#band of brothers oc

[donovanlizzie]

Hidden affections - Joe Liebgott

Masterlist

Band of brothers masterlist

The tension between Joe Liebgott and Y/N during basic training was palpable, their constant bickering earning them a reputation as the pair who couldn't stand each other. Yet, hidden beneath the surface, there was a strange connection that bound them together.

One evening at the bar, the air was thick with the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and the low hum of conversations.

She found herself watching Him from across the room, despite the tension that existed between them. His animated conversations with friends drew her attention, inadvertently coaxing a smile from her.

As she observed, George Luz snuck up behind her, curiosity etched on his face. "Who are you smiling at?" he asked, a playful tone in his voice.

However, his smile quickly faded and his expression shifted from playful to concerned as he followed her gaze to Joe Liebgott.

"Really? " George scoffed, looking at her like a disappointed parent "Liebgott?, after the way he acts around you?"

"It's complicated Luz" she replied, taking another sip of her beer.

Luz raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Complicated? That's one way to describe it. I mean, he acts like he can't stand you half the time."

She sighed, her gaze lingering on Joe as he laughed at something Talbert had said. "Yeah, well, maybe it's his way of dealing with things. Doesn't mean there's not something else there."

George smirked, leaning against the bar. "You're telling me there's something more to Liebgott than meets the eye? Colour me intrigued."

Chuckling she shook her head. "You wouldn't understand, Luz. It's like we're constantly at odds, but when it comes down to it, he's got my back. And I've got his."

George gave her a skeptical look. "Got his back? More like got each other's throats."

"Trust me, Luz, i know there's a lot more to Joe Liebgott than what he shows. " she replied cryptically, swirling her beer in her glass.

George sighed, "Well, just be careful. Liebgott's a complicated guy, and complicated usually means trouble."

She nodded in acknowledgment, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I can handle a little trouble."

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

Liebgott sat at a nearby table, the conversation he was engrossed in had become irrelevant as his ear pricked up at the mention of Y/N's name from the table behind him , overhearing Roy Cobb, a fellow paratrooper, running his mouth about her to a group of new replacements.

"Y/n? Oh, you mean Easy Company's little sweetheart," Cobb remarked with a mocking tone, eliciting a few chuckles from the newcomers. "she's just a liability. She should've never shown her face in easy company! My bet is she's been playing the commander, putting on a show of competence that's going to get someone killed. Sobel should've gotten rid of her a long time ago."

Anger flared in Joe's eyes as he clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as Cobb continued to tarnish her name.

"And have you seen her? No wonder she hasn't found a man yet. Who would want to be with someone like her? It's not surprising she's still single; she's probably too busy ruining missions to care about settling down."

Unable to contain himself any longer, Joe jumped up from his table and approached Cobb's group with a scowl on his face.

"What the fuck did you just say about her?" Joe sneered at Cobb, who tried to laugh it off and reason with him. "Come on, Joe, you know what she's like – my bet is she's had half the company now-"

Before Cobb could finish his sentence, Joe's fist connected with his face, sending him sprawling to the floor. The commotion drew the attention of the entire bar, and the rest of Easy Company rushed to stop the impending fight.

She and Luz watched, exchanging puzzled glances. "What was that about?" She asked, concern furrowing her brow.

George shook his head. "I don't know, but Liebgott looks pissed."

As the men of Easy Company pulled Joe away from the scene, Cobb nursed his bleeding nose and shot a glare in her direction. She met his gaze with a cold intensity, her eyes daring him to say another word.

Joe, still seething, was restrained by his comrades. "You talk about her again, and I'll do more than just break your nose," he spat at Cobb, the words laced with a dangerous edge.

The bar returned to its uneasy quiet, the rumours quashed by the unexpected confrontation. Joe may have acted on impulse, but his protective instinct for her had been laid bare for everyone to see.

She watched as Joe stormed out of the bar in a huff, cursing under his breath. She placed her empty pint glass on the table in front of her and felt a sense of urgency to follow him. "Hey, where are you going?" George called out, walking back to the bar - no doubt to get another drink.

"Don't worry about it," she mumbled back, not wanting to explain as she made a beeline for the door Joe had just stormed out of. Once outside, the cold air hit her like a thousand tiny needles, causing her to shiver. Walking a few steps away from the door, she scanned the darkening area, the sun just starting to set, painting the sky with an orangey-red hue.

Her eyes fell upon Joe, leaning against one of the nearer barracks, smoking a cigarette. She took a deep breath and began walking towards him, the stones crunching under her shoes catching Joe's attention almost immediately , his jaw tightening in response.

"What are you doing out here?" Joe asked, stubbing out his cigarette. Ignoring Joe's question, She confronted him,

"What the hell was that back there?"

"Never you mind," Joe replied dismissively.

"Joseph Liebgott, I will mind. You punched a fellow paratrooper in the face!" Her tone carried a mix of disbelief and frustration, feeling as if she was scolding a schoolboy.

"Cobb said some shit that wasn't true, and I hit him – no big deal," Joe responded, trying to downplay the situation.

"What did he say, Joe?" She pressed, her voice rising a little.

"Damn it, Y/n, what is this, 21 questions?"

"Liebgott, tell me what he said!" She insisted, her frustration evident.

Joe sighed pushing off the barracks wall and walked over to her, the distance between them closing until they were almost nose to nose , his breath fanning her face, the smell of the recent cigarette lingering in the air.

Joe's gaze softened, and he let out a heavy sigh. "Look, I might not always show it, but I don't like hearing lies about people I... care about," he admitted gruffly, avoiding direct eye contact.

Her expression softened in return. "Care about? Liebgott, you're not known for being the sentimental type. Why would you care about what Cobb says about me?"

Joe hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenching. "I hate to admit it, but... I don't like the idea of anyone talking crap about you. Especially when it's a load of bullshit."

Her eyes widened, surprised by his admission. "Joe Liebgott, did you just say something vaguely nice about me?"

He scoffed, trying to deflect. "Don't get used to it. I just... I don't know, I just don't like people thinking less of you because of some idiot's lies."

A small smile played on her lips. "Well, I appreciate that, Joe. It's strange, you know? Despite all the bickering, I never thought you'd... care."

Joe mumbled something incoherent, avoiding her gaze. The tension between them lingered, the unspoken words hanging in the cold air. , Feeling a mix of emotions, She took a step closer to Joe.

"I don't hate you, Y/n. I might not show it, but I..." Joe's gruff words trailed off, and before he could finish, She closed the remaining distance between them, pressing her lips against his. It was a moment of unexpected intimacy, fuelled by the unspoken emotions they both struggled to express.

Breaking the kiss, Joe sighed, his forehead resting against hers. "I hate to admit it, but I... I like you, a lot."

She looked at him, a mix of surprise and a small smile playing on her lips. "Well, that's something," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes.

Joe rolled his eyes but couldn't hide a smirk. "Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it."

As they stood there, the realisation of the unexpected turn of events settled in. The tension that once hung between them had transformed into something different – something neither of them had anticipated.

#hbo war #band of brothers imagines #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers oc #band of brothers

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 39 - Epilogue: Donadagohvi

Summary: She studies her husband’s face. It’s lined with age, but still as beautiful and as bright as the day she met him. A/N: Alright, y'all - we've made it! But before we get started, I've got some things I have to say. This fic was started during a very strange era. I hated what was going on in my life but didn't know how to fix any of it. Long story short, but I decided to run away one day, and ended up in Toccoa. While standing in the military museum there, I started thinking about Deborah Sampson (a childhood hero of mine), and wondered what would happen if a story like hers happened during WW2 - specifically, if she was a paratrooper. Thus, Zenie appeared in my brain, and this epilogue wrote itself in my mind as I went through the museum. I was never sure if I would share this fic until the second that I hit "post." Zenie was just a way for me to blow off steam, to escape - to fulfill my desire to be someone else for a bit. (Coincidentally, all themes throughout the fic.) I didn't know how people would respond to this story, or to this character, and I only ever had the courage to start uploading chapters because of friends like @latibvles and @liebgotts-lovergirl who showed enthusiasm for it. So I couldn't upload this chapter without a massive sgi (thank you) to them, as well as to everyone else who has read this fic and been so kind to it, and to me. Thank you for welcoming me into this fandom. Thank you for allowing me to share the Cherokee language with you. Thank you for all the support you've given me for both my writing, and as friends. Whether you knew it or not, all that kindness came at a time when I really needed it, and I appreciate you all. Without further ado, here's the last laglam update, in which the fic's title finally makes sense. Much love 💖 Warnings: language, alcohol Taglist: @latibvles @liebgotts-lovergirl @lady-cheeky @dcyllom @mads-weasley @ithinkabouttzu @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

Eugene looks just the same as he did when Zenie first met him. So do all the other men on this side of the reunion. For her part, she also looks the way she did when she first met all of them – albeit like a girl rather than like a man. For now, her hair is long, and her chest unbound.

No one seems to have figured out why they all look young again, and it has only been mentioned in passing during the reunions. There are better things to do, like visit with those they can, and pass between the ones they left behind, feeling their hearts swell with love as they watch them laugh, watch them remember – watch them live.

Another thing that no one has figured out is why they seem able to come back to this world at certain times. David Webster says he once read that the veil between their worlds thins during certain times of the year, and that maybe this is true of the Easy Company reunions. Zenie, however, likes to believe that it’s the love of the people still living who allow them to come back. All that love with nowhere to go. Love so strong that remembering the people you felt it for brings them back.

No time to wonder now, though. Gene is already smiling at her in greeting.

“Hello again,” he greets as she joins him.

“Gene,” she teases him with an affectionate poke to his ribs. “You haven’t aged a day since I met you in forty-two!”

“Eh, I don’t know about that, Tommy Boy,” Luz’s confident drawl digresses as the radioman swaggers up beside her. “You look a little taller. What, did you finally hit puberty or something?”

Zenie rolls her eyes, but there’s no malice to it. She did, after all, keep him in the dark about her secret until her very last day in Europe. Instead of leading him on, she asks, “How does everyone look?”

“Us? The same as ever. Them? – “ Luz gestures towards the reunion that can’t see them. “ – Well, I guess they’re aging with grace.”

“Have you seen – “

“Bill and Babe are at the bar, as per usual. And your darling husband is somewhere around the middle.”

Zenie takes a step forward before turning quickly to face her friends. “Do y’all mind if I . . . ?”

Gene smiles. “Go ahead. That’s why we’re here.”

Grateful, Zenie takes off through the crowd. Visiting her friends like this is something she always looks forward to, but visiting those she left behind is a rarer treat, and she would like to check up on them. Especially Shifty. 

Bill and Babe – to no one’s surprise – are the easiest to find. They’ve got the bartender in stitches with their jokes, and their own accented guffaws are like a lighthouse cutting through the crowd that makes them easy to navigate towards.

“Siyo, boys!” Though they can’t see or hear her, Zenie takes a seat beside them at the bar. “What’s new with y’all?”  

“They’re drinking everyone under the table, as usual,” a familiar voice beside her announces as none other than Joe Toye takes a seat beside her. His expression is just as relaxed and confident as when they were young, but as he watches their living friends, something like longing flickers behind his eyes. “Too bad that we can’t show them who the real champs are anymore.”

“At least we can visit them.”

Joe nods, smiling sadly. “You made your rounds yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, we got time,” her friend assures her. They have nothing but time, actually. And they use it to sit with their friends, laughing along with their jokes and making their own, even though Bill and Babe can’t hear them.

As their jokes turn to remembrances, Zenie finds herself swept up in Babe’s retelling of the time she chucked an apple at Cobb’s head back in Holland. She barely remembers the scene, able to recall only a flash of anger and a split-second decision. Babe’s version is far better – he paints her out to be some sort of knight in shining armor coming to defend the honor of her friends.

