#joseph d liebgott

[bloodstainedsaint]

the sniper (joseph liebgott x sniper! reader)

summary: when you transferred from dog company to easy company following the battle of bloody gulch, you thought you knew what to expect of men in the military— though you really wanted joe liebgott to prove you wrong

word count: just over 3500

warnings: period-typical sexism & misogyny (big part of the story), very minor violence, denying feelings, mutual pining, reader lowkey has trust issues, full of other characters but hopefully no one's ooc?? also this fic is kinda messy 😭

notes: happy thanksgiving! enjoy this fic for the holidays 💞 also your favs AREN'T sexist, just confused

Gossip, you realized, was an easy way to kill time for the men of the military, especially with the recent news that there would be a transfer to Easy Company— the transfer being you, of course. You had no idea you were such a hot topic until you walked down a street of Aldbourne in search of the man currently in charge of your new company, Lieutenant Winters, and overheard a trio of soldiers discussing rumors as they sat around awaiting orders.

“Hey, have you heard that there’s a transfer coming from D-Company?” one said, lighting a cigarette.

“Whew, he must’ve not taken any smokes from Lieutenant Sparky, huh, Don?” another chuckled, stealing the cigarette out of who you guessed was Don’s fingers and puffing for emphasis, much to Don’s displeasure.

Huffing, Don continued, “He’s a sniper, apparently! Better than Shifty!”

“Nah, no one’s better than Shifty,” the third butted in. “Shifty can shoot you right between the eyes blindfolded.”

“Shifty would deny that ‘til he died, Penk,” said the second with a smile.

“It’s true, Skip! Apparently he tracked a target from 1,000 yards away and still got him in the head! Bang! Just like that,” Don said while he mimicked holding a rifle and firing.

“Psh, our boy Shifty could do that, or better: 2,000 yards, right?” Skip nudged Penk with his shoulder.

Penk shrugged. “Length don’t matter, anyway. It’s what you do with the gun, not how far it shoots.”

Skip and Don shared a look and grinned, the latter joking, “Don’t you mean distance, Alex? What, you insecure about something?”

The trio devolved into laughter and banter, but was suddenly quieted as Don patted the others and pointed at you approaching. Several other men standing nearby swiveled their heads to watch as well.

A woman dressed in fatigues, the shoulder of her uniform emblazoned with the Screaming Eagles patch, a M1 Garand slung around her back— they couldn't seem to get their mind around it. Disregarding their curious stares (you’d gotten a lot of them for the past two years or so that you've been enlisted), you walked past the group of spectators.

A couple of men whistled lowly, and a murmur spread through the small crowd. You stopped in your tracks for a moment, eyes downward in thought. Surely one of these men knows where Lieutenant Winters is. You turned on your heel toward the group.

“Afternoon,” you addressed the onlookers, who were now either standing up or gathering around in interest. Your eyes went from man to man, meeting inquisitive and suspicious stares alike, unfazed. “Anyone know where I can find Lieutenant Winters?”

“You, uh, you lost?” a diminutive man — Perconte, his name tag read — asked.

One with a strict face and a glower already etched into it — Martin — stepped into the scattered group. “Who’s asking?”

“Private (Y/N), sir,” you said with a quick salute that was returned. “I’m transferring from Dog Company to Easy Company. I was told to look for a Lieutenant Winters.”

The men exchanged a look amongst each other.

The man from earlier, Don, spoke up with awe apparent in his voice. “You’re a sniper?”

You turned to him with a curt nod. “Yes, I’m a sharpshooter.”

Then a lanky, scrappy-looking guy, Liebgott, entered with a smirk tugging upon his lips. Just by looking at his crooked smile and raised eyebrows, you knew he was going to cause you trouble. Just another man ogling at you like you're nothing but a pretty face. What else is new? “You need help getting around base?”

“No thank you, that won’t be necessary,” you swiftly rebuffed, turning your attention back to the rest of the men. You set them with an expectant look.

“You can find Lieutenant Winters over there at CP,” Randleman, a large red-headed man, said around a hefty cigar in his mouth, nodding his head in the tent’s direction. “If he’s not there, try the mess cabin.”

With a small smile, grateful that someone finally answered your question instead of asking more of them, you thanked him, saluted, and walked off.

As you started towards CP, you heard behind your back, “Did Roosevelt change something while we were overseas? ‘Cause I just saw a lady wearing paratrooper clothing with a rifle ‘round her back.”

“Very astute, George,” someone replied.

You could almost hear the smirk in Liebgott’s voice as he declared, “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Yeah, come back alive,” another voice — Skip, maybe — chimed in. “Speirs might’ve rubbed off on her.”

You only had a few seconds to mentally prepare yourself before you heard footsteps catching up behind you. Liebgott was now walking side by side with you, matching your brisk pace.

“Hey, (Y/N), right?”

You took a sidelong glance at him. “That’s right.”

“Joseph D. Liebgott. Technician 5th-Grade.”

“And is there a reason why you’re following me to CP, Liebgott?”

“Thought I’d show you around base, get to know you a little.”

“And I thought I declined your assistance,” you said firmly. “I was part of Dog Company; I'm not new around here.”

“Alright, how about introducing you to Easy men when you’re finished?” He threw a smile your way. “They’re curious about you.”

You slightly grimaced at the thought of being at the center of attention for so many strangers. “I’d rather not.”

“Why? They’re great guys. I don’t know about Dog Company men and their Lieutenant Speirs, but Easy men, especially Toccoa men, are different.”

They don’t seem all that different to me. You gripped the strap of your gun a little tighter. “Once again, I’ll pass.”

He shrugged. “You’ll warm up to us.”

A tense silence ensued. You did your best to not seem bothered by it. Usually by this point people gave up and stopped talking to you entirely.

“So, uh,” he began, running his hands through his hair. Of course you weren’t getting rid of him that easily. Your intuition earlier was right. “Why’re you transferring over to Easy? No offense, but we've got a helluva marksman already.”

“I wasn’t given a reason, just an order.”

“That so? Well, maybe you’ll take his place as our resident sniper, huh?”

“Looking forward to it,” you responded drily.

He chuckled. “You’ll fit right into Easy with the rest of the snarkers. Where you from, (Y/N)?”

You eyed him cautiously. “Lansing, Michigan.”

“Get outta here, you serious? I'm from there too!” Liebgott cracked a smile and gazed at you. “Man, I might’ve seen you around and just haven’t realized it. Could've been talking to you years ago.”

You pursed your lips. “It wouldn't have helped your chances, Liebgott.”

Grinning, he said, undaunted, “What chances? We're just talking. I wanna know the lady I’ll be fighting with.”

“You just want to know if I’m single or not. That’s all,” you icily said as the two of you neared the tent.

Apparently found out, Liebgott smiled broadly and stopped a few feet from CP while you continued walking. “Well, are you?”

You turned to face him. “Yes, I’m single, and no, I’m not interested in sleeping with you.”

You couldn’t see the smile melt off his face as you entered the tent, eyes searching amongst all the men and equipment for the tall soldier you’ve seen conversing with Lieutenant Speirs before.

“Private (Y/N),” a voice called. You looked in its direction and finally found Winters.

“Lieutenant Winters.” You saluted.

