#world war 2 au

[marymunchkiin]

𝘞𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬.

World War II AU where Goro is a captain for the Imperial Japanese Navy that falls in love with Valerie Cortesi, the eldest daughter of a Filipino shipping merchant and who, unbeknownst to him, is also a spy for a guerilla organization working to combat the Japanese occupation of her province. For this, their love, ambitions and loyalties are put to the test.

Headcanoned that they met in a past life prior to the events of 2077.

Art by me ☺️💗

[indigosunsetao3]

World War II AU

TW: Blood, medical procedures, medical inaccuracy

I literally dreamt of this scenario last night.

John Price is dragged into the medical tent by his team. Unconscious, bloody, and bleeding out as Gaz scrambles to tighten the belt on his arm to stem the flow. Beds are full with other injured soldiers who are screaming and groaning in pain. There’s nowhere to put Price as Soap runs ahead looking for a space.

Then you come around a partition. Frazzled, hair half undone from its nice bun and blood smeared all over your uniform. You see the injured man and zero in on him before scrambling for a folding table. He’s too big for it but it’ll have to do.

You set it up with a grunt and it seems the men have figured out what you’re doing without saying a word. People bustle by in the chaos, no one even batting an eye as Price is heaved up on the table that bows under his weight.

“Get his things off,” you order as you look for gauze. “Everything,” you tack on as you pat yourself down for scissors and hand them to Ghost. “How’d it happen?”

They give you a quick recap, it’s the same story as all the other men that had poured in that morning. Ambush, bombs, flyover planes. Doesn’t matter really, but asking for information is so ingrained you do it without thinking.

No gauze. The medical supplies had been depleted before this mass casualty. Shit. His blood is dripping down his arm already puddling on the floor.

“Rip these,” you snap as you grab the curtain of a partition and pull it off in one go, the rings popping and flying. “Long strips,” you shove them at Soap who follows instructions. Handing you long strips that you turn into a tourniquet.

“When I say tighten you tighten,” you instruct Gaz as you set up the knot and twist a discarded pen into it. “I’ve got to pinch it off,” you mutter and before any of the men can react you plunge your fingers into the large wound on Price’s arm and dig.

You don’t have time to flinch, to think, as you probe. The unconscious man groans the only sign of alertness from him this whole time. It’s hot and slick as you feel but you find it and catch it before it retracts further to where a tourniquet would do nothing.

“Now!” You shout and despite his shaking hands Gaz twists. He continues to tighten as you hold tight feeling the pressure start to drop as blood flow is cut off. “Keep going,” you tell him, watching as the cloth bites into John’s arm and visibly dents his bicep. He’ll have to have surgery as soon as possible if he were going to keep the limb.

“Blood type?” You ask as you slide your fingers out and absently wipe them on your shirt.

“Mine,” Soap answers as he moves to pull off his vest.

“I’ll need all you can give,” you answer as he follows you without instruction deeper into the tent.

“Bleed me dry,” Soap answers as you tug out a wooden desk chair for him to sit on.

“Careful what you wish for,” you answer as you search for tubing and collection items. You aren’t gentle as you jab him, you feel him flinch as you dig to find the vein but he doesn’t say a word. “Stay here I’ll be back.”

John is still unconscious but he’s been relieved of all his clothes, a towel for modesty across his hips. He’s covered in bruises, cuts, and old wounds but nothing major. You feel along his body for any breaks but find none and no signs of internal bleeding.

“Doctor will be by shortly,” you state wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. “He’ll need surgery soon.”

“What can we do?” Ghost asks as he shucks the cut-off clothes under the folding table right into the pool of blood.

“For him? Nothing now,” you say. “But you can help me. We need to make more room,” your eyes dart to the entrance of the medical tent as another truck pulls up with more injured.

And they do. They help you shift down beds, rip more sheets for bandaging, and move soldiers around the tent. Soap is dead on his feet from the amount of blood you took but he continues to assist in the chaos until it’s finally quiet.

Hours later as you sit on an empty crate half dazed John is wheeled back into the tent. He’s still out from surgery but it was a success. He’ll keep his life and arm. And despite the exhaustion, you get up to tend to him. He’s your patient and you’re going to see him through.

“I��m fine,” you mutter as you clean an area out for his wheeled bed.

“You’re not,” Gaz answers just as tired as he helps.

“You all need to rest not me,” you insist as you prop up John’s head before a hand gently grabs your wrist. Soap is staring at you pale as death but determined, nodding his head toward the exit for you to leave and rest.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I wasn’t brought over here for nothing,” you mutter but as a chair is dragged over you collapse into it. You can monitor John from a chair surely. He’s asleep after all and will be for a while yet.

When you wake up sometime later John is up staring at you, his men scattered in close vicinity. Gaz leaned up against your chair on the floor, Soap sitting knocked back against a tent wall and Ghost standing at the head of the bed filling John in on what happened.

“Good to see you awake,” you answer with a tired grin.

[alisavonvamalia]

Just a little gift for the fabulous @mysteryofvampires

Thanks for being so supportive and always taking the time to leave comments on all my fics ❤️

Red Over Rank

April 1943, England

Violence erupted all around him, his fellow comrades shouting and firing relentlessly at the enemy as he bellowed orders to any man who could hear. 

His limbs ached and muscles shivered as the icy winds bit at his face like rabid dogs.

There were screams and shouts as many soldiers fell, never to wake again.

His boots squelched against the wet, thick mud. Pain tore through his shoulder and leg as he fired again. If he died, he would do so standing.

But death had other plans.

...