Bill shakes his head and chuckles into his drink. “Goddamn. Zee sure could make a scene.”

“You weren’t even there when her secret got out,” Babe notes. “Now that was a scene!”

“No one ever brings it up,” Bill marvels, his eyes roaming over the crowd, searching for something. “You would think everyone would talk about it all the time. I mean – shit! A woman disguised herself as a man and made it from Toccoa to the bitter end before she got found out, and no one at the reunions brings it up.”

Zenie can’t help but smile at that. It’s true – her secret got out, she had to leave in a state of semi-disgrace, but at the Easy reunions, she was usually only acknowledged as Shifty’s wife. Sure, every now and then someone would tell a funny story about Sergeant Driver before throwing a knowing wink in her direction, but after all this time, it’s like they’re still keeping her secret for her. For her own part, she never brings up her service, except to mention in passing that she met her husband during the war. Even her own children seem to be under the impression that she must have been a nurse or a WAC, using that explanation to fill in the story’s blanks. Zenie never confirmed or denied their suspicions.

“Wish she were here,” Babe sighs. He orders another round of drinks, three this time, before placing one in front of the seemingly empty bar stool beside him – unknowingly, right in front of Zenie. He raises his own glass as he offers the last one to Bill. “To Zenie.”

Bill clinks his glass against Babe’s in a toast. “To Zenie.”

“To the best friends I ever had,” Zenie adds. During her last reunion – and even during the last year or so of her life – she could sometimes swear that she could feel a presence that she couldn’t explain. An unshakable feeling that those she loved who were already gone were somehow watching her would wash over her, though she could never explain why she felt that way. Now, she wonders if her friends feel that way about her. Just in case they do, she channels all her love into those words, hoping and praying that they can feel it.

As if on cue, the bittersweet moment ends when a woman with sleek, dark hair approaches the bar, smiling. “Uncle Babe! Are you ready?”

“Luna.” Zenie watches as her daughter throws an arm around each of the men at the bar, her smile just as bright as her father’s, outshining the sun itself.

“The real question is, are you?” Bill teases his goddaughter, cocking an eyebrow. “Don’t forget, kid, that your uncle is a champion jitterbug dancer.”

Luna sizes up the man in question. “Well, I’ve been practicing.”

“Don’t worry about her.” Babe takes one last sip of his drink and waves off Bill’s concerns. “Her mom could have been a champ, too. It’s in her genes; she’ll be fine.”

“The DJ said it’ll be the next song . . .” Luna begins explaining as she hooks her arm through her uncle’s and leads him towards the small dance floor.

Bill watches them go, chuckling to himself. “Real firecracker.” He glances at the drink set out in honor of Zenie. “God, I wish you were here, little brother. It’s not the same without you.”

“I am,” Zenie assures him. She’s only been gone for two years, but things have changed. That might have scared her once. Not anymore. “I have to go find Shifty. You don’t mind, do you?”

Bill doesn’t answer, of course, but it’s polite to ask all the same. Granny didn’t teach her to mind her manners for nothing.

Zenie weaves her way through the crowd of both the living and the dead. She greets several people, stops to exchange a handshake and a kind word, and sends a nod to those who she catches lurking at the edges of the room – people like Liebgott and Captain Speirs, who only show up in the margins of the reunions, watching, but never joining in. She needs to thank those two specifically at some point. But it’s like Joe said – they’ve got time.

As Luz promised, Shifty is seated at a table in the middle of the room. Their sons, Wayne and Willie, sit on either side of him, laughing along with some story that he, McClung, and Popeye are in the middle of telling. Zenie finds a space to stand behind her husband, being as present as she can. She places one hand on Wayne’s shoulder, and the other on Shifty’s.

At the moment of contact, Shifty’s posture stiffens, and his head turns slightly. Zenie freezes, like she’s just disrupted something. Has she? Can he feel her here?

Shifty only listens to the story being told halfheartedly now. He smiles and laughs in all the right places, but it’s obvious that he’s distracted. These reunions are supposed to be fun. Sure, they can get a little emotional at times, but she doesn’t want her husband missing out on her account. He’s still got a life to live. He needs to be in the present moment and enjoy it.

Zenie bends slightly so that she’s close to Shifty’s ear. She doubts anyone else at the table knows that she’s here, but she wants this to be a private moment for the two of them.

“Shifty,” she whispers. “I’m here. I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.” She has to pause for a moment to think about what she wants to say. It’s one thing to plan what you’re going to tell somebody, and another thing entirely to deliver the message. Sometimes things get lost in translation. She learned that during their break back in the war.

She studies her husband’s face. It’s lined with age, but still as beautiful and as bright as the day she met him. God, she misses him. She misses all of them.

“The boys look well,” she continues, looking between their sons. “I hope they’re taking care of you for me. They’ve always adored you.” She pats Shifty’s shoulder. She shouldn’t take up his attention too much longer. “Take your time. Enjoy it. I’ll be waiting for you, okay? I’ll see you soon, Shifty.”

Not sure if it will work, she plants a kiss on his cheek. When she pulls away, she watches as Shifty’s hand comes up to touch the place where they made contact. Maybe he really can feel her here.

“Gvgeyui,” Zenie says. I love you.

Gene is waiting at the edge of the crowd when she finds him again.

“How’d it go?” He asks.

Zenie nods. “Good. You?”

“Good.” Gene’s dark eyes flick over the crowd. “It’s nice we get to do this.”

It is nice. Bittersweet, mostly, but it’s good to see their loved ones again, even for a short time before they have to go back. But returning isn’t bad, either. The weather is always warm. And there are people she loves waiting for her there.

In fact, she should get going for exactly that reason. Granny wants to dig ramps soon, and Mama informed her that there would be a pie waiting upon her return. No matter which side of the gauzy veil she’s on, there is always someone waiting for her, and always a place that she belongs.

For strength, Zenie takes Gene’s hand and gives it a squeeze. He returns the gesture, and they begin to walk away from the crowd. But before they go, Zenie can’t help but glance back at Easy Company one last time. Her eyes, as always, land on Shifty. She’ll see him again. She’ll see them all again, in one way or another.

“Until we meet again,” Zenie informs them all, whether they can hear her or not. “Donadagohvi.”

#crying over my keyboard someone plz give me a hug #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers oc #band of brothers #shifty powers #shifty powers x ofc #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #oc zenie mcglamery #my writing #like a girl (like a man)

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Young Love and Old Money

Summary: this series follows the story of Lewis Nixon and Josephine Wills and their trials, tribulation and love throughout WW2, including stories of their friends in between. Warnings: sexual images at the start, swearing, minor mentions of wounds, Julian and George being adorable.

Masterlist

Welcome to Hell - December 1944

His lips trailed feather-like kisses down her neck, trailing between the valley of her breast and down her stomach. Hot breath mingled between their lips as he kissed her passionately, his fingers digging into her hip bones.

“Lewis…please,” Josie's voice was hoarse and came out barely above a whisper but Lewis heard every word.

“Use your words my Darling. Tell me what you want,” Lewis growled, he could feel himself growing impatient and the urge to ravage his wife grew stronger by the minute. It had been months since they lay together and despite Lewis enjoying Josie’s company in the daytime, he couldn’t help the jealousy growing within him as he watched her laughing with Webster and Luz. As soon as he managed to drag her away from them and back to his own room, well the room he shared with Dick but Dick knew better than to come back to his room tonight.

“You’ve been teasing me all day Darlin’, how do you expect me to control myself,” he’d whined when he finally kissed his wife, tugging her lip between his teeth teasingly.

“Well Lewis, I’m sure you’ll find a way to reward yourself for such restraint,” Josie laughed, trailing her fingers across his shoulders, tugging at the lapel of his jacket.

“Oh, I’m sure I will.”

“Lew? Lew, come on. You’ve got to get up. Elements of the first and sixth Panzer Divisions have broken through in the Ardennes forest. We’re moving out in an hour. Come on Nix, get up!” Dick demanded, shoving Lewis causing him to nearly topple out of the bed.

“Jesus Christ Dick! What’s a man gotta do to get some sleep around here?”

“Not be in the 101st Airborne apparently,” Dick joked, throwing Lewis’ ODs at him. “Hurry up Lew.”

Lewis stomped out of his room, trailing after Dick at an increasingly slow pace, his jump boots scuffing at the tarmac as he dragged his way towards the jeep.

“This is bullshit. Why does everything seem to become the issue of the 101st? You’d think we were the only damn battalion in the whole ETO,” Lewis grumbled, glaring at Dick who sat with an amused smile on his lips.

“I don’t know what you’re so chirpy about. It’s not like we’re going on vacation.”

“No. I just find it humorous watching you complain.” Dick groaned slightly as Lewis thrust his elbow into his friend's stomach.

“You just keep laughing, Winters.”

“Nixon, may I have a word?” The matron's stern voice caused Josie to turn hastily, hurrying over in her direction.

“Yes Matron,” Josie resisted the urge to salute her, despite neither of them being in the army the Mateon ruled with an iron fist and reminded Josie of how Lewis had described Captain Sobel.

“I need to send some nurses to help at a field hospital in Bastogne, Belgium. Unfortunately, I can’t spare any nurses so I thought I could send some VADs instead. Would you be interested?”

Josie nodded and accepted the Matron's offer, not that the Matron showed any kind of enthusiasm towards the situation.

“Good, you’ll be leaving the hospital tomorrow morning. Be ready to leave at 0700 sharp.”

“George, do ya think you could keep it down? Some of us are trying to get some Goddamn sleep,” Bill's voice squawked from his foxhole causing George to laugh louder.

“For fuck sake!” Bill continued to grumble but George couldn’t contain his laughter, burying his head into Julian’s neck who was spluttering, trying to contain his own giggle.

The loud crouching of boots approaching from behind them caused the pair to pull away, Julian frantically trying to straighten his jacket where George had shimmied his hands inside to keep warm.

“Captain Nixon, Sir,” they both saluted the captain but Lewis just watched them with a bemused grin. The pair sorely saluted him, managing to get away with it as Josie’s close friends so this behaviour was unusual for them.

“Why do I get the feeling that you two are up to something?” Lewis asked, sliding down opposite them in the foxhole. “You look suspicious.”

“What? Us?”

“No!”

“We’re not..”

“I mean..”

“Guys, relax. I’m just messing with you. It’s okay I know about you anyway.” Lewis relaxed, leaning his head back against the cold, icy ground.

The pair opposite him looked confused, George’s chin chattered as he went to speak. “What do you know?”

Julian’s eyes were wide and he resembled Lewis’ dog when she thought she was in trouble for something. Although most of the time Lewis never punished her for anything, he had been besotted with that dog.

“You know? I know… about you two. Josie told me everything. It’s fine,” Lewis smiled at them reassuringly but his confession did nothing to lessen their nerves.

“You know everything? But you know it’s illegal right?” George asked, leaning forward as if Lewis couldn’t hear what they were trying to tell him. “We could be shot!”

Lewis had never seen George Luz so serious and it broke his heart to realise just how worried the pair were about him finding out the truth.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Alright. I swear I won’t say a word. I’m happy for you both, I really am. You mean a lot to Josie, which means you also mean a lot to me too.” Lewis looked at the pair sincerely, reaching his hand forward to shake both their hands, cold fingers brushing against each other in a shaky handshake.

“She did what?” Julian’s face was panicked, he looked at George worriedly, resisting the urge to grab his hand.

“It’s alright. My lips are sealed,” Lewis assured them and felt as much relief as they did when the pair visibly relaxed against each other once more.