“You’re the new transfer, right?” he asked, beckoning you further into the tent for some privacy. You were thankful that most of the men here were too occupied with their own duties to notice you.

You followed him to a quiet corner. “Yes, sir.”

“Met the men yet?”

“Some of them.”

“Anyone give you trouble?” he asked gently. “You can tell me.”

You paused, thinking. Nothing past some inquisitive stares and a couple of questions. “No, sir.”

Winters perceived your hesitation. “If that changes, tell me. They're good men, but they might be a bit eager to meet you.”

You nodded. Liebgott certainly was. He analyzed your face for a second before continuing, “Try to get yourself acquainted at dinner before you go into combat with them. That’ll be all, Private.”

You saluted, knowing full well that you’ll most likely try to get a seat by yourself, away from the clamor of the men.

“Thank you, sir.”

-

It turned out that no seat was good enough to escape the onslaught of questions.

You had gotten there early and took a seat at the far end of one of the tables with a book in hand and not much of an appetite. Unfortunately for you, being one of the first ones there instead of a head in a crowd of people singled you out, and eventually you were surrounded by men wanting to know more.

“Hey, this is the new replacement I’ve been hearing so much about, yeah?” Bill Guarnere, or Wild Bill, as they called him, questioned, shoving himself into one of the seats at your table.

“Transfer, Gonorrhea, not a replacement,” Liebgott said from your side. When he had entered the mess cabin, you had attempted to hide yourself with your book, but to no avail. He had beelined toward you, beaming ear to ear as he slid into the seat next to you.

“You into books?” he said, eyes going from you to the book in your hands.

You thought that he might actually surprise you.“Yeah, are you?”

He scoffed lightheartedly. “What, you kidding? I love to read!”

A ghost of a smile graced your face. “What kind?”

“Oh, you know, Dick Tracy, Flash Gordon, mostly!” he said, seemingly proud of himself, and your smile disappeared.

Soon after that, people swarmed your table. If you were being fair, though, Liebgott had spoken for you for most of the night, making sure you could read in relative peace. If you didn't know any better, you’d say that he was just enjoying you being by his side, but you were still wary of any underlying intentions (let’s say, getting into your pants) he might have.

Yet, out of the corner of your eyes, you saw the way he looked at you from time to time with a small smile upturning his lips, and you wanted to believe he didn't have any.

“Transfer, replacement, whatever,” Bill brushed it off with a wave of his hand. “What I wanna know is—”

“—why she’s a girl?” Liebgott finished. “Jeez, I dunno, she’s only been asked this twelve times tonight.”

“If you’d let me finish,” Bill said with a pointed look at Liebgott as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, “I was gonna ask if she did shoot a Kraut from 1,000 yards away.”

“You’d be giving ole Shifty a real run for his money, ain't that right, Shift?” Joe — the other one, Joe Toye — said from beside Bill, reaching over to another table and shaking one of the guys there.

Shifty, you assumed, looked over and met your eyes with a kind smile. “No, no, I’m sure she's a better shot than me. Y'all give me too much credit.”

“That’s what being humble will get ya.” Bill chuckled and puffed from his cigarette. “Your spot as Easy’s best shot out from under ya.”

The table laughed, and you steeled yourself before uttering in a quiet, yet steady voice, “It was two men.”

A hush descended over the table. Liebgott turned to look at you. “What?”

“Two men. I dropped the first. The other one heard and started running. I dropped him next. Both in the head,” you relayed, without the humor of a storyteller but the gravity of a historian. You didn't know it, but you had a stony look in your eye.

Luckily, you were saved from the stunned silence by a man getting up and reciting a poem, but you could feel Liebgott’s eyes burning into you. With fear? Admiration? You weren’t sure, but you didn't dare look over.

-

Joe Liebgott was nothing if not persistent. For months now, he'd been lingering around you, flirting and striking up conversations with you. To be honest, you never outright said for him to stop (besides that one time in the very beginning when you said you weren’t interested), so you guessed he wasn't overstepping any boundaries.

Still, he seemed determined to get you into his bed.

“C’mon, I think we’d look cute together!”

“That’s what you think, Joe,” George said, squatting next to his friend, “Giving her heart eyes and all. Meanwhile, she looks at you like you're her next target.”

Brushing his teeth, Frank followed the other two’s gaze across the road, where you were happily talking with Bull and Shifty. He spat out the toothpaste residue on the ground beside him and said, counting on his fingers, “Seems like the only people she gives the time of day to are Shifty, Bull, Doc Roe, even Webster.”

“Who, if you'll notice,” George said, gesturing with a cigarette between his fingers, “are all quiet, reserved, well-mannered people. You, on the other hand, got a loud mouth and, uh, what’s it called, Frank?”

“A short fuse,” Frank supplied.

“Yeah, a short fuse. She probably thinks you’re trying to get into bed with her, in which case, you're shit outta luck.”

Frank said, shaking his head, “Scary, that girl. With her rifle and that look in her eyes.”

Liebgott exhaled. “But I’m not tryna just sleep with her! I even gave her some of my favorite comics ‘cause I knew she likes to read.”

“Yeah, real books, Joe— that's why she gets along with Webster!” Frank exclaimed. “You sure you didn't give her the pornos?”

George laughed. “That'd give her the wrong impression.”

Liebgott narrowed his eyes as you giggled at something Shifty said. “You’re right, maybe she doesn't like me.”

Standing up, George sighed and snuffed out his cigarette. “That’s not the point, Joe. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

“Yeah, like I’m her next target? You told me already.”

“No,” George said with an exaggerated eye roll, “like she wants more outta you. ‘Cause all she's getting is the impression that you wanna fuck her.”

Liebgott stood up as well, still watching as you laughed with Bull and Shifty. George and Frank patted him on the back.

“She’s all yours, buddy,” Frank assured with a sympathetic smile. “She makes heart eyes at you too.”

-

There were only a handful of women selected to serve outside of something like a nurse’s position; you just so happened to be one of them, most likely because of your experience with a rifle. So, you’d gotten used to the lustful ways some men would watch you, or the demeaning ways they would taunt you. You guessed almost all of them had never seen a woman with a combat position in the military before (or by the way some of them acted, ever spoken to a woman at all).

But such men only assumed that you had earned your jump wings by sleeping around with officers. They assumed that they should be able to get in on it too, or that they should condemn you for something you didn't even do, for being unworthy and unskilled all because you were a woman.

It had always been a difficult pill to swallow: your military career would be littered with scathing remarks and crude comments, and you’d have to be strictly professional or closed-off with most men lest you’d be seen as a whore rather than just “scary”. But the hardest fact to accept was the fact that Liebgott, for all the kindness he had shown you, all the times he talked to you like you were a human being— that he most likely had the same intentions as everyone else.

As much as you relished his company, his crooked smile, his jokes, his lingering touches (and as much as you had to pretend you didn't), you had to accept his end goal was for you to warm his bed. And sure, maybe he was more dogged with his efforts than other men were, and maybe your friends in the company had told you that he was a genuine guy, but you just couldn't believe that he had anything else in mind when it came to you.

Maybe all the criticisms thrown your way had affected you more than you thought.