Alisa could only watch as many after man was carried into the hospital, the matrons giving orders and assigning nurses to the wounded.

Some men were in better states than others. Alisa could tell now just by looking who would survive the night.

She and her fellow nurses had taken a break from their duties for a while, and sat in the office rooms with furnaces, knitting socks, gloves and scarfs for the soldiers. Various shipments of food rations often arrived here from where they'd be sent off to the troops in the trenches.

When the war broke out, she'd immediately gone to enlist in the war effort, as she was already being trained as a nurse, she figured it would be best to help. 

Along with Ivy, they'd submitted their papers the next day and were called into formal duty in this hospital in rural England, when they turned eighteen.

St Mary's was one of many hospitals being used to treat hundreds of wounded soldiers from the front lines, and Alisa now found herself in it's midst.

She finished her training just after the outbreak of the war, at the age of seventeen, and had now been working here for just over three years, much to her grandmother's displeasure.

Grandmother was an old sort who believed in women having less gory jobs than dealing with blood on a regular basis. 

And Alisa becoming a nurse had put a stop to her plans to marry her off to their old family friend's son, Malcolm.

"Alisa, a Major has just been admitted," Matron Jillian said, handing her some bandages. "Major Lars Dracas. Two bullet wounds, shoulder and thigh. You've been assigned to treat him."

"Yes, matron," Alisa nodded, quickly rushing to the washing rooms, to collect a basin of warm water and some antiseptic.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Ivy treating a man on one of the other beds. 

Fixing her red cross cap, she walked towards the bed where her patient was. The man seemed to be in good shape luckily, and he should survive with no major injuries.

"Sister," the man said, nodding. 

"Hello, Major," she said, setting the basin down. "My name's Alisa and I'll be your assigned nurse for the duration of your stay."

It was hard not to look at him, the man was certainly handsome, with blonde hair around his jaw and striking blue eyes. 

...

The woman who approached him was undeniably beautiful, wearing a white cap with the red cross emblem, as was customary, and a ankle length white dress with an apron over it, as well as a pair of gloves.

Strangely, the pain in his body almost subsided at the sight of her. Maybe the war really was having effects on his mind.

Alisa, her name was Alisa.

"Well, Alisa," he replied. "Major Lars at your service, although I'd rather be meeting you in better circumstances."

He really doubted his circumstances could be any better at this point. He'd seen some of the men coming in, who had lost a limb or might not even survive the next few days. And then there were the fellows that had died on the field.

She gave him a kind smile at that. "Don't worry, Major, we'll have you fixed up in no time."

She carefully unwrapped the bandages around his thigh first, ones that had obviously been wrapped by an army medic with less than ideal conditions to help the wounded. 

"I'm going to have to extract the bullet, Major," she grimaced. "I'm afraid to say it's an unpleasant experience, but it'll be over within a few seconds."

He would've listened attentively to anything she said.

She poured him a small amount of rum, saying it would distract from the pain. As a good soldier, he downed it in one gulp as she used some sanitised forceps to delicately remove the bullet. 

He hardly even saw the thing before she wrapped it and put it to the side. 

Her experience was obvious despite her young age. Mentally, he thanked whoever had assigned her to him.

"I'm just going to apply some antiseptic," she said. "Prevents infection but it will sting a little."

He could see the wound in his leg, it looked unnervingly like an open mouth, but the blood had been cleaned and his nurse was now carefully applying the antiseptic powder.

She repeated the same process with the wound in his shoulder, which, admittedly, caused him to grit his teeth in pain.

"All done," she said cheerily. "Don't worry, Major, you'll recover just fine. I'll be back with some hot tea for you."

"Thank you, Sister," he said, nodding his head in appreciation. "But please, call me Lars."

"Only if you call me Alisa," she smiled.

...

Oh, that young Major was definitely a flirt. What a cheek!

She returned to his bedside when she could, and they had many pleasant conversations. 

From that, she had learned that his full name was Lars Dracas, although in the army he was Major Lars Dracas, and he was twenty-one years old, turning twenty-two in the coming September.

He would probably be well enough the following week, although he couldn't return to fighting so soon, so he would probably be kept in the hospital until his condition allowed him to return to the front lines.

Since he'd been admitted, she'd taken to changing his bandages every day and making sure everything was okay. 

If infection developed, it would only hinder his recovery, yet she found herself wishing he could stay longer. 

Surely, it would only be a matter of time before he was called back into fighting, and then he'd be focused on survival, and he would forget her. 

She'd just be like any other nurse.

Perhaps she'd forget him too, after treating so many soldiers.

In just the span of these four months, she'd treated over fifty men, was he really so memorable?

But he was.

...

In the days after arriving at St Mary's, Lars found himself conflicted more than ever before.

His head told him he should be eager to return to duty and continue fighting for the protection of his country and others, but his heart seemed intent on staying in Alisa's clutches. 

Did she know of his affections? She must, he hadn't exactly been very subtle.

She returned them, as far as he knew.

Enlisting in the army had been easier than this. Going against his father had been easier than this. Fighting in the freezing weather had been easier. God, what was he going to do?

(to be continued)

[silverhallow]

Chapter 5 of

📚Days Gone By📚

Is now on ao3

[rwbyangst12]

I would like a fanfiction that combines the original premise of Oz with Dorothy being a young child (8-12 since it's her book ages and her movie age) and instead of 1900 it's like in the original book it's 1939 and Wicked. Dorothy is worried for aunty Em and Uncle Henri because not only is it the Great Depression and part of the farmhouse is here with her but she's worried because they're have been talks of a potential war (the movie came out in August 25th and the war started in September 1st) but she's worried that her Uncle Henri might be drafted and her aunt might go with them cause what if they think she's dead)

While walking down the Yellow Brick Road Scarecrow asks why Dorothy keeps saying they need to ration they're things? Asks why she's so worried about food? Why is she so insistent on not buying a new dress? You've already re sewn and cleaned those same clothes for the past month. Boq is made of metal and has no clothes, the lion is a lion and therefore does not need clothes, and I'm a scarecrow I can't take my clothes off.