“Thank you, Captain Nixon,” Julian spoke up, his pink nose peeking out from beneath the scratchy, brown blanket he was wrapped in.

“Call me Lewis, you’re family after all.”

“I can’t believe she told him,” Julian sighed, tears bubbling in the corners of his eyes ready to overflow. “I trusted her.”

“Hey. Hey. Hey. Don’t cry, okay? We’ll be alright. Captain Nixon is a friend after all. I’m sure it will be okay,” George tried to comfort him, pulling Julian close into his chest and wrapping them both up in the blanket.

“But what if it’s not?” Julian whimpered, his face buried further into George’s neck.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere. Okay? You’re stuck with me.”

Lewis’ numb feet ached as his feet connected with the frozen ground, his legs swinging in long strides as he hurried towards the aid station. Ever since he’d received Josie’s letter informing him of her move to Bastogne he’d been desperate to see her, desperate to hold her, to kiss her.

He passed two wounded soldiers by the front door, one had his arm wrapped in some dirty, grey cloth while the other had an aid kit bandage wrapped around his head. Lewis' feet echoed on the cobbled, stone floor as he marched through the church, his eyes scanning the sea of bodies for any sign of his wife.

“Lewis?” A voice called from behind him. “Lewis, are you hurt? What are you doing here?”

Josie hurried towards him, flinging her arms around his neck. “Josie,” he whispered into her hair, his arms finding their home around her waist, pulling her body flush to his. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. What are you doing here, Lew?” Josie asked, running her fingers through her husband's dishevelled brown locks as she looked up at him worriedly.

“I came to see you. As soon as I got your letter I had to know you were okay.” Lewis admitted, feeling a little pathetic but also no longer caring, as long as his wife was safe that’s all that mattered.

Shouts from behind them caused the couples to pull apart and Josie hurried towards Eugene who was bringing in another wounded soldier.

“Lewis, I have to go but if you’re still here later then we can talk some more.”

Lewis felt lost as his wife slipped from his arms and ran over to the medic who was already reeling off the man’s condition. Lewis felt out of place here, he was of no use in a hospital but watching as his wife hurriedly applied a bandage he knew that Josie was where she belonged

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt

#young love and old money #Lewis Nixon x oc #band of brothers #band of brothers oc #Lewis Nixon

[mercurygray]

The Darkening Sky - Chapter 53 - The End

It was the end of the war, and Joan was tired.

She could say that, now, where there wasn't anyone to hear her. They'd done a ten-miler today, hot on the heels of a seven mile pack march the day before. If she listened hard enough, she thought she could still make out the complaints from the replacements, drifting in from the courtyard outside, and the old hands roundly reminding them that war was hard, pain was temporary, and they'd be glad they'd had the practice when they were running to find a foxhole.

Temporary or not, her leg was still hurting, though not as much as it had been. The old wound from Carentan was being tested, and so far it was holding, but only time would really tell. She'd practically fallen into her bed the night before, thin lipped and sore, and Dick, tired himself, had wrapped himself around her and gently massaged the muscle until it was bearable once more. "You know you don't have to run these," he'd suggested softly, trying to be helpful as sleep started to come for the both of them.

The mere thought made her bristle with rage. Wound or no wound, her place was at the front, or she was no better than the men she despised. "What kind of leader sits them out?"

[read the final chapter, and the rest of the story in its entirety, here on AO3!]

#the darkening sky #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #guys. this is for all the marbles #THE FINAL CHAPTER #there will be some epilogue stuff too don't worry #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x original character #band of brothers fanfiction

[stfrancisprayer]

when texas was still mexico ☆ chambear (verb) ☆ singing from your chest ☆ ay, jalisco, no te rajes ☆ weekends at the USO ☆ amor prohibido ☆ longing for something just out of reach ☆ la media vuelta ☆ from america to europe and back again ☆ y volveré

[playlist]

#ive been here for about a month now TIME TO INTRODUCE MY OCS!!!! im very excited #more to come in the near future...methinks... #short break from our regular programing but i promise actual hbowar stuff is coming soon #band of brothers #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x ofc #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #🧀 ; art #🧀 ; oc #🧀 ; y volvere

[samwinchesterslostshoe]

A Larks Song - Florence Lark

This is a commission for the amazingly talented @footprintsinthesxnd! Jess is an amazing writer and I am a huge fan of everything she puts out! So you can only imagine how happy i was to work with her and make this drawing of her OC, Florence:)

If you haven’t read it already go check out her fanfic A Larks song💜

(Ps: I imagine her handing out these little autographed cards with her picture on it during her show for some of the boys, so that where the inspo come from)

#band of brothers #band of brothers oc #hbo war #band of brothers fanart

[shoshiwrites]

WIP — WHEN THE WAR CAME (Toye/WarCo OC)

Jo studied their uniforms, the bars and patches, wondering what would happen if she guessed wrong. Maybe it would get more of a story than this holiday talk. She sat back in her chair a little, straightened her shoulders. "You boys Air Force?" Instant scoffs. Bingo. "Airborne, sweetheart." She remembered a few clippings in the papers back stateside, The Clarion included. 'Chute troops. The Marines had them too, didn't they? So did the Germans. A new type of warfare. She'd been intrigued in the same way the other reporters all seemed to have been, marveling at what seemed like insanity. Shuddering at the thought of doing it herself. And then one of the stories had mentioned, almost offhandedly, the salary increase compared to the rest of the branches. And it had all made sense to Jo. Well. Most of it. Oh," she said, purposefully eyeing the gleaming sets of jump wings on their jackets. "Of course."

Story tag | OC tag

#band of brothers #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fanfic #i feel a little ridiculous doing this when it's not posted/won't be until it's finished #but i wanted to let people know that it exists and i post excerpts and prompts and things on my blog! (not usually tagged for the show) #in case anyone wants to be along for the ride. i will be very flattered if you do! #if you've been around long enough you may recognize this as a rewrite #and it is:) #jo's tag #wip: when the war came

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

When You Know, You Know - Ronald Speirs x OC

Summary: A night of drinking with Valerie and the men leads Ron to realise that he's in much deeper than he thought

Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption/intoxication

Word count: 2.8k

Tags (Mostly using the taglist from the original fic): @50svibes @cagzzz107 @yentroucnagol @mads-weasley @mrsalwayswrite @dcyllom

A/N: This oneshot is building on from the characters/storyline established in my fic Just Come Home, which you can read in its entirety here. For those of you who have read it already, this is set roughly between chapters 5 and 6. Enjoy!

I can't even tell if this is good, I just needed to write for them again, I miss them so much

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"I win again!"

"God dammit!" George Luz cried, throwing down his hand of cards upon the table as Valerie laughed, taking a sip of her drink and revelling in his distress. Easy Company had been in Berchtesgaden for almost a week, and already boredom was beginning to set in, remedied seemingly only by late nights of drinking, card games, and music which they had begun to host almost daily in the huge abandoned hotel at the end of the main street.

The huge dining hall was bathed in a low, golden glow, a refuge from the darkness outside, and a gramophone crackled away in the corner, playing record after record of German music only a few among them could understand. A few portraits of prominent officials hung on the walls - survivors of the initial scourge which had seen the men clear out anything of value - their faces vandalised beyond recognition, drooping unevenly on their hooks. The large, circular tables that had once hosted wealthy guests to the town were now used for rowdy games of all kinds, stacks of empty glasses growing taller by the hour.

It had been almost two hours since Valerie had found herself dragged into one of these games. The men had clearly thought her light competition, but in those two hours, not one of them had won a single round. As the night wore on, and she continued to prevail, they grew only more determined to continue, to find a hole in her strategy to exploit, to finally beat her, for God's sake.

"I mean, Jesus, I just don't understand it," Tab sighed, frowning as he poured himself another glass of whiskey, staring wearily at his own hand in the realisation that he never could have won. "How can you win every goddamn time?"

Val chuckled, patting him on the arm in consolation. "I think it might be time to call it a night, eh gents?"

Luz shook his head. "No. Nuh-uh. We're not leaving until I win."

"You better be careful you don't run outta money first."

Tutting, he reached into his pocket for some more cash. "You better donate this shit to a charity or something when you get home, God knows you don't fucking need it," He lamented, muttering something to himself about big fucking houses and rich fucking parents.

With a grin, she accepted her winnings, sliding the money into the pocket of the coat she draped over the back of her chair. It was not her own coat - none of Valerie's clothes were her own, all of them pilfered from the abandoned closets of rich German wives, fleeing in a hurry with their rich Nazi husbands. But in the grand scheme of things, she hardly felt guilty. "Pleasure doing business with ya, Georgie." Val teased, her tongue drawn between her teeth.

A wide archway separated the main dining room from the smaller, private hall next door - a more intimate space for what had once been the wealthiest of hotel guests, but which now belonged to the officers of Easy Company, a huge central table proving the perfect place for late night games of poker.

Ron stared at the unimpressive cards in his hand, suppressing a frown, his infamous stony gaze playing in his favour once again. He would not win this game, but as long as Harry continued to play as badly as he had so far, he would not lose either. The sound of laughter in the next room pulled his gaze - and there she was. Valerie's face flushed red as she laughed, her cheeks creased as she tilted her head back, George Luz chuckling beside her at whatever he had said that was so damn funny. He wasn't sure he had ever made her laugh like that - but Ron knew he wasn't a funny guy, not like Luz at least. A few months ago, he might have felt the inkling of insecurity bubbling in his chest, but not now. Despite all the things that made him seem so intimidating to the other men, it seemed Ron was stuck with Valerie whether he liked it or not.

He did.

The sound of someone noisily clearing their throat pulled his attention away from the next room, and as Ron looked across the table, he noticed Nixon staring straight at him, brow raised. "Hm?" He asked, mirroring his expression.

"You gonna take your turn?" Nixon asked. "Or you gonna keep staring?"

Ron decided not to acknowledge this second question, instead swiftly taking his turn, placing his cards down forcefully, as if making a performance out of it. He wasn't staring. Just... watching.

In the corner of the dining hall, the record that had been playing stopped with a crackle, and Valerie stood up to change it, sliding her cards into her pocket to prevent Luz from cheating. The man scoffed at the mere suggestion, but they both knew he wasn't above taking a peek. As she neared the gramophone in the corner, Chuck Grant came passing the other way, their shoulders brushing against each other as he headed back to his own table. "Ooh, Val," He spoke, stepping up behind her as she flicked through the box of records. "You gotta try this."

Looking up, she accepted the glass in his hand, stifling a cough after her first sip as the liquid burned her throat. "Oh, fucking Christ, what is that?"

"No idea. Malark's recipe - good though, right?"

"Good, but I think it'll kill me," Val confessed, flicking through the box of records with her free hand.

"That's the spirit," He chuckled, patting her on the shoulder before turning to return to his table. "Drink up."

She grinned as he left, taking another sip of Malarkey's dangerous concoction before selecting a record. Their titles had all been in German, so Valerie had been forced to make a decision based off of the covers alone, and as such was slightly taken aback when upbeat folk music came blasting through the gramophone's horn, although the men around her seemed too engrossed in their games to even notice.

Returning to the table, interrupting Luz and Tab as they talked strategy, she put down her drink, taking a seat. "What's that?" George asked, nodding towards her glass.

"No idea. Malarkey's makin' 'em over there apparently."

He paused momentarily, slowly sliding his cards into his pocket as if Val actually needed to cheat to win. "...Don't mind if I do."

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Just over an hour had passed since the last time Ron had looked over at Valerie - Harry had lost their last game, predictably, and the officers had been darting between conversation and cards ever since, the energy slowly draining from the room as the night wore on and they began to find it harder to focus on the more technical games. The group had noticed the main dining hall growing steadily louder as the night progressed, but the disturbance had not been enough to warrant their attention until suddenly a smash rang out, accompanied by a series of whoops and laughter.

