#2nd Platoon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

python333 · 9 months

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im in love with your content omg😭 your writing style is just chefs kiss

can i req a reader with the tf141 being on a mission and hearing an enemy say something in british slang and they just go "what did they just say.." in comms? like a reader who doesnt know anything about slang like not even that bars in the uk r called pubs (if im not wrong) and just nods whenever a private talks in slang, and their brain is just trying to figure out what they just said?

its just a really silly plot with a silly reader :3

pardon? — python333

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synopsis just as the req says, you know nothing about british slang and on a mission the enemy speaks british and you dont know what theyre saying :3

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 2.6k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note HI YES I LOVE THIS REQ!! i take every opportunity i can to make fun of british people so this is right up my alley!! tysm for the compliments hjfhdjskf recently ive been getting more praise on my works and it makes me so happy i love yall. again, sorry if this sounds a little rushed or if any parts are incoherent, i wrote this at 12/1am and im both more productive and write more nonsense at this time + this one is wayyyy shorter than ones i usually do because i didnt know what else to write for it so i apologize for that as well! this is pure fluff and humor (i like to think im funny) so enjoy!!

“—eah, and now we have to camp out here ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do it ‘imself, so I feel like we should have a chat with the others, see if they’re willing to leg it out of here with us,” An enemy soldier suggests to you, his British accent thick enough that you think it might be cockney.

You cross your arms to hide your shaking hands and nod in agreement, as if you understood anything he said, and put on the same shitty British accent you’d been using for the past five minutes you’d been talking to this guy.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” You agree, clearing your throat before asking, “You know where the others are stationed?”

“You don’t?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

“Mate, all the orders I was given went in one ear and out the other,” You sigh, holding back a wince at your desperate attempt to sound more natural using British slang, “I just know I’ve got to stand out here and shoot the enemy.”

The enemy eyes you suspiciously and he takes a moment to try and read your face before he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, actually. Which would be weird, if we’re in the same platoon, don’t you—”

You sigh and quickly pull out the small switchblade you had hanging on your belt, stabbing the enemy in the neck before he can say anything else and grabbing him before he can drop to the ground, putting a hand behind his back as you half lead half drag him into a dark alleyway beside the building he was stationed outside of.

You quickly set him down into a sitting position and take your knife out of his throat, tucking the blade back into the handle before adjusting it to latch onto your belt once again, letting out a frustrated huff as you stare at the now dead man in front of you.

“[c/n], how copy?” Price’s voice crackles through on your ear piece.

You push in the PTT button and lower your voice, “Copy, I fucked up a little bit. One of the guys was onto me.”

“You were there for five bloody minutes,” Gaz’s voice rings through, his tone both disbelieving and amused, “How’d he already catch onto you?”

“The British are smarter than I thought,” You breathe out, standing up and looking around for a ladder to climb to get to higher ground before anyone spots you. You go farther into the alley and find an old, rusty ladder with rungs that look like they’d snap if someone sneezed on them too hard—perfect for climbing up.

You wrinkle your nose as your hand makes contact with one of the rungs but don’t say anything otherwise, instead wordlessly hauling yourself up onto the ladder.

“Reminder that there’s three British people with you, currently,” Ghost’s deadpan tone crackles, his breathing heavy, as you can tell he’s whispering into his mic, “All of which are very smart.”

“I caught you reading the instructions on a box of tea bags the other day, don’t fuckin’ talk right now,” You grumble, slowly climbing up the ladder, hating the creaking noises it makes as you do. It sounds like it’s going to snap at any minute, and you try to go up as fast as you can, but one wrong move and you’ll easily slip, some of the rust that flakes off of the ladder enough to make you slip up.

“They were circles,” Ghost says, exasperated, “I didn’t know if that made a difference.”

“I thought British people were supposed to know everything about tea,” You roll your eyes, putting your hand on the next rusty rung up on the ladder.

“Yeah, L.t,” Soap agrees with you teasingly, the wind hitting his mic, making it obvious that he’s running, “Thought ye Brits were s’possed to ken everything ‘bout tea.”

You laugh quietly to yourself as you finally make it to the top of the building, the top just high enough for you to look at the few soldiers below and hear a majority of their conversations without them noticing you.

You get to the edge of the rooftop and pull the sniper rifle you’d been carrying around off of your back, glad to finally be back in your element rather than trying to get in undercover, and set it up.

You pull the stand out and set it on the edge of the roof, and look through the scope of the rifle, lining it up so that it’s aiming directly at one of the soldier’s heads, specifically the one that was standing directly out of the entrance you originally were meant to try and get into—but doing this didn’t change much.

Regardless of if you got in or not, he would’ve died, and the others would’ve gotten in too. You getting in first was just meant to make it more efficient.

You press down on the PTT button on your earpiece as you look through the scope of your sniper rifle, keeping the aim on the soldier in front of the entrance, “The guy in front of the entrance is just standing still, so whenever you need me to, I can shoot ‘im down.”

“I don’t think we need to get in just yet,” Price hums, “But maybe in a minute.” “M’kay,” You hum, taking your eye away from the scope, instead just looking over at the enemy soldiers. You lay on your stomach, leaning your head down a bit to try and listen in on the enemy’s conversations easier, trying your best not to make yourself too obvious.

The conversations were pretty boring and almost the same for every soldier you’d eavesdropped on, for the most part. Enemy soldiers joking around, talking about what they’ll do once they’re on leave—like they would be able to do that after you completed your assignment—and just some general team camaraderie.

