#eindhoven here we come

[palaugranetes]

Llegendes 💙❤️

Another hectic week..

On a more important note.. we are 2-0 in POs and WE ARE IN THE ¡FINAL! ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Have a great weekend my lovelies 🩷💜🤗

#Queens queening and basket boys basketing #eindhoven here we come #and Kaunas we are so close #🩷 #💜 #✨ #🤗 #💙❤️ #🥰 #✨them✨ #✨🥰✨ #✨💕✨ #Ale and Marta 💙❤️ #selfie fc #selfie friday #selfie #my gifs #mine #me #🤳 #Spotify

[pensat-i-fet]

Al teu costat (Pablo Gavi x Reader)

**Hi!! I got a request to do something similar to this Pedri imagine and I was trying to make it different enough and came up with this idea. Then somehow felt the need to add Catalan phrases to it because why not? Here we read, we laugh and we learn 😅 enjoy ❤️**

Word count: 2584

Masterlist

Wattpad

"You two go to Eindhoven for the women's Champions League and you two to Vigo. All clear?"

"Shouldn't I go to Eindhoven? I've been covering the women's matches all season".

"I know", says my boss. "But the men's team is going to Japan right after the match and we need you on that plane. I was about to tell you about that but you interrupted me".

"Who else is coming with me there?"

"It's just you", he says, surprising me. I haven't been doing this for long enough to be sent alone to any matches. Even friendlies.

He grabs my arm gently to move me away from everyone else. "I get it. You don't want people to know about you and Gavi and this is another opportunity for people to stick their noses where they don't belong but it's also a great opportunity for you to prove yourself. I know you can do this. And you'll be flying with the players too. So it won't be as bad".

Yeah well…it's also a 15-hour long flight so I doubt having my boyfriend there will magically fix everything.

But he's right. It's another moment to prove how good I am at my job. I'm still always the youngest and ever since the rumours about me and Pablo started to show up on social media, it's been tough. Everyone is paying way more attention to me than I wanted. And not for the reasons I wanted them to pay attention to me.

[You]: I'm going to Japan with you so one less gift for your list.

[Pablo]: you are? Your boss is the best! And you can sit with me on the plane.

[You]: I'll sit with the rest of the press. We don't want more rumours 🙄

[Pablo]: if you think I'm going to spend 15 hours on the same plane as you but not with you, you don't really know me 🤣

He's right, of course. But all my colleagues are always looking at us to see if we show any signs that we really are together. Probably to be the first ones to post about it online. It's so boring.

"Breathe, just breathe", says my colleague Adrià when we are about to take off.

"You say it like it's easy".

He just laughs. He's used to this because I always have to travel with him. "It'll be Pablito's job to remind you later. At least with him you can cuddle or whatever. It'll help".

"Yeah".

I hope it does. But for now, it's time to worry about the match. Concentrating on my job helps me clear my mind a bit. It always has. And before I realise, we’ve made it to Vigo. This flight was short. The next one…

This Celta-Barça match is the last one of the season for both teams. One is fighting to stay in La Liga while the other one won it weeks ago…and it shows. I mean, Pablo isn't even on the starting line up and he plays almost every match.

When Adrià and I are walking towards the radio section, we see him coming out to inspect the pitch, eating some sweets.

"Great pre-match meal, huh?"

"It's how I got all these muscles you like so much", he says, flexing his arm.

I shake my head while Adrià laughs. “You two are too cute”.

“Do you want one?”, says Pablo, showing us all the sweets he has in his pocket.

“Sure”, we both say, picking one each.

“See you later, gorgeous”.

“Too cute”, says Adrià again and I hit his arm.

The 2-1 win means Celta avoids relegation and the whole stadium celebrates the result. But for me, it’s time to get all my stuff and make my way to the airport. It’ll be Adrià who stays to do the interviews this time.

There aren’t many journalists travelling with the team, but they are all staring at me after one of them announced I’m going to be in the player’s area and not with them.

“We never even get to travel with the players anymore but she gets to be with them in first class while we get chronic back pain on those tiny seats”.

“Well, they have to keep little Gavi happy”.

Their laughs make me want to get up and leave but I won’t give them that satisfaction. But their comments get to me. Of course they do. And that’s why when the players show up and Pablo looks at me, I shook my head. I know it hurts him to be rejected, but he also understands why I have to do it.

And it’s only 15 minutes later that I get to join him, and the rest of the team, on the plane.

“Where do you want to sit?”

“I don’t have a preference”, I say, already feeling anxious. Pablo, on the other hand, is acting like an overexcited puppy. And that makes me want to try and hide my fear even more so I don’t ruin this for him.

“Let’s go there. Do you want the window seat?”

“No”.

He takes my laptop bag to put it away and then leads me to the seats he likes. This plane is so big. Too big. But it also feels very small. Can this piece of metal really stay in the sky for so long?

"Do you want some?", says Pablo, offering me more sweets.

"No, thank you".

"Must be the first time you say no to sweets but it's pretty late I guess", he laughs. "Do you want to watch a movie or nap?"

"Yeah", I say, not really listening to him.

"Yes to which one?"

“What?”

He gives me a funny look but doesn’t comment on my reaction. “Movie or nap? What do you prefer?”

“Movie”.

“And cuddles?”

“Of course”, I answer, trying to match his smile.

I try to just focus on the movie and Pablo’s arms around me, protecting me. But they can’t protect me from this fear. Nothing can.

“Tinc por” (I’m scared), I whisper, barely aware I'm speaking.

Pablo looks at me worriedly and not just because of what I said. He knows I only switch to speaking Catalan in front of him when I’m being serious about something. He found that out the few times he pissed me off. And I also do it when I wake up in the morning mumbling nonsensical stuff. But the rest of the time, I speak only Spanish to him. Even if he’s always trying to learn new words in Catalan to say to me because he knows I find that adorable.

"What are you afraid of?"

"Flying".

"What? Since when? You fly for work all the time".

"And it's horrible all the time".

“Why did you never tell me?”

“It’s not as if you could help”.

“So was I supposed to find out when we went on holiday together?”

“I guess. Are you mad I didn’t tell you?”

“Yes. I don’t want us to keep big secrets from each other. But I’m more annoyed I can’t do anything to help you. Should I ask for a sleeping tablet for you? If you’re sleeping you won’t feel bad”.

“I thought about taking one later”.

“Better if you do now and get some sleep. And I’ll have time to figure out how to help”.

“Are you going to Google for tips on how to help?”, I joke.

“Yes”.

“I’ve already tried them all but I appreciate it. I appreciate you”.

While we wait for the flight attendant who’ll bring me my sleeping tablet, I hold onto Pablo tightly. He’s the best remedy to all my problems and doesn’t know it.

"You can leave when I'm sleeping".

"No, I can't".

"Pablo, you've played for 45 minutes and need to move around a bit. You can't just sit for so many hours".

"Stop worrying about me".

"I'm your girlfriend. It's my job to look after you".

"And it's my job to look after you".

I just shake my head at his stubbornness, hiding a smile while I take the tablet. Hoping it’s a strong one that will knock me out for a good amount of hours, I put my head on Pablo’s shoulder and close my eyes.

"Pablo?"

"Yeah?"

"T'estimo molt (I love you so much)".

"I love you too. Sleep well now. You need the rest. I’ll be here by your side the whole time".

                                     **

When I wake up, I feel so groggy and confused. I notice a weight on my shoulder and see that it’s Pablo’s head resting there.

“Are you feeling better?”, whispers Robert when he notices I’m awake.

“Yes, thank you. I can’t move now, though”.

He laughs too before turning back to watch his movie. And I know I should grab my laptop to get some work done, which will also help me stop worrying about still being on the plane. How long until we get there? An hour and a half. I’ve slept for 13 hours. That’s…a lot.

I need to do something to avoid overthinking so I try and pick up my phone moving slowly.

“What are you…wait!”, seeing me awake wakes Pablo up immediately. “You ok?”

“Yes. I’m fine. We’re almost there and I have to do some work. That always helps”.

“I googled…”, his little blush makes me smile. “It didn’t help much. Unless you let me hypnotize you”.

“You already did. How do you think you managed to get me to date you?”

“So funny”, he says, rolling his eyes and smiling. “You really are feeling better?”

I nod. “And please tell me you didn’t stay all 13 hours here while I slept”.

“I didn’t. But I was always close and looking at you to make sure you were ok”.

“Good”.

I dedicate the last hour on the plane to work and thankfully, after all this suffering, we make it to Japan.

                                       **

Our routine to avoid people’s comments is exhausting. The team leaves the plane and I have to wait until they are all out. When we get to the hotel, it’s me who gets there first. I don’t get to stay in the same room as Pablo, but it’s the same hotel so just being seen together on the lift could create some drama. And then when some players leave for events they have to attend, we also leave the hotel at different times…only to meet at a café we saw when we got there.

“Fancy seeing you here”.

“Let’s go see the city. Away from all those jealous idiots”, says Pablo, taking my hand. A part of me fears that if he finds out what they say about me, he’ll stop giving them interviews. And that will make me the bad guy for sure.

After a nice romantic walk, we go back to the hotel to rest before the match. A match that doesn’t mean much football-wise but has a lot of sentimental value since it’s against Iniesta’s team. I grew up seeing him play so I’m as excited as all the players are.

The match ends with a 2-0 win for Barça and when I go back to the tunnel to hide from the rain, I hear Pablo calling my name.

“What is it?”

“Come with me”.

“Where?”

“Just come”.

“Pablo…”.

But he doesn’t listen to my protests, moving his hand to grab mine before realising what he’s doing and just telling me to follow him again. So I do.

“Here she is. My girlfriend”.

When I see who Pablo is talking to, I try not to freak out. He’s introducing me to Andrés Iniesta? I have to remind myself to be professional before talking.

“Hi…it’s really nice meeting you”.

“Nice meeting you too. Gavi told me you needed to record a little interview for the radio? I wasn’t going to do any but I guess I can make an exception for him. Or for you”, he laughs.

For a second, I just stare at Iniesta. He’s talking to me and wants me to interview him. How is this my life?

Pablo notices what’s going on and touches my arm to wake me up from my daydreaming.

“Yes. Just two minutes. Let me get my phone to record it. Thank you so much, really”.

While we record the interview, Pablo leaves to meet Iniesta’s kids and then we all leave the stadium and I don’t get to see him until we make it to the hotel.

“Thank you for the Iniesta interview. It’s…a dream”.

“I get it. It was also a dream to play against him”.

I smile at him, suddenly not caring at all about who sees us. “Do you want to hang out before we leave? I have to write an article but it shouldn’t take long”.

“I need to take a nap, sorry”.

“Ok”, I say, slightly disappointed. “I’ll see you at the airport, then”.

Three hours later, I’m surrounded again by all my lovely peers. Noticing their whispers doesn’t bother me anymore. Who cares what they think?

So when I see the players arrive, I walk towards them. I can notice all of them looking at me, surprised. But no one is as surprised as Pablo.

“What are you doing?”

“Hanging out with you guys”.

“Since when?”, laughs Eric. “I thought you were ashamed of being seen next to us”.

“Only of being seen next to you, García”, I joke back.

We keep chatting and get to the topic I didn’t want to think about.

“I didn’t know you were afraid of flying. I used to be a bit but now I do a lot better”, tells me Robert, and I don’t know if it’s true or just him trying to make me feel better but I appreciate it anyway.

“Yeah, it used to be worse for me too. But it’s still hard”.

"It's easier having your boy by your side, right?”, asks Eric.

“A little”.

Pablo grabs Eric’s arm so he can whisper in his ear. And Eric whispers back. What are they doing?

"Sempre al teu costat" (Always by your side).

“Sempre?” (Always?)

“Sempre”.

Even if I can notice everyone’s eyes on us, I hug my boyfriend. And once again, no one is as surprised by my actions as him.

“They can see us”, he whispers.

“Let them see us. I don’t care”.

After the hug, we keep hanging out with the rest of the squad. And when it’s time to board, I grab his hand and hold it until we reach the place.

But all the adrenaline from finally confirming what everyone suspected goes away when I’m back inside the plane.

“Don’t freak out. I got you some things”.

“You what?”

I turn to see Pablo getting a bag out of his backpack.

“I got these tablets which are supposed to calm you down. They have natural ingredients so you can have the sleeping tablet too if you need to. I also got you an eye mask. The lady at the store said you won’t be able to see anything so that might help too. And…where is it? Here! Pillow spray. It’s supposed to be good too, I don’t know. It smells like lavender, it’s nice. I’ll keep it if it doesn’t work”.

"When did you buy all of this?"

"When you were writing the article and I said I would just go nap".

“Why are you perfect?”

“Just trying to help”, he shrugs.

“Having you near me was enough but let’s try all of this!”

#pablo gavi #gavi #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi x y/n #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #pablo gavi fluff #footballer fluff

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 5: Breathe

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: two posts within a few days?? what's this?? anyways, this is a short kind of filler, so i hope you enjoy! this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Summary: People say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and that is nothing but true after (y/n) and Lewis are separated in the aftermath of Market Garden.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of wounds, straight fluff pining

OCTOBER, 1944: HOLLAND

For Lewis Nixon, the remainder of September had passed in a haze of numbness, and before he knew it, the calendar had turned to the first week of October. The once-warm Dutch air had seemingly overnight transformed into a chilling autumn breeze. On that crisp October day, he found himself in the Battalion CP, meticulously going over recovered German intelligence alongside Colonel Strayer. 

Amidst their focus, a knock echoed through the small office, momentarily breaking the officer’s concentration. Colonel Strayer, engrossed in his reports, responded without looking up, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Vest stuck his head inside, offering a brief salute to the ranking officers before holding something out for Nix. “Cap’n, I have a letter here for ya.”

His heart leaped in his chest as he accepted the letter, instantly recognizing the familiar handwriting on the envelope. It was (y/n)’s handwriting.

Three long weeks had passed since she had been evacuated to the field hospital, and if he were honest with himself, he didn’t know how much longer he could endure her absence. The void left by her departure was suffocating, and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe without her by his side. The mere sight of her handwriting brought a mix of emotions – hope, longing, and a sense of connection he had sorely missed, regardless of how they left things.

Sensing the importance of the letter, Strayer dismissed Nix with a friendly slap on the shoulder. “That’s enough for now, Captain. You’re dismissed.”

Rising to his feet, Lew quickly saluted his superior and stepped out of the CP, the chill of the autumn wind hitting him as he found a quiet corner to read the letter. His anticipation was palpable as he carefully tore open the envelope. 

As he read (y/n)’s words, he felt a rush of emotions that seemed to fill the void her absence had left behind. Her words were like a lifeline, connecting him to the woman he missed so dearly. 

September 29th, 1944

Lew,

How have you been? I hope you’ve not given Dick too much trouble yet. We both know how mischievous you can get without me there to supervise you. I miss you and the men dearly. 

The hospital is filled to the brim with injured men from Market Garden. Was it really as bad as everyone's said? Apparently, the British took more casualties than us. 

As far as my recovery goes, I’m feeling better by the day. It still hurts to breathe, and it’s also hard to walk without my stitches pulling painfully, but I’m gonna break out of this prison and come back to easy as soon as I can. This place is driving me crazy, Nix. Thankfully, the doctors said I should be out of here within the next few weeks. But will I wait that long? We’ll see. 

On another note, I didn’t get to properly apologize for the way I treated you before. Sure, I did say I was sorry, but we also thought I could die, so it felt a little rushed. So, I’m sorry for getting upset with you about Eindhoven. I know you were just trying to protect me. I hope you can forgive me. 

I’ve got to go on my daily walk around the hospital, so I’ve got one thing left to say…please don’t drink yourself away. If I hear one peep about you being drunk on duty, I will not hesitate to write Dick and ask him to throw out your stash. Just because I’m stuck here doesn’t mean you can stop taking care of yourself. 

Please stay safe,

(Y/n) (y/l/n)

Lew lowered the letter with a gentle sigh, a warmth spreading through him. She was recovering well, and that was the best news he could hope for. A soft smile played on his lips as he reread her words. In his mind, he could hear every sentence in her voice.

“If I hear one peep about you being drunk on duty, I…” he muttered to himself, chuckling at her playful threat. Even while confined to a hospital bed, she still was trying to take care of him.

“That from her?” A voice asked.

Nix looked up with a smile to see Dick approaching. “Yeah.”

"How is she?"

“Good,” he chuckled. “She threatened to get you to pour out all my whiskey if it became a problem.”

Dick shook his head with a grin. “I would do it, you know.”

“Oh, I know you would,” Lew replied, raising his eyebrows.

Silence settled between them, both men lost in their thoughts. 

“How are you doing?” Dick asked. “I know we haven’t been able to talk much with everything going on.”

Nixon grabbed his flask from his pocket and took a sip. “I’m alright. I miss her like crazy, though. It’s like…I don’t know, Dick. I think I’m in love with her.

The ginger’s eyes widened, locking onto Lew’s face, which bore a boyish smile. ”I’m glad you’re finally admitting it.”

“Now what do I do?” Nix chuckled bitterly. “We’re in the middle of a warzone and I’ve gone and fallen in love. They should put that on the recruitment posters, huh?”

Dick sighed, scanning their surroundings. “When she gets back you tell her.”

Lewis furrowed his eyebrows. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Everyone can see that she does, Nix. Trust me.”

A faint smirk tugged at Nix’s lips. “You know, Dick,” he remarked. “You’re not as bad as they say.”

Dick rolled his eyes and checked his watch. “I’ve got a meeting with Sink about our Market Garden casualties.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to be a part of that.”

Dick started to walk away but stopped and turned back to Nix. “Lew, be careful. You know there are rules, and the last thing I want to see is one or both of you getting in trouble.”

Nixon nodded. “Well, nothing’s happened yet, but I know. I will.”

With that, Dick walked around the corner, leaving Lewis alone with his thoughts. He took another gulp from his flask, the warmth spreading through him. Dick didn’t have to know every detail about his drinking habits.

Once (y/n) got back, though, he decided that he was going to reign it in. But until then, he reasoned, he could continue with whatever he needed to cope with the emptiness that had settled in his heart during her absence.

OCTOBER 31, 1944: AMERICAN 24TH EVAC HOSPITAL

(Y/n) lay in her uncomfortable cot, staring up at the blank ceiling as she had done for the last month. Although the nurses tried to give her some privacy by hanging sheets around her bed in the corner, it did little to block the sounds of snoring coming from Webster beside her. 

She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, but her side still ached from the wound. The pain was a constant reminder of their failed mission, and she longed to be back with Easy Company. The inactivity gnawed at her and the hospital walls felt like a prison.

The room was dimly lit by a flickering lamp, casting shadows across the walls. The war had taken a toll on everyone, physically and emotionally, so it wasn’t unusual to wake up to the horrifying sound of screams echoing through the halls. When the lights went out, it was the time when the hospital’s occupants became the most lonely. 

She missed the camaraderie, the shared laughter, and even the adrenaline-fueled moments of combat with her friends. But most of all, she missed him.

As she lay there, she couldn’t help but wonder how Lew was doing. His absence was keenly felt, and she longed for his familiar presence and snarky attitude. She knew he had his demons and struggles, but they all did. The war had a way of shaping and breaking people in unpredictable ways. 

A sudden noise from outside the room startled her, and she strained her ears to listen. The distant rumble of a jeep and the murmur of voices reached her. She imagined Lew out there in the field with Dick, and it brought her a sense of comfort to think of the duo out there doing what they did best, and that they were watching each other’s backs. With that thought in mind, she closed her eyes and tried to push aside the pain, allowing herself to drift into a restless sleep.

The small squeak of boots on the tile floors awoke the (y/h/c) with a startle. Her breathing quickened as she sat up slowly and pulled back the curtain, revealing someone with a familiar screeching eagle and medic patch a few feet away.

“Gene?” She whispered, face contorted in confusion.