With the success of Operation Pegasus, Bull had dragged you (not literally, though you’re sure he could've) into a pub in the Netherlands for some celebratory drinking.

You didn't drink, and you disliked pubs; the smell of booze and drunken people was often overpowering, but at least you found quiet company with Bull. Across the room from your table, you saw Liebgott staring at you with a smile and a drink in his hand. It seemed as though he had noticed you the second you entered.

“It’s alright if I leave you alone for a second, little lady?” Bull said, chewing on a cigar like usual. “You'll be fine?”

“Sure, Bull. Go enjoy yourself.”

The large man smiled and patted you on the back before leaving to talk to some of the other men in the company.

Not one to mingle, you were only a few pages into your book when you caught the attention of an intoxicated soldier.

“Look who it is,” Cobb said to himself, hardly standing upright. You recognized his voice, seeing as this wasn’t the first time he’s derided you. “Ms. 1,000 Yards, huh. Bet the officers over at Dog Company only made up that story so it looks like you had some use.”

You ground your teeth. Typically, if you didn't give someone like him the satisfaction of an answer, they’d leave you alone. Why defend yourself and give people another word to call you: bitchy?

“What's a woman got to do in the military anyway?” Bottle in hand, he shambled towards you. “Besides suck the dicks of the men who are actually fighting.”

Steadying your uneven breath, you tried to look behind him to find Liebgott, but his body blocked your view.

Taking another swig, he spat, “That why they transferred you over from Dog Company? Those boys got their fill of you and passed you onto us, huh? Fuckin’ good for nothing slut.”

“What the fuck did you just say to her?” You heard Liebgott’s voice and felt relief wash over you.

Cobb turned around, and you caught a glimpse of an incensed Liebgott, a fierce glint to his eyes.

“Tell me what you just said to her.”

“Oh, please, Joe, you trying to get her to suck your cock faster—”

He was interrupted by a fist flying his way, toppling the inebriated man. Liebgott got on top of him and began trading punches before the surrounding men, drawn by the commotion, tried to pull him off of Cobb.

Your eyes were blown wide as you stood there, speechless. Bull found you and pulled you by the arm out of the pub.

“But what about Liebgott?” you said, peering behind you.

Bull shrugged and did the same. “Seems like he was winning anyway.”

That night in your billet, all you could think about was the fury that twisted Liebgott’s face into one you only saw on the battlefield.

And it was all for you.

-

The next day, you searched for Liebgott at breakfast, the table feeling a bit more empty without him taking up his normal spot beside you, but he had found you first, as he usually did.

“Hey, (Y/N), can I talk to you for a sec?” he said, his hand on your shoulder. You turned around in your seat and were met with a slightly bruised Liebgott, a small cut across his nose. Concern filling your chest, you nodded, and his hand held your wrist as he led you out of the mess hall.

“So, uh, about last night,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes searched yours for how you felt about him bringing it up, but he found no hints in your unreadable expression. “I’m sorry for fighting Cobb for you. You're a strong woman, you could handle him yourself—”

Smiling at his uncharacteristic hesitance, you cut his apology short with a peck on the cheek. You pulled away and saw his temporary surprise.

“Thank you, Joe. I appreciated you standing up for me. It means a lot.”

His face broke into the widest beam you've ever seen.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked eagerly, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could even process what they were. “Shit, sorry, that was too soon—”

You answered his question by tenderly holding his bruised face with your hands and bringing his lips to yours. You could feel him grin into the kiss as he pulled you closer, and your heart just about melted.

Maybe you had gotten Joe Liebgott all wrong from the start.

“Great, he’s never gonna wash that cheek again!”

-

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part VII/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, death, gore, religious themes (blink and you'll miss it)

A/N: woah look at that. We made it to D-Day. I thought I'd leave this on hiatus before reaching this point BUT I DIDN'T. This one's a little longer but I don't care and neither do you. If you'd like to be added to the taglist let me know and enjoy<3

GIF credit

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

READER'S P. O. V.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come; thy…

Thy…

"Fuck."

The cuss got lost in the deafening racket of the plane.

I clenched my jaw, blinking away the sting of sweat caused by the stress and the ridiculous amount of gear we were supposed to drop with.

I'm gonna die.

The thought settled in like it had always been there— and maybe it had been. It wasn't a question, not even fear; just a cold, undeniable fact.

My fingers dug into my straps. I tried to picture what it would feel like —why?—, if I would know, if would have time to know. If it would hurt or just… end.

The plane rocked, metal clattering around us. My stomach lurched. A frustrated swear on my far left. A properly muttered prayer in front of me, unlike mine. My knuckles had gone bloodless around the straps, my mind running too fast.

I'm gonna die.

I exhaled slow. Forced my hands to unclench.

Should've taken that second pill.

I checked my gear again. Helmet, straps, chute. Leg bag, M1, grenades. My grandma's cross. Compass, knife, my helmet again. Was the strap too loose?

I'm gonna die.

Lieutenant Compton walked the row, his booming voice barely cutting through the engines' roar. I nodded when he looked at me, mechanical, automatic.

The crammed space smelled like metal, sweat and oil. My skin was too tight, my pulse hammering slow and deep in my throat, my stomach still twisting.

The light overhead burned red.

Almost time.

The plane rocked again. Someone screamed. I would have sworn the plane gained speed.

But the light turned green.

Time to go.

JOE'S P. O. V.

The plane rattled like it was about to fall apart.

My head rested against the vibrating metal wall, eyes half-lidded as I attempted to keep my stomach from doing another somersault. That little pill they gave us—meant to stop... airsickness? Had kicked in hard.

Everything felt just a little too slow; my limbs felt like they were moving through molasses, and the weight of the equipment wasn't helping the bizarre sensation.

My thoughts, out of step with my body, were running at full speed.

Not that they were worth much right now.

Please, God. If you're listening, make it quick.

That was about as much praying as I was willing to do.

The red interior light casted ominous shadows on everyone's faces, turning them into a row of ghosts strapped in with jump gear. The grumble of the engines swallowed almost everything, but ever so often, I caught a cough, the sound of someone sucking in a shaky breath, someone shouting for smokes.

I didn't look at anyone. I didn't want to see fear on their faces. I didn't want to see the absence of it, either.

I focused on my gloved hands, resting on my lap. I flexed my fingers. Loosened, clenched, loosened. Checked my weapon for the tenth time.

It's not going anywhere. Let it be.

Winters did his best to have his last-minute instructions reach us. I barely heard him, so I just nodded along, licking my lips.

Focus.

The taste of smoke and sweat.

The bite of adrenaline that hadn't hit full force yet.

The cold touch of the hook strapped in the line.

The thought of her.

"The fuck..."

Not on purpose.

It wasn't sentimental, nothing dramatic—just a flash of Y/n's face, half-shadowed, rain dripping off her collar, a cigarette hanging from her lips, curved into an open smile.

"This damn pill."

"WHATCHA SAY?!!" Someone behind me —who was supposed to be behind me?— yelled straight into my ear.

"THIS DAMN PILL!!"

A couple if pats on my shoulder blade.

"YOU BETTER WAKE UP, LIEB!!"

I shook my head, exhaled through my nose.

Focus.

I could see flashing lights through the clouds. Lightning, maybe. Something worse, probably. France beneath us.