Down the road he begins to realise that this child isn't as okay and innocent as she seems with all of her skipping and dancing with the way she looks out the corner of her eye behind her pigtails or re checks her basket Incase they dropped anything.

Imagine because of all the interruptions, being attacked, the road itself, and then the wizard being a fraud she takes longer to get home. Perhaps instead of two-three months in Oz she's there for two-three years. The shoes don't work and Dorothy believes she's just killed two women even though it wasn't her fault at the time(Elphaba is alive but she's still in hiding with Fiyero) and got kidnapped and locked in a basement and almost burnt alive. She thinks that now she's never going to make it home. But you have fresh food and clothes here do you really want to go back. She can't help but think to herself before snapping out of it reminding herself of Aunty Em and Uncle Henri.

Or if Dorothy does make it home her Aunt and Uncle somehow end up sending her back because not only has World War ii begun but now that America is a part of it and Kansas was essentially a training ground for USAAF bombers and fliers so when she's back in Oz she looks for Fiyero or Galinda and Explains what happened.

Fiyero didn't know a potential war was on the horizon in Dorothy's home world. If he had known would he have sent her back or would he have kept her in Oz even if it was against her will. He takes her to Elphaba and explains what happened and they managed to reach out to Glinda and help give her a proper education, she gets taller thanks to a proper diet, she's at least somewhat healthy thanks to available medicine and hygiene products in Oz. She's lived longer than she thought she would have in Kansas and a lot longer than she thought she would have here in Oz. A LOT longer.

Also potential Dorzma and realising that Oscar Diggs is a name of a guy that went missing a few decades ago that her parents and guardians talked about with their families because this guy with a hot air balloon disappeared in a storm and no trace of him can be found. Obvious propaganda against a coloured women and a selective group of people because I believe Aunty Em not Uncle Henri would've raised her that way. She still wants to meet the wizard in hopes of going home but she's still suspicious because of how she was raised in this au.

[neutralm4sk]

(2023)

(2022)

[icarusignite]

For Whom the Bell Tolls Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Strong! Reader

Tropes: World War 2 HOTD AU, nurse x soldier, trauma bonding, childhood sweethearts, star-crossed lovers

Wattpad / AO3

Summary:

"The tragic hero is complete. You can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) even before he is dead. For an instant, he is something divine, and then he dies, because there's nothing else left to do. The center of every tragedy is the image of a human being who has already died but keeps talking, someone whose face is a mask."

In the years preceding the inferno of the Second World War, the world dances precariously on the edge of destruction, teetering between disintegrating old empires and the looming dawn of new ones. In the heart of this volatile era, the Targaryen family rises to power through the might of their ironclad empire, the Targaryen Ammunitions Conglomerate. The story is set against a backdrop of a world torn between tradition and modernity, where the echoes of old wars linger in the corridors of power, and the spectre of new conflicts casts long shadows across the lives of those entangled in its web.

Viserys Targaryen, the Chief Executive Officer of Targaryen Ammunitions, is a man haunted by the ghosts of his past. Decades before the world would be set ablaze, he cements his legacy, but at the cost of his own soul. The death of his first wife leaves him shattered, clinging to the last vestiges of humanity through the love he bears for his only daughter, Rhaenyra, his chosen heir. 

But even Viserys cannot escape the machinations of those around him. Drawn into a marriage with Alicent Hightower, his daughter's former college classmate, he finds himself ensnared in a web of deceit spun by her father. Otto Hightower's ambitions reach far beyond the bounds of mere familial ties; he seeks to control the empire itself, and the Targaryen family, once bound by blood and loyalty, begins to fracture as ambition and betrayal take root.

Rhaenyra, a woman of fierce independence and unyielding spirit, is forced into a life she never wanted. Pressured by her father and the demands of his legacy, she is coerced into a marriage of convenience with Laenor Velaryon, a man whose own struggles mirror her own. Their union is one of necessity, where neither partner truly belongs to the other, yet, in their shared discomfort and understanding, they find solace, forging a partnership that defies the world's expectations. Laenor, hiding his true nature in a society that would cast him out, finds safety in the match, while she, in turn, secures the power and stability she needs to maintain her position as her father's heir.

Years pass, and the couple's inability to have children leads them down a different path—a path that brings them to the doors of Harrenhall, where the recently deceased Harwin Strong leaves behind four orphaned children who have been disowned by his brother Larys in his greed for their fortune. Rhaenyra, with a heart as relentless as it is kind, cannot bring herself to separate the siblings, despite the dangers it may pose to her own ambitions. She adopts them all, bringing the Strong children into the fold of the Targaryen family.

As the eldest of these children, you are burdened by the weight of the world. At just ten years old, you have been forced to grow up far too quickly, stepping into the role of mother and protector to your younger siblings in the absence of your own. Your heart is a fortress, built stone by stone, your mistrust of the world as deep as the abyss. When you and your brothers are taken in by the Targaryens, your siblings find joy in the luxuries and love showered upon them by their new family, but you cannot let yourself believe in the comfort being offered, waiting for the moment when it will all be torn away.