The Cajun turned quickly and smiled distantly as he recognized her. “(Y/l/n). How are ya’ doin’, cherie?”

She took a moment to glance at his blood-smeared ODs, realizing what had brought him to the hospital at such a late hour must have been bad, so she didn’t question him about it. 

“I’m ready to bust out of here.”

He sighed, a knowing grin painting his lips. “Are you healed up enough to bust out?”

“Yes,” (y/n) nodded enthusiastically. “Doc said any day now.”

Gene raised an eyebrow, approaching her cautiously. “Let me see. If I think it’s healed well enough, I’ll take you back with me tonight. If not, you’ve gotta stay, alright?”

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of reuniting with Easy. “Wait. Seriously? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Just like that.”

Suppressing a wince, she carefully laid down on her back and pulled up her shirt, revealing the thick white bandage that was wrapped around her side. Gene, ever the respectful young man, looked up at her for confirmation before he began unwrapping it.

As Roe carefully unwrapped the bandage, (y/n)’s healing wound was revealed. The site of the injury was marked by bruised, discolored skin, and a well-defined entry point where the bullet had torn into her body. 

Gene leaned in, his eyes focused and gentle as his hands hovered over the wound. He was meticulous and caring in his inspection. His fingers probed around the entry point with a practiced tenderness, gauging the healing process and the neatness of the stitches. He checked for any signs of infection, monitoring the redness and warmth around the stitched area. His eyes scanned for swelling or abnormal discharge, all signs that would indicate the need for further care. 

(Y/n) winced slightly as he pushed on a sensitive area where the stitches were pulling on her skin, and Gene immediately eased his touch, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Cap’n Nixon will be glad,” he smirked, wrapping up the wound.

(Y/n)’s eyes lit up. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes ma’am. It looks good. I’ll just tell the officers to put you on light duty until you’re a hundred percent.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She whispered, excitement brimming in her voice as tears threatened to fill her eyes.

Gene smiled warmly. “You’re welcome, cherie. Everyone’ll be glad to have you back.”

As Roe left to inform the necessary people, (y/n) settled back on her cot, a surge of relief and happiness coursing through her. She was going back to Easy, and she couldn’t wait to reunite with her comrades, especially a certain intelligence officer whose absence had left a void that was now going to be filled.

Tag List: @softguarnere @mrsgeorgeluz @flowers-and-fichte @inglourious-imagines @peggyvan @rebeccapearson @hxad-ovxr-hxart @merriell-allesandro-shelton @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @titiglt @stvrkdream @multifandomfanfic @pastexistence

message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list!!!

#band of brothers #mads' fandoms #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #hbo war #lewis nixon #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagines #easy company #lewis nixon x reader #mads' writing mania #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon angst #lewis nixon x reader angst #dick winters #richard winters #bill guarnere #carwood lipton #hbo war fanfic #hbo war imagines #hbo war imagine #lewis nixon imagine #lewis nixon x reader fluff #lewis nixon x y/n #hbo war x reader #band of brothers edit #band of brothers series #lewis nixon x reader series #lewis nixon series #lewis nixon imagine series

[liptonsbabe]

A Ribbon for my family

Richard Winters x fem! oc

Inktober : "Grief"

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, war, a little bit of angst.

a/n: well hello! This is a little something that I did for the inktober! (@fayestardust) I'm not an artist but I thought it would be cute to write a few fics for our favorite boys on this month! Hope you like it!

Btw English is not my frst language so tell me if something's wrong

ofc this is based on the hbo series and the actors who portray the characters, no disrespect for the real heroes!

It was past midnight when the sky in Eindhoven was glistened by the bombing. Orange, red, and yellow lights covered the city and the fire could be felt from miles away. You sighed in pain. You were wounded during the attack in Nuenen and in the retreat, fire from one of the explosions hit your arm.

Eugene Roe checked your wounds and tried to heal them as best as he could. He asked you to get some sleep that night and to let him know if you have any complications that he had not anticipated. You promised to do so, but the truth was that there was something worse than your injuries that was bothering you.

The image of Private Miller dying in front of you made your heart ache like never before during the war. He was one of the many replacements that had come into the division, and even though you hadn't known him since Toccoa like all the others, you were able to talk to him a couple of times and laugh along with the other replacements about your stories before you went into the army.

Most of the replacements were practically kids and a sense of protectiveness was ignited in you from the first moment.

You remembered the day when, whilst you talked with David Webster, you overheard Cobb ask Private Miller about the ribbon he proudly wore on his chest and you rolled your eyes when Cobb laughed at the replacement of how nervous he'd gotten.

"it's a Presidential Distinguished Unit Citation" he said, trying to smile through the embarrassment. Webster looked at you, irritated by Cobb's bullshit. You sighed and kept listening "For huh… for what the regiment did in Normandy."

"That's right, for what the regiment did. And as far as I know, you weren't there."

"Hey, hey, ease up, Cobb, hm?" asked Hoobler, drinking a beer beside you "Let the kid alone. It's a Unit citation."

Cobb shrugged his shoulders and went on as if nothing had happened, as if his words hadn't hurt a huge portion of the people there, not just the replacements. Your blood boiled as you watched Private Miller take off the ribbon from his chest and leave it on the table before getting up and walking out of the room.

You'd never felt so annoyed with Cobb before, not even some of the times he made sharp comments about you back in Toccoa, or when he downplayed your position as an officer just because you were a woman in a man's world.

Your fists tensed and Webster had to put a hand over you to stop you from doing something, but he couldn't stop you. You got up from your seat and walked over to where Miller had been earlier. Cobb looked at you, lifting his chest, as if the lieutenant's insignia you wore on your shirt collar meant nothing.

"So, for what the regiment did in Normandy, huh" you said, holding his gaze. He nodded

"That's right."

"I guess you of all people here know what happened that day, don't you? The jump" Cobb had his beer in his hand and you took it from him to take a big sip without looking away. By that time, the eyes of the entire pub were on you "Tell me, how was it?"

He cleared his throat but said nothing. You smiled and looked at the replacements who, confused, looked at Cobb waiting for an answer. You turned your head and looked at Bull. He just approached, annoyed at Cobb's harsh words. Randleman winked and took a long drag on his cigarette .

"Bull, do you remember seeing Private Cobb meeting up with the others after we landed?"

"No, lieutenant."

"And when the Kraut 88s got blown up?"

"I don't think so, Lieutenant."

"But surely he was at Carentan, wasn't he?

"No, ma'am."

"Well, then it seems to me that you didn't fight in fucking Normandy either," you told him putting the beer down on the table. Then you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him towards you until your noses touched. His back was tense and you could hear the muttering of the guys in the bar.

"I… i got hit in the plane before i got a chance to jump."

"That's fine. A lot of people here had the same thing happen to them and didn't get to fight alongside the others, but that doesn't make them any less deserving of the recognition of being here, risking their fucking lives in a godamn war. Being a Toccoa man doesn't give you the right to feel superior to the replacements who, like you, don't even know what it's like to be in real combat. Otherwise, you can give me your ribbon right now" You let go of his tie and extended your hand in front of him waiting for him to do so, however, it didn't happen and in return, he just looked away. You rolled your eyes and grabbed Private Miller's ribbon from the table. The replacements looked at you and you smiled "Keep enjoying the evening, yeah? You deserve it just like everyone else."

You left the room and looked around the bar for Private Miller until you found him walking towards the door. You followed him and before he could leave, you grabbed him by the arm.

"Private Miller, I think you left this."

"Lieutenant, thank you but uh…that's not mine."

"Sure it is" you said and put the ribbon on his uniform. You placed the little rectangle where it should be and gave it a couple of taps with your finger "You are part of us now and you should wear this on your uniform as everyone else."

"Even though I didn't fight to get them properly?"

"All of us here have fought for a greater good. In this company there is no 'me' or 'you' there is only 'us.' And this ribbon was achieved on behalf of all of those who believe in that unity, including you, kid. Don't listen to Cobb, he's just... Different"

Miller smiled. His cheeks reddened.

"Thank you, lieutenant."

"I want to see that ribbon where it belongs, you hear me?" You pointed at him and he laughed

"As you command, ma'am."

"You'd better, private, because if you don't, I'll give you latrine duty!"

Miller stood at attention and saluted. You laughed

"Yes ma'am!"

A tear fell on Private Miller's dog tags which were stained with blood. You had grabbed them from his neck before Lipton had pulled you to retreat that night. As you watched Eindhoven being bombed, you put the dog tags in your uniform pocket and silently promised him that you would send the ribbon intact to his family.

"A penny for your toughts?" You heard Dick Winters' voice, slowly approaching until he was at your back, watching the lights in the sky. You sighed as you tried to wipe away your tears "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, everyone is dig in for the night and you're the only one still awake."

"I couldn't sleep even if I tried."

Suddenly you felt his hands on your waist embracing you in a hug that warmed your heart, his chin rested on the top of your head and he pulled you tighter against his body

"Surely they won't be waving so many Orange flags at us tomorrow"

"No, they won't"

"I don't like retreating"

"First time for everything, I guess"

"Nixon told me the same thing. It doesn't lift my spirits much."

"This is hell, Dick," you said and turned to him. Dick noticed the tears in your eyes "I knew the war would be… difficult, exhausting, but I never thought over anything like this"

"We lost a lot of men today" he whispered cupping your cheeks "It's been… hard for all of us but we have to keep moving. We have to go on, for those who are no longer here, with us."

You nodded and let him wipe away your tears. He rubbed your arms lovingly and gave you a half smile wanting to lift your spirits.

Then, you thought you could spend the rest of the night doing something better, something useful.

"Who'll write to the soldier's families who died today?"

"I was going to, but…"

"Can I do it?"

"Do you want to?"

"Yes. I…I think I could do with spending the night writing letters. I don't want to watch this anymore."

"Okay, then do it" His strong arms wrapped around you and he buried his nose in your hair. You couldn't see him, but you were sure he had closed his eyes as he sighed slowly. You clung to him and felt his dog tags against your face. You thought to yourself that perhaps, at some point in the war, you'll have to send a letter to his family along with his dog tags or that he'll have to do the same for you. You squeezed him tighter against your body and asked your god to get you out of that place alive "Just a moment. Stay here with me"

"i'll always be here for you"

#dick winters #band of brothers #eugene roe #hbo war #lewis nixon #bandofbrothersedit #carwood lipton #bill guarnere #bob #easy company #bull randleman #donald malarkey

[samwinchesterslostshoe]

-Denouement-

“Was there any meaning to life or to war, that two men should sit together and jump within seconds of each other and yet never meet on the ground below?”

-David Kenyon Webster-

David Webster x Female OC

Word count: 4,7K

Notes: In the book: “Parachute Infantry” by David Webster. He tells the story of what happened after we saw him get shot in episode 5, Crossroads. How he had to walk several miles across muddy fields to find safety in a farmhouse, where he was later picked up by two soldiers from F company and brought to an aid station. The first chapter of this fic loosely ties into that. Making some small changes to fit the plot better and tie in the main character Marie.

This story is based on the tv shot Band of Brothers, and the fictional portrayal of the actors playing the characters in the show.

Part 1

The Island – Holland.

October 5th, 1944.

Kenyon.

With the shock, confusion and the rush of adrenaline slowly wearing off, Webster could feel the hurt in his leg growing. His before almost numb calf was now throbbing with pain. The blood on his pant leg, having mixed with the mud of the ditch made it hard to tell just how bad his wound was.

Blankly staring at the field that lay ahead of him, he found himself faced with two choices. Stay in the ditch, safe between the side of the small dike leading up to the road, protected from possible enemy artillery, - but no medics would pick him up here. Or make a run for it across the open field, - where it would be just a matter of time before he would be spotted and shot down., -Dying in a muddy field in the middle of Holland, surrounded by nothing but barbed wire fences and the remains of heavy artillery fire. But Death didn’t bother him, at least not anymore. What he wanted more than anything in the world was to get out of here. To eat something other than K rations and to sleep in a real bed again.

To some it might have even seemed selfish. - not caring anymore about what happened to the men in the trench next to you, who not even an our ago you were fighting alongside with. Both trying everything you had in you just to make it through another mission. But if he wanted to stay alive, ever see home again, then wasting time thinking about the others might cost it his. So a decision was made.

Limping across the open field. - clutching the Kraut poncho he had come across, a piece of fabric that almost cost him his life. By God if he got back home empty handed, he could never forgive himself.

Panting heavily, he stopped for just a second in the middle of the mucky field to inspect the silhouette of a large farmhouse. Under different circumstances, the barn would have been lovely, picturesque even, - with its white picket fences, stained glass windows and painted shutters. The kind you would see on postcards and bring back with you to the States, so when people asked him, “So what was Holland like?” He could show them that picture. But now the once lively home lay cold and barren. No animals grazed outside, some of the colorful windows had shattered and the shutters were now nailed shut.

To him it was nothing more than a temporary haven. Slowly stumbling up along the dirt path leading up to the house, he was met by a middle-aged Dutch farmer. The men bore a stern look on his face. Just for a second, looking the man straight in the eye, he was afraid the man might shoot him. He must have seen his allied uniform because soon, the man was next to his side, putting his arm over his shoulder and slowly carrying him into the house.

Marie.

The house was stuffy and held air filled with fear and anxiety, making it difficult to think straight. For almost a month now people had come in and out of the house seeking help and shelter. Some she knew. Some she didn’t. Not that it mattered much anymore since it was best to not get attached to these people.

Ever since the Allied forces had jumped into Eindhoven, and the battle over Island had started four days ago. There was nothing she could do anymore. Being stuck between the Lower Rhine on the north, and the Waal on the south. All contact with her both her friends and her connections at the Dutch underground resistance had been lost. Leaving her completely powerless and in the dark. There was no feeling worse than knowing the people you love and care about so deeply are being unjustly taken, tortured, and murdered for the simple act of existing. Nothing more but a name you just so happened to be born into. And all those who choose to help right the wrong were met with a similar faith.

All these thoughts however quickly disappeared when the loud bangs of German artillery fire exploded close by the house. They couldn’t have been more than a few kilometers away since the old stained-glass windows dangerously rattled in their frames and dust fell from the ceiling. Still, she tried to ignore them as best she could. Explosions had been going of regularly for the past few days. She was sure it was nothing. It was strange how quickly one can become accustomed to these things. Explosions now being as common as a barking dog or Sunday’s church bells.

Awakened out of her thoughts by another string of loud thuds. The explosions seemed to slowly creep in on the farmhouse. Trying to shrug it off became harder and harder when the smaller children in the house began to yell out and run to their mothers for comfort. Her dad now bore a concerned look on his face and softly muttered something she couldn’t quite make out when another loud Bang got the whole house shaking. “Naar de kelder!” screamed her father as he urged her younger siblings, along with everyone else in the house to get into the basement. ‘Just to be safe..” he muttered.

Helping her father get smaller children and elderly get down the stairs into the danky basement first. Marie caught a glimpse of something through the window out of the corner of her eye. Just for a split second she could have sworn she saw someone walking towards the house. But just as soon he had appeared he was now gone again. Alerting her father about the possible danger seemed like the best thing to do. Except the place where he stood just a second before, the top of the stairs leading to the basement was now completely empty. “Pap?!” Marie screamed into the basement. No answer. Panic seared through her body quickly making place for concern when suddenly hushed voices and clattering could be heard coming from the kitchen.

Kenyon.

The farmer took him inside, taking in the sight of the wonderfully big, old timey kitchen. Cutlery, plates, and pans filled with food still on the table. “Enough to feed the whole platoon,” he thought. A wave of resentment washed over him. What have these people done to deserve to eat fresh, cheese and bread? While he, alongside with the rest of the men in his company must fight on nothing more than canned meats and powdered lemonade while fighting for their freedom? While deep in thought, he had failed to notice the slowly growing audience that had begun to form alongside him in the kitchen.

Most noticeably, the eyes of the young woman, leaning against the door frame of the kitchen entrance. The way she looked at him made him feel uneasy. Her pale skin and hollow cheeks showed signs of malnourishment. A wave of guilt washed over him for having resented these people just seconds before. Beneath her furrowed eyebrows lay tired green eyes that felt like they pierced right through him. He couldn’t quite make out if the look she was giving him was one of concern or one of pure hatred. Despite all these things Something about her seemed to captivate him. Feeling very unpresentable in her presence. He must have made quite the sight. His uniform was covered in a mixture of blood and caked up mud and dung. The fabric tattered and ripped, exposing the filthy skin beneath.

The elderly men who had helped him inside, who he assumed was her father, helped him into an old kitchen chair, shoving a glass of water into his hands. Giving him the opportunity to take a better look at the other people in the room with him. Some children who looked at him with big eyes, clutching to the skirts of their mothers. Young boys excited and curious as to who this filthy stranger was sitting in front of them was, and elderly couples trying to show their compassion as best they could.

He didn’t know any Dutch and the little German he had picked up didn’t prove very useful. Luckily, and to his surprise, the Dutch seemed to be very well spoken in English and communication went easy. He tried explaining to the father that he was an American paratrooper and needed help. The man nodded and spoke something in Dutch to a little boy. Who nodded, and before shooting just a quick glance at him, ran out the door. With having the important information out of the way, his attention could now be focused back to the girl. She stood with her back turned to him, ushering all the other people out of the kitchen along with her father, who scattered back into the other parts of the house with disappointed looks on their faces. Turning to him and closing the kitchen door behind her now left just the two of them in the room. The air grew thick and tense. Making his heart beat at two times a pace.

Or maybe it was just him. Maybe he had lost to much blood on the way over here causing to have irradicle thoughts. Her back was now turned to him yet again as she filled up some bowls with fresh water at the small kitchen sink. Hastily looking through various cabinets and drawers.

“What’s your name?” her voice was soft. It didn’t seem to carry any hate or annoyance, making him feel a bit more at ease. “Webster, David.”

“David...,” she repeated quietly, before giving him the chance to ask for her name she responded.

“Marie.”

“It’s Marie. Short for Marieke, but please just call me Marie.”

Marie. the name suited her well.

Marie.

David. Kneeling in front of him to put down the bowl of clean water and some torn bed sheet linen, gave her an opportunity to take a closer look at the man’s face. Icy blue eyes stood out against his unshaven and dirty skin. Despite being obviously worn out and exhausted, he looked at her with a nervous eyes that made her wonder if she might have come off as too harsh. A thing that these days seemed to happen more and more frequently. With a loud rip she tore off the fabric off his blood soak pant leg, making him shift uncomfortably in his chair. “It’s alright, I am a nurse,” she reassured him, “I’m just going to have a look at your leg.” “Okay?”

“A nurse?” When she looked up at him a slight grin had appeared on his face, making it hard not to smile a little too. “Well, a nurse in training at least.”

“Oh great, he huffed. Making her want to hit herself for saying such a stupid thing and wanting to hit him for giving her such a stupid response. Ungrateful bastard, she thought.

Having almost read her mind, he responded, “Well, I would much rather have a nurse in training then those boys back at base who stick three needles of morphine in you and call it a day,” he said while smiling.

Letting out a deep breath and focusing her attention back down at his leg, she could feel his eyes prying at her, following her every move, making it hard to stay focused and take in a proper diagnosis. The bullet had torn clean through his calf, missing the main artery thus making the bleeding non-fatal, but still being bad enough to buy the man a ticket home.

“You’re in luck,” she said looking back up at him. “It’s nothing more than a flesh wound but still bad enough to get you back to your family.”

“You call this lucky?” He grinned.

Christ, she thought. Here we have another G.I Joe who is so full of himself, thinking he is above everyone else. In her eyes, Americans were all the same; obnoxious, rude, and loud.

Even though she knew he was just joking, trying to get on her nerves a little, his sarcastic tone and manner of speaking made her stomach turn into a tight knot, making her pace quicken while still trying to clean the ripped and torn flesh to the best of her abilities.