Jesus.

My fingers curled tighter around the edge of my reserve chute. The air inside the plane shifted, like everyone had started breathing a little shallower. Lieutenant raised a fist. Equipment check.

I swallowed, rolling my shoulders.

"Shit. C'mon."

Please, God. Make it fucking quick.

The light turned green.

READER'S P. O. V.

The ground came up too fast, the impact rattling through my spine and knocking the air from my lungs. The canopy that had barely stopped my kneecaps from busting against the french soil dragged me half a foot before I managed to fight the buckle free.

A strained gasp left me when I rolled onto my stomach and sat back on my heels. Just a moment, just to check everything was in place.

The grass was damp, the earthiness of the air mixing with the gunpowder. My palms patted my body from top to bottom, acknowledging what was left of my gear by touch alone.

The knife strapped to my calf, the loose rounds digging into my pockets, my compass, my M1.

No helmet.

"Shit!"

A ragged burn where my chinstrap had dug into my skin before the force of the blast blew it off.

I wasn't dead, though. Not yet.

That was the only thing I knew for certain.

My surroundings were pure chaos, partly because of the mayhem of sounds, partly because my sight relied solely in whatever bit of the landscape the anti-aircraft tracers lit up intermittently.

I wasn't dead. I strained my ears, listening for voices, for movement, for anything I could catch nearby despite the drone of planes overhead.

Somewhere ahead of me, something moved. I heard it before I saw it and I prayed for the cover of darkness and my lack of helmet to work in my favor. But the movement was slow. Intentional. Close. A shuffle. Closer.

I squinted my eyes and, rifle raised, I caught a figure. Low in the grass, barely visible. My first instinct was to shoot. I had been trained to shoot, we all had. Shoot first, think second.

Shoot first.

Shoot.

But recognition had bloomed in me before thought, before instinct.

"Liebgott?"

The person slithered fast in my direction, triggering an uneven stammering in my heart. A hand clamped down on my arm, bringing me forward so fast I almost faceplanted into the dirt.

"Jesus Christ, Y/l/n." Joe's voice, rough and sharp. Too close. He was crouched in front of me, knife gripped so tight his knuckles were white, sweat slicking his forehead under his netted helmet. "Flash. Thunder." I could feel his breath against my cheek, his grip still firm on my arm, holding me low. "How 'bout you don't throw out my goddamn name in enemy territory?"

"Fucking flash, asshole." I yanked free but didn't bother on putting distance between us.

"Where's your damn helmet?" There was a certain frustration in his tone, not quite at me, nor at the helmet, but at the situation. They had fucked us over.

"Somewhere over Normandy."

"That's lovely."

"You don't have a gun?"

"What's it look like, smartass?"

His tone was biting, but his eyes, widened and on edge, were scanning our swamped vicinity.

"How long have you been down here?"

"Couple minutes." His response was low and sort of absent. He was focused on something else. "Saw your chute. Thought you'd be someone from my stick."

"Missed the drop zone."

He glanced me over. "You or me?"

"Don't know yet." I took a look around and, thanks to the deathly flashes shot at the C-47s, I got a glimpse of the chaotically scattered canopies still dropping from the planes, too fast, too low, too dispersed. "Maybe everyone."

Just when Joe looked like he was about to reply something, the air split.

We both spun to face the thud of a body hitting the ground beside us, my rifle up in no time, breaths frozen in our throats. The figure writhed, tangled in his chute, gasping something between a groan and a curse.

Joe was quicker than me to recognize him. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, Petty."

Petty twisted onto his back, still winded. "Hell of a way to wake up."

I let my rifle lower, pulse hammering, but still found the nerve to turn to Joe and spit, "What happened to flash, thunder, 'don't throw out names in enemy territory'?"

Joe wiped a hand down his face. "Give me a fucking break, sweetheart."

"You call me sweetheart again, I swear to God—"

"No, I swear to God," Petty interrupted, cutting himself loose from his chute to join us. "if you two don't shut up, the Krauts won't have time to get you before I do." He shot us an exasperated glare, checking his sidearm. "My friggin' luck."

"Don't sound so thrilled there, buddy." Joe bit back.

"Let's just move." Petty loaded the pistol and quirked a brow at me, expectant. "Y/l/n?"

"I'm on it." I pulled my compass from my breast pocket and took advantage of the German artillery barraging our planes. "Alright." Think. You don't need a map. Just think. "We're moving out to those hedgerows." I pointed behind us. "Look out for railroads. They'll make this much easier."

"Who needs a map when you got Y/n Y/l/n, am I right?" Petty slapped Joe's shoulder and eagerly followed my indications.

We needed a damn map.

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

JOE'S P. O. V.

The first dead soldiers we came across weren't Germans. They weren't Nazis, shot down with an M1, laid on the french grass.

They were ours.

A couple of unlucky men.

No, not men. Kids.

The first one was hanging by his risers on the higher branches, swaying like a butchered pig.

The second one was a few feet lower, limbs tangled like a broken marionette. Their chutes had failed to cut loose. Or maybe they had been shot before they had the chance. Maybe they hit the trees wrong and snapped their necks before they could even fight for air.

It didn't matter. They were dead all the same.

We knew their faces. Not their names—just faces. We had all trained together at some point, ate in the same mess halls, stood in the same formation. I was sure one of them had played poker with us back in Aldbourne.

Y/n forced herself not to avert her eyes.

Petty turned away, finding solace on the dewed grass.

I didn't.

I couldn't.

So I stared, my stomach twisting at the unnaturally shaped silhouettes hanging above us.

"We need to grab their gear." Y/n noted, not quite contemplating the bodies as much as assessing the easiest way to reach them.

I forced myself to blink. "Yeah."

"Who's climbing?" Petty's inquiry was hushed, as if he didn't want to disturb the hanging men.

Y/n moved first, brushing past me to get to the base of the twisted trunk. She tested her footing, sizing up the climb, then glanced over her shoulder.

I didn't even let her ask. I just knelt, clasping my hands together. Her mud-covered boot setting into my grip served as a prompt for me to boost her up, which I did. She caught the lowest branch and pulled herself higher.

The tree groaned softly under her weight. She climbed fast, steady, the rope of her dog tags catching the faintest rays of dawn slipping through the dark clouds with every shift of her body.

I wasn't able to discern her expression while her knife forced the risers to give with a few purposeful slices.

One body dropped.

It hit the ground heavy, wrong, all limp limbs and dead weight. Something inside me flinched like I had been yanked backward by the spine.

She climbed higher, a poorly contained gasp pushing out her throat when her grip slipped.

"Shit—" Petty hissed, both of us taking an instinctive step closer to the base of the tree as if to catch her.

She dismissed us with a vague wave of her hand and, with a stretched arm, she slashed the second soldier's tangled straps.

And another body dropped, this time closer, harder. The sound wasn't as loud as a gunshot, but it might as well have been. A dull, sick thud.

God, they didn't train us for this.

Y/n didn't dwell on it; she just started climbing down like she hadn't just sent a couple of american paratroopers crashing lifelessly to the ground.

I stepped forward, bracing her by the waist to help her down.