Craning his neck to see what was happening, Ron's gaze fell upon the portrait of Hitler that Valerie had taken a knife to on their first day in town, his face now stained with dark red wine, a few shards of glass embedded in the canvas. Still seated at her table, Val let out a hearty laugh, her cheeks flushed bright red as if she had caught a chill. But he knew it wasn't that.

Of the men of Easy Company still occupying the hall, not a single one of them appeared sober, the scent of alcohol lingering on the very air. Sitting across the table from Valerie, it appeared George Luz had actually fallen asleep, suddenly roused by the sound of the wine bottle exploding into hundreds of fragments the moment it struck the wall.

"Aw, shit," Nixon sighed. "Looks like they found the good stuff."

Across the room, Skinny Sisk tripped on the edge of a tablecloth that had been left dragging across the floor, tumbling to the ground in a mass of flailing limbs. Val let out a guffaw of laughter, clapping her hands in delight as she slumped further in her seat, reaching for another sip of whatever the hell was in her glass.

"Alright, ok," Ron muttered, rising from his seat and crossing the room in a moment, prying the drink from her hand before it could reach her lips. Val opened her mouth in objection, brow drawn with outrage, but the sudden appearance of the infamous Captain Speirs seemed to sober up the rest of the room, the other men taking the hint to calm themselves and begin shuffling out the door to return to their billets and sleep off their drunkenness.

"I wasn't done with that, yunno," She drawled, barely noticing as Luz drifted away from the table, rubbing at his temples in an attempt to nurse an already developing headache.

"Yeah, you're not gonna be, either," Raising the glass, Ron took a sniff, expression twisting into a grimace. "Jesus. How many of these did you have?"

"I... do not know."

"Hey, Speirs?" Harry called from the next room, clearly impatient to get back to their game.

"Uh, yeah - deal me out, ok? See you fellas tomorrow," He nodded, placing a gentle hand on Valerie's arm to help her to her feet. She swayed slightly, but could certainly walk, and as Ron helped her to the door, he emptied her glass into an unused ice bucket as they passed.

She probably could have made it back up to her room entirely unscathed, even the wobble in her step ebbing away as they exited into the night air, but Ron wasn't sure he'd be able to live with himself if he let her go anywhere alone. "I'm not plastered by the way - I've been plastered, this ain't that."

"Whatever you say," He breathed, arm still secure around her as they descended the front steps to the hotel.

"I'm serious."

"I believe you, dear," Ron nodded, and a giddy grin made its way across her face at the term of endearment. It had slipped out before he could stop it, and he was suddenly grateful for the minuscule chance that she would remember it the next day - he did not in fact believe her.

It was quiet out on the street, the men who had scattered returning promptly to their nearby billets, turning Berchtesgaden back into the ghost town it had been when they had found it. The street lamps cast puddles of golden light as they passed beneath them, his gaze momentarily wandering to Val's face. Her hair had come loose, a strand hanging limply in her face, and the tip of her nose flushed pink in the cool air. Without a word, Ron shrugged off his jacket, slinging it over her shoulders. She did not hesitate to slide her arms into the sleeves, wrapping the jacket tightly around herself, and playing it off as a yawn when she took a deep breath, smelling the scent of his cigarettes that permeated the fabric.

They were mere feet from the front door when Ron felt Valerie slide from his grip, turning to watch as she took a seat on a nearby bench, one foot tucked behind the other, hands in her lap as she looked up at the night sky above.

"Almost there, c'mon," He urged, gesturing for her to follow.

"Come sit down."

Ron didn't move, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Val, come on, you'll catch a cold out here, let's get you insi-"

"Just sit down, Ronald!" Val demanded, almost laughing. She always seemed so ceaselessly amused by him - he wouldn't pretend not to enjoy it, but it struck him as odd sometimes.

Folding his hands awkwardly in his lap, Ron took a seat beside her on the bench, a polite gap left between them. It couldn't have been more than a couple of inches, but it might as well have been a mile for how tempted he felt to move closer.

Her gaze had not shifted from the sky above since the moment he sat down, and after a while spent sitting in silence, he allowed himself to do the same, peering up at the stars above. There was a full moon out that night, hanging like a beacon above them, never quite allowing the town to fall into total darkness as it bathed the ground below in its glow. It was quite marvellous, really.

As weight pressed down on his shoulder, Ron felt his breath catch in his throat, so desperate was he to preserve the serenity of this moment as Valerie leant over, resting her head against him. He scarcely dared more, for fear that he would shrug her off - it was almost comical, the battle-hardened Captain Speirs, who ran past half a dozen tanks at Foy twice over without fear, suddenly paralysed at the prospect of pushing her away.

"Our families are looking at the same moon back home," Valerie said, her voice muffled against the fabric of Ron's jacket as she turned her chin into the collar. "I like thinkin' about that." When she spoke it sounded drowsy, exhaustion tugging downwards at her eyelids.

"C'mon," He urged again, matching her softness. "You can't sleep out here, you'll freeze to death."

Val nodded slowly, her hair catching on his shirt. "That'd be very inconvenient for you."

"Out the the two of us, I don't think I'm the one getting the short end of the stick in this scenario, Val."

"Ah, but you'd miss me," She sighed with a dramatic flourish of her hand, pushing herself up from the bench with a grunt. Ron had not had the chance to stand up himself before Valerie started walking, the sway in her step settled as she confidently made her way down the street.

"You're going the wrong way, dear," He pointed out, gesturing to the front door, mere feet away from them.

"I know that," Val rolled her eyes, turning sharply on her heel and marching up to the front step as he chuckled. Taking the step up, she looked back at him. "C'mere," She ordered.

"What do you want now?" Ron teased, already moving to do her bidding. Taking a step up to stand beside her, they faced each other, shoulders pressed against the front door to the house they were billeted in. Leaning forward, Val pressed her body flat against his, her chin resting on his chest, face tilted up towards him. He could feel her breath, escaping through parted lips and fanning his neck as he peered down at her. Their faces were mere inches apart, and oh, how he had wanted to give in at that moment - give in to the months they had spent together, growing ever more enamoured by her with each passing day. Putting her weight on her toes, she began to push herself up towards him, their lips barely parted, so close their noses brushed against each other.

She was drunk. Ron knew this - could see it in her flushed cheeks, could hear it in her slow words. It would not happen like this. Placing soft hands to either side of her face, he held her back as gently, as tenderly as he could, his thumb skirting across the soft flesh of her cheek as Valerie eased herself back onto her heels, her eyes like dark pools under the light of the street lamp, as wide as he had ever seen them.

"Goodnight Cap'n," Her voice was scarcely a whisper as her hand found the door handle, opening it onto the great foyer inside, the heels of her shoes clacking against the floorboards as she trailed inside. Ron would follow soon - would climb the stairs to his own room along the hall from her own - but for now, he held back, watching on as Val headed upstairs, his jacket still hanging off her back as she disappeared down the hall, the sound of humming trailing after her even after she was gone from sight, fading away with the sound of a closing door. It wasn't until now, when Ron was alone in the foyer, did he realise he was smiling - beaming even. It was very... un-ron-like. But she had wanted to kiss him.

He had done the right thing. He knew this.

But Jesus Christ, was he in deeper than he thought.

#band of brothers #ronald speirs #ronald speirs x ofc #ronald speirs x oc #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fic #hbo war #hbo war fic #hbo war oc #george luz #floyd talbert #lewis nixon #harry welsh #chuck grant #donald malarkey #oc: valerie

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Chapter One: Something In The Way

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire leaves her home and starts her journey to Camp Toccoa.

A/N: Hello, everyone!! Welcome to Chapter One of Well-Behaved Women Never Make History! I am very excited to finally start this story and share it with all of you! I hope you enjoy and feel free to like, comment, and reblog!

Warnings: Swearing, period-typical behavior

Taglist: @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike

Credits: Moodboard 1 made by @xxluckystrike Moodboard 2 made by @footprintsinthesxnd Thank you both so much!!!

June, 1942

Detroit, Michigan

10 a.m. Eastern Time

———

Detroit's Union Station was a bustling hub of wartime activity, its vast halls echoing with the hurried footsteps of soldiers and civilians alike. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the faces of families clustered around their loved ones. Amidst them stood Claire O'Connor, surrounded by an imposing fortress of luggage, her dark brown hair pulled back into victory rolls, dark red lipstick painted on her lips, her stoic expression betraying none of the apprehension swirling inside her. 

"Damn, Claire, are you planning to open a boutique down there?" Emma, her older sister, teased, one hand affectionately resting on her sister's shoulder while her eyes danced with mirth at the sight of the luggage.

Claire offered a wry smile, pushing up her glasses with a finger. "Hey, you know me, I'm always prepared," she quipped, the edge of her humor tinged with nerves. "You can never have too many pairs of underwear."

Their father, Mr. O'Connor, chuckled, adjusting his glasses with a patient smile. "War or no war, I don't think the enemy will care much for your matching luggage set."

"Ha-ha, very funny, Dad," Claire retorted, a tight smile betraying her simmering nerves. Peyton stood beside Claire, a single duffel bag slung over her shoulder, her posture composed—a sharp contrast to Claire's cluttered state.

Mrs. O'Connor, Claire and Emma's mother, clucked her tongue as she adjusted one of the smaller bags atop a mountainous suitcase. "You've got enough to last through the war and back, honey bee," she said, her voice equal parts exasperation and concern. "Remember, you're going to be a medic, not a debutante."

"I know, Mom. It's just—" Claire hesitated, biting her lip. "It feels like I'm packing up my entire world."

"Because you are," Peyton interjected softly, coming to stand beside Claire. Her own belongings were neatly consolidated into her single bag, the stark contrast between the friends' preparations mirroring their differing paths. Peyton's mom stood a few feet away, her pride battling the sorrow in her eyes.

"First time for everything, right?" Claire continued, her attempt at levity falling flat in her own ears. Her gaze shifted between the faces of her family and Peyton, trying to memorize them before the journey ahead.

"Exactly. It's an adventure, Claire," Peyton replied, reaching out to give Claire's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just think of the stories we'll have to share."

"Right," Claire forced a chuckle. "Yours will probably be publishable. Mine will be too bloody to print."

"Your sense of humor is as dark as ever," Peyton replied.

The arrival of Peyton's train sliced through the air, the shrill whistle echoing off the station walls. The machine billowed steam like a specter of change, heralding the imminent departure. Everyone's attention turned to the locomotive, its metallic body gleaming beneath the Michigan sun.

"Train for Des Moines now boarding!" the announcement cut through their conversation with the sharpness of a knife. 

"Guess that's my cue," Peyton said, her usual grace faltering just a bit. 

"Promise me you'll write?" Claire's voice was steady, but her brown eyes betrayed her anxiety. 

"Every chance I get," Peyton promised, pulling Claire into a fierce hug. "And don't go falling for any charming soldiers without telling me first."

"Who, me?" Claire managed a smirk. "Charm isn't exactly my Achilles' heel, you know that."

"I know, but stranger things have happened," Peyton said with a knowing look. "Just promise me you won't shut yourself off from the possibility of love."

"Oh, I'll keep an eye out for any dashing heroes trying to sweep me off my feet," Claire replied dryly. "But don't hold your breath."

With a final squeeze, Peyton released her friend and turned to her mother, enveloping her in a long hug before stepping back with a brave nod. 

"Go get 'em, journalist!" Claire called after her, her teasing tone belying the tightness in her chest.