“All Done,” she said, quickly tying of some makeshift bandages around his leg. Standing up to have a closer look at his face.

Reading people had always been one of her strong suits. Knowing what people’s true intentions were just by the way they looked at her. Knowing when someone was stressed or nervous by the way they fidgeted with objects around them. It was what made Marie one of the best nurses in her class. But with him it was different. She couldn’t make out what he was thinking, and that frustrated her. His mouth so vulgar and sarcastic, but bearing a profound sadness in his eyes. Or was it admiration?

Before she even knew it the words were out of her mouth. “Christ you look horrible.”

For a split second her heart stopped, and her face turned to stone, afraid of having offended the soldier. Did she really say that out loud? But before she even had the time to think of an apology a laugh appeared on David’s face. Suddenly all the sadness and exhaustion seemed to disappear from his body.

“I’m sure I do,” he said still laughing.

“I really didn’t mean to offend you. I just meant to say I am sure you have been through a lot,” Marie responded in a breathy voice.

“I know.”

“Good.”

An awkward silence fell between them and she found herself frantically looking around for something to focus her attention to other than David’s eyes. Finally settling on getting some more clean water and a towel.

“The other people in the house, are they all family of yours?” He asked her.

“Some of them, most of them are neighbors, some family friends. Most of their homes were taken by the Germans, the rest destroyed. I returned home as soon as I heard word that the allied forces were moving into town.”

Kenyon.

Conversation was never his strong suit, around Marie the air felt dense, and the words seemed to choke in his throat. On a happy note, however, focusing his attention on her had made him completely forget about the gaping hole that had once been his calf. Clumsily getting up from the chair to lean on the sturdy wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, he took off his helmet, raking his hands through his muddy curls. His stomach growled at the sight of what had been the family’s dinner still standing on the table. Hopefully she didn’t hear it.

“Hungry?” she asked him.

Crap. She did.

“Let’s get you cleaned up a bit first.” Suddenly she was standing in front of him, a wet washcloth in hand. “May I?” she asked him.

He nodded in approval. She brought the cloth up to his face and very gently began at wiping away the build up sweat, mud and blood he wasn’t even sure was his own caked on his skin. The warm water tuning out all his thoughts. This must be what heaven was like, right? Closing his eyes wishing he could stay like this forever. When he opened his eyes again, he was met by a green pair staring right back into his. A blush must have appeared on his face because the corners of her mouth had moved upward, repressing a smile. He tried to find something else to turn his attention to, away from those praying eyes of her. Settling on her dirty blond hair that before he arrived, must have been pinned up into a neat hairdo. But now hang loosely around her face.

The silence seemed to grow louder with every passing minute. Not being able to bear it anymore and wanting, craving to hear the sound of her voice again, he asked her, “Why did you become a nurse?”

Her face formed into a tense frown, and he wished he had just kept his trap shut.

“It’s allright if you don’t want to tell me,” he quickly spoke.

“No, I do,” she responded.

“It’s probably for the same reason you joined the army. The airborne is made up of volunteers, right?”

He nodded.

“How can you stand back and do nothing knowing the people you love are slowly being taken away from you. Being a nurse just seemed like the right thing to do”

He looked her straight into her eyes: “I know the feeling”

Her small hands still cupping his cheeks. No words where said. No word needed to be said.

He knew the feeling all too well.

He held her gaze, his heart racing again. Taking the time to take in the features of her face. She seemed too wonderful to be in such a filthy place, surrounded by constant death and despair. It was after all just a matter of time before she too would die.

She drew in a sharp breath, “Let’s get you something to eat,” she said in a shaky voice, abruptly breaking eye contact. She immediately went to work, grabbing some ingredients left over the family’s dinner. Whatever she was cooking up it smelled delicious. Never in his life did he remember being this starved. She could serve him moldy bread and stale cheese and he would put both his hands around her face and kiss her.

While he quietly sat and admired her work, he quickly swallowed eight sulfathiazole pills to prevent his wound from getting infected. When it would be his time to go, it would be something worth dying for. Certainly not an infection.

She brought out two big plates stacked with something resembling pancakes topped with strawberry jam.

“Pannekoeken!” she said exility, “have as much as you like.” She smiled, putting down two giant plates, along with warm milk and cups of hot coffee. Not knowing when the next time would be he would get to eat again, he made sure to finish every crump. It didn’t take long until the two plates where completely empty.

“Thank you,” he said with a mouthful of food. “I mean it”

“No need to thank me, it’s the least I am able to do. After all I am just doing my job, being a nurse and all. Remember?”

While he finished drinking up the last few drops of the bitter coffee, several small children dressed in worn overalls wearing small wooden clogs had come into the room. While remaining at a safe distance from him, they started whispering to each other about something he couldn’t make out. “They’re asking what happened to you,” Marie turned her head towards him while pointing at the children. “It’s quite alright if you don’t want to answer. I can send them away if you want?”

“It’s quite the gruesome story, I’m not sure if it is appropriate for children,” he huffed.

“They can handle it,” she said to him. “Unfortunately, they have already seen and heard much worse I am afraid.”

He told her all about the battle on the island. The German platoon they had taken out and how some of their men had been wounded by their own air support. The long and tiresome way to safety. The piece of cloth he had risked dying for and the enemy artillery he had encountered on his way. All while she translated his words to Dutch to tell the children. Their looks of fear slowly changed into those of awe.

Just before Marie was about to send the children out of the kitchen back into the living room again, he remembered the German poncho stuffed in his OD’s.

“Wait, just a moment,” he mumbled while rumbling his hands through his pockets, looking for the piece of cloth.

“Here, I want to give them something if that’s okay?” A confused look appeared on Marie’s face. “As long as it’s not a weapon,” she said sarcastically while furrowing her eyebrows.

“Ah, found it!” he pulled the poncho out of his jacked and cut the fabric in two using his trench knife. The children’s eyes widened, and a wide smile appeared on Marie’s face. It was the first time he had had seen her smile since he had come in. A real smile.

The children took the pieces of poncho excitedly, thanking him eagerly and ran out of the kitchen to show their parents their newfound treasure.

She looked at him with that smile of hers still lingering on her lips. Just as she opened her mouth to thank him, two men burst into the kitchen with a loud crash making her jump and run to wall behind him for protection.

Marie.

Her heart raced as she stood pressed firmly against the wall behind her. David seemed to show no signs of fear or anger. She took a better look at the two men now coming up to them. Upon closer inspection she saw the American flag sewn onto their jackets and a red cross armband around their arms causing her to let out a deep breath and unclench her fists.

“Oh Christ, Webster, it’s you” one of the soldiers sighed. “The little boy told us a Limey soldier was dying up here.”

David laughed, “all for nothing, isn’t it? Well, give me a hand. I suppose I have to get out of here.”

A tight pang sprung into her chest. Even though she knew not to get emotionally attached to her patients. She was afraid she might have grown attached to the soldier.

Just like that he would be gone. He wouldn’t even remember her name five minutes from now, and by the time he would be back home or on the boat to England, he would have forgotten about her all together.

“I will be right outside, give me just a minute,” David said while turning to look at her.

So he hadn’t forgotten completely after all. One of the soldiers winked at David and took the other one by the sleeve of their jacket, pulling him outside to leave just her and David alone in the kitchen again.

She managed to pull herself loose from the wall and slowly inch towards him.

Despite the many things she still wanted to ask him, tell him, her mind seemed to go completely blank, and no words came out.

“Well, I guess I will be going then. Thank you, for everything. I mean it,” he said sincerely. “And please thank your father for me as well.”

He turned around walking slowly towards the door. Was this really how their story would end? with a lousy thankyou and goodbye.

No. She couldn’t let it end like this. Too many friends were lost whose last words to her were those of lousy goodbyes. Or worse, no goodbyes at all.

Adrenaline rushed through her veins and all concept or rationality and formality seemed to disappear. She walked up to him and grabbed his shoulder tightly, making him turn around to face her. She cupped his face with both hands and pressed a firm kiss on his lips. Her heart seemed to beat out of her chest, and she could have sworn she could hear his heartbeat just as loud.

He pulled his lips from off hers and looked her deep in the eyes. For a second, she thought she may have offended him. Christ what even was she thinking? He may have a loving girlfriend waiting at home, a wife even. David leaned into the crook of her neck. “If it takes getting shot for me to get to kiss you, it has been worth everything,” he muttered.

He grabbed her waist, pulling her close. This kiss was different, hungry, desperate.

“Webster! Outside now! No time to lose,” one of the medics yelled, breaking their kiss.

“Best to make this quick,” he said, pressing a hasty kiss onto her forehead.

“Saying goodbye will never be easy, will it?” She whispered.

“I have to go.” He sounded cold. The adrenaline had worn off and the sharp pain in her chest had returned.

“I know. Go.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Kenyon.

What is war without sacrifice, he thought as he sat on the back of the medic’s bike, cycling to a nearby aid station further and further away from the farmhouse, until it was completely out of sight at last. How cruel to find love only for it to be ripped away from you the second you get too close. ‘If I survive this war,’ he thought, ‘I will come back here, to this little farm in the middle of Holland. I will find you, love you, marry you. I will never have to put on a uniform for the rest of my life and you will never have to stain your fingers with blood ever again.

Thank you so so much @footprintsinthesxnd for proofreading, fixing my many, many grammatical errors, and encouraging me to keep writing:))

My taglist: @ronsparky @whollyjoly @next-autopsy @luckynumber4 @barbeygirl @dustyjumpwingz @xxluckystrike @heystovepipeboys @sweetxvanixlla @kafka-ohdear @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @iceman-kazansky @bucky32557038ww2

#band of brothers #hbo war #david webster #david kenyon webster #band of brothers fic

[heymikewaskom]

today W wanted to wear a hat and wear it backwards like me. she's such a joy to spend time with. even at mundane places like the grocery store.

I really am pushing it to get this post out before midnight, but here we are. 10:48p. It's hard to believe that this year i got divorced. well, we're not finalized yet, but my lawyer sent over the final draft of the decree or whatever this morning at 4am. she was fucking up, and, insanely, i was too. all the tropes are true, all the things that people say to comfort you are trite. i'm going to be ok. i am also massively sad about this whole thing. for better or for much worse, i really didn't see this coming. in the way you think your car is old and shitty but will still get you to work, and you just take for granted that it'll start on a cold morning, i just assumed that we were in a ebb and would eventually flit back into a flow. our problems with communication would sort themselves out. but they didn't. the car wouldn't crank, and we were bound to repeat the cycle that we had experienced as children. i probably still love ashley. maybe not in true romantic way, but as much as everything she is to me makes me angry i still love her for who she is to wilder. it's one of those contradictory quirks about life that just make you shrug.

I skated a lot this year, and really connected with some amazing friends through that. those guys helped me immensely and i'll never be able to thank them. skating with them in Raleigh in the spring was one of my favorite trips ever. we're also going to Eindhoven this feb for an event with a bunch more people. then back to Raleigh/durham in april. it's something to look forward to when times are so fucking bleak. I've lost about 30 pounds since june. it feels ok, but my clothes look silly on me, and i can't really afford a new wardrobe, and even if i could i'm sentimental to the point of mental illness and can't bare to throw anything away(everything-reminds-me-of-her.elliott-smith/song)

anyway, what a life. i don't know how to proceed, aside from waking up and going forward. i guess that's what most people in recorded history did, but i'm just smart enough to realize how trivial and pointless it is, and how i know for certain all of the hope i had as a young man about success are completely out of reach and just dumb enough to not make any of my dreams a reality(too dumb for nyc, too ugly for LA).

it's bleak, but it's mine. i'll see you in 2024. god knows it's the least i can do.

#soc #personal #divorce #2024 #lifem

[phyllisthefirst]

[Masterlist] [on ao3]

George Luz x OC

George and Phyllis finally meet again!

Warnings: Depictions of war, mentions of injury and death, blood.

Tagging: @next-autopsy, of course!

As always, this fic is entirely about the fictionalized representations of the men of Easy Company that we see on the show. I mean no disrespect to the real men by writing this.

No tired sigh, no rolling eye, no irony - Part 7

Jumping into Holland goes exactly according to plan and then completely off the rails. 

Nuenen is a wake-up call after they’ve let themselves become complacent in Eindhoven, celebrating with the locals as if they’d already won the war. Nuenen, and the weeks following their hasty and humiliating retreat, make it very clear that that’s not the case. 

Autumn in Holland is dreary and boring, long stretches of sitting around interrupted by the occasional skirmish with scattered German troops - until the battle at the crossroads happens, and a few Germans turn into two whole battalions of SS. 

Afterwards, George is still busy figuring out if he's got all his limbs and no extra holes when he hears about battalion CP.

"Apparently, battalion CP got completely overrun, and they managed to hit battalion HQ as well, and pretty hard," he overhears Nixon telling Winters when he passes by them, and he can't help but stop and interject.

"How hard? I mean who..." He can't bring himself to outright ask about casualties, the word too final to say out loud. 

"Apparently, Major Horton's dead. Apart from that, I haven't heard anything specific." Winters studies him for a moment with those piercing eyes of his, and something on George's face must have given away his racing thoughts. "Is there anyone in particular you want to know about? Someone you know at battalion HQ?"

George nods, and Winters' tired face softens a little.

"We could use a restock on our ammo. If you don't mind helping with supplies, Captain Nixon can take you over there when he links up with battalion."

Nixon seems momentarily surprised but then nods.

"Come on then, Luz. Let's find a jeep."

George is quiet on the drive over and glad that Nixon’s driving - he’s much too nervous to focus on the road. He only heard that Phyllis arrived in Holland two weeks ago, although this time he knew beforehand that she would be joining them here. Her words about staying far behind the line come back to him, the ones she tried to reassure him with when they met on the beach in Normandy. 

George scoffs. So much for that.

She'd promised him the same thing again, in the note she had managed to deliver to him right before the Market Garden jump: That she'd follow behind them with some other battalion staff, but that she'd stay far behind the lines and provide a link between the front and the logistical centers in better secured areas. 

And now here he is, racing towards an apparently overrun battalion HQ and hoping against hope that she won't be there. 

When they arrive at battalion HQ, it's to find the place in absolute shambles. 

Several buildings around the farm estate are badly damaged, walls crumbling and wooden beams smoldering. There’s debris strewn all over the courtyard, including a still-smoking Sherman tank. Even the bodies have not yet been buried, only hastily piled into a cart and covered with a tarp. Men are hastening about, trying to deal with half a dozen pressing matters at once. Some are bleeding though still on their feet, some being treated in a makeshift aid station in one of the less damaged buildings. 

The highest ranking officer they can find is a very frazzled-looking Lieutenant. 

“Major Horton's dead.”

“We know. Any other casualties?”

“Two more dead, a few injured - we’re still counting. Oh, and a few orderlies aren't accounted for yet." The way he adds it, like an afterthought, makes George's hackles rise.

"Is anyone searching for them?" He asks, aware that his tone is not the correct one for addressing a superior officer and not giving a damn.

"Do I look like I know what anyone is doing right now?"

George is about to snap that he looks like he should know, judging by the bars on his collar, but Nixon cuts him off before he can.

"Private Luz and I can organize a search. We aren't needed back with Easy just yet."

The Lieutenant gratefully accepts the offer and finally decides to be at least a little helpful.

"The non-combatants were sent away from the main building to that building on the other side of the estate. It has a cellar that's been used as a makeshift shelter. They might still be waiting there for the all-clear."

Nixon and George set off in the direction of the man's outstretched arm. The second they’re out of earshot, Nixon quips:

"You're welcome by the way - for keeping you from insulting an officer."

"I wasn't...How did you..." George sputters.

"You have a very expressive face." Nixon explains. They walk a few steps in silence. "I take it this is about that female orderly of Sink's? The logistics whiz?"

George feels a flash of pride at hearing Phyllis described as a "logistics whiz", makes a mental note to tell her she's built herself a reputation with a capable officer like Nixon - then he looks over and sees the gleam in the other man's eyes.

"It's not like that. She's a friend."

Nixon gives a nonchalant half-shrug.

"It's none of my business." Something in the not-quite-hidden smirk on the officer's face tells George that he doesn't fully mean the words, but then they've arrived at the farmhouse and their conversation stops short.

The left side of the building has collapsed, leaving behind nothing but a pile of rubble, parts of it still smoking softly.

"The cellar entrance could be in the back, or on the other side," Nixon says, all mirth gone from his voice. "Let's circle round."

George follows the instruction gratefully, trying hard to keep his mind absolutely empty and focused only on the task of finding any sign of the bomb shelter doors.

All too soon, he's made it to the back and runs into Nixon again, who's completed the circle from the other side. He shakes his head, too weak for words.

"Alright," Nixon says grimly, turning to walk back to the front of the building. "Let's start digging."

So they dig, moving bricks and shattered timber with their bare hands until they can hear something - voices, drifting up through the pile of rubble.

“You hear that? We must be getting close.” 

George nods, not yet daring to believe Nixon’s right.

But it turns out he is: A few more handfuls of debris moved and they can see the trap door built into the side of the building that must be leading into the cellar. Half of it is collapsed, and through the hole in the wooden door, a dust-coated young man is peering up at them. 

“Oh thank God, we were afraid we’d never get out.” 

Quickly, they clear the door enough to heave it open and haul out the young man. He stumbles away while two more follow, one holding the other up with an arm over his shoulder, and then… nothing. 

“Where’s Phyllis?” George calls after them. One ignores him, the other one turns and gestures vaguely towards the cellar before continuing to drag his injured comrade away. 

Without thinking, George clambers over the rubble and down the stairs, tripping and sliding down the last few steps. He doesn’t care about the danger of running into a potentially unstable building, doesn’t care about Captain Nixon yelling behind him. There’s barely any light in here, but in the little daylight that filters in through the door, he can see a mound in the corner opposite the door that looks out of place and somewhat person-shaped. 

Heart pounding in his chest, he makes his way over to find that the mound is indeed a person, and not just any person - it’s Phyllis, he finds when he sinks to his knees by her side and carefully turns her by the shoulder. 

“Phyllis!”, he breathes, throat tight for a moment until she begins to twitch, lets out a moan, and her eyes flutter open. 

For a moment, they scan the dim room disorientedly, then they focus on his face. 

“George?”

Her voice is hoarse, she's coated in a fine layer of white dust, and there’s a dark, wet spot on her head that suspiciously looks like blood. 

But she’s alive. 

“Yeah, it’s me. How are you? Are you hurt?"

She struggles to sit upright and he helps her with an arm behind her shoulder, looking over her in search of any injuries he hadn’t noticed yet. She’s doing the same thing, as if unsure herself.

"I don't think so." She sounds dazed, worryingly so, and then suddenly lurches forward. For a moment, he thinks she has to throw up, then he realizes she’s trying to stand up. 

“Careful, sweetheart. Let’s take it slow, alright?” 

He keeps an arm around her shoulder while he takes his canteen off his belt, opens it and holds it to her lips. 

"Here, take a sip. It’ll help."

She does eagerly, followed by another, and then she starts gulping the water down in earnest.

"Slowly, now. There's enough, take your time."

She struggles to keep up with his instructions, one hand gripping his arm and the other clumsily grasping for the canteen. Only when it's empty does she let up, and George clips it back to his belt. 

“Now, do you think you can stand? We need to get you out of here so we can take a proper look at your head.” 

He clambers to his feet, then bends down, hooks his arm around her waist and hauls her to her feet, making sure to have a solid stand in case he needs to steady her. Her pained moan slices through him like a bayonet. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just a few steps, I promise, and then you can rest.” 

She sways a little but stays upright, and he slings her arm around his shoulder and slowly navigates her towards the entrance.  

They reach it just as Nixon and a medic approach from above, peering through the shelter doors. Between the three of them, they carefully manoeuvre Phyllis into the fresh air, where the medic bids her sit on a nearby pile of bricks. He inspects her head while George hovers, Phyllis’ hand still clutched in his. 