She immediately bristled. "I don't need fucking help—"

My fingers clenched against her uniform, too tight —tighter than I meant— and hauled her down. "I'm not in the mood, so shut the fuck up."

"Joe, c'mon." Petty halfheartedly chastised me, like he knew this moment would inevitably come and he really didn't want to be caught in the middle of it.

"No, don't start with me" I snapped, throwing him a look over my shoulder. "when she's the one bitching and moaning."

My attention immediately returned to Y/n, who had gone uncharacteristically still, her eyes trained on my form.

Not because I hadn't let go of her yet.

Because my hands were shaking.

Just a tremor against her ribs, a flex of my fingers like I was willing them to stay steady. But she noticed.

I let go of her uniform like it had burned me. Petty, who had given up quickly on trying to keep peace, was now kneeling by the fallen soldiers, rummaging through their gear. My hands were still trembling. I rubbed them together once, twice, like it might shake the feeling out.

"Okay." Y/n's tone shifted. It was subtle, almost imperceptible. Not soft. But not the usual edge either. A tilt of her head. "Okay..." A frown. "Alright."

Not worried, not exactly. Maybe careful, but not by much.

She reached out, gloved fingers brushing the fabric of my sleeve briefly before fisting it with a quiet, determined yank.

My first instinct was to jerk away, so I did; I pulled my arm free in one clean motion.

"We gotta move." Petty's voice broke the silence, attracting our glances to him. He wasn't looking at us. His eyes were scanning the trees, the low grass, the quiet farmhouse at his six.

Y/n didn't budge. "Give me a second."

Petty groaned, did a half turn and commented something I barely caught above the scattered gunfire about having to land with us out of everyone. But he indulged her nonetheless.

She yanked my sleeve again, more forceful this time. The sound of it scraping against my arm was unrealistically loud —at least to my ears.

Her pitch was calculated, nonchalant enough to almost pass as casual. "You good?"

It threw me off. If she had picked up on it, she didn't bring it up. Maybe later on, in the middle of a pointless argument, she would.

My reply was clipped and fast. "Fuck that."

"Joe."

It's wasn't the word that got me; it was the way she said it, and the faint glimpse of genuine care in her pupils, visible only when the occasional flak fire going up into the late night turned early morning illuminated her features.

Get a grip.

"I'm good. C'mon."

My voice didn't exactly sound convinced, but at the very least it sounded resolved and stubborn, and that would have to cut it.

Y/n stared at me for a beat. Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment I thought she might press again.

She didn't. Instead, she just tilted her chin up once as if to say 'fine'.

She moved past me and reached the corpses in a couple of strides, catching the helmet Petty threw her way.

Get a fucking grip.

[she-wolf09231982]

You guys… 🤣

had to do it

[rockpaperscissuhs]

Band of Brothers Birthdays

January

1 John S. Zielinski Jr. (b. 1925)

21 Richard D. “Dick” Winters (b. 1918)

26 Herbert M. Sobel (b. 1912)

30 Clifford Carwood "Lip" Lipton (b. 1920)

31 Warren H. “Skip” Muck (b. 1922) & Robert B. Brewer (b. 1924)

February

8 Clarence R. Hester (b. 1916)

18 Thomas A. Peacock (b. 1920)

23 Lester A. “Les” Hashey (b. 1925)

March

1 Charles E. “Chuck” Grant (b. 1922)

2 Colonel Robert L. “Bob” Strayer (b. 1910)

4 Wayne “Skinny” Sisk (b. 1922)

10 Frank J. Perconte (b. 1917)

13 Darrell C. “Shifty” Powers (b. 1923)

14 Joseph J. “Joe” Toye (b. 1919)

24 John D. “Cowboy” Halls (b. 1922)

26 George Lavenson (b. 1917) & George H. Smith Jr. (1922)

27 Gerald J. Loraine (b. 1913)

April

3 Colonel Robert F. “Bob” Sink (b. 1905) & Patrick S. “Patty” O’Keefe (b. 1926)

5 John T. “Johnny” Julian (b. 1924)

10 Renée B. E. Lemaire (b. 1914)

11 James W. Miller (b. 1924)

15 Walter S. “Smokey” Gordon Jr. (b. 1920)

20 Ronald C. “Sparky” Speirs (b. 1920)

23 Alton M. More (b. 1920)

27 Earl E. “One Lung” McClung (b. 1923) & Henry S. “Hank” Jones Jr. (b. 1924)

28 William J. “Wild Bill” Guarnere (b. 1923)

May

12 John W. “Johnny” Martin (b. 1922)

16 Edward J. “Babe” Heffron (b. 1923)

17 Joseph D. “Joe” Liebgott (b. 1915)

19 Norman S. Dike Jr. (b. 1918) & Cleveland O. Petty (b. 1924)

25 Albert L. "Al" Mampre (b. 1922)

June

2 David K. "Web" Webster (b. 1922)

6 Augusta M. Chiwy ("Anna") (b. 1921)

13 Edward D. Shames (b. 1922)

17 George Luz (b. 1921)

18 Roy W. Cobb (b. 1914)

23 Frederick T. “Moose” Heyliger (b. 1916)

25 Albert Blithe (b. 1923)

28 Donald B. "Hoob" Hoobler (b. 1922)

July

2 Gen. Anthony C. "Nuts" McAuliffe (b. 1898)

7 Francis J. “Frank” Mellet (b. 1920)

8 Thomas Meehan III (b. 1921)

9 John A. Janovec (b. 1925)

10 Robert E. “Popeye” Wynn (b. 1921)

16 William S. Evans (b. 1910)

20 James H. “Moe” Alley Jr. (b. 1922)

23 Burton P. “Pat” Christenson (b. 1922)

29 Eugene E. Jackson (b. 1922)

31 Donald G. "Don" Malarkey (b. 1921)

August

3 Edward J. “Ed” Tipper (b. 1921)

10 Allen E. Vest (b. 1924)

15 Kenneth J. Webb (b. 1920)

18 Jack E. Foley (b. 1922)

26 Floyd M. “Tab” Talbert (b. 1923) & General Maxwell D. Taylor (b. 1901)

29 Joseph A. Lesniewski (b. 1920)

31 Alex M. Penkala Jr. (b. 1924)

September

3 William H. Dukeman Jr. (b. 1921)

11 Harold D. Webb (b. 1925)

12 Major Oliver M. Horton (b. 1912)

27 Harry F. Welsh (b. 1918)

30 Lewis “Nix” Nixon III (b. 1918)

October

5 Joseph “Joe” Ramirez (b. 1921) & Ralph F. “Doc” Spina (b. 1919) & Terrence C. "Salty" Harris (b. 1920)

6 Leo D. Boyle (b. 1913)

10 William F. “Bill” Kiehn (b. 1921)

15 Antonio C. “Tony” Garcia (b. 1924)

17 Eugene G. "Doc" Roe (b. 1922)

21 Lt. Cl. David T. Dobie (b. 1912)

28 Herbert J. Suerth Jr. (b. 1924)

31 Robert "Bob" van Klinken (b. 1919)

November

11 Myron N. “Mike” Ranney (b. 1922)

20 Denver “Bull” Randleman (b. 1920)

December

12 John “Jack” McGrath (b. 1919)

31 Lynn D. “Buck” Compton (b. 1921)

Unknown Date

Joseph P. Domingus

Richard J. Hughes (b. 1925)

Maj. Louis Kent

Father John Mahoney

George C. Rice

SOURCES

Military History Fandom Wiki

Band of Brothers Fandom Wiki

Traces of War

Find a Grave

[pookielious]

—T/5 Joseph D. Liebgott was a case in point. Liebgott was a very good combat soldier who had proven himself in Normandy and Holland. At Bastogne, the stress began to catch up to "The Barber," so I brought him back to my command post to be my runner for a few days, to let him rest up, to get away from the tension of being on the front. After a few days, he wanted to return to the line and join his buddies. Apparently he needed communication with his comrades more than he needed my company. The tension was still too much for him, so we sent him to division headquarters where he was assigned to the S-2 (intelligence) section to make use of his ability to speak German.