Peyton turned at the steps of the train, grinning broadly. "Wait for my bylines, Claire! They'll be front page before you know it!"

As Peyton disappeared into the train, Claire watched the doors slide shut, her heart sinking with the finality of the moment. A lump formed in her throat as she waved goodbye to Peyton, her best friend whom she had known since childhood. The train let out a low rumble, lurching into motion, gradually picking up speed and pulling away from the platform.

"Godspeed, Peyton Nelson," Claire whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Nearly an hour later, the shrill whistle of Claire's train tore through the lingering silence, signaling the impending departure and severing the last tenuous threads tethering her to home. Her family clustered around her like a protective shroud, their faces etched with pride and worry.

"Here it is," her father said, his voice thick with unspoken emotions.

"Looks like it," Claire agreed, hoisting her suitcase with a grunt. Her hands trembled slightly, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders along with the overstuffed leather.

"Train for Atlanta now boarding," the conductor called out, his voice a steady beacon amidst the clamor.

"Remember to keep your head down and help others do the same," her father said, "And look out for yourself."

"Can't make any promises," Claire quipped, "But I'll do what I can."

"Let's just hope the Army's ready for you," Mrs. O'Connor added, a twinkle in her eye that mirrored Claire's own spark of defiance. "They won't know what hit 'em!" Her embrace was tight, a desperate attempt to imprint the feeling of her daughter onto her very soul. 

"I'll write every single day until you're sick of me!" Claire promised, offering a watery smile. "And when I come back, maybe I'll have a dashing paratrooper to introduce to you. Wouldn't that be something?"

Mrs. O'Connor winked at her daughter, “A fiery girl like you rarely returns with just tales of heroism and bravery. You're bound to turn a few heads, I'm sure of it!"

Laughter bubbled up from Emma, cutting through the tension like a lifeline thrown across turbulent waters. "Oh, brother, that poor man!" her sister said, hugging her tightly.

Her dad chuckled, the lines around his eyes deepening. "Just make sure he knows how to handle a fearless woman." 

"And don't let those men step all over you," her mother added in a firm tone, "You know what I say, 'Men ain't shit,' except for your father, of course."

"You know me, I don't like toxic masculinity," Claire replied with a smirk.

As the conductor's voice reverberated through the station once more, signaling the imminent departure of Claire's train, she picked up her mountain of baggage and stepped onto the platform. Claire climbed the steps of the train but paused at the top to cast a final glance at her loved ones. "Bye! Wish me luck!" she called out.

With a deep breath that did little to steady her heart, she entered the train. Claire made her way down the narrow aisle, finding a seat by the window in the last car, where the world could unfurl before her like a map of possibilities. As the vehicle jerked forward, she pressed her palm against the glass, maintaining eye contact with her parents and Peyton's mother until the station was nothing but a speck in the distance.

She settled into the rhythm of the rails, the clack-clack of wheels turning over tracks like a metronome counting down to her new reality. The heat was oppressive air thickening in the cramped space, sticking her blouse to her back and making her glasses slide down her nose. 

As the landscape outside blurred into a collage of greens and browns, Claire pulled out "The Great Gatsby" from her bag. She immersed herself in the opulent tragedy of Gatsby's world, finding a strange comfort in the characters' doomed pursuits. "I always thought of myself as Gatsby and Noah as Daisy." she thought to herself, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

Hours melded together, marked only by the rhythmic sway of the train and the occasional jostle of fellow passengers. When the heat became too oppressive, she switched to Freud, his theories a stark contrast to Gatsby's opulence and glittering disillusionment. "Id, ego, and superego," she mused aloud, her voice lost in the clatter of the train. "Which one got me into this mess? Freud would have a field day with me."

As dusk began to paint the sky with strokes of burnt orange and dusky violet, Claire pulled out a sheet of paper and began a letter to her mom. Her pen hovered above the page before it skated across, detailing the mundane aspects of her journey—never hinting at the undercurrent of fear that gnawed at her insides. "Dear Mom," she wrote, "the scenery is beautiful, although it's hard to appreciate fully when you're being slowly roasted."

Her hand hesitated, hovering above the paper as memories of Noah surfaced unbidden. Claire reached into her handbag and retrieved a photograph. It showed her and Noah, side by side, innocent smiles frozen in time under the banner of their high school graduation. Their graduation gowns billowed like hopeful sails, caps thrown mid-air, smiles wide and oblivious to the future. "Oh, Noah," she whispered, tracing the outline of his face. "Always fixing things, but never saw what was broken." 

Her fingers traced the lines of his face, the awkward angle of his glasses—a mirror image of her own. She wondered where he was at this exact moment, if the sea was kind to him, or if the churn of the engine lulled him to sleep each night. "Be safe," she whispered into the fading light, her lips brushing against the cool surface of the picture. The train carried her onward, through the dusk and into a future as uncertain as the war itself.

The night stretched before her, each mile a note in a song of departure and anticipation. Claire leaned her head against the window, watching towns and fields blur by, while inside, her heart beat a staccato rhythm of longing and fear—an intricate dance of the times.

As the morning sun pierced through the curtains, bathing the train compartment in a soft golden glow, Claire stirred awake, her cheek imprinted with the pattern of the window's glass. She blinked groggily as she stood up and reached for her luggage to retrieve a fresh outfit from her suitcase. 

Stepping into the narrow hallway of the train car, Claire made her way towards the washroom at the end. The rocking motion of the train beneath her feet quickened her pace, her hand steadying on the metal railing that lined the corridor. 

She reached the washroom door and gave it a gentle push, stepping inside and locking it behind her. The tiny room was a welcome refuge from the constant movement of the train. Claire changed into her fresh clothes — a burnt orange and white striped blouse and matching orange skirt that billowed softly around her knees — and stuffed yesterday’s clothing into a laundry bag. 

As she adjusted the collar of her blouse, the train lurched unexpectedly, causing her to stumble mid-button. Catching herself on the sink, she cursed under her breath and quickly finished dressing. 

With her heart still hammering in her chest from the sudden movement, Claire took a moment to collect herself before unlocking the door and stepping back into the hallway. 

Upon reaching her seat, the conductor’s voice echoed through the car, announcing their arrival in Atlanta. Claire collected her books and the letter to her mother, tucking them into her bag next to Noah's photograph. With a hefty sigh, she hoisted her bags—one, two, three—onto her shoulders and hips, a cumbersome dance that drew snickers from a couple of soldiers nearby. Atlanta, the city humming with the war effort and Southern charm, sprawled out before her, daunting in its vastness.

The stifling heat of Georgia smothered Claire the moment she stepped off the train, a harsh welcome to the South. She maneuvered through the bustling station, dragging her excessive luggage behind her, the clicking of her heels lost in the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of countless conversations. 

The bus was already rumbling when Claire approached it, and as she climbed aboard, she felt every eye bore into her. She was a curiosity— a woman unaccompanied by a man among rows of young soldiers whose lives were set on a wartime metronome.

"Camp Toccoa," she said firmly to the bus driver, who raised an eyebrow but handed her the ticket without comment.

"Hey, doll, you boarding with all that?" one of the soldiers called out, nodding towards her luggage pile.

"Unless you see it sprouting legs and walking itself on, yes," Claire retorted, her voice edged with the wit she wielded like armor.

Another soldier piped up, "What's your story? Headed to entertain the troops?"

"Medic training," she clipped, pushing her glasses up her nose with a stubborn tilt of her chin. "I'll be patching up your sorry asses on the battlefield. Consider yourselves lucky."

Murmurs rippled through the bus as she maneuvered to an empty seat at the back, her bags wedged between her and the aisle. The curious glances didn't cease, though they became more surreptitious. Claire could feel the weight of their stares, the silent question marks punctuating the air around her. 

"Never seen a dame wanting to be in the thick of it," a soldier across the aisle muttered to his neighbor. "She's got guts, I'll give her that."

"Or she's crazy," the other replied, not unkindly.

"Both," Claire interjected before she could stop herself, eliciting a few chuckles. It was an odd sensation, this camaraderie laced with isolation. She hunkered down in her seat, pulling out her unfinished letter to her mom, and tried to resume writing, but the words seemed frivolous now, floating aimlessly on the page. Instead, she tucked the letter away, leaning her forehead against the cool window glass, allowing her thoughts to drift.

"Hey, combat medic," the same soldier ventured again after a few moments, "You got a fella waiting for you back home?"

Claire answered, staring blankly at the seat in front of her, "Nope."

The soldier whistled low. "Well, that's a damn shame. A pretty gal like you, brave enough to sign up for this mess," he said, gesturing to the bus full of soldiers. "There must be plenty of fellas fighting over you back there."

Claire chuckled bitterly. "Fighting over me? More like running in the opposite direction," she replied, a self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. 

The soldier's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Nah, I can't believe that. A dame like you? Trust me, there ain't a fella worth his salt who wouldn't be lining up for a chance with you."

Claire sighed, her eyes fixed on the soldier's earnest expression. "Well, I guess they must have missed the memo," she retorted with a forced chuckle.

"I'm Danny, by the way," the soldier said, extending his hand towards Claire.

"Claire," she replied, shaking his hand. 

Danny had thick, dark hair and eyebrows, deep brown eyes, and a slight stubble showing he had recently shaved. He was handsome, no doubt about it.

"You said you're gonna be a combat medic, right?" Danny asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes. "At Camp Toccoa, if I heard you correctly. Ain't that where the paratroopers train?"

Claire nodded, a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. "Yeah, that's right. We'll be jumping out of perfectly good planes."

Danny whistled, impressed. "Well, I'll be damned. I could never. I'd crash land, splattering my guts everywhere like a burst tomato."

Claire laughed, "Thanks for the visual. I'll think of that as I plummet to my death."

When the bus finally came to a halt, the driver's voice announced, "Camp Toccoa, final stop!"

Claire stood and wrestled with her suitcases once more. Danny offered to help, but she politely declined. With a determined stride, she walked down the narrow aisleway towards the steps. 

"Good luck, Miss Medic!" Danny called out.

"Yeah, you too, Dollface," she teased with a wink. With a final heave, she managed to walk down the steps of the bus into the sweltering heat. 

"Watcha thinkin', Danny?" his companion next to him asked.

Danny grinned, shaking his head, “Nothin’ much," he replied, his gaze set on Claire as she stood outside the entrance to the camp.

The camp sprawled before Claire, a collection of low-lying buildings nestled amidst the dense Georgia forest. Stepping onto the dirt road, she was greeted by the stark white letters on the wooden sign: 'Camp Toccoa.'

She stood there, alone now, the dust settling around her feet. Before her lay a path lined with uncertainty, with courage demanded and comfort stripped away. To enter meant embracing her choice fully, to become part of something far greater than herself. 

---

#yes I did use Stephen Sanchez as a face claim #and what about it? #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x ofc #my first oc story #my oc #easy company #hbo war #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

[executethyself35]

Marselle and Ollie's birthday moodboard!!

Both of these lovely medics were both born on April 16th, Ollie in 1921 and Marselle in 1922.

So Happy Birthday to these two lovely ladies!!

#band of brothers x ofc #band of brothers oc #oc shit #moodboards #alexi rambles

[jump-wings]

My Band of Brothers fanfic. I am still in writing stage but I couldn't wait to share this edit. A little bit Bandof Brothers with lyrics of Les Yeux Noirs. I am planing to do all song lycris.