“She should get to the aid station, she might have a concussion. A few days’ bedrest and observation wouldn’t hurt.” 

“She can hear you,” Phyllis points out, her voice still weak but with that unmistakable iron core that he’s come to know from her. George could have laughed out lout with relief, and behind the medic, he sees Nixon stifle a grin. 

The medic continues treating her head injury, liberally sprinkling it in Sulfa, and her hand tightens around George’s. He doesn’t mind - if that’s all he can do for her right now, he’ll happily do it. 

Once her head is bandaged, George insists on helping her over to the aid station himself, where he doesn’t rest until he’s made sure she’s as comfortable as possible on the narrow field hospital cot, and then makes every single nurse and doctor promise that they’ll take good care of her, monitor her for a possible concussion, and not let her get out of the aid station even if she insists on it (he has a feeling that once the first daze passes, Phyllis will be very opposed to ‘a few days’ bedrest’).  

After several subtle hints that they should get going, Nixon finally gets impatient and outright orders him to leave, and George has to tamp down on a flash of murderous rage. 

It helps that Phyllis is smiling at him softly. 

“Go on, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m out of the aid station, alright?”

“You better. And no busting out, you hear me? You’ll stay here as long as the doctor says you have to.” 

“I will. Now will you stop fussing? I think Captain Nixon is about one step away from court martialling you.” 

George shrugs. He couldn’t care less about the chain of command right now. Still, now Phyllis looks worried, and that’s the last thing he wants. Besides, she looks like she really could use the rest. So he only reaches out to give her hand one last, gently squeeze before he straightens up. 

“Stay safe, alright? And listen to the doctors.” 

She nods, smiling drowsily, and it’s such a beautiful sight - blood and dust and all - that George has to force himself to walk away. 

The sharp edge to Captain Nixon’s usually so cheerful voice when he calls Luz’ name again helps a little. 

“You’re lucky I have such a big heart. Dick would have disciplined you for insubordination ten minutes ago,” he grumbles, and George wisely doesn’t protest - he’s probably right. 

They make their way over to the jeep, now loaded with ammo Nixon must have procured while he was looking after Phyllis, and George is glad when Nixon takes the driver’s seat. Now that he knows Phyllis is safe, he can practically feel the adrenaline accumulated over the past hours drain from him. Between the battle and now the search, he must have been on his feet for more than twenty-four hours. Still, George doesn’t regret coming here for a second. After all, if he hadn’t asked about the orderlies, if Nixon hadn’t offered they’d search for them, if he hadn’t found Phyllis in that cellar and gotten her out - would anyone have? How long would it have taken for them to notice she was missing? For the other orderlies to look after her wounds? The thought makes him nauseous, almost as much as the memory of her lying on the floor, still and bloody. 

It doesn’t take long for Nixon to notice how quiet George is, caught up in his brooding.

“What's got you all mopey?”, he asks. “You defeated two companies of SS and saved the girl. You should be celebrating!”

The cheer in Nixon's voice is forced but under different circumstances, George would still be glad for the excuse to return to his usual optimistic self. Right now, he can't be bothered.

“They're not treating her right!”, he bursts out. “That Lieutenant was barely aware she was missing. And the other orderlies practically pushed her aside to get out of that cellar. They should be ashamed of themselves.”

To his credit, Nixon ponders the words for a while before he replies.

“Well, she wanted to do a man's job. She can't have any preferential treatment now. Just because she's a woman doesn't mean they won't treat her like any other man.”

“But that's just it, they don't treat her like any of the men. No man in Easy would have left a fellow trooper behind the way they did. They just don't respect her. They don't even listen to her. Did you know she once had to transport a bunch of furniture and they refused to give her a truck?” 

It doesn't take any coaxing for the whole story to come pouring out of him, followed by many others that have slipped out when Phyllis has had a bit to drink and isn't as careful anymore about not wanting anyone to think she's looking for pity. 

By the time Nixon interjects again, they're back at their base on the Island.

Nixon parks the jeep and hops out, then turns to George.

“You know, Luz, it's okay to admit that you were scared for Miss Baker today. And it honors you that you’re so angry about the way she’s being treated.” He turns to signal one of the men over while George climbs out of the jeep as well, getting ready to hoist out one of the boxes. “But for the love of God, the next time you see her please tell the girl you’re in love with her.”

With that he walks off, leaving George behind to grasp dumbly at a box of ammunition belts. 

#band of brothers #band of brothers fic #george luz #george luz x oc #george luz/oc #I'm sorry it's been so long but I was super sick this week #and also I may or may not have started writing three other fics in the meantime #please excuse the inaccuracies regarding the battle at the crossroads #I'm fairly sure battalion HQ wasn't hit this hard or possibly at all but it had to be done for the plot.

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 13

(Ch. 12) ... (Ch. 1)

Gallery II Tag List Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: Operation Market Garden is underway and American intelligence operatives, now commanded by the British SOE, have their own battles to fight. Sometimes painful situations demand painful sacrifices.

May or may not feature a Smol cameo...👀

WARNINGS: Death, Angst, Violence against women

A/N: Sorry this took so long; I tried to do the thing where I wait & release a chapter once I'm ahead but I'm way too impulsive for that so here lol 💀💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @emmythespacecowgirl @bellewintersroe @holdingforgeneralhugs

Contemporary: September 17th, 1944. Eindhoven, Netherlands.

Alix was just finishing up what would be her tenth interrogation of the day when she heard what sounded like singing in the streets outside the hotel they were using as a home base.

She cocked her head and looked over to Andries, the sniper standing beside her, with curiosity in her eyes.

He only shrugged.

"We are happy to be liberated," he said simply before aiming a glare at the man they had backed up against the room's wall.

"Most of us anyway." 

The collaborator shook his head, quailing under the teenager's stern gaze.

"I am innocent!" he babbled, his heavily Dutch-accented French coming out barely comprehensible due to his nerves. "What you accuse me of, I would never...You have the wrong man!" 

"You're telling me you're not…" Alix checked the coded list of targets she'd kept stashed inside her fake Passport.

"Maurits Van Der Waal? Because if you're not, then there must be somebody else out there who looks just like you and lives at your address selling out your Jewish neighbors to the SS." 

“N-No, I am Maurits,” the man stammered, rocking back and forth on his heels “But I…I never help the SS, never.” 

“You were seen, you idiot,” Andries snapped harshly, pulling several photographs out of the pocket of his dark green coat and thrusting them into Van Der Waal’s shaking hands. 

The collaborator inspected the photos silently, all the blood draining from his face as he realized he’d been caught.

Alix’s dark eyes narrowed as she watched the middle-aged collaborator blubbering excuses pathetically before her, her anger simmering in her stomach. 

This rat would get a quick death, she thought bitterly. A mercy he didn’t deserve. 

The thirty Jewish families he had sold out to the SS would not be so lucky.

“How much are they paying you, Maurits?” she demanded, cocking the gun with a click. “How much is a human life worth to you?” 

“815 Guilder each, by the looks of it," the blond boy, Diederik, answered for him from the corner desk.

He held up a notepad full of decoded messages for them to see and read off, "All of them made out to a...Mr. Maurits Van Der Waal, imagine that." 

"Those aren't mine!" Van Der Waal lied lamely, practically bleating through his tears like a goat. "I'm innocent!"

"Tragic," Alix remarked dryly. "Anyway, please face the wall now."  

"And if…if I don't?" he sniveled pathetically, a note of hope raising his words. "Will you free me?"

A hope Alix would crush like an insect under her heel.

“If you don’t face the wall, then I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

"Well that went well!" Andries commented moments later, as Alix wordlessly knelt to retrieve items from the pockets of the tenth collaborator, who now lay dead on the floor. 

Oh yeah, she wanted to snap. Just fucking splendid.

There was a fine line between doing one’s duty and reveling in it, and for the Dutch Resistance, that line seemed to be blurring more and more by the hour. 

When she had finished collecting the necessary supplies from the dead man's pockets, one of the younger fighters, a small redheaded boy named Piers, joined Andries in dragging the body over to the corner with the other nine corpses.

Alix didn't know how the Resistance was disposing of the bodies but some things were better left unknown so she didn't ask. There were more pressing matters anyway.

The radio on the desk in front of Diederik crackled to life and he pressed the headset harder against his ear as he strained to hear. 

Alix could tell by his concentration-scrunched face that the connection was poor but the boy appeared to still recognize the voice on the other end of the line. 

He quickly jotted down some notes before turning to Alix, who had crossed the room to meet him. 

"It's Kristof," he responded, tearing a page from his notepad and handing her the coded address he'd just taken down. "The SOE says it's time." 

Alix nodded her assent. Nix and Van Kooijk were on the other side of town and she would have to meet them on her way.

The trick would be finding them in the crowds.

Checking herself for blood in the mirror one last time, she smoothed the invisible wrinkles from her skirt before slipping her gun and handheld radio into her purse and quietly exiting the room.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Stepping out of the hotel and into the street was like being suddenly thrust into a carnival. Jubilant whoops filled the air and streams of bright ticker-tape rained down like flurries of rainbow-colored snow but Alix didn't have time to enjoy the celebration. 

She was doing her best to wade through the ever-growing crush of people but she was being jostled from all sides like a toy boat on ocean waves as civilians and soldiers alike rushed to participate in the festivities. 

Keeping a white-knuckle grip on her purse, Alix managed to shuffle her way further into the crowd, passing scores of troopers from Dog and Fox company on her way. 

Seeing the almost frantic urgency with which the Dutch townspeople were greeting servicemembers, the young agent was suddenly grateful to be in civilian clothes because she didn't need that kind of attention right now. 

She needed to find her handler and her contact so she could complete her mission. Nixon had her bottle of Prussic Acid in his pocket because he didn’t trust her to carry it– “It’s liquid cyanide for Christ’s sake!”--  so she would need to retrieve it before locating her target. 

As she tried to blend in with the crowd, slipping in behind a cluster of ANC nurses, Alix couldn’t help but study them with a twinge of envy. She wore the same Red Cross armband as they did when she was in uniform, carried the same aid bag slung over her shoulder. 

But instead of tourniquets, she carried garrote wire and guns. Instead of syringes, she carried knives. Instead of administering medicine, she would be administering poison.

The women walking next to her got to save lives; all Alix did was take them. 

As if somehow reading her thoughts, the freckle-faced nurse to her left gave her a kindhearted smile and in her bright, toothy grin Alix was pretty sure she saw a glimpse of her friend Don shining through.

The spy returned the smile, the fleeting reminder of her own humanity equipping her with the necessary resolve to continue her journey. 

She had work to do.

 Gathering the dark polka-dotted material of her skirt in her hands and trying not to break an ankle on the cobblestones, Alix squeezed by the nurses and pressed on ahead. 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

But by the time she reached the edge of the herd, the joy-filled singing had transformed into something else. Nightmarish, broken screams, jeers, and a grief-stricken wailing that made Alix's stomach twist echoed off the cobblestones. For a moment, she froze, almost unable to fully comprehend the hellish scenes of chaos unfolding in front of her. 

The townspeople were brutal, seizing local women from the crowd and hurling them to their knees in the center of the circle. Some looked to be no older than their late teens, bawling as they were stripped to their slips in front of the merciless horde, the roaring of the mob only increasing in intensity as swastikas were daubed onto their foreheads with ink-like tar. 

Alix couldn't understand Dutch but she could understand body language and every microexpression on the citizens' faces screamed disgust and hatred. 

The women were sobbing, red-faced and quaking with fear as they were yanked by their hair to older women manning clippers like weapons, who would shear them and shove them away afterwards with an almost sanctimonious revulsion.

As the victims were being hauled to their feet, Alix managed to force her eyes away from the mob, searching the faces around her frantically as the harsh burn of rage began to sear her stomach.

Why was no one stopping this?

Even with her training, Alix knew she would never be able to take on a crowd this large by herself. She would need backup.

Where was Joe? Where were Skip and Don? Where the hell was the Resistance?

More and more women were being dragged into the fray and two tall, skinny teenagers shoved their way past Alix, forcing a terrified girl in a salmon-colored dress into the circle with them.

Her bloodshot hazel eyes were wide, tears streaming down her reddened face as the fabric was violently torn from her body. 

For a brief second, she met Alix’s horrified gaze before thrusting a hand out in a desperate plea for the agent’s help.

Feeling a violent jolt of grief in her stomach, Alix strained as far forward as she could to reach the girl’s hand but she was too late. 

The boy in the burgundy sweater pivoted, wrenching the girl’s arm away and holding her still as they began shearing her head and that’s when Alix saw it.

The boys were wearing orange armbands. 

This was the Resistance. 

Sickened and infuriated, Alix lunged toward the center of the circle, ready to rip the frightened girl from their grasp, when she felt a calloused hand clutching her upper arm.

Whipping her head around, she met the worried glance of Lieutenant Nixon, whose painfully tight grip on her bicep was the only thing keeping her from launching herself into the fray.

"Niccolò, let go or I swear to God, I’ll break your fucking hand." 

It wasn’t an empty threat this time and her handler knew it too, but even so, he didn't flinch. 

“The mission, Adelina,” he hissed, tightening his hold on her arm. "Do you want to blow our cover?"

Alix was practically seeing red.

Women were being mercilessly brutalized in the street and all Nix was worried about was their stupid fucking mission?!

But before she could reply, John Van Kooijk emerged from behind them, wearing his usual expression of thinly-veiled smugness. 

“Problem?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow, and Alix narrowed her eyes.

“Oh there’s about to be,” she snarled.

The words had barely left her mouth when the agent felt Nixon’s fingers clamp down even harder on her bicep, strengthening his hold in case she decided to try something.

“Be civil to our friend, Lina,” her handler cautioned and Alix snorted with derision, swiveling her head back to meet his eyes. 

“Given that my first instinct was to throttle our ‘friend’, I think I’m being perfectly fucking civil right now.”

Turning back to the Resistance leader, Alix gestured with her free hand to the chaos unfolding before them.

“Now, care to explain what the Hell is going on?”

The Dutchman was seemingly unfazed. 

"They are collaborators," he stated with a careless shrug. "It is what they have earned." 

"What exactly did they do?" Alix demanded, her French coming out rapid-fire in her fury. "Who did they betray?"

"They slept with the enemy," was the vague reply. "This is merciful. We could have had them shot for that." 

"This is mercy?"  Alix barked out a harsh, humorless laugh. "No, this is a bullshit attempt at retaliation."

Her nostrils were flaring with rage and one fist was balled when she spoke next, the boiling inside her building like a volcano seconds from erupting.

"And for the record, taking your misplaced anger out on people who have no say sounds an awful lot like the enemy we're supposed to be fighting." 

"You interrogated and executed ten men only hours ago, yes?" The Resistance leader eyed her skeptically. "But now the Sparrow has a conscience?"  

"It was quick,” Alix retorted defensively. “I wasn't torturing people!"

"Neither are we!" Van Kooijk seemed genuinely perplexed at her objections. "This is justice!" 

"No, this is vengeance," Alix countered, yanking her arm out of Nixon's cautioning grasp.

"And I want none of it! Go find yourselves a new attack-dog because I'm done."

With that, she pushed past them, storming off ahead but Nixon followed her, keeping himself chained to her right side as they walked so he could deliberately block her from the circle. 

"Simmer down, will you?" Nixon had switched from French to Italian effortlessly but even still, his words carried an unusually sharp edge that only served to fan the flames of Alix’s rage further.

“Simmer down, are you fucking kidding me?” Alix was bristling with indignation now but she fought to keep her face impartial and her voice steely calm to avoid arousing suspicion.

“After that? After what they were doing to those girls?” 

A small gaggle of civilians passed them by, heading in the direction that the pair had just come from.

Noticing their glances, Nixon faked a laugh as though she’d just said something funny, as though they were merely two friends taking a stroll and not two intelligence operatives seconds away from a fistfight.

Alix played along, painting on a fake smile and nonchalantly lighting up a cigarette, her stride never faltering.

They were both in civilian clothing– Nix in his boxy khaki overcoat that concealed his uniform and Alix in her dark sweater and spotted skirt – so it didn’t take long for the eyes of the Dutch citizens to stray from them as they continued on their journey.

“Just focus on the mission, alright?” Nix commanded out of the corner of his mouth.

"Fuck the mission,” Alix returned quietly. “I'm not doing any favors for people who torture women for fun."

"Oh for Christ’s sake, Adelina, I don't like it either," Nixon sighed in exasperation once the Dutch citizens were out of earshot.

"But if you blow our cover trying to stop this shit, then you can’t take care of Kruger, and more people are going to get hurt. And it won't just be collaborators like this time, it'll be our assets too, other operatives, innocent civilians, maybe troopers too. Is that what you want?" 

"Of course it isn’t," Alix snapped as she felt the sudden weight of the prepped cyanide vials being covertly dropped into her purse. "I’m still planning on finishing the mission. I'm just not working with those assholes to do it." 

Lieutenant Nixon frowned. 

He could already tell where this was going.

"No,” he stated firmly, cutting Alix off before she had even clarified.

“You’re not refusing backup on this one. Any other target, maybe, but not with an SS Lieutenant, not on my watch.”

“Niccolò,” Alix scolded, the clacking of her saddle shoes on the pavement accenting her words. “I’ll be fine. The man’s got trench fever, for Christ’s sake. He might be dead before I even get there.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Nixon argued. “You could be acting on faulty intel. There’s a leak in the SOE, remember?” 

“That’s the risk we take with every mission. It’s never stopped us before.”

“The stakes were never this high before,” Nixon contended, massaging his temple. “The Wehrmacht is one thing but this is the goddamn SS. At least let me send Andries to Oosterbeek with you, just in case. One sniper and I’ll let it go, alright?”

Alix scowled. 

“I said No,” she maintained testily after a short drag from her cigarette.  “So you can save your breath. I don’t want anything to do with them after what the fuck we just saw. Either I go in alone or I don’t go at all.” 

“Putain de merde, Adelina, will you fucking listen?” Realizing his tone had risen slightly, he took a deep breath before lowering his voice again. “You may be willing to gamble with your life but I'm not. I’ll be with the Brits and the 101st so I won’t be on comms and if something happens–” 

“If something happens, I’ll take care of it myself,” Alix finished for him with a puff of smoke. “You told HQ I was more than capable, remember?” 

“I knew I’d regret saying that,” Nixon muttered with a shake of his head. "I just didn't think it'd be so goddamn soon."

“Besides,” Alix reminded him with a reassuring, sisterly bump to the shoulder.

“Everyone knows Kruger’s an arrogant alcoholic who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. It should be a piece of cake to get him alone and finish the job. I'll be back in no time."

“Still,” Nixon grimaced. “He’s an SS officer. He was trained for adverse situations and if he gets the upper hand at any point, you’re done.” 

“Which is why I won’t let him,” Alix assured bracingly. “The man’s not superhuman. He’s already sick, probably drunk, and once he drinks the Prussic Acid, he’s toast. No backup needed.” 

Nixon let out a small huff of displeasure and as he glanced at his watch, his frown only deepened.

Both he and Alix knew he didn’t have time to argue. He still needed to ditch his coat somewhere, coordinate with Winters and rejoin Van Kooijk’s group before the Airborne offensive could truly begin.

“Fine,” he grunted with a shake of his head. “But if you get yourself killed, Liebgott, Muck, Malarkey and I are splitting the 10 Grand. Not that I need it.” 

Alix cocked an eyebrow. 

“I don’t remember designating you as a beneficiary. The others, yes, but not you.”

“Well I think I deserve to be too,” Nixon remarked wryly and hooked her into a light headlock, mussing up her hair with his knuckles.

“As compensation for putting up with your bullshit for 2 years. I already have one pain-in-the-ass sister, I never asked for another!”

Alix gave him a smack on the arm and he released her with a gentle push in the opposite direction.