Your fears are only compounded by the cold reception you receive from Rhaenyra's half-siblings, the children of Alicent Hightower. The second of these, Aemond Targaryen, is a boy who has grown up in the long shadow cast by his half-sister. Neglected by his father, who lavishes affection upon his new adoptive grandchildren, he harbours a deep resentment toward the Strong siblings. In his eyes, you are all usurpers, interlopers who have stolen all that should have been his and his alone. 

Nevertheless, the two of you find an unlikely ally in each other. Aemond, who despises the hollow privilege of his lineage, finds in you a kindred spirit, someone who understands the bitterness that festers in his heart. You, in turn, see in him a mirror of your own disillusionment, a boy lost in a world that seems intent on breaking him.

As the world outside your gilded cage hurtles toward cataclysm, your connection blossoms into something deeper, something tender, but just as your hearts begin to entwine, calamity, as it always does, intervenes.

Tragedy strikes the family, one blow after another, as the winds of war begin to howl across the continent. The fragile alliances that Rhaenyra has built start to crumble, and as Viserys struggles to hold his empire together, the rifts within his own family threaten to destroy everything he has worked for.

It is all made worse when a terrible accident steals away two precious loved ones, and in the aftermath, guilt weaves its thorny tendrils around Aemond's heart. At the tender age of eighteen, burdened by the weight of his own self-reproach, he severs all ties with his family, abandoning the name that has become a symbol of his anguish. He takes up his mother's maiden name, hoping to cast off the shackles of his past and live free from the burdens that have haunted him.

But in his flight from the wraiths of his former life, he leaves behind the only person who has ever understood him, to pick up the fractured remnants of their family. You are left all alone, as you have been for so much of your life, to mourn in silence, and the grief that once bound the two of you together now festers into a simmering resentment. Aemond does not write, nor does he respond to the countless letters you send, each one a plea for reconciliation, a desperate attempt to reach him across the chasm that has opened between you. 

Eventually, you receive word that he has been drafted into the conflict. The news shatters the fragile remnants of your dreams, the ambitions you once held of becoming a historian now buried beneath the rubble of a world on fire. You abandon everything and follow him into the inferno, earning the nursing certifications that place you at the very heart of the battlefield, where life and death are decided with every breath.

In this vast and chaotic landscape, the young lovers keep missing each other, like ships passing in the night, always just out of reach. Time and again, they come within moments of reunion, but never actually do. Until, at last, they are thrown together once more when a severely wounded and half-blind Aemond Hightower is brought into the makeshift clinic where you have been stationed.

The reunion is a storm of tears and apologies, a raw and unfiltered outpouring of the pain that has been carried for so long. For a few precious months, you have each other once more, as you tend to his injuries, nursing him back to some semblance of health. In those fleeting moments, the two of you cling to each other like drowning souls.

But fate is a fickle mistress, and there is nothing she loves more than to slit the throats of young lovers, and you are not spared the annihilation that has been written for you in the very stars, centuries before you were even born, a destiny that neither of you can escape, no matter how hard you try.

"You're going to die in your best friend's arms. And you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, you've memorized it, it's all you know."

CHAPTERS: (coming soon)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter3

Chapter 4

A/N: This isn't going to be a full-length fic. It's going to be a collection of one-shots almost, or snippets jumping around the timeline to tell the most important parts of the story, so maybe 10-12 chapters at most. This way I won't bore yall with unnecessary filler chapters and still get to tell the story I want. The summary is about as much as you'll on the background tbh, this is meant to be an AemondxReader centric story. It's inspired by Atonement and every other WW2 movie I've ever watched.

Comment to lemme know if this is something you would be interested in and if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

Alternatively, add yourself to the taglist!

[seolooo]

Joy as Pearl [from Pearl] au!! // PLEASE CHECK OUT THE MOVIE TO UNDERSTAND THE CONTEXT ON ANXIETY'S DRAWING😭

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

“Oops! Sorry about that big explosion!”

“SORRY IT WASN’T BIGGER!”

Doc’s turn for the GW2 au! Did i make him a mesmer almost solely bc I wanted to give him support rifle (shoot your allies to heal them! Trust me!) ? Maybe! If the shoe fits and all that

[viking-raider]

SALT IN OUR WOUNDS - CHAPTER VI

Summary-> Gus gets help finding his men.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 4.2k

Chapters-> I II III IV V

Warnings-> PG-13: WWII!AU, Language, Deception, References to WWII, Fluff, Use of the word Nazi, Angst

Inspiration-> The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction, pulled from my imagination.

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

“So, what mission is it that you’re interested in?” Mael asked Gus as the two men sat together in the living room.

“I’m not quite sure what it’s called.” Gus replied, leaning over the maps Mael had laid out on the table in front of them. “I know it was near here; Sainte-Honorine-des-Pertes.” He said, tapping Normandy’s bold name, the future site of Omaha Beach and D-Day.

“Hmm.” The elder Major hummed, squinting at the name. “I don’t recall any mention of activity there on the radio.” He said, shaking his head as he tried to recall the last several broadcasts he’d listened to. “I don’t have any markers on it either, beyond occupation. But, there might be something in the papers.” He looked about his recliner, grumbling under his breath. “In that roll-top desk over there,” Mael flapped his hand towards it. “I have several stacks of newspapers, bring them over and we can look through them.”

Nodding, Gus stood and opened the desk, finding an armload of newspapers, neatly folded, as well as several other maps. He bundled up the papers and brought them over to his and Mael’s table, carefully laying them out. The old man split the stack in half, sliding half over to Gus and keeping half to himself, before plucking one out and unfolding it. Taking his example, Gus took one out and started to skim through the stiff pages, finding several pencil notations in Mael’s hand on the margins.