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Tech/5 Joseph D. Liebgott had been slightly wounded in the arm, but he was ambulatory so I assigned him the mission of escorting seven German prisoners to the rear. Liebgott had earned the reputation of being one of Easy’s best combat soldiers, but we had all heard stories that he was very rough on prisoners. Liebgott was one of Easy Company’s “killers,” so I deemed it appropriate to take a bit of caution. When he heard me say, “Take the prisoners back to the battalion command post,” he replied, “Oh boy! I’ll take care of them.” In his exuberance, Liebgott stood up and paced back and forth and he was obviously very nervous and concerned. I stopped him in his tracks. “There are seven prisoners and I want seven prisoners turned over to battalion.” Liebgott was highly incensed and started to throw a tantrum. Somewhat unsure of how he would react, I then dropped my M-1 to my hip, threw off the safety, and said, “Liebgott, drop all your ammunition and empty your rifle.” There was much grumbling and swearing, but he did as I had ordered. “Now,” I said, “you can put one round in your rifle. If you drop a prisoner, the rest will jump you.” One of the German prisoners, an officer, evidently understood this exchange. After the officer comprehended my orders, he relaxed and sat down. Liebgott returned seven prisoners to battalion headquarters that day—I personally checked with Nixon.

~ Dick Winters

[hbowarismydopamine]

ATTENTION ALL BAND OF BROTHERS FANS!

Finally after almost THREE YEARS I have finally written the Fan Fic.

NGL, I lost interest in writing it as I was so busy with Uni.

I sincerely apologize for gaslighting you 😭.

______________________________________________________________

It is called:

"VALKYRIE (Book #1 of the Death Serpent Series)"

It will be part of two part series called 'Death Serpent'.

Book 1: VALKYRIE (Book #1 of the Death Serpent Series) - In Progress. (Ongoing - not completed yet)

Book 2: HELGANDR (Book #2 of the Death Serpent Series) - Not Started Yet.

It is on Wattpad, my profile name is @hireathwisteria.

NOTE: It does not have a good picture cover. I generated one on Chat GPT. I would really appreciate it if one of you helped to create a cover picture for me, I will 100% mention you!

______________________________________________________________

WARNING NOTE:

This series follows the Band of Brothers plotline. However it is heavily focused on the OC and her story. The second book will mention parts of Band of Brothers, but will have nothing to do with the characters as such.

The love interest in this is also an OC - so please keep this in mind when reading it. It follows historical and non-historical plotlines, that have been altered for the purpose of this fan fiction. It will be focusing on political movements throughout the mid 1990s.

OTHER WARNINGS:

This is a very intense fan-fiction. It deals with sensitive content, that may not be suitable for some readers.

It has themes of sexual themes, rape, gore, brutal violence, suicide, miscarriage, torture, drug addiction, alcohol and nicotine abuse.

Please do not read this if you are not comfortable with these themes. It will be rated 18+.

______________________________________________________________

FINAL NOTE:

The first book is near completion, but parts of it are published. Please be aware that it has not been edited, and there are some mistakes.

Please give provide your comments and thoughts, and how I could possibly make changes to make the story better. I would really appreciate some feedback!

THE LINK WILL BE PROVIDED IN ANOTHER POST!

Thank you guys, love you all. I hope you enjoy this story.

@hbowarismydopamine

Hi everyone,

I’m writing a fan fiction about Band Of Brothers and I’m almost done. It’s on Wattpad at the moment, but I was wondering what other platforms I should upload it to.

Any suggestions?

[she-wolf09231982]