“Now get a move-on, will you, before your mark leaves the country.” 

“Yeah, sure thing,” Alix commented with an eyeroll. “Just don’t go getting your hopes up on that payout, alright Gi-”

The younger agent cut herself off abruptly, the realization of her mistake briefly punching the breath out of her. Her smile slipped and she saw Nixon’s bushy eyebrows raise in surprise. But if he recognized the name from her file, he chose not to comment on it.

There was a second of silence as a mutual understanding seemed to pass between the two. There was nothing either of them could do about the dangers of the situation.

All they could do was trust each other: trust that he had prepared her enough for anything she might face and trust that at least some of the SOE's intel was good.

Her life would depend on it.

"Hey, any words of wisdom you'd like to impart before you go, oh great teacher?" Alix inquired jokingly as she tried to keep her mind off the very real possibility that she could be walking into an elaborate trap with no backup.

Lieutenant Nixon mulled the question over for a moment before responding, "You’d better not end up dead or I’ll kill you myself. Clear?” 

“Careful, Nico,” Alix deadpanned, shortening his codename just to irk him. “I think you were almost nice for a second.” 

Nixon snorted. 

"Don’t get used to it,” he snarked. “Someone has to keep you humble.” 

With that, her case officer reluctantly stepped off into an alleyway, leaving Alix to continue the rest of her journey alone. 

Reaching the Post Office, the spy made her way to the employee side entrance, where according to plan, a slightly-rusted bicycle was waiting for her, propped up invitingly against the building.

And partially tucked underneath the back wheel was a faded orange hair ribbon, subtly designating the bike as belonging to a Resistance member. Easing it away from the wall, she gingerly placed her purse in the basket, arranging it with the utmost care so she could avoid any cyanide leaking onto her designer heels or her gun.

Taking one final breath to settle the uneasy feeling plaguing her, Alix bid a silent goodbye to Eindhoven and began the long ride to the SS headquarters in Oosterbeek.

#['You're On Your Own Kid' plays softly in the background] #Oh Market Garden aka one of the biggest Intelligence flukes in history #Band of Brothers #Here have some heartbreaking sibling behavior #Lewis Nixon #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers fanfiction #Band of Brothers fanfic #Band of Brothers OC #HBO War #HBO War fandom #HBO War fanfic #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott #Skip Muck #Don Malarkey #multichapter fic #angst my beloved #espionage thriller #espionage fanfic #WW2 #Replacements #Dutch Resistance

[mccall-muffin]

Love vs. Hate - Part 14 // Joe Liebgott x OC

Summary: Technical Sergeant Olivia Stark knows the military. Raised in a military family, a graduate of military school and OCS herself, she is transferring from the 82nd Airborne Division to the 101st. Between new friends and what appear to be foes, she becomes a part of Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th PIR.

Warnings: Language, slight insecurity

A/N: Sorry, for the short chapter... But it will soon go on, and we will get more Lieb/Liv stuff - promise!

Here is my Masterlist

Tag List: @brassknucklespeirs

September 15, 1944 - Upottery, England

A few days later, they moved us back to Upottery. I stand next to Lip and let my gaze wander over the men, who have all taken a seat in one of the tents to listen to the plan. Concerned, I look briefly at Lip, who lowers his gaze. He has his hands clasped behind his back and seems slightly worried. Then my gaze lingers on Liebgott. Ever since he kissed me, I can't get that kiss out of my head. I wonder what he wanted to achieve with it. Then Winters begins to speak in front.

"As you can see, this is called Operation Market-Garden. In terms of Airborne divisions involved, this one's even bigger than Normandy. We're dropping deep into occupied Holland. The Allied objective is to take this road here," he points to a spot on the map. "Between Eindhoven and Arnhem. So the two British armored divisions can move up it toward Arnhem. Our job is gonna be to liberate Eindhoven. Stay there; wait for the tanks." Winters looks urgently at his men. Then Nixon takes the floor. "The entire European advance has been put on hold to allocate resources for this operation. It's Montgomery's personal plan, and we'll be under British command," he explains, and a murmur goes through the crowd. I raise my eyebrows briefly and search Don's gaze, who shakes his head. "The good news is, if this works, these tanks will be over the Rhine and into Germany. It could end the war and get us home by Christmas." "That would be quite nice," I whisper to Lip, who can't hide a slight smile that curls his lips. "It'll be a daytime jump. Intelligence doesn't expect much opposition. They think the Krauts in Holland are mostly kids and old men. And we should take them by surprise. In any case, say goodbye to England. I don't think they're gonna call this one off," Nixon ends and dismisses us again.

Together with Lip, I go outside and light a smoke. "Bigger than Normandy, huh?" I say after a while, and Lip nods. "Looks like it." "Well, as long as we don't get blown to the four winds again," I grin, and he has to laugh too. "Yeah, but this time it's daylight. May be easier, or it may be harder. Depending on the resistance." "You got that right, Lip."

"Liv," Buck calls out, just coming out of the tent. I turn to face him. "Buck? What can I do for you?" I ask, and he smiles at me. "Come on," he says, though, and leads me a little away from the others. "Lieutenant Roush has been transferred to Able Company, as you probably picked up," Buck says, and I nod. "Now it's been decided that I'm taking over 2nd Platoon, and they want you as my assistant leader." "What?" I ask, confused, looking at Buck. "But... I'm not an officer, Buck." "No, you're not, but you should be one, and that's why... Congratulations on the new job, Sergeant." Perplexed, I stand before him. "Uh, thanks, I guess. Who's taking over my position?" I ask. Buck smiles gently. "Guarnere. What do you think?" "I can't think of anyone better suited for it." "Thought so."

Lip pats me on the shoulder, congratulatory. "Congratulations, Liv. You deserve it!" I smile honestly at Lip. "Thanks, Lip."

"Okay, Winters has ordered all men to line up and have their gear together. Especially the replacements should be ready. We jump in two days, so everything should be set, okay?" says Buck, and I nod. "Yes, sir!"

We give the guys their orders together, but then I look for Don. When I finally spot him, he's standing with Chuck in front of one of the tents. "Hey, Don!" I call out, and he immediately turns to me. "Hey, Sweetheart. Where have you been?" I smile at him. "Oh, I just had to take on my new job," I say, and Don and Chuck look at me in confusion. "Your new job? I don't see a new badge, so what the hell are you talking about?" asks Don, and my grin widens. "You're looking at your new assistant leader." "What really?" asks Chuck. "But you're not an officer." "I know, I told Buck the same thing, but I guess they think I should take it over anyway now that Roush has been transferred."

"By all means... I congratulate you, Liv," Chuck says, patting me on the back. "You definitely deserve it, Sweetheart," Don grins, giving me a big hug.

"And what does that mean? Do we have to address you as Ma'am now?" asks Don with a grin, and I punch him in the shoulder. "As if," I laugh. "Hey, Pals," Don calls out and pushes me over to the others standing together. They immediately turn to look at us. "May I present our new 2nd Platoon Assitant Leader?" The guys start cheering. "Really?!" George starts laughing and puts an arm around my shoulder. "I guess congratulations are in order then."

They all congratulate me and cheer for my promotion. "I guess they can't find any more suitable officers, huh?" then Liebgott asks, and everyone goes quiet. Don, Skip, and George, in particular, look at him eagerly. I turn to him as well, and we look into each other's eyes for the first time since the kiss. A swarm of butterflies, which I would love to smother, flies off in my stomach, but I try to look at him as disinterestedly as possible.

I bite my lips, and the eye contact between Liebgott and me remains for a moment. I try to say something several times, but no words come out of my mouth. 'What the hell is wrong with you. Did you swallow your tongue?' I think to myself, but still, nothing comes. I feel hot tears start to burn in my eyes. 'Oh, no, no, no! Just don't cry. Not because of that asshole!'

"Come on, Lieb..." I then hear Don, who must realize what he's saying is weighing on my mind. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, Malarkey. I'm just kidding," Liebgott says calmly, to everyone's surprise. "Congratulations on the promotion, Stark." Now my mouth is open again. Did he just congratulate me? It seems it's not just me because everyone stares at Liebgott in surprise. They've never heard him say nice words to me before.

Liebgott, however, is not fazed by the stares. He coolly lights a smoke and then turns away from us. "Who is that? And what have they done to Liebgott?" asks Skinny, looking at us questioningly, but none of us can give him an answer.

September 17th, 1944 - Upottery, England

"Holy fuck... Sometimes I really wonder if they really had the same training as we did," I grumble to myself, looking at the replacements, some of them acting rather awkwardly. "They have to if they're here, but they didn't have Sobel," Skip says, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, the lucky ones, whereas, though I'll deny having said it, in certain respects, his training was essential." I watch as one of the young ones gets rather clumsy with his rifle. I sigh in annoyance, shove mine into Skip's hand, and walk over to him.

I take the rifle from his hand, check the ammo, and then reload it. Then I press it back into his hand. "I'm sorry, Sergeant," he says quickly and lowers his head, but I shake my head. "Don't apologize. Just do what you've been trained to do. These men here and you yourself depend on it with your life, understand?" He nods. "Understood, sir, uh, I mean ma'am." I raise an eyebrow, shake my head briefly, and walk over to Don and Skip. I grab my rifle and sling it over my back. "Damn, kids."

Suddenly Skip nudges me. I look up questioningly but then quickly realize what he means. Driving by in front of us in a jeep sits he: Sobel. "What the hell is he doing here?" I whisper to Don and Skip, both shaking their heads in disbelief. "I think it was bad luck when you talked about him, Liv," Don says. When Sobel looks at us, we quickly turn away. "I thought he was gone. For good?" asks Skip, and I shrug. "I don't know what he's doing here."

uddenly, Alton walks past us and nudges Don. "Hey, Mal. Over there." All three of us turn and immediately see what Alton means. On the trailer of the Jeep is a military motorcycle. And it's the motorcycle Don, and Alton stole to take for a spin. "Son of a bitch," Don curses, looking at the bike in disbelief. I can't help but giggle. Suddenly, however, Don is accosted by Sobel. "Malarkey," the latter shouts, and Muck immediately bows out. "Busted," I whisper to Don and step away from him as well. "Hey, Pop!" I call out, spotting Popeye.

"So, how's your ass?" I ask, patting him on the shoulder. Popeye grins at me. "Pretty good. Thanks for asking, Liv." Standing next to him is Lip. "We need gear for him," he says, and I look at him. "I'm sure we can get that done. Can you jump, Pop?" "Like I told Lip, jumping shouldn't be a problem. I just can't sit." I laugh. "Well then, this should be a pleasant flight for you. See Roberts; he's still the supply sergeant. Have him gear you up." Pop nods his thanks and walks away.

Then I'm grabbed by the arm. "I hate you, you know that?" hisses Don in my ear, and I grin at him. "Oh, what's the matter, Donnie? Did that evil Captain Sobel stomp you up?" I ask, and he shakes his head. "That's not funny. You two just left me hanging." "Come on, Don. You know I'd protect you from any evil Kraut, but friendship ends with Sobel," I laugh, and Don snorts in amusement. "Yeah yeah, all right. One day, I'll get back at you for that." "Oh yeah? And what about Muck?" "Oh, he will have it, too. You'll see." "Don't be offended, Don. You would have acted the same way if things had been different, and you know it." "No way! I would never leave my best friends hanging", he says sarcastically. "See?"

September 19, 1944 - Zon / Eindhoven, Holland

This jump was easier than the one in Normandy. It was daylight; we had no resistance, were not shot at when we jumped out of the plane, and were not scattered all over the place. We quickly got to the staging area and were able to move on.

We have been in the area around Eindhoven for two days and continue to advance. Up to now, we have yet to come across any Krauts.

Before Eindhoven itself, we take cover in a ditch. "It's so quiet," I say to Buck, who nods. "Something's not right here." Suddenly Hoobs stumbles past us with two beer bottles in his hands. "Hoobs, what the hell are you doing?" I ask, but he gives me no answer. "You've got to be kidding me," Buck grumbles, looking after him, shaking his head.

At that moment, planes fly over our heads and disappear into the distance. "And that's where our air support is going," Don mutters next to me, and I give him a quick look. "We're on our own now." "I'll go see what's going on up ahead," Buck says, walking over to 1st Platoon. I exchange another look with Don as we wait for Buck to return. "I really hope Nixon is right, and the Krauts here are really just old men and little boys," I say after a while, and Don looks at me. "You really think you could kill a kid?" he asks. I think about it for a minute and then shrug. "If it's a matter of him or me... I don't know, but I think so."

Before Don can say anything else, Buck returns. "There's some kind of holdup ahead. We're going in through this field here," he tells us before raising his voice. "Move out; let's go! Let's go, move it, move it!"

We walk behind the 1st Platoon across a field toward town. It's still hushed. "Somehow, this makes me nervous," I whisper to Don, who nods. Suddenly someone further ahead raises his hand, and we kneel. One of the windows of the outer one opens, and I raise my rifle to it. We quickly realize this is not a German soldier but a woman hanging an orange flag around her window.

Briefly, I exchange a glance with Buck. "Okay, hold your fire," I call to our men and lower my weapon again. Then Dick comes up behind us and stands beside Buck and me. "Okay, get moving. We're going to town," he says. I gesture for the men to get back up, and we follow the 1st Platoon further into town. Then all of a sudden, we hear cheering. "What the hell is that?" I ask no one in particular, and then we see the crowds in a celebratory mood ahead of us.

#Band of Brothers #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott #Don Malarkey #bob #bobedit #hbowar #hbo series #Shorty #Part 14

[latibvles]

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic // temper the courage.

It’s believed that the best soldiers never hesitate. The same could be said of medics.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl , @softguarnere , @monalisastwin

SUMMARY: Months of trailblazing come to a speeding halt — but British Command won’t stop Lieutenant Clarke from fulfilling her duties.

WARNINGS: Violence, in-depth descriptions of bombings and fires, discussions of civilian death and the treatment of wounds, discussion of implied misogyny.

It was getting dark out when the streets finally cleared, convoy trucks lining the streets. Some men found refuge in homes gladly offered by the Dutch people, while others took their packs and slept on the outskirts of town. The women were assigned to a sector a little ways out of the city, in an Eindhoven suburb. They made an aid station out of an old church in preparation for the next day’s impending fight to secure the bridges, tried to squeeze in a few hours of precious sleep, but given what she’d witnessed hours earlier, it didn’t come as easily as she’d hoped.

Let the RAMC get their bearings, once the bridge is secured, keep moving with the 101st. Those were the orders.

“You aren’t gonna believe this shit, Dais,”

She’s sat with Rogers and Patty that morning, going over everything in their aid kits one last time just outside the church, awaiting the order to join the troops and tanks — wherever they’re convening. Dressings, morphine, tourniquet, when Rita comes in, jaw clenched. Daisy looks up, shares a look of confusion with the two women beside her, then shifts her attention back to the curly-haired woman. Her eyes are alight with that fury that suggests that she just might grab a gun and start mowing down Germans herself. She pinches the bridge of her nose, running a hand down her face.

“They’re changing our plans. Trying to, anyway. Captain Brant’s in some heated bullshit debate with a damn British yuck about it,” Rogers’ lips pull into a frown. “Want us in reserve status back here until they’ve gotten over the next river. Something, some bullshit excuse about preserving resources. It’s the damn jump training all over again, just worse.”

Daisy stiffens, her brows furrow, and each of them exchange looks of bewilderment.

“But that’s not— we’re supposed to be there to treat the wounded,” It’s Patty who breaks the silence, uncharacteristically, but understandably, annoyed. “That’s the whole point. We’re not here for them we’re here for—”

“The Airborne, I know, that’s what I’m saying. But with the way things are going we’re gonna be sitting ducks here unless Colonel Strayer or Sink or someone gets involved and, well, fat chance of that.” Rita spits it out bitterly. She’s right. They’d been left under the complete jurisdiction of the RAMC, and like everyone else — under British command. Patty lets out an agitated huff, pushing herself off the wall.

“They’ll learn the hard way when it blows up in their faces, then.” The woman walks away after that, and Rita watches her go. Rogers clears her throat.

“Never seen her sound so upset,” and then, with furrowed brows, “she got a personal stake in this?” Daisy shrugs.

“I think we all do. We’ve been full-steam-ahead for the past two months just to speed into a brick wall.” She responds, nails digging into her palm. Rogers shakes her head, gaze returning to where Patty had stormed off, the woman no longer in sight.

“Not… that kind of stake.”

Rita lets out a sigh, following Rogers’ gaze.

“Honestly? She damn well might…”

They’re left waiting for an impending order for roughly another thirty minutes before Captain Brant gathers them around — the frustration evident on her face. Word travels fast, there isn’t a single woman in their company without some bitter expression on her face; including Daisy herself.

“We’re waiting for the men to secure Nuenen. Then they’ll send a runner, we’ll move out, treat whatever wounded that’ll likely be there and provide some relief for the people there.” Needlessly more complicated, adding more moving parts, all because some British Captain has doubts about the women he’s meant to be working with. Daisy isn’t even sure if it’s a woman thing or an American thing — maybe it’s both. Either way, they’re sitting ducks, waiting for a runner that never comes.

Night comes swiftly, Daisy’s found herself, once again, in the company of Ward, Gray, and Rogers as Ward runs an inspection on an ambulance brought in — ensuring the tires are filled, that they’re all in working order.

“Guess they got what they wanted then,” Gray’s the first to break the silence. “All dressed up and nowhere to go. Bet they’ve already called it in to get us outta here.” Ward snorts at that, rolling her eyes.

“I think they’re fine to just have us sit here and look pretty. Like cheerleaders or something. Get a couple nice pictures for morale.”

“I bet they’ll wish they sent us off tomorrow when I spit in their morning coffee,” Rogers pipes up, then spares Daisy a glance. “Just let me know which one the boys were teasin’ you about n’ he’ll be fine.” Daisy lets out a huff. Ever since bearing witness to Easy Company’s teasing, Rogers has also joined the bandwagon of people certain, with all their heart, that she and Speirs had something going on. No matter how many times she’s denied it. 

“That’s not—”

She catches herself, as a low humming begins to reverberate throughout the air. Her brows furrow, and she turns her head in its direction. The three women follow suit, as Daisy moves to get a better view — a building obscuring her vision.

Three yellow flares light up the night sky over the glowing city of Eindhoven. Her heart drops to her stomach.

Eindhoven, once glowing with warm yellow city lights, goes up in a blaze of fiery orange, rattling the ground. It’s loud — her first instinct is to cover her ears as a flurry of bombs drop from the sky. She can’t even see the aircraft. The world lights up in a brilliant inferno with each earth shattering blast. She can’t look away, can’t hear any sort of commentary from the women around her.

For fifteen, painstaking minutes, she watches bombers decimate the city. She wonders if the bombs will find their way to this sector and wreak further havoc. She wants to throw up, or cry, maybe even grab the nearest gun and shoot every plane down herself. But she doesn’t do anything until the planes take off and all who came out to watch are left in their own eerie silence. The only thing shattering it is the ringing of her own ears. Only miles away — smoke plumes and flames light up the night sky.

She isn’t sure if her next move is instinctive or a calculated decision.

“Ward, you said you drive ambulances right?” Daisy snaps her head towards the woman, who seems to snap out of her daze and give her a very swift nod. Daisy returns it, then snaps her gaze to Rogers. “Grab Foster, and Lieutenant Allen. Allen can drive — let Lieutenant McCarney know we’re headed into the city. Captain Brant, too, if you catch her,” she turns her head again. “Gray, you’re with me.”

She watches Jane’s brows furrow, and her mouth open. Daisy cuts her off.

“Not the time. Let’s move!”

Ward quickly moves to hop into the driver’s seat, Gray in the passenger’s, and Daisy climbs into the back. Wasting no time, the ambulance revs to life and they’re speeding down the road towards the carnage. Her hands are shaking, her heart pounding against her chest, but she balls them into fists and bites her cheek to retain her composure, taking in a deep breath.