#bandofbrothersedit #band of brothers oc #band of brothers #hbo war #easy company #hbowar #dick winters #speirs #ron speirs #ronald speirs #to find

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 38: Falling Into Place

Summary: They found their way back to each other, but now they have to find their way back to themselves as well. A/N: This took me way too long to write, because I just couldn't get it right, even though I knew what I wanted to happen. But next is the epilogue, and I'm ✨very pleased✨ with that, so hopefully it all balances out Warnings: symptoms of PTSD Taglist: @latibvles @liebgotts-lovergirl @dcyllom @ithinkabouttzu @mads-weasley @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

Virginia, 1946

Their first week in Clinchco is probably the closest thing that they ever get to a proper honeymoon.

Although Shifty is sometimes in pain, he insists on going into the woods, reacquainting himself with the places that raised him. Despite the winter chill, they climb Frying Pan together and watch the sprawl of blue mountains before them in silence, drinking it all in. These are not the same mountains that cradled Zenie growing up, but she squints out at them, familiarizing herself with their peaks and crevices, already calling them home.

The blanks do not easily fill themselves in, completing the story and wrapping it up in a nice bow. The universe has spent too long throwing them curveballs to stop now.

On the coldest winter nights, Zenie sometimes jerks awake, heart racing, convinced that she’ll open her eyes and find herself back in her foxhole in Bastogne – afraid that the past year has all been a dream and that she never made it out of those woods.

Shifty is usually awake, staring at the ceiling. She curls into his warmth and listens to his heartbeat, trying to drift back to sleep.

On nights when it eludes her and Shifty still dozes, she sneaks into the kitchen and places late night phone calls to Philadelphia and chats with Bill or Babe, neither of who seem to be getting much sleep, either.

It’s on one of those sleepless nights that Babe dredges up ancient history.

“Zee,” his voice crackles through the receiver. “I just realized something.”

“What is it?”

“You remember that night back in England where you danced with that girl in the pub?”

Zenie has to rifle through memories until she comes up with the correct one. There had been a girl, she vaguely recalls, who moved like a fox that allowed her a dance after Babe encouraged her not to waste her night on the sidelines. “I think so.”

“You made me look like an idiot!”

“Because I was such a good dancer?” Zenie croons quietly, smirking to herself in the darkness of the kitchen.

Babe gasps, mock offended. “No! Because I said that it was too bad you weren’t a girl – since if you were, we would have made a hell of a jitterbug team.”

She has to muffle her laugh with her hand so that she doesn’t wake up everyone in the Powers’ house. He had said that. With no clue.

“Anyway, you better get your ass to Philly to come visit me and Bill,” Babe continues. “And when you do, we’re gonna go dancing!”

“Is that a promise, or a threat?”

“Both.”

But in the end, they go nowhere. Not for a while, at least.

Shifty borrows the truck one day to drive into the next town over, eager to go visit an old friend. Zenie kisses him goodbye at the door, then heads out into town to see if she can find a job. Their time at home relaxing has been fun, but she’s spent too long being busy to get used to it. (Besides, the lingering memories of her father never raising a finger haunt her; she refuses to be anything like him.) They need money, at some point, anyway, to get their own house.

She returns home an hour later, smiling in triumph after securing herself a job at the local diner. But it fades as soon as she walks into the yard and sees Shifty sitting on the front step, frowning down at his feet.

“Shifty?”

He looks up, startled. His dark eyes are deep with something that Zenie doesn’t recognize.

“You’re home early.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t go.”

“What?” He had been so excited, even though he was only going a town over.

“I couldn’t go,” Shifty corrects himself slowly. He stands, shaking his head, brow furrowed. “I – I don’t know. I was going down the road, and it was like all the air just left my chest. Had to pull over to catch a breath. And then I just . . . came home.”

“Oh, Shifty.”  She opens her arms, and he falls into them. His breathing is heavy, and Zenie rubs his back. They stay like that for a while, still making up for lost time, still making up for all those months where they didn’t get to hold each other like this. When Zenie speaks, she keeps her voice low, afraid to upset the delicate balance of the little universe that exists between just the two of them in this moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before she feels Shifty shake his head. “No,” he says, breaking their embrace. He sighs. “I don’t even know what there is to say.”

He’s right. What is there to say?

The words for what the end of the war leaves in them remain just out of reach, like a plane passing over in the evening sky, or too deeply entrenched in their hearts to remove, like pieces of shrapnel lodged in a soldier’s flesh. Every time that Zenie thinks she’s found the words, they ultimately fall flat. She always thinks of David Webster, and how he could wax poetic about anything and everything. It makes her wish that she was like that.

But she’s not. So she has to find other ways to express herself. And sometimes the only way she can find to do that is to grab hold of Shifty’s hand and squeeze it like she’s gripping a lifeline. Shifty, for his part, often wraps his arms around her and just holds her, neither of them speaking – just the two of them huddled together, as if they’re the only people in the whole universe.

Things don’t magically fall into place the way that Zenie had once expected them to. Their new lives take some adjusting as new routines develop. They found their way back to each other, but now they have to find their way back to themselves as well.

Shifty disappears into the woods most afternoons. Sometimes he takes Zenie with him. They sit on top of Frying Pan, gazing out at the hazy mountains, their hands intwined. It’s on one of these days that Shifty makes a confession.

“I can’t hunt anymore,” he says quietly.

Startled by his sudden speech, Zenie tears her eyes away from the scene before her. It takes a minute for his words to sink in.

“What?”

“I can’t hunt anymore,” Shifty repeats. He’s still gazing out at the mountains, but a wrinkle appears between his brows as he furrows them in thought. “I’ve tried, but it’s not the same.”

Come to think of it, Shifty usually has his rifle with him when he heads into the woods. But he never comes back with any game. He used to love to hunt.

“I’m sorry,” Zenie says for lack of anything better.

Shifty turns to her, offers her a sad smile. He plants a kiss on her cheek. “Not your fault, Zena. Some things are just different now, and this is one of them.” He exhales, a hard sigh through his nose. “We just have to get used to them.”

And they do.

Slowly, Shifty starts to venture further than the woods. He surprises Zenie by visiting her at the diner one afternoon, and she takes her break so that they can share a slice of pie – blueberry, just like they talked about back in Haguenau – and watch people pass by on the street. When she returns home from work that evening, Shifty surprises her again by announcing that he got a job after he left the diner.

“With the coal company,” he explains. “They aren’t hiring mechanics, but they signed me on to pick slate. It’s a start.”

He doesn’t sound disappointed, but he doesn’t sound thrilled about the menial work, either.

“Shifty,” Zenie says, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to go back to work if you don’t feel ready.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m ready. There are only so many days a man can sit around at home or walk by the same trees in the woods. Besides, I –“ He stops, bites his lip. He shakes his head again. “Never mind.”

This catches Zenie’s attention. “What?”

An awkward pause ensues in which they stare at each other, Shifty looking like a man who has just painted himself into a corner.

Finally, he sighs. “I’m not goin’ to be the type of man your father is. Sittin’ around at home all day, I mean.”

“Oh.” He’s doing this for her. No one has ever forced themselves to do something just for Zenie’s own benefit or happiness before. She leans forward and presses a kiss to her husband’s smooth cheek. Just by considering her feelings, he’s already leaps and bounds ahead of her father. Her last conversation with Matthew applies here, too. “Don’t worry, Shifty. You’re nothing like him.”

Shifty nods in agreement. “And we never will be. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Slowly, spring comes into bloom all around them. Green buds and colorful shoots reintroduce themselves to the landscape, creeping through the mountains and valleys like a spilled watercolor set staining fresh paper. With the rising temperatures, thoughts of Bastogne and long, miserable days in frozen foxholes subside. Zenie’s sleepless nights ebb away. Shifty begins to smile and talk more. Even though it’s their first spring together in the States as a couple, it feels like they’re returning to themselves as things begin to fall into place.

It's late March. Shifty’s birthday has come and gone, and her own is on the horizon. As the days pass, Zenie finds herself watching the calendar more and more, keeping track of dates as she makes private calculations and risk assessments as she secretly practices speeches that she needs to deliver to Shifty.

The afternoon is clear and bright. Blooming jonquils perfume the air, giving it a sweet quality that Zenie can’t get enough of. A whole company of the yellow flowers rests behind the house, guarding the little creek that runs past. Zenie paces along their ranks as she waits for Shifty to return home from work.

When the rumbling of the truck’s engine comes into earshot, Zenie has to shield her eyes from the sun as she looks up to watch her husband pull into the driveway. He’s going faster than usual. The second he spots her coming towards him, he leans out the window, smiling wide as he waves her over to his parking spot.

“Got a surprise for you,” he announces as he leaps out of the truck. “A couple, actually.”

“I have something for you, too,” Zenie admits.

“I hope it’s pie,” Shifty says. “Because that’s the only thing that could make this day any better.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. It might be better than pie.”

Shifty quirks an eyebrow. “Better than pie? That’s some big talk.” He circles to the back of his truck, smile never wavering in his excitement. “Do you remember what we talked about back in Haguenau?”

They talked about a lot of things back in Haguenau. Many plans were made in those haunted shells of buildings. But for the sake of conversation, Zenie just nods. “Yes.”

“Well, you never said what kind of dog you wanted, so I took a chance – “ Shifty opens the back door of the truck and removes a box from the back seat. Almost immediately, a small, dark nose framed with fiery fur peeps over the rim and gives the air a sniff. A glossy auburn head soon follows, and a puppy stares out at Zenie, who tentatively reaches out a hand to scratch it between the eyebrows.

“A guy at work said his dog unexpectedly had some puppies, and I told him I wanted to buy one,” Shifty explains. “Irish Setter.” He tilts his head as he watches Zenie run the puppy’s silky ears between her fingers. “I think he’s cute.”

“Beautiful,” Zenie agrees. “Does he have a name?”

Shifty beams when he tells her, “That privilege belongs to you.”

The puppy is small, but his eyes are large, soulful things. Sunlight glints off his red fur the way that it used to shine off Matthew’s auburn hair on summer days – bright, like a new penny. Bright like the sun, like Shifty’s smile. Nvda means sun, and agaliha means it’s sunny, but none of those seem quite right in explaining how he looks; the color of his fur is deeper, redder . . .

“Degvliga,” she decides.

“Wildfire,” Shifty translates. He inspects the dog, who perks up at the name. “Hey, I think he likes it.”

They get so caught up in playing with Wildfire, watching him roam the yard and telling him that he’s an osda ghili usdi that Zenie almost forgets what she was thinking about before Shifty arrived, and he forgets that he promised her a second surprise.

It’s not until they’re lying awake in bed that night, legs entangled and watching their fingers in- and untwine in the moonlight that reality seems to set in again.

“Adeljuhlvi,” Shifty says dreamily. “California.”

“What about it?” Zenie’s eyes are already half closed. For all she knows, she might have only dreamed that he said that.

The mattress dips as Shifty rolls onto his side so that he can look at her. “I forgot to tell you. A mechanic’s job opened up, but the boss wants to send me to California for it.”

Tired or not, now Zenie’s eyes open wide at the news. She props herself up on one elbow, like looking at her husband from a slightly different angle will make everything clearer. “That’s so far away!”

Shifty nods. “I know. But I’ve been thinkin’ . . . It’s also a lot warmer there. It might be nice, you know, to take a break from winter for a while.”

All the recent sunny days they’ve experienced with the onset of spring have caused her memories of winter to melt away like thawed snow. Now that she considers it, though . . . won’t they just come back with the first cold snap? Who can predict that type of thing?

Even the thought of snow sends a shiver down her spine. Memories of ice and explosions flash through her mind, quick as the shrapnel that tore so easily through the forest every day and every night. At night she sometimes wakes with the images echoing through her mind the same way that screams and gunshots echoed across that frozen wasteland they called Bastogne.

She never wants to look winter in the face again. So she makes up her mind then and there.

“I’m game if you are.” Her voice is strong, steady. “It’s your job, though, so it’s your decision.”