“You’ve been quite diligent about keeping up with the War’s workings.” He commented, pausing to read through a small story, British Thrust in Desert, says Berlin, announced the headline, speaking of the Battle of Gazala.

“Have to keep my wits sharp somehow!” Mael laughed back, slapping his newspaper down and picking up another. “Not like I can go out there and fight these damned Nazis myself. Might as well keep track of the boys that are. Why’s this so important to you?” He asked, looking at Gus over the rim of his glasses.

“I have friends in this war,” Gus answered, his brow creasing for a moment, before fixing Mael with a cheeky grin. “Fighting these same damned Nazis. They were supposed to be fighting them by the coast. I’d like to know what happened.”

“And what happened to you?”

“I was a naughty boy.” Gus chuckled, setting his paper aside for another. “I was shot and lost my way from my men.”

Mael studied Gus long and hard. His gut; the one that had once carried him safely through the trenches of Germany in the Great War, tingled. He knew the friends Gus was looking for and the men he’d been separated from were one and the same. What he wasn’t sure of, was just how dangerous Gus was. He seemed easy natured enough, and his dislike of Nazis seemed quite clear by how he’d protected you. So, he likely wasn’t one himself or working for them, but then again, Mael wasn’t sure of anything. He’d been deceived before.

“Well, let’s see if we can find some clues about them.” Mael said, turning his eyes back to his task.

“I’m all for the help, old boy.” Gus grinned, patting him on the shoulder.

You watched Gus and your father pour over the newspapers, while you prepped the modest piece of meat you intended for a pot roast dinner. You found their mutual endeavor in finding Gus’s men sweet. Gus stimulating your father’s need and love for everything about the on-going war, for anything military. While Gus got the help he needed. But you couldn’t help the dull ping in the pit of your stomach, knowing that once Gus found what he needed and was strong enough again, he’d leave and you would likely never see him again.

It’s for the best. You thought, casting your eyes back to your own task. It would never work out anyway. You sighed, side eyeing him.

Gus felt your glances, but he kept his eyes on the newspaper in his hand, his knee slowly bouncing as he skimmed articles. He was discouraged a little more by each line that didn’t hint to any whereabouts of his men or their possible mission. He wasn't completely surprised. It wasn’t publicly sanctioned by the powers to be at the War Office. Gus had been privately asked to bring his men in on the mission, with the express warning that if they were caught, they’d be sent to prison by their own people or would become a prisoner of war by the Nazis, and it was the latter Gus feared his men had ended up as.

“Do we need refills here?” You asked, coming over with the coffee pot.

“Uh, yes, please.” Gus answered, looking up at you.

“Not just now, Peanut.” Your father answered, standing stiffly from his seat. “The last cup raced through me faster than a shot through no-man’s-land.” He commented with a chuckle, excusing himself upstairs to the restroom.

“How’s the search going?” You asked, filling Gus’s cup and glancing over the maps and newspapers. “Any luck?”

Gus let out a heavy sigh. “So far--no.” He pressed his lips together and raked a hand through his mess of curls.

“I’m sorry.” You frowned, setting the coffee pot down and resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find something about them.” You tried to assure him, squeezing his shoulder. “I have faith.”

“Means a lot to me.” He cooed at you, giving you a gentle smile.

Giving him a sweet wink, you took up the coffee pot and headed back to the kitchen. “I have to pop out for a bit. Mrs. DuBois came down with pneumonia and I told Remi I’d go take her groceries, and spend a little time with her.”

“That’s kind of you.” Gus replied, squinting at the imperfect black newsprint.

“Yeah, her husband passed away just before the war, so it’s just her; since they never had kids.” You explained, bustling around. “The community helps take care of her.”

Gus looked over at you, a soft look on his tired face. He could see why you and your family had moved to Saint-Thurney. The little village seemed so tight-knit and willing to help their neighbors through the good times and the bad, along with everything in-between. It was evident that they had welcomed you, Edmund and Mael with open arms and hearts, despite being from across the pond. They had even taken him in, without too many questions to his sudden appearance in their sleepy village.

Your kindness was such an embodiment to Saint-Thurney’s soul, and it made his heart swell. Even after the tragedies and hardships in your life, your mother cheating and running out, Mael’s PTSD, your sister-in-law’s coldness and the War’s ugly mark on the world. You were still a kind and vibrant woman, who would go out of your way to help others, even to the danger of your person. An ordinary person would have developed at least one sharp edge of resentment, or to just be defensive against the world; much like Willa, Gus suspected.

But your edges were still soft and around. In all the right places, to the pleasure of Gus’s eye.

All the more reason to find Lassen and the boys, before the Nazis discover my true purpose here. I’ll be damned if I’ll let those filthy bastards put another mark on that beautiful skin. He thought, his blue eyes shifting from your back to your arm, his stomach hardening at the bruised fingerprints there. Would like to give that bastard a real taste of my mind.

“Papa, I’ll be back by the time the roast is done, so there’s no need to fuss over it.” You informed your father as he returned downstairs. “I’m going to go visit Mrs. DuBois.”

“All right, my love.” He nodded, pausing to kiss your cheek. “You mind those filthy Nazis on your way, and give Esmeralda my good wishes on her health.”

“I will.” You smiled, kissing his cheek back. “You boys behave yourselves, I put on a fresh pot of coffee, in case you want more, while I’m gone.” You told them, slipping on your coat.

“So attentive.” Gus complimented with a smile.

You gave him a silly expression, before heading out the door.