Joseph Liebgott

~~~~~~~

J. Liebgott and Female Combat Medic

[serendipitysae]

Querencia ( Joseph D. Liebgott x Reader )

querencia/ kɛˈrɛnθɪə,Spanish keˈrenθja,keˈrensja/

noun ; querencia; plural noun: querencias

Sanctuary.

( POST WAR !!! fluff and maybe a smidge of angst ?)

01.00 AM. 

19th July, 1946, Yuma, California. 

1 cup of self raising flour, 1 cup of granulated sugar, equal parts. Wisk together in a bowl, before adding 1 large egg. 

Feel free to stir together using your hands. 

In a pan, arrange the canned-peach slices, before half of the reserved peach juice on top. After this, apply the doe on top of the peaches. Then drizzle a ½ cup of melted butter. 

Bake in a preheated oven for forty five minutes until golden brown, serve with cold ice cream and rest of the peach juice. Easy peasy ! 

. 

Yeah right. 

You sighed irritatedly, eyebrows knit together as you crouched before the oven, one hand on the oven latch, the other holding an oven mitten. You had been sitting there for at least an hour and a half. 

You were wearing one of Joe’s shirts, over your nightgown. You pursed your lips together, scowling at the peach cobbler in the oven, which wasn’t even browning. “Come on..” You murmured quietly. You were so caught up in the baking that you hadn’t noticed the door unlocking. 

That was until you heard the soft clang of Joe’s cab car keys being thrown onto the table. “Shit-!” 

You looked over, confused as you looked up to Joseph Liebgott, your boyfriend. He stared down at you, his surprise slowly morphing into a small smile. “Wasn’t expecting you to be awake, Doll.” 

You giggled at that, an excited smile gracing your features as you stood up and jogged to him. A warmth spread through your body as you held him close, pulling him down to litter his face with kisses. “Lots of customers ?” You asked, between kisses. His lopsided grin surfaced, chuckling as he leaned into the kiss. “ Mhm, drove ‘round half the fuckin’ city swear to god.” 

“The real question is,” He began, hand trailing down to the curve of your waist. “ What are you doing up ?” He jokingly poked at your side, earning a small sigh and downwards turn at your lips. “I wanted to try the recipe for Peach Cobbler.. kind of a lost cause though.” 

A hoarse, tired chuckle left his lips, shaking his head as he pressed a kiss to your head. “What’s the occasion ?” 

You tensed up a little, clearing your throat as you looked to the oven. Your lips parted, taking a soft inhale before speaking. “ Next saturday, you know .. that reunion in indianapolis ?” 

Joe didn’t look at you, his lips pressing into a thin line as he looked to the wall. You softly moved your hand up to his cheek, gently rubbing it with the pad of your thumb. “ It’s been a year since we last saw them .. and I know Webster came to visit us last february but you know that doesn’t count.” 

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring it up after his long shift, but he asked, and you had no intention of hiding things from him. 

You caught on on how his jaw clenched, eyes trained on the tiles of the kitchen wall. You would have preferred screeching of fingernails on chalk than the deafening silence. After several moments of this, he licked his lips, voice quiet. 

“I just..” 

You looked up to him. 

“I just can’t do it, Doll..” 

You felt your heart clench. He didn’t sound hurt, he didn’t sound mad or anything. He just sounded so discouraged. The way his words died on his tongue, how he couldn’t meet your eyes. 

“Oh Joe..”

You cooed, your hand moving up to his hair as you tugged him into a warm embrace. It didn’t take long for him to melt into your glow. His arms sneaked around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He didn’t cry, Liebgott rarely cried. He just savored the moment. The smell of your hair, as well as the light scent of artificial peach and flour. One hand moved to cradle your head, as his eyes closed. The gentle tugging at the roots of his hair, the soft tracings you drew on his back, it was his sanctuary. 

“My darling, we don’t have to do anything. We don’t, we can just rest.” You’d say, your voice muffled by the material of his shirt. He didn’t really respond, just a quiet hum resonating through his body. 

The two of you stood there for several minutes, until you reluctantly pulled away. You looked up at him, the soft smile on your lips never faltering as you intertwined your hands. “ Let’s get you some sleep, hm ?” 

He nodded. 

“The rocket’s empty- I’ll try the atom load of this ray gun.” You read, your voice saccharine and honey like as you read of the comic book strip. Both of your backs were pressed against the wall, Joseph’s arm around your shoulders as you read to him. His head was resting on yours, half-lidded eyes following the comic drawings as you read. 

It only took fifteen minutes before the book was tucked away in a drawer, the lights off and blanket pulled over you two. Joe lay behind you, his body pressed up to yours with his arms holding you around the torso. 

“Y/N ?” He interrupted the silence, and you hummed quietly, eyes still closed. 

“ I just .. well..” 

You shifted slightly, turning to face him. One hand moved to rest on his cheekbone, eyes opening slightly. 

“If you want to go to the reunion, you should.” Your eyebrows knit together, slowly adjusting to the light as you spotted his warm eyes. 

“What ?” 

He nodded, shuffling closer to you. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see any of those bucks again.. But, they were your team too.” You looked at him with a small, small smile as you nodded. “But- Joe, you know you don’t have to-” 

“I know.” 

You shut up, thumb tracing patterns against his jaw. He continued speaking. 

“But.. Well, if you need a ride to Indianapolis, I’ll be there. ” 

Your lip curled up into a teasing smile. “You’re saying I'll get a free cab ride ?”

“Hey, I ain’t saying anything about it being free, I just said if you need a ride.” He countered, gently squeezing your side with a chuckle. Your laughter is harmonious to him, as he closes his eyes and smiles. 

Your laughter died down, your chest fluttering. “Hey..” You’d say, quietly. You moved closer, pressing a warm kiss to his lips. Sure, Joe was tired, but he kissed you back, with as much love and eagerness as he always did. You mumbled a soft “thank you.” to his lips. 

He just shook his head, and tugged you closer to him, the sound of traffic rumbling from the balcony of your apartment.

( THIS ISN'T PROOF READ SO PLAY NICE !!! I love domestic joe : ( he's my baby boy. It's post-war, if it wasn't clear enough- uh yeah hope you guys enjoy xoxo !!!!!!)

[rpfofficial]

joseph d. liebgott wins white boy of the month

[bloodstainedsaint]

Hey, I'm not sure if you take requests, but if you do, I have an idea:) Could you write something about a young woman who was in the Air Force disguised as a man and her plane was hit by the Germans while under attack, forcing her to jump out, leaving her stranded with her plane down and easy company witnessed the whole thing and tries to look for the pilot?

maybe with some romance or whatever with my mans lieb or doc roe if that’s possible hihi

when worlds collide (joseph liebgott x air force! reader)

word count: 1000+

warnings: blood & injury, but nothing really graphic

notes: sorry for the wait on this one 😭 i've been busy BUT i promise to be posting more during my break

You didn't remember much after your plane was hit by German flak while passing over some Dutch forest you couldn't recall the name of. What you could remember was everything rapidly blinking and on fire around you, dials going this way and that, your hands flying around the control board and trying desperately to pull up with the yoke as you cursed violently beneath your breath.

Following your fruitless struggle against gravity, you remembered preparing to parachute out of your plane and into the woods beneath you.

You were pretty sure you blacked out for a while after that.

-

The sight of a fighter plane nosediving into the ground and its booming resulting crash interrupted an otherwise uneventful five-man patrol through the woods.

“Jesus Christ! Did you see that?” Babe exclaimed, gawking up at where the plane had been in the sky mere seconds ago.

“Looks like it landed near us,” Pat observed.

Don looked wide-eyed. “It was one of ours. The pilot might need our help if he ejected in time!”

Lip shushed them. “There's AA guns nearby. Someone ought to go back and tell Battalion they’re positioned somewhere to our left near that dike we passed. Christenson, you go.”

As Pat nodded and left the way they came, Lip said, “We can't take too long looking for a pilot we don't know is alive or not." He checked his watch and sighed. "Alright, meet back here at 1700. Stay alert. Don't go too far on your own.”

The squad spread out in search of the hopefully-alive pilot. Joe walked with his rifle at the ready for about 20 minutes before stumbling upon large chunks of debris from the plane. Not far from that was a severed parachute, and then a blood trail.

He followed it until he noticed a pilot sitting on the ground next to some brush with his back turned to him, his clothes torn up enough to where large parts of skin littered with cuts were visible. Joe slowly approached, mindful not to scare him and wind up with a bullet in his head.

“Hey,” he called out. “Hey, buddy.”

The pilot turned around, and Joe noticed that “he” was not a he at all.