No song greets them as they make it into the city. There’s only screaming and the roar of flame.

The ambulance lurches to a halt, and Daisy and Gray clamber out. She can see the glow of flames further down the street, Ward’s stopped a few precious blocks away to ensure they aren’t caught in it. She moves quickly towards the commotion, ready to break out into a run before coming to a halt.

Only a few feet away, a woman is slumped against the wall. She immediately hears the baby crying and rushes forward. Upon closer look, soot litters her face, her skin red beneath that. The baby in her arms is unscathed. Daisy looks down as Gray follows up behind her. Her ankle is bent at an awkward angle. She mutters out quiet reassurances, flashing the American flag on her uniform as she reaches for the infant. Taking it in her arms, she passes it off to Gray before looping her arm under the woman’s armpits to help her to her feet.

“S’alright. I’ll get you out of here. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Daisy murmurs, as she hastily half-carries the woman back to the ambulance. Ward helps her inside, Gray passes her child back to her, and then looks to Daisy. “Follow me. Ward, stay here. We’ll be back.”

They rush further down that alleyway into the haze, helping who they can. Some just need a direction to run, others aren’t so lucky. She finds a British soldier — half his face is marred by severe burns and he screams when she approaches, scurrying and backing himself into a corner.

“Hey! Hey, it’s fine, I’m a medic. Come here,” she crouches down, shuffling through her aid kit for a bandage. “I just need to cover it, okay? Ambulances are waiting away from the fires, just trust me.” One hand holds the bandages, the other sticks out for him to take. He stares, then slowly begins to reach for it.

BOOM!

Another blast rattles the area. Daisy looks up. No flares. She continues, moving closer and beginning to quickly and carefully wrap the bandages around a portion of the man’s face. “Can you walk? You can walk. Alright. Gray, that’s seven. Let’s get him back to Ward.”

The two women return with the burned man in tow — and Daisy decisively slams the back doors shut after loading him inside. Another ambulance pulls up, and she watches as Rogers, Allen, and Foster all hop out, making their way towards her as she makes her way towards Ward. She does a quick scan, and notes how they’re all looking at her expectantly. She takes a measured breath, then looks to Foster.

“Who else is coming?”

“McCarney, Kegley. Palmer on wheel. Some British medics, I think,” she purses her lips. “Do you know what you’re doing here?” Daisy falters for a moment, before nodding her head, ridding herself of any doubt. She’s already made this bed.

“Yeah. I do. Allen, you stay here by the ambulance. Ward, you get those seven back to the Aid station and then get back here. If you can, bring supplies. Foster, Rogers, and Gray are with me. Administer First Aid when you can but ultimately get them back here for pickup and evac,” she pauses for a moment, relaxes her shoulders. “And not just soldiers. Women, children, men, whoever. If they need help, you help ‘em. That clear?”

It’s immediate — a mish-mash of ‘Yes Lieutenants’ and then they’re spurred back into action.

Back and forth they go, guiding and redirecting, wrapping wounds and carrying people out of the mess. Some, they can’t save — buried beneath rubble, or losing their lives to shock. But Daisy expends every last bandage on her person, expending what supplies she can and trying to ensure as many people as possible make it out.

She doesn’t care that the smoke is making her cough, or that she’s occasionally singed by the blaze. She moves with purpose and the women behind her follow suit.

At some point, Rita and Patty fall in with them, and then medics from the RAMC move forward on their own crusade through the burning Eindhoven. She doesn’t know how much ground they cover, but every ambulance leaves full — forgoing a medic in the passenger’s seat to allot an extra, seventh passenger. They don’t stop until the only way to reach further would be to charge headfirst into the heart of the inferno — Daisy almost considers doing it herself, before negating the reckless action. Her face, along with the faces of many others, are covered in soot and sweat as they hurriedly make their way back to the awaiting ambulances to return to their sector and its full Aid Station.

She rests her head against the side of the ambulance as it skids down the road, heart still pounding in her ears as she pulls off her helmet. Patty bumps her leg with her own, and Daisy looks to her.

The smile on her freckled-face is weary, but proud. She musters the strength to return it.

The ambulance comes to a stop again, and everyone files out, immediately making their way towards the Aid Station. Daisy is the last to exit, starting to follow suit.

“Hold right there, Lieutenant.”

#band of brothers #fic // sad beautiful tragic #ronald speirs #hbo war #ron speirs #band of brothers fic #hbo war fic #ronald speirs x ofc #ron x daisy #ronald speirs fic

[theeuropeentrepreneur]

Lex Hoefsloot: Renewable Automotive Alternative with Solar EVs at Lightyear

You know how people and children walking and playing on streets and lanes used to know when a vehicle was going to pass by because of their loud and unique sounds? Yes, that used to be an indication of oncoming motorists and trucks which had loud sounds coming from their exhausts as they got nearer and when they passed by. 

But with electric vehicle innovation, electrically powered automobiles and bikes cut down on their loud sound pollutants and give a smooth, low, and soft buzzing sound as the riders and drivers whizz past. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even know a bike or car passed by if it was electrically powered. EVs also cut down on a lot of carbon emissions that are produced by fueled vehicles in the drive toward sustainable mobility solutions. 

The environmental impact of transportation from the increasing use of Electric Vehicles in the world today estimates green and bright futures in a few more years of consistent and growing use by more and more people. The innovations and creativity made and put together in the automotive and manufacturing industries to improve sustainability initiatives and environmentally conscious actions, provide us with better advancements in electric mobility by reducing several negative impacts that are detrimental to the ecosystem and biodiversity. 

Therefore in this article, we will be sharing insights into one such start-up company in the Netherlands called – Lightyear, founded and led by Lex Hoefsloot, is an automotive company that manufactures the first-ever scalable, grid-independent, and long-range solar electric vehicle as an improved and upgraded renewable alternative solution to other power-consuming EVs and fuel-consuming vehicles. On a mission to – “bring clean mobility to everyone, everywhere”, Lightyear aims to cover the world’s combined car driving distance of a Lightyear with their Solar EVs by 2035. 

About Co-Founder and CEO – Lex Hoefsloot:

The Co-founder and Chief Executive Officer of Lightyear is Lex Hoefsloot. Having received both a Bachelor’s Degree in Mechanical Engineering and a Master’s of Science Degree in Engineering and Automotive Technology from the Eindhoven University of Technology, Lex has a good background, learning, and experience working around automotive and related technological facets.

“I strongly believe that technology should be used for the right purposes……….to directly change the world’s biggest problems. We are not alone. Technology is here to give us a hand.” – Lex Hoefsloot, Co-Founder and CEO of Lightyear. 

Lex has good work experience and career from working in varying positions such as – A Member of the Automotive’s Publicity Team at the university where he studied, the Owner of Hoefsloot Web Design, the Co-Founder and Team Manager at Solar Team Eindhoven, the Co-Founder and Project Manager at Blue Jay Eindhoven, and finally Lex founded Lightyear which he is also the CEO at. 

About LIGHTYEAR:

Lightyear was founded in the year 2016 by Co-founder – Lex Hoefsloot. The co-founder and his team of experienced, skilled, and talented workforce members have created the 1st electric car that charges itself through sunlight with integrated solar cells. Established in Europe, Lightyear’s headquarters is located in Helmond, Netherlands. 

Mission Statement – “To bring clean mobility to everyone, everywhere.”

“Good for the planet and Good for you”, Lightyear is a powerful sustainable mobility vehicle. As the world is transitioning to electrically-powered vehicles and renewable energy resources to create and lead comfortable and sustainably green futures, there is still the huge consumption of energy and power grids. This would again create a cycle where we would need to decrease the usage of the power consumed. Therefore, as an alternative mobility solution for other power-consuming EVs and fuel-consuming vehicles, Solar Electric Vehicles have been made. 

This Solar-powered EV by Lightyear addresses many socioeconomically present challenges. The automotive industry plays one of the bigger parts that contributes to adverse climatic changes, haggard power grids, and energy-generating dilemmas. In response to this, Lightyear has manufactured and designed solar integration in automobiles that can go off-grid. This means that the dependencies in regularly charging electric vehicles through sockets and plug points are reduced. Renewable energy such as solar can now be harnessed by 5 sq. ft of solar cells that charge on the go, allowing one to drive for months after their last charge. 

Lightyear shares numbers saying that around 9,460, 000,000,000 kilometers of combined car travel is made in one year alone. This is the distance of a Lightyear. Hence the name Lex Hoefsloot chose as he envisions and aims to cover the world’s combined car driving distance of a Lightyear with their clean, green, and scalable Solar EVs by 2035. The company has since achieved a global reach of 20 billion with 4 world solar companionships. Using sustainable materials such as recycled carbon fiber body panels in the exterior body and naturally sourced materials for their vegan interiors, Lightyear’s solar EVs turn wheels and heads as drivers of sustainable, innovative creators of positive change, as they continue to industrialize their idea of offering clean and renewable mobility for all.

Visit More : https://theeuropeentrepreneur.com/lex-hoefsloot-renewable-automotive-alternative-with-solar-evs-at-lightyear/

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 3: Haunted

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: hey guys!! i had originally planned for operation market garden to be one chapter, but there were just too many things that i wanted to add, so it will be split up into at least two! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Summary: Things aren't as cut and dry as they seem when Easy jumps into Holland for Operation Market Garden, and (y/n) faces a heartbreaking reality.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: slightly graphic mistreatment of women (eindhoven scene)

SEPTEMBER 13, 1944: ALDBOURNE, ENGLAND

The pub was alive, bustling with half-drunken paratroopers when (y/n) arrived with Skip, Alex, and Don. They were missing their fifth member who they spotted across the bar playing darts with Buck. 

“How much money do ya’ think he’s lost?” Skip asked, snickering as they made their way through the crowd to an empty table. 

(Y/n) grimaced. “As long as he’s not asking me for a loan again, I don’t care. He still owes me $20.”

“Ehh, you’re probably not gonna get that back, (y/n/n), Penkala laughed, throwing an arm over her shoulder. “You should know George well enough by now.”

“Well, the first twenty bucks he gets is mine tonight, boys.”

Finding a booth in the corner, Don, Skip, and (y/n) plopped down while Alex went to get them drinks. They looked around the room and observed some of Bull’s new squad replacements sitting nearby. 

“They don’t look older than twelve,” Skip scoffed, shaking his head.

Don smacked the side of his head, rolling his eyes. “Skip, you don’t look much older than twelve, alright, so ease up.” 

“You’re telling me you don’t even feel a litt-”

“No,” (y/n) interrupted. “I don’t. They’re here the same reason we are.”

Before Skip could argue back, Alex returned with their drinks, and the first thing (y/n) did was gulp hers. To her dismay, Alex had started to ramble about the replacements to Skip, and the pair picked up right where she’d cut him off. With a sigh, she got up and walked over to George, Buck, Toye, and a replacement, who were crowded around the dartboard. They all watched Buck as he lined up a shot.

“Here we go. One shot. Here we go,” he muttered to himself.

When she slid into the space beside George, he smirked with a wink, nodding toward Buck, as if to say, ‘Look at this.’

“Lieutenant,” he began. “You gonna shoot lefty all night?”

Toye and the red-headed replacement’s faces fell, and (y/n) took a sip of her drink to hide her smirk. 

Joe looked between George and Buck in disbelief. “Hey, come on,” He groaned.

“Just curious,” George continued, “‘Cause he’s right-handed.” 

A sly smile grew on Buck’s face as he switched sides and lined up his shot. “George. What would I do without George Luz?”

The group watched as the dart left Buck’s hand and hit the bullseye dead on.

“Boop!”

Collective groans came from Joe and the replacement at George’s antics as he turned to the men. “Goodness, gracious!”

“Two packs, gentlemen,” Compton announced, holding out his hand.

“I know you’ve got them. Pay up.”

Joe looked at (y/n) who was still smirking into her drink. “You gonna let them screw us like that, (y/n)?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t see anything, Joe.”

Rolling his eyes, Toye grumbled as he placed a pack of cigarettes in Buck’s outstretched hand before walking off. The replacement approached (y/n) with a nervous smile, and she had to agree with Skip that he did look twelve, even if he towered over her. 

“Heffron,” he introduced, holding out his hand. “Babe Heffron. Nice to meet you. The guys have told me nothing but great things.”

She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Babe. You’re in Bull’s squad, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Raising her eyebrows, (y/n) snorted. “Ma’am makes me sound like an old woman. Call me (y/n).”

“Yes, ma’a-, I mean, (y/n),” he corrected, his face turning crimson.

Seeing the flash of a familiar silver flask near the door, (y/n) nodded at Babe. “It was nice meeting you, Heffron. You’re in good hands with Bull.”

She found him sitting at a table with Harry Welsh, who looked more tipsy than usual. “(Y/n). Speak of the devil. We wer-”

Nix’s eyes widened, and he kicked Harry discreetly under the table. “You meet the new replacements?” He asked as if Welsh hadn’t spoken.

Raising an eyebrow, she sat in the empty seat beside Lew. “What was that, Lieutenant?”

“Uhh, we were gonna ask you about the replacements,” he replied slowly, glancing at Nix for confirmation.

Though she didn’t understand Harry’s odd behavior, she didn’t push it. “They seem nice. I’ve just met Heffron after George and Buck conned him playing darts.”

Lew took a swig of his flask, throwing an arm on the back of (y/n)’s chair, his fingertips lightly brushing her shoulder. “Bull will take care of them,” he began. “He’s a good sergeant.”

(Y/n) nodded, unsure of her voice at his subtle touch. One touch and she was down for the count. Thinking back to D-Day and the way he held her, heat spread through her. She looked down at the drink in her hand and realized she needed a refill.

“I’ll be right back. I’m gonna get another drink,” she announced, getting up from her seat.

Lew got up, too, grabbing his signature flask. “I’ll come with. Harry, don’t cause too much trouble while we’re gone, alright?”

He rolled his eyes, shooing them away with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah. Go on. I’ll survive.”

The duo made their way for the crowd before leaning against the bar. 

“I thought you only drink VAT-69,” she questioned, motioning to the barkeep for two beers.

Nix faced her, his eyes scanning her face. “My supply is running low, so I’ve gotta cut back until I can get some more.”

The bartender returned with two beers and she gratefully took them, returning to their table with Nix in tow. As soon as they sat down, he placed his arm around her chair once again, and she took a big sip of her drink, knowing she would need it to make it through the night. 

“So, how’s the officer’s life treating you two?” She asked, trying to hide the blush that crept up her neck.

Harry took a deep breath. “Well…”

An hour and a few drinks later, (y/n) was throwing her head back in laughter at something Harry said. Nix just chuckled beside her, knowing she was drunk due to the fact Harry’s comment wasn’t funny at all.

Her head felt as if was stuffed with cotton, and the world was tilted slightly off its axis, but regardless, she was chatting away with the two Lieutenants.

“Ya’know,” she giggled, waving her hands around emphatically. “Kitty’s a lucky gal ‘ta have ya, Har. Outta all-”

Her hand caught a glass and sent it flying, beer spilling across the table. 

“Oh no.”

Lew stood up and gently grasped her elbow, helping her to her feet. “Come on, doll. You’ve had enough.”

“Lewis,” she whined. “I’m not drunk.”

His chuckled. “Really?”

“Uh, ‘yeh.”

“Okay,” he smirked, pointing behind her. “Try to walk to Luz.”

(Y/n) nodded and wobbly took one, two, three steps before tilting to her right, arms flailing. Luckily, Lew was ready and caught her by her waist effortlessly.

“I guess I am drunk,” she murmured into his shoulder. 

Her attempt gained the attention of her squadmates who still sat at the same table from hours earlier. Don and George walked over, faces painted with concern.

“She alright?” Luz asked with a grimace.

“Yeah. She’s just a lightweight,” Nixon smirked, glancing down at the woman in his arms. “I’m gonna take her home.”

Lifting her head off his shoulder, she looked up at him. “Already there,” she whispered to herself.

To her dismay, Don had heard it, and the man’s eyes became saucers as he realized what she meant. Everything clicked in his head.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I’ll get someone to check on her in the morning.”

With a curt nod, Nix led her out of the pub and was hit with a wave of sharp, chilly air that had her huddling closer to him. He had a secure hand around her waist, keeping her upright as they walked down the cobblestone streets of Aldbourne. 

“You alright down there?” He asked, squeezing her hip gently.

(Y/n) basked in his warmth. “I like it when you hold me.”

The man got choked up on his saliva and coughed a few times at her confession.

“Well,” he began slowly, staring down at her, the moonlight illuminating her face. “I like to hold you.”

“Why?”

A smile formed on his lips. “You can ask me when you’re sober, but I doubt you’ll remember any of this, sweetheart.”

She nodded once against his shoulder as they turned onto her street. Aldbourne was a quiet town, especially on a Sunday night. It was easy for one to find themselves getting lost in their thoughts. The soft glow from windows reflecting off the pavement felt like home, even if they were thousands of miles away from theirs.

In different circumstances, Lew could envision him and (y/n) on their way home from a night dancing or movie picture, giggling as young couples do, oblivious to the horrors of the world. But that wasn’t reality. They’d seen the horrors firsthand, and he envied the people who lived and loved in times of peace.

A soft voice broke him from his thoughts. “Thanks.”

Looking up and realizing they’d arrived at her billet, he reluctantly let go of her. He felt the loss of her warmth and reached out to take her hand. “Drink some water, alright? I can’t have you being grumpy tomorrow because you’re hungover.”

She smiled blearily, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for ev’rythin, Lew.”

In a moment of weakness, he sighed and tugged her closer. As Lew’s strong arms wrapped gently around (y/n)’s frame, he felt her heart beating through her chest, as if it were trying to send him a message. The scent of her hair, a delicate mix of her shampoo, and the evening breeze intoxicated his senses. All he could think about was the woman in his arms. Standing there in the warm embrace of a quiet, moonlit night, it was as if the war wasn’t raging around the world. But just as quickly as it had begun, the hug came to an end. They pulled away, eyes meeting for a fleeting moment as if searching for answers in each other’s gaze.

“G’nigh,” she giggled, walking towards her door with unsteady steps.

“Night, sweetheart,”

Once the door had closed and he heard the familiar click of the lock, he backed up onto the street shaking his head with a bashful smile.

“I’m in trouble,” he chuckled, making his way back to the bar.

September 14, 1944: ALDBOURNE, ENGLAND

(Y/n) awoke with a groan, hearing dull raps from the front door beneath her. Each knock was like a drum banging inside her skull as she made her way down the stairs. The family she was staying with was on a weekend vacation, and she was thankful their children wouldn’t see her so hungover.

(Y/n) opened the door, squinting at the bright sunlight. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” a kind voice replied. Lip. 

Her eyes widened. “Sorry, Car, I didn’t realize it was you.”

“It’s alright,” he began softly. “You weren’t at the pub last night, so I wanted to let you know we’re moving out again.”

Already?.

“Okay. Thanks, Lip,” (y/n) nodded, eyes sinking to the floor as she closed the door.

Great.

September 17, 1944: Operation Market Garden

As Easy Company sat in ditches along the road to Eindhoven, an eerie silence hung in the air. Sure, Allied intelligence suspected the Krauts in the country were mostly old men and kids, but the paratroopers were on their toes, ready for whatever would come next.

(Y/n) was sandwiched between George and Skip, who were grumbling back and forth about a failed darts game the night before. 

“Will you two shut up, please?” She laughed softly. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

George smirked, adjusting his helmet. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

A squadron of Allied aircraft roared overhead, and soon after, they approached the town. A window opened, and (y/n) motioned for everyone to get down as she crouched beside a fence. The person pulled out a long orange banner and tied it around the window.

“Okay, hold your fire,” Bull appeared behind them, cigar hanging from his lips.