In the moonlight, Shifty studies her for a moment. The slightest incline of his head indicates a nod of agreement. “I think it would be best for us. For now, at least.”

“A new adventure.” Zenie settles back down onto her pillow, relaxed by the decision. “I’ll miss this place, though.”

“I know. But our mountains will always be here.”

“They’ll wait for us.”

“Exactly.”

Funny, she thought the same thing the day she ran away. And when she left home for the last time to come here, to her new home. Maybe she’s destined to think it every time. A reminder of sorts. But a fact – they have been here since time immemorial, and they will be here long after Zenie has come and gone.

“ – to tell me?” Shifty’s voice drags her out of her half-asleep state.

“What?”

“When I got home, you said that you had something for me.” He nudges her affectionately. “And there was no pie at dinner.”

A giggle works its way up Zenie’s throat. It sounds loud and bright in the moonlight and the quiet of the night around them. Through the darkness, she finds Shifty’s hand again and drags it toward her, until his warm palm is pressed against the flat of her stomach.

If all goes well, there are two new adventures that they’ll be going into – together. 

#band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #shifty powers #shifty powers x ofc #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x ofc #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #like a girl (like a man) #oc zenie mcglamery #my writing

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Perfect Moments

Julian you are my favourite person. I love you so much. You’re the sweetest, kindest, funniest, most loveable person ever and I can’t imagine life without you in it. Every time we talk you never fail to make me laugh and I’m grateful for you every day. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year. I hope you enjoy this little snippet of Julian Owens and George’s Christmas adventure 🩷

The snow crunched under Julian’s jump boots as he followed the ice-covered, cobbled path to Jess’ front door. Aldbourne had been covered in a blanket of white and he’d slipped his way along the roads, aimlessly switching between the pavement and the road. He was thankful there wasn’t too much traffic through the town. The cold had seeped into his bones and the brisk easterly wind had yet to subside. His hand wrapped against the wooden door followed by a muffled, “It’s open.”

Julian stepped in, brushing the snow from his boots before stepping into the kitchen. The smell of bread cooking wafted through the air and he could feel his mouth beginning to water.

“Jess, where are you?” Julian followed the noise of Jess’ humming until he found her hanging a garland over the fireplace.

“Wow, it’s like a Christmas grotto in here,” Julian jested and squeaked when a pillow came into contact with his face.

“Now Cherie, no foul play,” Eugene's strong southern accent caught Julian off guard and he spun on his heels to face him. Eugene was dressed in his brown dress trousers and a white vest, his hair was messy and he still looked half asleep as he took a sip from his cup of what Julian assumed was coffee.

“You slept with him,” Julian squeaked, shooting Jess a shocked look that screamed with unanswered questions.

“What?

“No!”

The pair spoke at the same time and Julian whipped his head back and forth between them.

“No Julian. Eugene and I went to the Christmas dance last night, remember? It was late when we got back and we just got talking so I said he could stay. He slept on the sofa like a true gentleman.”

Eugene’s cheeks turned pink and he bowed his head in embarrassment at the situation.

“So you two didn’t…” Julian trailed off, squinting suspiciously at his friend.

“No Julian we didn’t.”

Eugene cleared his throat beside them, having gathered the rest of his uniform off the sofa and was waiting in the doorway. “I should go, Ma Cherie. Who knows what they’ll ‘ave got up to in one evening without me on base. I’ll ‘ave to patch up half of the company.” Eugene leant forward and pressed a delicate kiss to Jess’ cheek.

“Must you go already? Will I see you later?” Jess whined, looking up at the medic.

“Of course,” Eugene reassured her as Julian interrupted.

“Well actually Bill only got into one fight, Babe accidentally stabbed himself in the hand with a dart and Hoobler is dying from his hangover but overall we all made it back alive. In Easy Company’s standards I’d call that a success,” Julian grinned triumphantly but Eugene just rolled his eyes.

“See what I ‘ace to put up with?”

“I do, Love. Good luck,” Jess placed a kiss on Eugene's cheek and watched as he disappeared into the snowy landscape.

“Well I never. Could have caught you in the act.”

“Will you stop that, Julian,” Jess laughed. “Eugene’s not like that.”

“No, I know that. You’re in safe hands with him. I never have to worry about you.”

Jess smiled at her friend, hanging up the last of the garland. “So what brings you over? I thought we were meeting at the Crown tonight with Josie.”

“We are. I just… I have some news,” Julian scratched the back of his neck nervously. Sensing his apprehension, Jess guided him to the sofa and pulled him into a hug.

“You know you can tell me anything right? Anything at all.”

“George kissed me,” Julian blurted out. “We had too much to drink and he kissed me, and this morning he woke up in my arms and realised and then panicked. He hasn’t spoken to me since,” Julian reeled off nearly in one breath before burying his head in a nearby pillow. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh Jules, I’m sorry. I’m sure he didn’t mean to act that way. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. I’m sure he’s as surprised as you are,” Jess tried to reason with him. “Maybe he’s never kissed a man before.”

“Maybe not I guess. I suppose I did sort of have a meltdown after my first kiss,” Julian whined. “I’m just scared I’ll mess everything up.”

Julian buried his head once more but felt some sense of relief when Jess began carding her fingers through his red locks.

“Trust me. You two are going to be just fine.”

Josie reached forward, pushing away Jess’ collar to reveal a small line of circular bruises along her collarbone.

“Jess, what in God’s name is that?” Jess launched herself out of the chair, smacking her neck with her hand.

“What is it? Is there a spider on me?” She squeaked, her irrational fear of spiders from when she was young still present in her adult life.

“No, those bruises. What happened?” Josie questioned, cocking a dark eyebrow at her friend. Jess’ cheeks turned a dark shade of crimson, her eyes avoiding Josie’s as she took her seat once more.

“Oh, it’s nothing… I just knocked myself.”

“You knocked yourself four times in a perfect circular line?” Josie didn’t believe her friend but also couldn’t quite work out why she was lying.

Too engrossed in what Jess was hiding, neither of them noticed Julian’s arrival until he took a seat between them, sniggering loudly and pointing at Jess’ beck.

“No way! I never knew Eugene had it in him!” Julian exclaimed, pulling Jess’ collar further back to reveal the love bites that Eugene had so lovingly placed along her collarbone the night before.

“Julian! Please stop?” Jess exclaimed, pulling her collar up and doing up the top button, embarrassment etched on her pale face.

“Oh no, that’s not what I think it is, is it?” Josie suddenly twigged, her eyes growing wide at the realisation.

“You and Eugene… you know?”

Julian chuckled as Jess tried to hide her face from her friends as their jests continued.

“No, we didn’t. It was just kissing. Eugene is…”

“A gentleman. We know,” her friends said in unison.

“Just wait until I see Eugene later, I’ll give him hell.”

Jess shot him a warning look but both knew Eugene wouldn’t say anything, he’d be too embarrassed himself to tell Julian what happened, and deep down Julian was pleased for both of them. Josie on the other hand was still in complete shock.

“Since when have you two been that close?” Josie demanded, seemingly a little hurt that she was the last to find out.

“We’ve been close for a while,” Jess admitted. “But you’ve been so caught up with Lieutenant Nixon and your newfound love, you didn’t notice. I’m spending more and more time with Eugene on weekends. Just a few weekends ago we went to London together.”

It was now Josie’s turn to look sheepish. She had to admit her mind had been preoccupied recently but she thought she would have noticed the growing love between her best female friend and Easy Company’s loveable medic.

“Well, I’m very pleased for you. He seems like one of the good ones.”

“He is,” Jess smiled, but the joy was short-lived when her mouth shot open and a silent gasp escaped. She hastily grabbed Josie’s hand insisting that they go and talk to Kate the barmaid. Julian was left alone and confused, until he noticed a familiar brown-headed figure approaching him with an awkward smile on his lips.

“Is this seat taken?” George asked, running his fingers over the wooden back.

“Yes! No… I mean no, no one is using it so you can take the chair,” Julian stuttered, his leg tapping up and down underneath the table.

“Well, I was kind of hoping I could sit here with you but I understand if you don’t want me to,” George replied sheepishly and Julian didn’t think he’d ever seen George look so deflated.

“No, you can sit with me, please,” Julian gestured and George’s face lit up as he took the seat.

“I umm… I wanted to apologise for this morning. I just freaked out and I ran and I’m not proud of it,” George looked down at his hands, picking aimlessly at his fingernails. “I’m real sorry, Julian.”

“It’s okay. I understand why you ran… it’s not normal is it.”

“Hey, no don’t start putting yourself down and who cares if people think it’s normal? Julian, I can’t deny my… feelings anymore. I like you and I don’t exactly know why I feel like that but I really like you,” George admitted, his eyes glazed and tearful and Julian reached out, grabbing hold of George’s hand under the table.

“I really like you too, George,” Julian squeezed his hand and George grinned back at him.

“Well, I’m glad you like me too because otherwise, that would have been awkward.”

Julian felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Jess and Josie standing behind him.

“All right?” Jess mouthed as the girls took their seats. Julian grinned in return.

Not long after Lieutenant Nixon and Eugene Roe joined them at the table and the party was in full swing. Drinks were passed around, Nixon with his love of alcohol was already slightly tipsy so more than a few rounds were on him. By the end of the evening, everyone was jovial, slightly drunk and their eyes watering from laughter. No

Julian and George decided to head back to their billets, taking the long way back and wandering down the dark, country lanes holding hands. There was no fear of anyone seeing them out here.

“You know, I could get used to this,” George smiled up at Julian, a wide toothy grin as his brown eyes shone in the moonlight.

“Me too,” Julian smiled sadly because the reality was they never would be able to get used to this, walking hand in hand in public but for now, in this small tranquil part of the world at least they could pretend.

“Well at least for tonight I can have you and if I can steal even the smallest moments by your side then I’m a happy man,” George admitted, his arm wrapping around Julian’s back so he could hold him closer. Julian didn’t really believe in perfect moments until he met George Luz but then again maybe the moments weren’t perfect, maybe it was George that was.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @mayhem24-7forever @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @lena-basilone @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix

#Julian Owens x George Luz #band of brothers #band of brothers ocs #band of brothers oc #hbowar #hbo war imagine #christmas fic

[latibvles]

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic // to be in it with you.

i’ll find a million ways to say it before i say that i’m in—

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TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl , @softguarnere , @brassknucklespeirs ,@monalisastwin , @mads-weasley , @eugene-emt-roe

SUMMARY: Reaching the Eagles’ Nest makes the day special in more ways than one.

WARNINGS: None!

Picturesque mountains, sun warming her skin, her eyes crinkle at the corners on a squint as she peers at it for a moment. She didn’t think she’d have much time for sightseeing in a war, but here she is — a working draft of a letter balanced precariously on her thigh as she writes out a thank you for the well wishes from her mother, men and women alike all idling on this road etched into the mountainside. Beside her, Jane is also leaned up against the jeep, gray eyes shut to soak in the rays warming them like stones on a riverbed.

“Your French still any good?” she asks, out of the blue cracking one eye open. That was one thing Daisy began to notice about Jane. When she was feeling chatty, she could never anticipate what the girl was going to say or ask. Daisy raises an eyebrow, looking at her sidelong and gives her a shrug.

“It’s alright, I guess. Why d’you ask?”

“Cause I can’t remember a lick of shit since Belgium but I wanna tell the French to haul ass and get rid of the roadblock.” At that, Daisy snorts at the mild irritation edging in Jane’s voice as she says it, folding up her paper and putting it in her pocket.

“What, don’t wanna beat the French to the nest?”