Your hand shot to the pistol on your belt, leveling it at him while vainly covering up your top half. You’d been trying to treat your wounds with the first-aid kit strapped to your waist; you'd gotten several steadily bleeding scratches from falling through trees and one or two broken ribs from your hasty landing. You ended up taking off your corset to relieve pressure on your ribcage, leaving you with your ripped up uniform and coveralls.

Regardless of your relief that an American soldier had found you rather than a German one, you kept your hand fixed on your sidearm.

“Woah, lady, put down the gun. I'm not a Kraut.” Lowering his own gun, his narrowed eyes flashed to your chest and widened at the sight of the reddish purple bruises that blemished it. "Goddamn..."

“It’s not what it looks like,” you managed out, though talking (or breathing, for that matter) was difficult.

“I don’t care what it looks like,” he said, the edge to his tone softening as he carefully walked toward you. “You need help.”

You painfully exhaled and set the gun down next to you. You turned around again to focus on treating your injuries, wincing with the movement. “I'm fine.”

“You don't look it.” He crouched down next to you. You flinched away slightly — you'd been disguised as a man for a while now, and this was the first time anyone was seeing you so vulnerable since your enlistment — before letting him inspect your wounds, albeit with you concealing your chest with your arms and what remained of your jacket.

“What’s your name?” he asked, gingerly applying sulfa powder to the gashes on your body.

You slightly hissed at the stinging sensation. “(Y/N), Senior Airman, 4th Fighter Group.”

“Joseph D. Liebgott, Technician 5th Grade, 101st Airborne.”

There was a temporary silence, punctuated only by you sucking in air through your teeth. As he bandaged one of the cuts, he said, “We need to get you some help. I was out here on patrol with my squad; we have a medic back at—”

“What?” You looked at him with a bewildered expression. “No, I don't need any medic. I just need help informing my superiors I got lost going through dense fog and got shot down here.”

“Why not? ‘Cause he'll see you're a girl?”

You gave him a pointed look. “Why else? If you haven't noticed, there aren't very many women serving on the front lines.” You paused and took a deep breath in through your nose. “If you bring your squad over here, someone's gonna report me and get me kicked out of the Air Force…Hell, I don't even know if I trust you to not report me. I just met you, for Chrissakes.”

In truth, you didn’t even know why you were letting him tend to you anyways — you were capable of doing it yourself, your biggest secret was currently exposed, and he was a stranger. But there was something about his change in demeanor and a sudden tenderness in his voice once he saw your injuries that made you want to trust him.

“Your secret’s safe, (Y/N),” he said firmly, a set expression on his face. “I got no reason to rat you out; I just met you too.”

You scanned his face for any signs of deceit, sighed when you found none, and nodded. “I’m still not letting your medic take a look at me.”

“Fine, but that’s not gonna stop me from helping you. I’ll be quick; the guys are gonna be expecting me back soon. We’ll go talk to them together.”

He resumed his aid, and after a few minutes, you could tell that he had started getting curious; he didn't seem like a man who knew how to shut up.

“How’d you disguise yourself as a man this long?”

With a shaky inhale, you closed your eyes as his hands brushed over your rib cage. Involuntarily, a small smile made its way onto your face as the countless predicaments you’d found yourself in flooded your memory. “It’s a long story.”

Liebgott cracked a crooked smile. “I can make some time.”

Laughing despite the pain that flared in your rib cage from the action, you couldn't help but feel that this chanced occasion wouldn't be the last time you would speak to Liebgott. And for some reason foreign to you at that moment, you hoped that your intuition was correct.

-

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop, @joetoyesbrassknuckles101

[marycorleone]

The Girl Paratrooper - Joe Liebgott X F!OC

Prompt: Mary and Lieb met while training at Camp Toccoa. Both were paratroopers of Easy Company. But the rules were clear: Dating or romantic involvement was prohibited. This made Lieb and Mary date in secret, 'til the girl found out that he had cheated on her.

After breaking up with Joe, Mary grows closer to Bill Guarnere, and what was meant to be just a friendship becomes a marriage. But Bill and Mary don't love each other, and Liebgott is sorry. What will happen?

Warning ⚠️: the character 'Leigh Spencer' was created by @msmercury84 . I asked for use the character in my fic and she allowed. Thanks, Leigh! ❤️

Chapter One

Mary was walking along the road and doing her patrol, when Joe Liebgott showed up. The girl smiled from her boy, who came to her and kissed her.

'Stop, Lieb! Winters can see us!'

'Winters know all about us. Everyone else know all about of us. We just haven't assumed our relationship yet cause of the formalities of the war, but as soon as this is all over, I'm going to hug and kiss you without major problems.'

Joe hugged Mary, lifting her off the ground. 'And I love you so much and I want to marry you, Mary Corleone. You know that. Don't you?'

'Oh!' She screamed in fright, kicking her feet in the air. 'Joseph D. Liebgott, put me down now!'

'Don't scream! It will draw everyone's attention here!' He warned with a smile. Then Joe announced that he had an appointment and took his leave, leavin' Mary to complete her patrol.

A few hours later, when already was the morning, Mary was sleeping when she heard Pat Christenson's voice. He arrived fumbling, knocking a coffee pot off the table, startling Bull, Guarnere and Babe, who were sitting in the room next to where Mary was sleeping.

'What happened, Pat? It looks like you saw a ghost!'

'It's Liebgott!' Christenson was scared and stuttering.

Mary jumped on the bed, but didn't make a sound. She wanted to hear when Pat was going to say. In the next room, Bill asked.

'Let's go, Pat! What happened with Liebgott?'

'A girl. He was in his dormitory with a girl!'

Everyone was silent and after a few seconds, Bull affirmed.

'Mary is sleeping in the next room. She just got back from patrol. Liebgott is a piece of shit.

'I went in there to get an outfit I had forgotten, and when I got there, I saw the naked girl on top of him. He would spank her ass and say he never had such a nice girl in his life.'

'Damn! Mary will be devastated!' Bill cursed and rubbed his face.

'Shall we tell her?' Babe finally spoke.

'No. We shouldn't.' Bull asked.

Guarno was about to say what she needed to know when Mary appeared in the doorway.

'I heard everything I had to hear. It's unfortunate that you wanted Lieb to keep fooling me, Bull. You shouldn't have even thought about it. It was your duty, my friends, to tell me. Liebgott asked me to marry him, and you know it. I was going to let that son of a bitch put a ring on my finger, and you were wondering if you were going to let him keep fooling me!'

'Mary, I...'

'All right, Pat. I already heard what I needed. Where are they?'

'In Lieb's dormitory. Mary, wait! If you make a scene, you can be expelled from the paratroopers. The rules are clear: Dating is prohibited!' Babe tried to stop his friend, but she just walked away.

'Can't we date? But is okay fuck local girls? I'm tired of hanging my head. I've been doing this since Toccoa.'

Furious, Mary went towards where her fiancé was. They boys wanted to go after her, but Bill told the to wait there, and that only he would go. And so, Wild Bill followed Mary.

Next chapter coming soon. And currahee!

[blood-mocha-latte]

#20, #21 & #22 ☺️

For BOB ask game

xoxo @paintedgray / @sharkboyandlavalieb

band of brothers asks!

20 - which storyline do you like the most?

joseph d liebgott you should have had your own pov episode and it is the greatest crime they took that away from you

21 - who was your favorite side character?

perconte my bestie perconte. place of honor for a fellow italian

22 - what is your favorite quote from the show?

and with this i point to joe toye spitting straight bars, a lovely gift from @ronald-speirs / @dawsley <3

[buthappysoverrated]

everytime I remember how good liebgott, joseph D. is at manipulating people I'm just. Dying to fuck that man

[she-wolf09231982]

To walk through the mind of Liebgott, Joseph D. 🥰

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Sometimes a day or two, or just a few hours, off the line helped. Other times it didn’t. Winters considered T/5 Joseph D. Liebgott an excellent combat soldier, who had proven his worth in Holland. But in the woods outside Bastogne, Winters saw a change in the man; a serious moroseness brought on by unrelenting stress. Kneeling by Liebgott’s foxhole, Winters said, “Joe. I need a runner for a few days. I’d like you to take the job.”

Liebgott looked up at his captain, then nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

After a few days, Liebgott requested permission to return to Easy. It was granted, but once back on the line his problems returned. Strayer intervened and temporarily reassigned Liebgott to division G2 intelligence, where his ability to speak German could be used to interrogate prisoners. Winters opposed this transfer. Liebgott was Jewish and had an undisguised hatred for the Germans. But the transfer went through.

~ Larry Alexander