“You have an amazing daughter.” He praised Mael as he sat back down with him.

“That I do.” Mael agreed, nodding his head as he balanced his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “It’s beyond me how Edmund and I managed to raise such a lovely young lady. But I am glad of it.” He commented, sifting through his stack of remaining papers.

The two fell into a reasonably comfortable silence, sipping their coffees and skimming articles, the crackle of the glowing logs in the room’s wood stove filling the silence periodically. Their bubble was infiltrated by Edmund letting himself into the cottage, knocking his sandy boots against the door jam, before stepping further into the dwelling.

“What are the two of you doing?” He asked, stopping before Gus and his father’s table.

“I’m looking for information on some friends of mine.” Gus answered, neatly folding the paper in his hands, just as Mael had it, and adding it to the pile of read papers. “Your father here has kindly allowed me to read through all the newspapers he has on the war and look at his maps, so I might try and find them.”

“Your friends?” Edmund echoed Gus’s words, his eyes narrowing at the other man.

“Yes.” Gus nodded, his expression not cracking.

“Where’s my sister?”

“She went to go visit Mrs. DuBois, she’s taken ill.” Mael answered, looking at his son over the rim of his glasses. “Do you need something, Edmund?” He inquired, cocking a brow at his offspring.

“No, I just came over to check on everyone.” Edmund replied, plucking up a newspaper from a pile. “And to see what she was cooking for dinner.” He added, unfolding it and looking over the fuzzy print, unable to quite read them without his own glasses.

“Pot roast.” Gus said, looking up at him, but his brow pinched. “Might I see that?” He asked, holding his hand out.

Edmund shrugged, nodding and handing the paper over. Gus pushed the mountain of newspapers in front of him away and spread the paper out onto the table, leaning over it. The bold headlining print of an article, half stained by a ring of coffee, had caught his attention. Nazi outpost in France sabotaged, twelve German soldiers killed and one suspected saboteur killed as well.

A chill rushed down Gus’s spine, he sat back in his seat, a shaky sigh leaving his lips.

“Did you find your friends?” Mael asked, giving Gus a concerned expression.

“Yes.” He huffed, nodding his head and scrubbing his hands over the rough fabric of his pants.

“Are they all right?” Edmund asked, cocking his head in an attempt to read the article.

Mael took up the paper. “Says here, that one of them was killed during an attempt to sabotage a Nazi outpost; along with twelve Germans.” He leveled his eyes at Gus. “I’m sorry, Gus.”

“Thanks.” Gus rasped, before standing and excusing himself, stepping outside to the back garden for a moment.

A thick lump of relief flooded him as the cool, salty air enveloped him, pressing his hands to his face as the weight of worry if Lassen and his men had made it to safety lifted off his shoulders. It seemed they only thought Gus was dead, under understandable conditions. Now, he had to figure out a way to communicate with them, without bringing any more suspicion down on your family and the village.

“You all right?” Edmund asked, appearing in the doorway of the garden.

“I’m fine.” Gus replied, dropping his hands. “Just feeling grateful that they’re all alive.”

“So, what’s your next move?”

“I have to find a way to contact them.” He replied, casting his eyes to the sky. “They think I’m dead. Which may or may not work in my favor.” He said, squinting at the passing clouds.

“How are you going to find them? It’s been two weeks since my sister found you on the beach, plus whatever time it took you to wash up.” Edmund pointed out to him, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

Gus nodded, scratching his chin. “I’d gamble that it was a good three hours or so. Hypothermia would have killed me in six or seven.” He sighed, figuring the math in his head, surprised by how he’d managed to survive the freezing water and injury before you found him, like an angel from Heaven. “There could be two plans taken, if Lassen had the final word. They boarded the Maid of Honor, our fishing trawler, to return to either our rendezvous point in Getxo, Spain or they sailed across the Channel, back to London.” He laid out the possible paths in front of him. “Either option, they’ve long arrived at. So, I need a message of some sort to contact both posts, informing them of my survival, location and situation.”

“I might have a way to help you with that.” Edmund replied, chewing on his bottom lip and looking down at the tips of his scuffed work boots.

“Oh,” Gus hummed, cocking a sideways glance at him. “How so?”

“We’re going to need my sister.” He said, looking up at him, an impish look in his eyes.

“We’re doing what now?” You croaked at the two men standing in the middle of your bedroom.

“You and Gus are going to go plan your wedding.” Edmund repeated for the third time.

Your jaw worked as you looked between Gus and your brother. “Have the two of you nipped some of Papa’s whiskey?” You asked, brow creasing deeply. “You,” You pointed an accusing finger at Edmund. “don’t even like him.” You said, moving your finger towards Gus, whose eyes hadn’t left your face since coming into the room. “And that whole bit about being engaged was a lie, so they wouldn’t put another hole into you.”

“I don’t not like him--now.” Your brother stammered, gulping thickly and shifting uneasily. “Besides,” He said, clearing his throat. “This is still an act, so Gus can get a letter to Pastor Zane, who will get it to the right people. Gus’s people.”

“Gus’s people.” You echoed, slowly nodding your head, feeling the pieces fall into place.

You understood what was happening now. Gus was going to compose a letter to inform the right people of where he was, likely asking them to find a way to extract him from Saint-Thurney and back to wherever he was meant to be. He had kept a level gaze on your face, gauging your expression and body language for reactions to this developing news, and despite your best attempts, it felt like a tank had run you down.

“Do you know where your letter needs to be sent?” You inquired, not quite meeting Gus’s blue stare.