Staring at the town above her M-1 sight, a deep pang of worry shot through her stomach. Something didn’t feel right.

The paratroopers couldn’t believe their eyes as the people of Eindhoven celebrated their liberation from the German occupation. Bright orange flags flew from every window, and (y/n) found herself smiling at the pure joy that oozed from the town. 

(Y/n) and George had gotten separated from the rest of their squad in the crowd as they dodged kisses from the locals. Well, (y/n) dodged their kisses. After a few girls tried to land a smooch on her lips, she removed her helmet, showing she was a woman. Soon the town's men caught on and were trying to do the same. 

She tried to push through the crowd as quickly as possible staving off any attempts from them. Looking behind her, she groaned at the empty spot where George had been. “George,” she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Luz! Come on!”

A few seconds later, he appeared to her right, fresh red lipstick smeared across his lips that were quirked into a wide grin.

“Gosh, (y/n). Can’t a guy have some fun?” He joked, wiping his mouth with his hand.

Turning around, she rolled her eyes and made her way through an opening in the crowd only to be pulled to the side by her arm. “Hey!”

A familiar Philly accent filled her ears. “Come get in this picture, (y/n)!”

Babe pulled her through the crowd, and George followed, kissing as many girls as he could along the way. 

“There they are!” Chuck yelled, throwing his arm around a blonde.

George and Babe stood behind a few kids wearing orange hats and waving flags, all smiling from ear to ear. A wide smile grew on (y/n)’s face as she knelt beside the kids, placing her helmet on the little girl's head beside her. The helmet tipped down, covering the girl’s face except for her crooked, snaggle-toothed smile. (Y/n) quickly fixed it for her, and to her surprise, the little girl threw herself in the woman’s arms. Fighting off tears, she sniffled and hugged the girl back before pointing to the camera.

“Smile, everybody!” (Y/n) announced.

The picture was taken with a click, and (y/n)’s eyes wandered to the left of the cameraman.

She froze, her face falling. Time slowed as she watched the scene unfold before her. A local woman with long, flowing chestnut hair and a confident stride approached Lew. (Y/n) squinted to get a better look, her heart pounding. She watched in disbelief as the stranger reached up and placed a hand on Lew’s cheek, drawing him closer. The world around (y/n) seemed to blur as the stranger’s lips met Lew’s, and they kissed, and he didn't pull away.

Time seemed to stand still for (y/n). She couldn’t comprehend what she was witnessing. Her mind raced with questions. 

Why was Lew kissing her? 

Her hands clenched into fists, and tears welled up in her eyes. (Y/n) felt like a statue, unable to move or speak as the painful scene played out before her. She knew she had no right to be jealous, but not so deep down, she wished it were her instead. Her heart ached, and her stomach churned with anger, jealousy, and sadness.

George tapped her shoulder, his brows furrowed. “(Y/l/n)? You alright?”

Following her line of sight, he found what she was fixated on and softly sighed.

“He’s an idiot, (y/n/n). Come on,” he murmured, hoisting her up by her arm.

She stood and blinked away angry tears that filled her vision. She knew she had no right to be jealous, but not so deep down, she wished it were her.

A small voice below her broke her train of thought. “Dank,” the little girl nodded, holding out (y/n)’s helmet. She forced a smile and took it from the girl. 

George tugged her arm softly, pulling her in the opposite direction of Nix. She blindly followed in a haze, her mind muddied with hurtful thoughts. Townsfolk grabbed at her jacket as she and George made their way to the main town square where 2nd platoon was meeting. 

She was snapped out of her mind by the sound of screams. Her head moved on a swivel trying to find the sound’s source. Spotting a circle of citizens up ahead, she pushed past George quickly, squeezing her way through a few men to see inside the circle.

Before her, half-naked women were on their knees, crying as their hair was roughly shaved, leaving them with blood streaking down their necks and faces. Two Dutch resistance fighters bumped past (y/n) with another petrified woman in their arms. They threw her down and began to rip the clothes off her body. (Y/n)’s eyes narrowed as a burning sensation filled her chest. 

“Hey!” She cried, shoving one of them away from the woman. “That’s enough!”

The man recovered swiftly, but (y/n) didn’t give up. Unable to bend her to his will, he resorted to dirty tactics, shoving her forcefully and causing her to stumble and fall to the hard cobblestone street with a thud. 

“Stomme meid,” he spat.

Stupid girl. 

Her unclasped helmet skidded a few feet away as her head came in contact with the road. The impact knocked the wind out of her, leaving her momentarily gasping for breath. 

For a few seconds, everyone’s eyes were on the (y/n), then all hell let loose. Easy’s men were trying to get to her with enraged shouts but were unable to get through the crowd. With great effort, (y/n) pushed herself up off the ground, her face flushed but her spirit unbroken. She looked the man squarely in the eyes, refusing to show fear despite the pain in her chest. 

The man leered down at her with a smirk as he switched to heavily accentuated English. “Maybe we should teach you a less-”

(Y/n) lost all self-control as her arm reeled back ready to swing, but someone grabbed it tightly and tried to pull her away from the man. Seeing a flash of dark hair, she knew it was him, and her fury only grew. (Y/n) resisted, her heart pounding with adrenaline.

“No, Nix!” She protested, her voice filling with fiery determination. She wriggled free from his grasp for a moment, her eyes still locked onto the resistance fighters. “Let go of me! They can’t do this! We can’t let them do this!”

He stepped in front of (y/n), blocking her view of the confrontation, and looked deeply into her eyes. “(Y/n), I know, all right? I wish we could, but we can’t do anything about it.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she tried to push past him only to hear a tone he had never used with her before.

“Stop! That’s an order, (y/l/n),” he gritted, his heart squeezing in his chest at the words.

(Y/n) stared at the Officer in disbelief. 

How dare he not help these poor women?

Tears filled her eyes for the second time that day as she took one more look at the poor woman on the ground. “I’m sorry,” she whispered before shoving her way back through the crowd.

Lew’s eyes followed her until she disappeared into the mob. Sighing, he ran a hand down his face.

What a difference a few days can bring.

One of the men behind him spoke. “She’s a lively one, no?”

“Shut it,” Nix snapped, scooping (y/n)’s discarded helmet off the street.

When he found Dick, Harry, and Buck, he handed the helmet to her platoon leader. “It’s (y/n)’s.”

Buck took it with a nod as the four officers watched the British Armored Division come rumbling down the street. 

It was going to be a long operation.

Tag List: @softguarnere @mrsgeorgeluz @flowers-and-fichte @inglourious-imagines @peggyvan @rebeccapearson @hxad-ovxr-hxart @im-chinese-believe-it-or-not @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @titiglt @stvrkdream @multifandomfanfic

comment or message if you want to be added to the tag list!

#band of brothers #mads' fandoms #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #hbo war #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers series #band of brothers masterlist #band of brothers fic #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon imagine #lewis nixon angst #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x reader angst #lewis nixon x reader fluff #lew nixon #nix #nix x reader #lewis nixon fluff #lewis nixon series #101st airborne division #101st airborne #ww2 #world war 2 #easy company #easy company imagines #easy company x reader #babe heffron

[canvasclothing]

For our first mentor meeting we had a very fruitful meeting ,where we got to know each other better as a team,this is a tool that made me learn a lot about other students and their goals,it was an eye opener for me as a designer to see all the different background and the learning goals that we have in common were very inspiring.

Before coming to the session, I had already a positive feeling about working in a group with my team member because I'm really getting along with their personality and I feel like I can do great thing with them. As everybody is respectful and. There is a space for each one of us to express their idea and their creativity.

During the meeting, we discussed or different goals or personal goals, the strength and the asset that we're going to bring in the group work, the value that we are aiming for, the needs and the expectation that we have for the project, the purpose. The rules and the action point that we're going to set up to make the group work easier for everyone, to avoid problem and tension in the group an our personal weaknesses and development area that we need to work on to be better designers.

So in the different people and role that we're going to have in our team, we have listener who has a background in product design and programming. So it's going to be a really nice asset for the group because we will be able to programme and set up website really. Easily. We have Goon who has a background in psychology and has a really deep interest for mental health well-being. Amie Fatima, who has a background in fashion, design and textile technology. Who is more interested in material design and human centred design, we have even emerged. Who is the industrial product designer? Who did the pré master in twente  , but who came here because he preferred the mood in tu Eindhoven  .We have Sophie who? Study digital design an who is interested in user centred design.

The goals that we have and what we want to achieve as a group. Is we want to learn how to fulfil a complete design process. From A-Z we want to focus on physical prototyping and design and learn how to 3d  print.

We have personal goals as well. For example, someone wants to learn how to physically make prototype. Think more outside the box and learn how to do a research design projects. In a group setting. Personally, I want to develop my product design skills. I think that's a. A more competent in aesthetically pleasing design. Another group member aimed to develop also product design skills. Ann He's also really interested in the initiation phase and prototyping. Working with Arduino an. Really have a good time management and a good structure around the project. Is also a really strong point of interest for this team member an I have to say that I also agree with that point. During the discussion, we saw that we had a lot of in common. Another team member want to challenge themselves in area where they are inexperienced. They want to do more with physical product design and material design and they want to learn also 3D printing.

For me, Fatima can I want to develop my prototyping skills. I want to develop maths, the use of data and coding skills. Because it can be a great help in my future career as a textile designer and engineer. The knowledge of data, but also knowing how to physically prototype. Can be really nice for me. I want to have experience with the tools I want to successfully pass the project an I want to learn how to do different research methods. An I really want to be more proficient in the ideation phase.

Another group member wants to know how to create a product from scratch and fully understand the design process as she. Studied before psychology and she never designed any products. I think that her background is really interesting because it's going to. To allow us to be more human in our design process and to really put ourselves in the shoes of the user and the people who need the service at the end. We're going to use artificial intelligence, but we need to keep in mind that. We need to give back to society an if we are trying to push ourselves further into better ourselves to do this master, it's because we want to be useful element in society and we want to use two last technology matter in computing to make the life of people easier. Whether it is in the creative process or in the healthcare industry or in the textile industry, we can always make the process better and make it profitable for a wide range of people.

In the needs an expectation. What was really clear in the group is that. The group member need structure, communication, responsibility. Uh, they need to check on each others work. They need to be honest on the quality and the demand that we have. We need a structural way of working. We need to be. To stick to what we promised to do. An. We need also to have a clear and exciting project that will drive us and motivate us, and we need respect and compassion because we are 5 individuals SO5 personality, five different universe that are coming together and we need to set up a good calendar to avoid misunderstanding stress. An bad organisation. Most importantly, we need a clear, defined goal that will passionate every member of the team and that may that will make the work really easy and more clear. To work on. We need also to understand an be supportive of each other as it's going to be 6 months where we're going to work on a project. We don't know the challenge that we're going to face and as a group we need to be really supportive, compassionate. Then give our best to pass the project and to create something really nice.

For the rule and action point, we introduced during this session the facts that we're going to communicate Minute Acres notes after each meeting on WhatsApp. To make the life of everyone easier and to avoid. Problems and misunderstanding that could lead to tension. Between the group members. We decided also to set clear boundaries that we don't have any communication after 22 at night unless it's really necessary. We need to take responsibility for each one of our action. Being honest but not mean and set the time limit to discussion so everybody can express themselves in the group members. This is a really nice point because in my previous group projects that I felt unfortunately I didn't always had the opportunity to express myself as it was mostly one person who was talking most of the time. So we need to save word for unnecessary discussion and avoid problem an tension. We decided also to plan each week detail by detail on what we're going to do together, each appointment that we're going to have, how are we going to work on the project and how are we going to reflect on the process and the future plan that we. Hub. We decided to also. Say if we are late we need to say or if we are sick or not present at meeting we need to announce it.

And lastly, we decided to organise an overview of task clearly communicated in or WhatsApp channels and of course. Keep your promises and help each other. For example, if somebody has the strength in data in computing, they can help a colleague at realise A mock up or codes and vice versa.

The weakness that we have is that most of the team member are dyslexic or have ADHD, also open it up about some. A challenge with academic writing. I went ahead and I said that I don't speak fully Dutch yet. I consider that as a weakness because everybody in the team is Dutch and I saw that when we are in team meeting their naturally driving to speak dirty and to express themselves in Dutch, but I'm going to work on that and. Learn Dutch. I express it to my team member that dyslexic. I have sometimes problem with my organisation and stress managements. I have to work on my mental health and my well-being to be a really good group member. I told them that I can look distant, but it's not the case. I'm just a little bit too chaotic for the moment to manage extra activity outside of school, for example to drink. Tea or go to the nightclub or go to a party because I'm not living in end of an AN. I have to travel to our back and forth, so it take me a lot of time to travel. So I might not be always available if they're going for a drink after class or something. For me, I I always go for the most difficult option or the most challenging option. I don't do that on purpose. It's something inside of me. I have to work on my academic writing and of course my time management.

Another team member expressed that she was a perfectionist, sometimes an A little bit silent and slow. Uh, she don't really express her emotion on her face. She's quite direct, but it's never to hurt people. She's dyslexic as well, an she never did academic writing, so it's going to be a struggle for her. I really appreciated the honesty of my other team member and I really felt like this session was a really necessary step to have a really nice and pleasant group work together. It was also a way to break the ice and to see. Each group member for their strength, their weakness is we open it up a lot of our personal life to each other. We were vulnerable, strong and at the same time human. And I found it really beautiful. I really appreciate it. Every moment of this, this session and in the future, I'm going to take this as a lesson to make this really important a tape base for each group work. Because when we know. Uh. Everything about the group member and we re set up rules. It avoid to have miscommunication and tension later. I also heard that another colleague has ADHD, sometimes she will be unavailable due to personal circumstances she had. O pure experience aside from the pre master courses. And she didn't work in a group often, so it can come across as she don't care. She said that she's not rude. She's just dealing now with personal issue and mental health problem, so she has to. Each medicament that can make her look a little bit aggressive. I I also had a lot of new information about other colleagues that say that there are more. A Doom tinker type that they need some time to panic before they can turn it into motivation. I also had another. A colleague a that say that they have had their day there. Also a dyslexic. And they need pressure to work toward the goal.

[fff777]

watched nct dream's our dream day in the US #1

This beginning montage is so cute already

Mark stood Jaemin up for their taco date >(

Renjun singing The First Snow

This is too cute...Donghyuck yawned and then they used an appropriate yawning bear kaomoji

Jeno's teddy poodle coat

Renjun craving hot pot ^^;;

Jaemin now part of the camera crew :P

Gang's all here

According to Mark, brunch = brothers having lunch together

Chenle arguing about this being the first time they filmed something together outside

They talk soooo much it's so endearing lol.

Mark explaining what food is available for brunch :P

Mark: Isn't who you eat it with the most important? Haechan: No, it's when you eat it that's the most important Jeno: No, whether or not you went out is important

Here they go arguing about meaningless things again XD

Really it's Chenle who likes dragging out arguments as long as possible and Jisung is the only one who accommodates him

Pretty Jaemren <3

Jeno, reading the menu: I was reading it very carefully, but it ended up being the wine menu

Reading earnestly

Jeno asking Mark about French toast. Travelling with friends must be so fun <3

Mark ordering for most of them though Chenle answered for questions about his own meal.

Mark ordering bacon for Jisung X'D He's like naw, you should get it, trust me bro

The guys ordering beers and the server checking their ID lol

The diner has all their Christmas decorations up and they thought it was cute :3

The guys worrying about if they ordered too much ^^;;

Jisung and Haechan watching Arsenal vs. PSV Eindhoven lol

Mark got a latte for the vibes

Renjun said that Jisung looked a goblin and I was wondering if he meant Goblin the drama or an actual goblin lol

All the guys getting Mark to put foam on his lip lol

Mark wearing a sweater that could be a Christmas sweater...ish

Renjun revealing that he prepared a gift for them again :3

Jeno told Renjun that he still had the socks that Renjun gifted to them and Renjun gave him a big hug :3

Renjun had been planning his Christmas gift since end of November

Nomin making a big deal about Jisung drinking beer on camera

So this is a pretty famous diner

Food is starting to come :3

Renjun singing Last Christmas. I think that's the preferred Christmas song among the Dreamies.

Jaemin mukbang

Renjun has never tried French onion soup before? *o*

Gahhh They're sharing all of the food. Sharing food with friends is the best <3 They're digging their spoons and forks into each other's plates and passing bread to each other and moving the plates all around <3 I do that with my family too <3

Renjun is so delighted by this cozy Christmas brunch <3 Romantic boy

Renjun struggling with getting the camera to focus on his food

Renjun aggressively rolling up Chenle's sleeve like a parent

And then apologizing when Chenle said he was rough

Renjun: Shall we talk only in English now? Haechan: *Immediately speaks in Korean*

Haechan: I'm so full *immediately eats more*

Jaemin likes it when the server comes by to ask them how they're doing

Mark facetiming Johnny who's in the Maldives with Doyoung :o I'm guessing that's where they did their Allure photoshoot?

Johnny called Haechan cute :3

Mark said "Bye Baby" to Johnny. All of the Neos are his babies lol

Jisung is like a goat because he eats a lot of vegetables (and snacks XD)

Jaemins against alcoholism PSA

They're playing a drinking game but Chenle gets a pass because he has a sore throat

Jaemin advocating for safe partying

Mark won rock paper scissors and was whining because he actually wanted to have the drink

Donghyuck and Renjun getting hyped up for rock paper scissors finals

Jisung trying to play mind games to disturb Renhyuck :P

Haechan lost so he had to drink the beverage and everyone at the table was freaking out but they couldn't disturb the other patrons so they were freaking out quietly lol

I'm guessing the drink was really strong lol. They passed it around for the other guys to drink and all of them either took a sip or not at all. Though of course they wanted to leave as much as possible for Haechan.

Renle affection

I saw this kyuu photo :P Even Jisung did it this time

Next video will be them on a city walk I guess! :3 It looks very cute. They're taking photos of each other <3 But I have hit the screenshot limit so I will leave it for when I get to that video.

And we're getting Nahyuck time next video too :3

#screencaps & commentaries #nct #nct dream

[mizanurrahmanpolash]

Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven: Your Trusted Partner in Relocation

Discover the top-rated Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven for all your moving needs. Our expert team ensures a smooth transition. Contact us today!

Introduction

Moving can be a daunting task, but with Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven by your side, it becomes a breeze. We understand the challenges that come with relocating, and our dedicated team is here to make your move as smooth as possible. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore the world of Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven, covering everything from services offered to frequently asked questions. Let's embark on this journey together.

Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven: Who Are We?

Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven is a reputable moving company based in Eindhoven, Netherlands. With years of experience in the industry, we have established ourselves as a trusted partner for individuals and businesses looking to relocate locally or internationally.

Our Services

At Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven, we offer a wide range of services tailored to meet your specific needs:

Residential Moves

Moving to a new home? Our team specializes in residential moves, ensuring your belongings are handled with care and arrive safely at your new destination.

Commercial Moves

Relocating your business? We provide efficient and organized commercial moving services to minimize downtime and disruptions.

International Relocation

Planning an international move? We have the expertise and global network to facilitate seamless transitions across borders.

Packing and Unpacking

Don't want the hassle of packing? Let us do it for you! Our packing and unpacking services ensure your items are packed securely and unpacked with care.

Storage Solutions

Need a secure storage facility? We offer short-term and long-term storage options for your belongings.

Specialized Moves

Have valuable or fragile items? Our specialized moving services guarantee the safe transport of your precious possessions.

Logistics and Planning

We excel in logistics and planning, ensuring every aspect of your move is meticulously organized.

Why Choose Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven?

Experience Matters

With years of experience in the moving industry, Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven has encountered and overcome every moving challenge imaginable. Our seasoned professionals bring their expertise to every project, ensuring a stress-free experience.