“I don’t give a damn who wins, I just want to get up there already.” Distantly, a sound of an explosion echoes down the road they’re all sat upon, and Daisy snorts. Last Daisy checked, they were getting quite…  creative with how they intended to blow the roadblock sky high. Namely, combining explosives like a high-risk middle school science fair. Grenades, dynamite, bazookas, all which translated in Daisy’s mind as some idiot having too much fun and losing a couple fingers if they weren’t careful enough.

She’s hoping that the joy found in blowing things up might’ve died down a little bit with the war apparently coming so close to an end — but part of her knows that’s just her own foolish optimism.

But it is, admittedly, nice to know she still has some of it left after all this.

“Someone’s antsy,” Daisy can’t help but snicker, and Jane rolls her eyes.

“Ever the astute observations from my fearless leader.” She watches Jane shake out a cigarette and fish through her pocket for the lighter, lights it, and brings it to her own lips before letting smoke escape. Then she offers it to Daisy.

“Yeah well, that’s what they hired me for.”

“Your wise remarks?” Jane asks as Daisy takes it from her, bringing it to her own lips. They share a look as an engine roars and a jeep whizzes by them further up the road.

“My astute observations,” Daisy concurs, “Also, I think you might’ve gotten your wish after all, Gray.”

The town was dead quiet before they came in. An eerily empty place save for the rumble of engines, emblazoned in the red banners that make her entirely angry now. The moment their feet hit the ground, anything that gleams is fair game — for combat nurse and soldier alike, it seems.

Which is to say: Daisy’s bag is heavy with things that weren’t even hers, nor were they things that she necessarily picked up herself. She didn’t expect Rita to have such sticky fingers, but when the argument was that they’d need nice silverware for the apartment they’ve yet to get, she couldn’t exactly argue with that sound logic. And when Easy Company gets fired up to head further up the mountain — she allows herself a moment of childishness, sticking out her tongue to her friend who would be staying behind in town for the moment with the rest of Fox.

Okay, so maybe she got her pick of a couple candleholders in town, and maybe she was just a little bit eager to see if the stone mountain retreat had anything nicer than that. Which it should, because the damn thing had a gold plated elevator.

She’s greeted with lush couches and carpets, champagne in buckets of water that likely was ice, at one point, and the sound of popping bottles as everybody in the place helps themselves to the stash. Daisy wanders, curious as the men chip pieces off that big stone fireplace. She’s on one of the many balconies the retreat holds when Liebgott finds her first. He smacks one of those fireplace chunks unceremoniously into her hand. Then, he offers her the glass-green champagne bottle he’s carrying with him.

“It’s a special day, after all, don’t say I didn’t get you nothin’,” he hums with a knowing glint in his eye. She takes the bottle by the neck, glances up at him with slightly wider eyes and parted lips.

“You remembered?”

“What kinda dumb question is that?” He asks with a bit of a scoff. “‘Course I did, kid, now hurry up before I take the damn bottle back.” Daisy rolls her eyes and takes a swig, champagne bubbles popping on her tongue and going down smooth. It tastes expensive. She grins as she licks the excess from her lips and gives him the bottle back, and then he takes a swig from it himself before ruffling her hair. “Atta girl. Make any wishes?”

“I’d need candles for that.” He grins again and gives her a shrug.

“Sure we could work somethin’ out. Not like ol’ Adolf’s gonna need them. Y’know this place has a goddamn kitchen? Fully stocked.” He says, a sharp bite to the words. Daisy snorts, partially in disbelief.

“What, you're gonna make me a cake or something? I don’t know if I trust you around a stove while you’re drinking.” Joe laughs, a full sound accompanied by another ruffle of her hair. “Tell you what, you find me candles and I’ll make all the wishes in the world.” That seems to satisfy him, the grin not faltering as he looks up and past her. There’s a clearing of the throat, and Daisy turns around.

Ron stands in the doorway, straight-faced and looking between them, before his gaze focuses on Liebgott.

“I need to speak to Lieutenant Clarke, Liebgott,” he informs in that non-negotiable tone of his. As if they had important business to attend to among the pretty scenery and loungers arranged to overlook the woods below. Joe isn’t an idiot, so he nods, resigned.

“Yes, sir,” he responds with a salute, he walks back inside, disappearing into the building and Daisy watches as that stern look on Ron’s face practically melts away.

He’d been the first one up, with Malarkey and Alton. So it didn’t take a genius to know that wherever he’d stored his gear in this place — it would likely clink and clatter until it made its way to Vest at the post office to get all boxed up. He reaches up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, shorter strands that had fallen from its braid. Something about the mundaneness of the gesture makes her smile.

“One hell of a day,” Ron observes, giving her a knowing look.

“That’s a way to put it, yeah,” Daisy points out with a curious smile. He tilts her chin up with his knuckle until she’s looking at him completely.

“Make any wishes?”

“Didn’t you hear while you were creeping in the shadows? You can’t make a wish without candles.” She points out, and Ron rolls his eyes as he leans down to kiss her, her chin between his thumb and pointer. His lips taste like whiskey, and she can’t help but think back to the last time he drank — all weepy in her lap and dramatic in the morning. The grin that makes it onto her lips is enough to break their kiss. He gives her a half-hearted narrow-eyed look.

“I don’t creep.”

“Lurking then, it’s not a bad thing,” Daisy amends, and she can tell Ron is biting back what has to be a smile as he fishes around in his pocket.

“Fine. Lurking. Doesn’t matter, I got you something.”

“If it’s forks, I’m afraid Rita might have you beat there. I think the drawers might burst if we get any more.” Ron shakes his head immediately with a soft chuckle.

“Not forks, but good to know.”

What he produces from his pocket is much more delicate than the silverware or the candle holders or the hand mirrors.

It’s a sapphire pendant on a thin, silver chain. Delicate and pretty in a way that makes Daisy’s lips part on a gasp. She’d passed quite a bit of jewelry, but none of it were things she’d ever wear so she left it behind for someone else to take. It was all too chunky, too demanding of attention, too weighty in her hands. This was the opposite. Silver curls around that deep blue sapphire, holding it in place, but it was still the centerpiece in spite of the embellishments.

“Happy birthday, Dais,” he says simply. Daisy reaches up, fingers grazing the cold metal in awe. She then looks up at him, a million questions and statements all posed on her tongue.

“Can you put it on me?” is what she decides on, and to that he nods, and she turns around.

Fingers graze the back of her neck as his fingers work to fasten it. She doesn’t care about how he got it, where it came from — just that he’d picked it up not to mail home, but to give to her. And she shouldn’t expect anything less from him, but everything he does still manages to fill her with something that can only be described as pure wonder.

Ron is wonderful. 

It’s not an epiphany of any sort, if anything, she feels like it’s the most obvious statement she could make. Of course he’s wonderful. Because Ron remembers things about people and makes a point to apply it. Ron knows everything about her, he listens to her. He could’ve given her any of the countless too-chunky rings and necklaces left abandoned in town or in this building. But he doesn’t. He finds the thing he knows she’ll wear and gives that to her instead.

So maybe, she’s just a little bit awestruck at how he could love a person like her in such a way. With such careful precision.

She turns around, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him. His hands find her waist immediately, holding, squeezing as he returns her kiss with ease, remnants of champagne and whiskey mixing on their lips for a moment before they pull away — barely so, because her forehead presses against his and she makes a point to bump their noses.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Daisy breathes out without thinking. But she doesn’t pull away upon realizing what she’s said. She’d rather stare, and she’s glad she doesn’t look away, because he smiles. The rare one, where his eyes crinkle at the corners. Beautiful, breathtaking, rare but still Ron.

“Yeah? You love me?” Ron asks, his voice edging on a tease. It’s like watching years come off him in the span of seconds. He looks so boyish. She nods, cheeks flushing a bit at his tone, but his arms only wrap around her tighter.

“I do.”

He leans forward to kiss her again, briefer than before, but still firm against her.

“Then I love you too,” he mutters, then another kiss. “And when we go home,” kiss, “You know I’m marrying the hell outta you, right?”

Her heart skips a beat.

“Been thinking about that one for a while?” She asks, and Ron squeezes her hips, hazel eyes moving across her features as he examines her face.

“Figured to wait, that you’d want a ring that’s shiny and new and all yours.” And then he waits, leaving it open for her to contradict him — for her to object in any way she sees fit, but she doesn’t.

“You might have a point there.” She watches the way his smile returns.

“So is that a yes?”

Daisy reaches up to take his face in her hands, coarse stubble beneath her palms as she glides her thumbs over his cheekbones. Her turn to begin a sentence with a kiss.

“Ask me again in front of your mother with a ring that’s all mine, and then  you’ll get an answer. Promise.”

Marriage. The thought had always been there — she’d wanted to get married, at some point, to somebody. As a teenager the idea scared her a bit — the thought that she could pick the wrong person clashing with the fantasy in her head of white wedding gowns and her father walking her down the aisle. It only worsened when she found out about the cheating. If she dared think about anything that wasn’t work, or the war, or James, it would tread into territory of her future spouse wrapped up in a secretary or something. Loving someone that wasn’t her.

Ron isn’t just somebody. And the thought of marrying him doesn’t scare her at all. It’s like a piece snapping into place, something sound and correct that she can envision clearly, even if the details are hazy.

One day in a not-so-distant future, he’s going to ask her to marry him. And she’s a hundred percent certain that she’s going to say yes.

The door opens and with that, the whooping and laughter from Harry and Nixon bounce off the walls, bottles of what she can assume is whiskey on ice in a bucket tucked into his arm. She catches Ginny behind the two of them with a small smile on her face, shoulders shaking in laughter.

“There he is! We aren’t interrupting something, are we?” Lew asks, more hypothetical than anything as Ron lets his hands fall to turn around. Ginny, on the other hand, eyes the new piece on Daisy’s neck and gives her a knowing look.

Lew doesn’t wait for an answer, he throws himself on the lounger with a catlike grin, and Harry reaches for one of the bottles.

Ron gives her a look as Harry pops off the cap, and all Daisy does is laugh.

#fic // sad beautiful tragic #ronald speirs x oc #ronald speirs x ofc #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fic #hbo war fic #hbo war oc #hbo war ofc #told yall it would be at the end of the month #which like totally snuck up on me #but HERE IT IS!!

[georgieluz]

okay, it's about time i introduce one of my favourite ocs for band of brothers. she's based off my close friend and favourite person @footprintsinthesxnd and is 1/3 of the three J's running about causing chaos for our fave easy company men

JESSICA CAMPBELL | ALDBOURNE, ENGLAND | NURSE

jess grew up helping her family run their village veterinary clinic. this provided her with the experience and conviction to sign up to be a nurse when the war broke out. she meets eugene roe during his time training with easy company in england, alongside her childhood best friend, julian owens. jess and eugene train together in preparation to heal the men they eventually grow to call friends and family, but can they help heal each other when it matters the most?

this oc is a part of a shared world that jess and i write in, so to read some of jess' works that already feature her head over here

and to read about my other ocs head here

#oc: jessica campbell #julian writes #julian made a thing #dividers from cafekitsune #band of brothers oc

[stfrancisprayer]

a field of 40 head  ☆  clawhammer-style banjo  ☆  rainy season in the plains  ☆  the spencer-roper pump action shotgun  ☆  walkin’ after midnight  ☆  through my most grievous fault  ☆  dirt beneath broken fingernails  ☆  memento mori  ☆  the only thing i’ve ever wanted  ☆  home on the range

[playlist]

#(dj khaled voice) anotha one #im excited about her bc ive been writing/drawing for her since WAYYYY before i made my blog #band of brothers #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x ofc #band of brothers x oc #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #🧀 ; art #🧀 ; oc #🧀 ; home on the range