“Yes.” He answered softly. “I’ve written two letters. One is to be sent to London and the other to Getxo; places my men are to use as rendezvous points. I’m unsure, obviously, given the heated scramble back to the boat and my not making it back with them, which route they decided to take for safety sake.”

“Safer and faster to cover your bases.” You nodded, agreeing with the tactic.

“Pastor Zane will take the letters from Gus at your meeting with him, under the guise of wishing to discuss marrying.” Edmund explained to you. “We figured this would be the easiest and least suspicious option. Once Pastor Zane has the letters, he’ll pass them along to our contacts, chaining them out of the village and across to England and Spain. When we get a response, Pastor Zane will get in touch with us through another safe means and we can go from there, based on whatever the answer to your letters are.”

“Perfect.” Gus nodded, licking his lips. “I just hope your contacts can be trusted.”

Edmund looked both annoyed and hurt at Gus’s words. Your brother hadn’t been allowed to join the military, due to the deterioration of his eyesight. But in compensation, he’d started a spy and smuggling ring in the modest village of Saint-Thurney. Many, if not all, of the community loathed the Nazis and their allies, especially since they occupied your peaceful village, throwing it even more off sync in the War. So, members of Saint-Thurney band together to thwart them at every possible turn, with Edmund at the top of the spy ring.

“Okay, when are we going?” You asked, always willing to help thwart a Nazi or two, despite the throbbing pain wrapping around your heart.

“Tomorrow morning. I already contacted Pastor Zane about it, an hour ago.”

“Oh, how polite of you to schedule our potential marriage so quickly.” You quipped at the two of them.

“I just couldn’t wait any longer.” Gus teased back, blue eyes sparking and the corners of his lips curling up, impishly.

You felt your cheeks heat and butterflies swarm your stomach at his words. “Well,” You took a deep breath, trying to settle your nerves. “He’s going to need church clothes.” You said, motioning a hand over Gus’s attire.

In the two weeks Gus had resided with you, he had worn the clothing Edmund had provided him when he first awoke, and a couple articles since. But he would need something much more presentable, if he was going to see Pastor Zane with you in the morning. It would look strange, and disrespectful, to see the Pastor in just a pair of worn, black slacks and a simple and a short sleeve, dark-blue, four-button ringer t-shirt.

“Right.” Edmund nodded, pressing his lips together.

“We’re going shopping, Gus.” You grinned at him.

Edmund rested his hand on Gus’s shoulder. “God be with you.” He chuckled, shaking his head and excusing himself from the room.

“When?” Gus asked, after the door shut.

“Now.” You replied, turning to pluck up your cardigan. “We don’t have much time, since you need to see Pastor Zane in the morning.” You explained, pulling it on and moving towards the door.

“A family of action.” Gus chuckled, following after you.

“Papa, Gus and I-”

“Yes, Ed told me.” Your father nodded, his ear to the radio.

You paused at the bottom of the stairs, blinking over at your father, then cast your eyes to your brother, who stood at the counter, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. “Told him?” You repeated, cocking a brow in surprise.

Edmund finished fixing his coffee and moved over to you. “The man already thinks you’re engaged, it’s the easiest line to keep him thinking.” He told you, in a low voice. “It also keeps the fucking Nazis from doing anything to him, should they come back trying to ask questions. All he knows is that Gus is your discharged, betrothed.”

“It is the best for him.” Gus agreed, not wishing to put the Senior Major into any sort of danger on his account. “Keep the gritter details between us.”

“True.” You nodded, a lump of anxiety in your throat. “Well, we’ll be back, Papa!”

“You best not get married without me!” Mael yelled after you.

You laughed, biting your lip. “Of course not, Papa. I wouldn’t dream of marrying without you there to walk me down the aisle.” You assured him, hurrying over to press a sweet kiss to his cheek. “It would put a damper on the day.”

Getting out the door, You and Gus made your way to the town center, passing Remi’s shop and rounding a corner, only to promptly run right into a Nazi patrolman.

“Scheisse.” He barked, attempting to shove the larger Gus away from him, his hand pressing on his wound in the process. “Watch yourself!” He hissed, crudely.

Gus grunted deep in his throat, the corner of his eye twitched with pain, but he straightened his shoulders, regarding the Nazi with pure distaste. “Apologies.” He replied, his voice tight as he glanced sideways, assuring himself that you were unbothered.

“Business?” The officer barked, looking at you both.

“What-” Gus started, but you cut him off.

“We’re going to the shops.” You answered, voice strained, but neutral, before intertwining your arm around Gus’s and coaxing him out of the German’s way, not wishing for any more interaction or agitation between them. “We hope you have a great day.” You told him, forcing a kind smile as he went by, eying Gus as he went.

“Please, don’t anger them, Gus.” You said, once he was gone. “You’re here, while you have to be. But we live here, under them.”

“He was the one being rude.” Gus replied, resting a hand against his wound. “But, I’m sorry.” He said, lightly touching your arm.

You offered him a soft smile, before motioning to a clothing shop up ahead. “We can get you something suitable from there.”

“All right.” He nodded, but his attention was elsewhere, his blue eyes were cast across the street and beyond, where a small barracks and tall watchtower, with a red, white and black flag flew high on top, was situated into a hill, populated by German jeeps, a couple trucks and a few Germans themselves loitering about. “Is that where the village’s occupiers stay?” He asked, with a jerk of his brow.

You glanced in its direction for a fleeting moment. “Yes.” You replied, stopping outside the clothing shop and looking him over. “I honestly can’t wait to see you in a suit.” You admitted, a bright smile pulling across your lips and meeting your eyes with a spark of impishness.