Customer-Centric Approach

We prioritize our customers' needs and concerns. Your satisfaction is our ultimate goal, and we tailor our services to meet your unique requirements.

State-of-the-Art Equipment

We invest in the latest equipment and technology to guarantee the safety and security of your belongings during transit.

Competitive Pricing

Moving doesn't have to break the bank. Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven offers competitive pricing without compromising on the quality of service.

Eco-Friendly Practices

We care about the environment. Our company adheres to eco-friendly practices in packing materials and disposal.

Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven: How It Works

Wondering what to expect when you choose Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven? Here's a step-by-step guide:

Free Consultation: Contact us for a free consultation, where we discuss your moving needs and provide an estimate.

Customized Plan: We create a customized moving plan tailored to your requirements and schedule.

Packing and Preparation: Our team arrives on the designated day to pack and prepare your belongings for the move.

Transportation: We use our state-of-the-art vehicles to transport your items securely to the new location.

Unpacking: Upon arrival, we unpack your belongings, ensuring everything is in its place.

Final Inspection: We conduct a final inspection to ensure your satisfaction with our services.

FAQs about Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven

Are your services insured?

Yes, Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven is fully insured, providing you with peace of mind during your move.

How do you handle fragile items?

We have specialized packing materials and techniques to ensure the safe transport of fragile items, such as glassware and artwork.

What areas do you cover?

While based in Eindhoven, we offer our services locally and internationally, covering a wide range of destinations.

Can I get a free quote?

Absolutely! Contact us for a free, no-obligation quote tailored to your specific moving needs.

Do you provide storage solutions?

Yes, we offer secure storage options for both short-term and long-term needs.

How far in advance should I book your services?

To ensure availability and proper planning, we recommend booking our services at least a few weeks in advance, especially during peak moving seasons.

Conclusion

Verhuisbedrijf Eindhoven is your trusted partner for all your moving needs. Our experience, customer-centric approach, and commitment to quality set us apart in the industry. Whether you're moving locally or internationally, we've got you covered. Contact us today for a seamless and stress-free relocation experience.

#Verhuisbedrijf

[phyllisthefirst]

[Masterlist] [on ao3]

George and Phyllis and Bastogne, let's go! A warning: I upped the rating on ao3 for this chapter because it deals heavily (although not too graphically) with death. But I promise, it won't be all depressing!

I did, however, listen to this song for most of the writing so... you know. (The lyrics are in German but there's a beautiful instrumental part.)

Tagging: @next-autopsy

As always, this fic is entirely about the fictionalized representations of the men of Easy Company that we see on the show. I mean no disrespect to the real men by writing this.

No tired sigh, no rolling eye, no irony - Part 8

Holland is full of ups and downs - the celebration in Eindhoven, the disastrous Market Garden retreat, their victory at the crossroads, Phyllis getting injured in a basement at battalion HQ, successfully rescuing a bunch of British soldiers, losing Moose Heyliger to a nervous replacement’s shots… It's dizzying, one thing after another until George doesn't know up from down anymore. 

That is, until they get trucked from safe, warm Mourmelon to some godforsaken forest in Belgium, and it doesn't take long for him to understand: This time, things are going down. All the way down to hell, if hell tortured its souls with ice instead of fire. 

***

Phyllis’ letter is the first and only bright spot in an absolutely miserable week, smuggled in just before they got cut off. It's not a long letter, but it's from her, and full of the exact hope that's been rapidly leeched out of the men of Easy Company in between the cold and the German shelling.

"George," she writes, and already he has to smile - always straight to the point, his Phyllis, no time to lose on niceties.

"I've found out what they sent you off to Bastogne with - basically nothing, and just in time for winter to really dig its heels in! I've been trying to rustle up at least some winter clothes, but even if we had any, I fear there's no time to get them to you before the supply lines are cut off. But don't give up hope: I'll keep trying, and so does everyone else. There's not a single person here, from the brass to the supply officers, orderlies and secretaries, who isn't fighting every moment of every day to get you what you need. I guarantee, not a moment goes by that we don't think of you, dug into the snow out there on the line. I know that's not the same as ammunition and clothes and food, but right now, it's all I have. I pray that it will be enough for just a little longer, just long enough. So: Don't give up hope, you're not alone and you're not forgotten. Stay safe, try to stay warm, and for the love of God, stay alive.

Phyllis"

George reads the letter five more times before he carefully folds it up and puts it in his breast pocket, right over his heart - as if somehow, through the sheer strength of her words, that little piece of paper could protect him from anything, be it a bullet or a shell or the cold itself.

Three weeks later, after he's watched Muck and Penkala being blown to pieces in a foxhole he was just making his way towards, after a dud has landed right next to him and Bill and Joe Toye lost their legs and Buck lost his fighting spirit, George wonders if somehow, his superstitious belief in the note has come true.

***

Captain Winters starts sending men away when he thinks they need a break from the line, probably aided by Nixon who has a knack for knowing exactly who might be needed for a specific job somewhere in town. 

When Winters calls him to his makeshift command post to inform him that a shipment of radio parts has arrived and he should go and see if anything needs replacing in the radio he's been lugging around since Market Garden, George wonders if he should be worried. He thought he had been keeping it together fairly well, all things considered, but sending a man away to fix a radio that isn't even broken does not seem like it should be high among the Captain’s priorities. 

His feeble protest is overruled by Captain Nixon, who adds:

“I hear Colonel Sink had all of battalion HQ moved to Bastogne after Patton’s Third Army broke through. Someone needs to check in if they've got any new intel for me anyway. Face it, Luz, you're a runner today.” 

George wonders, briefly, if Nixon remembers the afternoon they spent digging out a caved-in cellar in Holland, remembers what exactly “battalion HQ” means to him. He finds it unlikely, until he catches the glint in the officer's eyes. 

“Sink’s entire staff is set up near the old town hall, you can't miss it.”

Yup, Nixon knows exactly what he's doing. 

“Now, head into town on the next jeep out, get yourself a hot meal and don't come back until that radio is back in top shape”, Winters adds, and George wonders uneasily just how much information Nixon shares with his fellow officer. Apparently, there’s a certain amount of gossip involved. 

He shakes his paranoia off by reminding himself that whatever Nixon is doing, right now it’s working in his favor: If Nixon's right, Phyllis is in town, and he’s been basically ordered to stay as long as he can. 

“Thank you, Sir. I'll bring you back a brand-new radio, if I can.”

“That's what I want to hear.” Winters sends him off with a salute, and before long, he's rumbling through the streets of Bastogne, haphazardly cleared of the rubble from the Germans’ deadly Christmas presents. 

It’s hard to orient himself, the bombing having re-shaped the town until it’s initial layout is hidden from the naked eye. Fortunately, the jeep driver knows his way around and points George to a larger building that must have been some kind of inn or restaurant. 

“You’ll find the supply officers in there. They’ll know where to get spare parts for your radio. I’ll be going back and forth all day. Last trip will probably be around 1600 from the church square. Make sure to be there.” 

George nods and climbs out of the jeep, radio cradled in his arms. When he enters the building, a memory flashes across his mind, of running through a building in Aldbourne, radio clutched to his chest, and smack dab into Phyllis. The thought of running into her again - maybe not quite as literally - fills him with a hope so sudden it feels like a sting in his chest. 

But first, he has a job to do. He talks to a supply officer, then gets sent on to a mechanic, who promises to take his radio apart, replace anything that looks like it might need it, and have it back in shape by 1600. He also helpfully points him to the mess hall, where the cooks cast one look at him and start to scrounge up some semi-warm food even though it’s not lunchtime yet. 

The mess hall isn’t exactly warm, wind gusting in through the damaged wall in one corner of the house, but it’s still leagues better than out in the forest. George should just stay here, where he at least isn’t constantly shivering, and wait out the afternoon within easy reach of warm food. But after so much time crouched in foxholes, the thought of sitting around makes his skin crawl, and so he gets up and makes his way outside again, gasping as the frigid air hits his skin. No matter, he tells himself - he’s gotten used to worse, during those long cold nights out in the forest. 

He ambles aimlessly through the streets, a mockery of the sightseeing trips he took on weekend passes out of Mourmelon, when he and a bunch of the other men would take a bus to Reims to marvel at the cathedral before catching a USO show and drinking and dancing the night away. Now, there’s nothing to look at, nothing except for rubble and harried-looking men hurrying through the streets with supplies or paperworks or injured men on stretchers. 

He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going, and suddenly he’s turned a corner of a street busy with jeeps only to realize it must be the street where the aid station is located. He’s heard a little of how bad it was there during the siege, mostly from Spina, who comes by his foxhole every once in a while for a cigarette and a chat. Doc Roe never talks about Bastogne, barely talks at all anymore. 

Spina mentioned things, vaguely, but George still isn’t prepared when he sees it: The bombed-out church, the top of a dented bell peering out of a mountain of brick and timber. The hustle and bustle outside of the new aid station, just a few houses further down the street. And outside, lining the street on what must have been the sidewalk once, the carefully piled-up frozen corpses of the dead, so many dead. 

He thinks of Hoobler, Muck and Penkala, and wonders if they’re in the pile as well, or if they were buried in the woods somewhere, in shallow graves etched laboriously into the frozen earth. 

He feels dizzy suddenly, nauseous, and he doesn’t even know why. It’s certainly not his first sight of death, and probably won’t be the last, but there’s something about seeing it here, in the middle of what must have been a quaint, pretty town once, that makes the sight that much worse. He turns and stumbles blindly back out of the street, nearly getting hit by a jeep as it speeds by with an injured man strapped to it. 

“George?” A voice exclaims, familiar but too dulled by the roaring in his ears. He ignores it and stumbles on, followed by the faint thud of footsteps until the voice calls out his name again, and suddenly there’s a tug on his arm. 

“George!” 

He tears himself away and whirls around, hand nearly going to his weapon on instinct before his sight clears and he realizes who’s standing before him. 

“Phyllis?”

She’s nearly unrecognizable, bundled up in a hat, scarf, jacket and an almost comically oversized pair of pants - men’s clothes, he’d guess. 

“What are you doing here?” Her gloved hands are hovering in the air between them, as if she started to reach out and then got scared mid-reach. Probably the moment she saw you reach for your weapon, he tells himself. 

“Got sent by Captain Winters, to get my radio fixed.” His voice is hoarse, his throat dry. He wonders how long it’s been since he talked to someone. How long has he been wandering around like this? 

“Is it broken?” The question is somewhat superfluous, but he doesn’t point it out.

“No,” he replies, biting down on the addition that threatens to bubble up inside him: But I might be. He forces himself to say literally anything else. “But the Captain asked me to have it looked at, see if any of the parts might need replacing. Mechanic’s looking it over right now.” 

There, that was a normal thing to say, right? They’re back on track to a normal conversation. If he works just a little harder to keep it together, he’ll manage to convince her that he’s just fine. 

“So I guess I’m stuck for a little while. Know any good places to get a drink around here?” He cringes at how strained the joke comes out. 

Phyllis smiles, but the look in her eyes doesn’t go away, the one that looks suspiciously like pity. 

“I could rustle up some coffee in my office, if you like. It’s just around here.”

He shrugs. 

“Sure. I’ve got some time to kill.” 

Bad choice of words, Phyllis’ look suggests. She looks pale, and considering her face is covered almost up to her nose, George thinks it can’t be all because of the cold. He wonders how often she has to walk along the street he just fled from, how ordinary the sight of piled-up bodies has become to her. Some old instinct flickers to life inside him, the urge to protect her, whisk her far away from all of this and make sure she never has to see such things again in her life. But he’s in no position to do any such thing and too worn down to dwell on it. The most he can do in terms of chivalry is offer her his arm as they walk. She takes it, but he gets the feeling her footing is much steadier than his. She’s wearing boots, too large like the rest of her clothes, and he can’t help but feel that familiar warm fondness inside of him: Here she is, not at all suited to anything about their current situation but still holding her ground.  

Phyllis leads him to a house not far from the supply officers’ building, if his memory serves, in through a half-splintered door and to a room on the ground floor. She closes the door behind them, a surprising move given how careful she usually is about anything that might cause rumors. Perhaps she’s too tired to care, and perhaps everyone else is, too. 

She directs him to sit on the room’s only chair and walks over to a sideboard with a small field stove and a metal mug on it. While she busies herself with making the promised coffee, George looks around the small room. 

There’s a desk next to his chair, covered in neat piles of paper, one of its legs broken off near the bottom and propped up on some bricks. It faces the window to let in as much daylight as possible, but right now, the wooden shutters are closed from the outside, probably to keep the cold out. Dim light falls in through the slats. A second window is boarded up entirely, and George understands only at a second glance that it is because the entire windowpane is missing. In the corner farthest from the desk, there’s a narrow cot with a blanket draped over it. He raises his eyebrows. 

“You sleep here? Is that safe?” 

“Technically, I’m billeted with the nurses. But my working hours have become so irregular that sometimes I don’t want to have to walk over there in the middle of the night. This is more convenient. And I’m not alone in the house, several of the officers have set up in the other rooms.” 

It’s not much of a reassurance, but knowing Phyllis, any additional pushing will not be welcome. And in any case, there probably aren’t many safer places in the town. At least the room has four walls, a roof and most of its windows. It’s certainly warmer than his foxhole or the drafty mess hall.

Even the coffee, when she hands it to him a short while later, doesn't turn frigid within minutes. George, who has learned to drink his coffee fast before the icy cold drains it of what little warmth it can provide, immediately takes a large gulp and burns his tongue and the roof of his mouth. It stings, badly, and it's such a stupid thing to hurt him after all the things that could have, lately, that he promptly bursts into tears. 

Through the sheen of tears he sees Phyllis’ familiar shape step closer. 

“George?” She sounds tentative, unsure what to do in a way he’s never heard her sound before. She’s so competent, normally, so sure of the next necessary steps. He had hoped at least she wouldn’t be changed by this frozen hell-place, but apparently, that was futile. “What’s wrong?”

He can’t tell her, can’t speak, his mouth still burning even though the coffee is long gone. Instead, he reaches out blindly, grasping her waist, and pulls her close. The way she’s standing before him, his head is about the same height as the middle of her stomach, and he leans forward to press his cheek against it. It’s unspeakably improper, intimate even though there are several thick layers of clothing still between them, and he half expects her to push him away and kick him out. Instead, she closes her arms around his shoulders and pulls him close, rubbing down his back and running soothing fingers through his hair while he sobs silently into her stomach. That alone should worry him, should tell him what a pathetic sight he must make. He doesn’t care. She’s warm and soft and alive, and that’s all he can process right now. 

“Shh, it’s alright. You’re alright.” Neither of these things are true and they both know it, but he lets himself believe it, if only so he can stay here for another moment longer before he has to return to the cold and the deaths.  

When the worst of it is over, he has no idea how he'll even find the strength to lift his head, let alone get up and drive back out to that frozen forest. 

“You should rest for a bit, before you return,” Phyllis says as if he had said his last thought out loud. Maybe he has. Maybe she can read his mind. Maybe he just looks so goddamn tired and pitiful that she could guess. He wants to resist, but she’s already pulling him to his feet and guiding him over to the narrow bed set up in the corner. “Your radio will still be here later, and I’ll make sure no one finds you, alright?”

He should protest, he knows. He’s already imposed upon her too much, and considering Colonel Sink’s warning about improper behavior, the last thing he should do is risk getting found in what is essentially her bedroom. 

But he’s just so tired, hasn’t slept properly in weeks. So he lets her gently push him down onto the cot, lets her lift his feet onto the bed and cover him with the blanket. He wants to tell her she shouldn’t, that he’s dragging all kinds of filth into her bed, but when he starts, she puts a finger to his lips and shushes him. 

“Rest. When do you have to get back?” 

“Jeep leaves at 1600,” he mumbles against her skin. 

“Alright. I’ll wake you up with enough time to go get your radio.”

He should say thank you, for the bed and the coffee and letting him cry, but exhaustion is claiming him, fast, and all he can do is nod. The last thing he’s aware of is her hand softly running through his hair, across his forehead, down his cheek and up again. Then he’s out like a light. 

*** 

Phyllis has been scared plenty of times since she had the brilliant idea of getting involved in this whole war business, but nothing has scared her as much as the sight of George Luz stumbling through the streets of Bastogne like a ghost. He looked too much like the corpses piled along the street, face gray and eyes empty, and too little like himself. 

Then again, it’s a wonder any of himself is still there, after what the boys have been going through out in that forest. And it is still there, that spark of warmth and humor that she’s been steadily falling for ever since she first met him, it’s just buried deep under a layer of cold and fear and grief. She knows the name of every single friend he’s lost, because she gets the lists of dead every few days and she always checks the sheet for Easy Company first, heart pounding until she’s sure his name is not on it. 

And now he’s here, sleeping peacefully on her cot, the gray of his skin gradually turning a more natural, almost rosy shade. She left her coffee burner on to make the room a little warmer than she usually has it. He deserves all the warmth he can get, before he has to make his way back out to the line.

She watches him for another few moments, the sight of his chest rising and falling steadily  comforting proof that he’s still alive. Then she gets up from the edge of the cot and sits at her desk to get some work done. 

She sets her little travel alarm clock to 3.30 to make sure he has enough time to collect his radio before he has to get to the jeep, then she turns her attention to her neverending lists. A strange peace settles over the room, the quiet only broken by the muted clicking of her typewriter, George’s soft breaths and the occasional distant boom of artillery. 

By the time her alarm goes off, she’s so focused it startles her into a gasp, and George shoots upright on the cot, looking around disorientedly. 

She adopts the same calming voice she has used before, one normally reserved for scared children and confused elderly.

“It’s 3.30. I set my alarm.”

George nods, running a hand across his face to hide his broad yawn. 

“Thank you,” he tries to say, but gets cut off by another yawn. Phyllis has to smile. 

“Would you like another coffee before you go?” 

George ponders it for a moment, then shakes his head. 

“I’m good for now. But maybe some water?” 

She hands him her canteen. He takes it and drinks without hesitation, and she’s suddenly reminded of evenings at the pub in Aldbourne, of the silly little thrill it used to send through her when he stole a sip from her drink. There’s an intimacy to sharing a drink, she always thought, and now she knows there’s a similar intimacy to watching over someone’s sleep. She wonders if he feels it too. Probably not, considering there’s always one of his buddies watching over him when he sleeps in a foxhole. This isn’t much different. 

He sets the canteen down and gets to his feet, walking over to the door and the rifle he set against the wall there. And just like that, she suddenly realizes, their time together is over. Despite the grief, despite the harrowing sight of him breaking down in tears, it was precious time. She doesn’t allow herself to wonder how long it will be until they get a moment like this again, just for themselves. 

“I better head out, get that radio. I don’t want to miss the jeep.” George begins, standing awkwardly near the door. She wonders if he’s as reluctant to go as she is to let him. She can only hope it’s a little bit because of her too and not just because of the comfort of a bed and blanket in a warm room. 

Her train of thought is cut off when he steps closer to take her hand. 

“Thank you, for… all of this. Stay safe, alright?”

She should say the same thing to him, but it would feel too much like tempting fate. 

“I will. And I’ll keep pestering everyone I can for better winter clothes and rations for you boys.” 

The smile she gets in return finally resembles his former smile, even if it’s smaller and less bright. The sight is such a relief that, before she’s thought about it, she’s thrown her arms around his neck to hug him. 

When she draws back, he looks for a moment as if there’s something else he wants to say. Instead, he picks up his rifle, grins once more, and opens the door. 

“I’ll see you around,” he announces, a promise he shouldn’t make that she still eagerly soaks up.

Then he ducks out and the door closes behind him. Phyllis stands frozen in place for a moment, stunned by the quickness of his departure. 

With a sigh, she sits back down at her desk. There’s work to do, and the best way to help George is if she does it well and makes sure he has everything he needs out there. 

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #george luz #george luz x oc #george luz/oc