods sent back with Marsh and the other wounded, but they need every physically-able soldier for the hill.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” is all she can find it in herself to say.  Unable to sit still any longer, she leaves the private, heading for Turner.  She passes Stiles and Daniels pressed to a radio, listening for any news of Pierson and the others.  Stiles glances at her with that slightly guilty expression and Daniels’ face is hard, irritated, angry - she knows what they’re talking about.  Grits her teeth, ignores them, focuses on the here and now.  It’s been too long.  Either Pierson pushed ahead or something went seriously wrong.

“O’Shea,” Turner says warily, watching her stop in front of him, already knowing she’s not here for idle chitchat.

“Turner, we can’t stay here,” she says quietly, crossing her arms.  Irritation flashes through his brown eyes, quick as lightning.

“We’re waiting for Pierson.”

“Forget about Pierson.  The longer we wait here, the more danger we’re in.  What if the Germans realize we’re just sitting here?  What if they try another counterattack?  What if - what if they hit us with another artillery strike?  We can’t survive another one of those, Turner.”

“Pierson will get here-“

“Pierson should’ve been here by now!  And he’s not.  Either his team got wiped out or he pushed ahead, and either way, it means we need to move.”

“Pierson’s team is fine, they’re going to be here and we’re going to wait for them.”

Eve sighs, frowning as she looks away from her lieutenant. “Turner, please, I can’t - I can’t stand it, I can’t do it again, waiting around for reinforcements that are never going to show up.”

“This isn’t Kasserine-“

“I know that, but-“

“Is it true?”

They both stop and turn at Red’s determined, accusatory voice.  Eve’s jaw clenches.

“About Pierson getting those men killed at Kasserine Pass?”

Eve rolls her eyes, air exploding from her in an agitated rush, and that only pisses Red off further.

“You don’t know anything, Red,” she snaps, patience finally wearing thin enough to break.  Something inside her tries frantically to grab at it, reel her back in, but the damage has been done, the buzzing worse.

“I know it’s his fault you got left behind, Nora said-!”

A bitter laugh tears out of her. “Oh, Nora said?  Rule number one, pal, don’t ever trust a single thing that comes out of her mouth.  Besides, you made up your mind about Pierson long before you ever met Nora-“

“How can you just stand there and defend him-?!”

“Because I would’ve done the same fuckin’ thing, Red-!”

Turner grabs her shoulder and forces her back, putting space between the two hotheads.  He’s tense, but keeping a better hold on his emotions than either of the two younger soldiers.  Eve’s scowling at the Texan, and Red is glaring right back at her, some kind of angry shock twisting his expression.

“One day, Daniels,” Turner starts, voice tight and controlled, “when you’re leading your own platoon, you’ll find out there’s usually two options.  Bad, and worse.”

Oh, Eve’s intimately aware of those options.  There’s never any good options, and only fools believe in them.  You get good enough, lucky enough, and you’ll keep coasting through for as long as possible, but everyone slips up some time.

“But, you focus on your men because that’s what’ll get you through.”

It’s a good little lecture, and Eve exhales heavily, tries to relax and pull herself back together.  Of course, though, Red just can’t let it go.

“Tell that to Pierson,” he mutters angrily, and that’s it.

“Sergeant Pierson-“ Turner starts, sounding actually angry at Red for once, and then Eve’s around him, shoving the Texan’s shoulder hard to push him back.

“Oh, fuck off, Daniels!”

Her hands are shaking and she can’t catch her breath.  Turner grabs her arm and tries to pull her back again but she shakes him off, fuming.

“You think you fucking know everything, but you don’t know anything!  You don’t know what it’s like to have someone depend on you, you don’t know what it’s like to have lives in your hands, to be responsible for so many fucking people and never know how many are gonna die because of a choice you make!  And it’s like that every single fucking day!  Do you know how fucking lucky you are?!”

“Sergeant O’Shea, that’s enough!”

Turner finally pulls Eve back, and she whips around to glare at him, pointing up the hill.

“Pierson’s gone up,” she says, volume lower but voice still just as desperate. “I know it, and you fuckin’ know it, Turner, even if we don’t like it.  If we weren’t here to rally with him when he made it, he pushed, or if he saw that artillery strike and thought our whole fuckin’ squad was blown sky fuckin’ high, he definitely pushed.  I can’t play this waiting game, Turner - I did it once, I can’t do it again!  He pushed up, and every damn second we wait here is another second of them not having the numbers they need!  How long are you going to make us wait, Turner?  What if they never come, we never hear anything?  How fucking long?”

A yell interrupts them, Stiles running into view and out of breath.

“Just got a transmission from Baker!” he calls out. “They’re gonna assault Hill 493.  Pierson’s with ‘em.”

“What?!”

Red and Eve both take a step back at the pure fury in Turner’s voice, previous fight forgotten, and all at once, the reality of what Eve’s just done settles on her, weighs her down.  She shoved Red.  She yelled at him, yelled at Turner.  Davis’s voice rings in her head - know your place, know your place.

“He took our guys and second platoon,” Stiles continues, and Turner’s already moving.

“Gear up!” he shouts. “Let’s move!”

Everyone’s scrambling to grab their stuff and move out.  Turner grabs Eve’s upper arm and yanks her to a stop before she can disappear.  His eyebrows are pinched together, and he’s still tense, but there’s that…that oh-so-familiar expression in the tightness of his eyes, the downturn of his lips.

She’s seen it countless times - on Zeb’s face when she didn’t understand him, on Davis’s face only a month prior, on her father’s face when she cried after killing her first deer and when she lost her first baseball game, on her mother’s face right before she told her that…

“You can’t do that,” Turner says lowly, eyes drilling into her, and she shrinks back, cringing away from the disappointment, the failure. “You need to keep control.  You can’t go off on your men like that.”

“I know,” she gets out, voice cracking, adding to her shame. “I’m sorry, I just - I’m sorry.”

He exhales harshly through his nose, letting go of her. “We’ll talk later,” he says, and she inhales sharply, heart battering - this is it, you’ve ruined it all, you’ve let him down, you’re done.  He turns his back without another word, and Eve whips around, jogging for her rifle and extra ammo and scrubbing hard at the rain streaming down her face, shoving every damn emotion that just reared its ugly head back, back down.

[cramberry24]

Intro/Pinned Post!

Alright, let’s try my hand at this (again) :) WELCOME TO THE BOG!

My name’s Cramberry, she/her, 20s, and I love to yap (#cramberry yaps), draw (#cramberry's creations), and write (#cramberry's compositions) and look at stuff for all my hyperfixations!

My inbox is always open! Please feel free to yap at me about literally anything because I WILL yap back.

Most of the stuff I write is 18+ Minors DNI, so fair warning! Big AI hater as well :) keep it away from me :)

I’m on Ao3, username Cramberry24!

Current WIPs:

“I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King” - Call of Duty: World War 2, Robert Zussman/OFC. Updates/yaps can be found under #I am King

Sports:

Professional Women's Hockey League (#pwhl)

Boston Fleet (#boston fleet my beloved)

Philadelphia Flyers (#flyers) (#flyers lb)

Philadelphia Phillies (#phillies)

Women's Elite Rugby (#wer)

Boston Banshees (#boston banshees)

Hyperfixations/Fandoms (subject to change at any time):

Call of Duty: World War 2 (#cod ww2)

Call of Duty: Cold War (#cod cold war)

The X-Files (#the x files)

Singin' in the Rain (#singing in the rain)

Lord Huron (#lord huron)

Band of Brothers (#bob)

Horror movies, vintage horror

Music, any kind