Gus chuckled and lowered his head a tad. “You should see me in uniform.” He winked, teasingly, before opening the door for you.

“Tisk tisk.” You chuckled, then ducked inside. “Good morning!” You chimed to the owner behind the counter of the shop.

“Good morning, mademoiselle.” The tailor replied, bowing his head politely to you, then regarded Gus. “And you, monsieur.”

“Morning.” Gus greeted him, politely. “I need a suit by tomorrow morning, to meet with your village Pastor.” He began to explain to the tailor. “So, I may have a chance to marry this lovely lady.” He said, raising his eyebrows at you, amused to see you try and hide your shyness as you browsed the selection of suit jackets.

“That is short notice.” The tailor said, frowning over the counter at Gus.

“I know of its inconvenience.” He replied, nodding, sympathizing as he rested his hands on the counter between them. “You see, I simply can not wait to have this lovely jewel as my wife, any longer. I have waited so many years already. Not to mention, the worries I put her through, while I was away fighting the Nazis and becoming seriously injured.” He leaned over the counter slightly, as if to confess something to him and not allow you to hear it. “If it wasn’t for thoughts of her, I would have died in a fox-hole in Dunkirk, and again, when I came home with my injury.” He lightly touched his side. “She nursed me back to the living.”

“Would you wish to wait any longer to marry such a woman?” Gus asked him, with such genuine sincerity.

Both the tailor and you were stunned at Gus’s words, they were so compelling and seemed to ring with such truthfulness. Well, in part they were true, you had saved Gus’s life. The tailor cast his eyes over to you, he must've read the emotions in your face, seen the surprise of Gus’s words and interpreted them.

“Let’s see what we can do, oui?” He said, moving from behind the counter. “Let’s start with the pants! My dear father always said, ‘if a man does not have a good pair of pants to go through life! Then he will always look like an ass!’, and I agree with him!”

Gus laughed, grinning. “A wise man.”

The two of them spent the next several minutes discussing pants, before Gus decided on a pair of blue, wool trousers. When the tailor stepped away for a moment, Gus turned towards where you were sitting with a cup of tea the tailor had kindly made you.

“What do you think?” He asked, motioning to the pants.

“You look good in blue.” You replied around the rim of your cup.

“Thank you.” He smiled, smoothing a hand over his thigh. “It feels nice to wear high quality wool again, after a military issue.” He chuckled, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger

“Even for an officer?” You asked, cocking your head at him.

“It’s by far better than the quality of the non-commissioned men, but not as good as this.” He explained,  looking in a full length mirror, his eye catching a jacket in the reflection. “I must get myself that jacket.” He hummed to himself, as the tailor returned, holding up a crisp, white and button down shirt with a smile.

[psychicsharkbagelsports]

Scout-the tank Bt-7

Next tank

Medic

If you can get inspired by my tankification and make your own tank version of your favorite character, just read on the Internet, in encyclopedias or just play War Thunder or World of Tanks

[glendylucast]

In Another Life...

... I think I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

Not literally, he means money laundry and tax fraud lol

Commission and Patreon Request for me by @/vos-videmus

I have this Smooth Criminal AU where all the boys from the squads are like a mafia gang or something, but I never got around to writing it down. Maybe I'll back to Blender later since I had something in mind for Pierson and Stiles.

Meanwhile have these wonderful renders in the same theme, still by @/vos-videmus

My favorite boys

[justonemorewallflower]

For all my Kara x Lee/Starpollo shippers/readers, I want to know which of these ideas you'd prefer to see more.

It's a patient/nurse au and either:

1. Kara as a reluctant bedridden patient who's annoyed she has nothing to do (or at least nothing she wants to do) and is snappy with nearly everyone and Lee as the only nurse that has continued to treat her well despite her behavior. (And he falls for her because he agrees to stay and talk to her sometimes when she has nothing to do and learns more about her than just the tough exterior she puts on).

Or

2. Lee as a recurring stubborn patient who always insists he's fine (when he's not) and Kara as a blunt and rough around the edges nurse that doesn't baby her patients and eventually starts teasing him about how he keeps coming back, "I'm starting to think you keep getting injured on purpose just to see me again."

As for time periods I really like the idea of #2. with Lee being a soldier in World War 2 and Kara being one of the war nurses (bonus, she was engaged to Zak but he died in the war, a twist could be he and Lee are related like in canon so when she gets Lee as one of her patients she kind of already knows him but he doesn't really know her because Zak died shortly after their engagement/before he met Kara).

And I feel like #1. would be more of a modern one with Lee being a nurse because I think male nurses weren't really common until later on, or at least it wasn't really a thing during the World War 2 time period.

But yeah, let me know which idea you'd like to see more!!! I may just end up writing both because I have no self control lol but even if I end up doing that this will help me to know which one to do first as I'm curious which one you guys would like to see more/are more intrigued by!

[seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana]

I’ve fallen back into seduce me and I know that almost nobody knows about me anymore in the seduce me fandom but I’m here for asks on headcannons or fic ideas and I’m begging for some bc I’m just…lost in the sauce right now.

[connectionterminated13]

I like the idea of William's dad just being like a normal guy.. Like He just wants to do taxidermy and Kiss his wife and hug his kids. His name is Everett and he takes little tiny William on camping trips and tell him all about plants and animals and bunnies he really likes bunnies :)

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

Flourish AU - Dragonheart Pirkko - Durmond Priory

Champion of the Caustic Elder Dragon

"Lasting change isn't gentle. It's harsh, abrasive, and inescapable. Either we'll adapt or we'll die trying."

"A better world starts with deciding what we're prepared to lose."