The lackluster subjects of their conversations weren’t bad at all, no, in fact, you could care less what they talk about.

It was their stupid accents you hated.

Are you surrounded by British people everyday? Yes. Does that stop you from hating on the British everyday? No. Okay, maybe the accents aren’t stupid, but God, they had the thickest cockney accents you’d heard in your entire life, and it was making your eavesdropping so much harder, and had almost been the reason you were given away earlier.

They used slang words that you’re certain you’ve never heard before in your life, and used analogies that didn’t even make sense—you heard one of them use the words, verbatim, ‘Don’t get stroppy’. Stroppy? Stroppy?

You narrow your eyes down at the soldiers below you, listening to a conversation they’d just started up.

“—eah, ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do anything about it, so now we have to camp out here and wait for somethin’ to happen,” One of the soldiers scoffs, “I’m telling you, man, if I see that skull-masked bloke runnin’ ‘round out here, I’m legging it from ‘im immediately.”

You draw your eyebrows together in confusion, but you stay silent for now. Isn’t that exactly what the other soldier said? Are they like a hive mind or something?

“You’re legging it?” The other soldier asked, sounding almost incredulous, “What happened to you chattin’ to some of the others about your loyalty and what not?” “All that’s irrelevant when the fuckin’ grim reaper rolls around and starts murkin’ people like he’s been doing for the entirety we’ve been here, mate,” The first soldier laughs, “You think I wanna be here when he does that?”

“Don’t act like a prat about it, man—fuckin’ talking’ like you can outrun him.” “A prat? I’m not—” You tune out the rest of their argument and instead try and figure out what they were saying.

A prat? Legging it? Can’t be arsed? What the fuck? You push the PTT button on your earpiece and as quietly as you can, you ask, “I need some help. Serious help. Life or death situation.” Immediately, Price’s voice rings through, “What? What is it? What happened?” “The soldiers are British and I can’t tell what they’re saying,” You answer, ignoring Price’s relieved sigh on his end, “I need help.” “Jesus, fuck, don’t scare me like that,” Price sighs, taking a few breaths before continuing, “Alright, what do you need help with?”

“Figuring out what they’re saying.” This time, you hear Gaz’s voice crackle through, “Well, you’ve got three British people here—tell us what he’s saying.”

“One of the guys was talking about ‘legging it’ if he saw Ghost heading towards him, and talked about Ghost ‘murking’ people, and then the other guy he was talking to told him he was being a ‘prat’ about it and he got all offended,” You eloquently say into the earpiece, watching as the argument gets a little more heated. You can hear an amused huff from Ghost on his end and a scoff from Soap in return.

“They’re just saying they’re gonna run away if they see Ghost because he’s been killing a lot of their soldiers, and the other guy said he was being a prat, which I guess is like…” Gaz pauses to think of how to explain the slang term before settling on, “Someone who’s kind of full of themselves, I guess. Or ignorant. Either or.”

“They couldn’t just say that?” You muse quietly, still staring down at the enemy soldiers.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” Price’s voice cuts through, “Go ahead and shoot the guy down. I’m ready to head in.”

“Got it,” You hum, quickly putting your eye back up to your scope and readjusting it a bit before quietly warning, “Shooting him now.”

You pull the trigger and the enemy goes down immediately, and through your scope you can see the small twitching of his body as the other soldier starts to freak out.

You quickly aim the gun at his still-alive friend and shoot him down as well, silently congratulating yourself on your good aim and continuing to look through the scope, watching as Price runs in with Gaz and a few other soldiers.

They struggle with the door for a moment and you sigh before pressing in the PTT button on your earpiece and quietly saying, “Price, Gaz, move away from the door for a sec.”

Wordlessly, they do as they’re told, and you take the opportunity to line up the gun’s aim with the complex electronic panel on the outside of the door and pull the trigger, shooting the most crucial part of the panel, causing it’s functions to disrupt and as a result, the doors open.

“Thanks for that,” Gaz breathes out as Price kicks open the door, his voice cut off a bit at the end as he takes his hand off the PTT button too quickly in order to follow after Price.

“Uh huh. Of course,” You say offhandedly, taking your eye away from the scope of your sniper rifle and listening to the loud sirens go off in the facility the others break into, and push yourself up so that you can sit up straight to properly watch it. You grunt as you sit up, stretching your arms out for a moment before letting them fall into your lap.

“Are they in?” Soap asks, curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. There’s no loud gusts of wind coming through his mic anymore, and you look around for a moment, before your eyes catch on to him climbing up a ladder to get to the rooftop adjacent to yours.

Your lips twitch into a smile at the sight of him completely clueless to your presence and you press your PTT button to talk.

“Yeah, they’re in,” You say, watching as he finally gets to the rooftop, “Didn’t you hear the sirens?”

You can see Soap’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, and he looks around for a moment before finally seeing you on the rooftop directly next to his, and he looks surprised for a moment before a grin splits across his face. You see him press the PTT button on his mic as well.

“I did, yeah, just wanted tae be sure,” He says into his mic, looking right at you as he does, “It’s a surprise seeing you here.”

“Imagine how I feel,” You muse, almost to yourself, before looking away from Soap and speaking up, “Ghost, you don’t wanna join us on the rooftops?”

“Absolutely not,” He replies almost immediately, making you huff out a small laugh and Soap’s grin grow, “I’m perfectly fine on the ground.”

“Where are you?” You ask, scanning the area around you for Ghost, “I feel like I haven’t seen you this whole time.”

“I’m just behind the facility,” Ghost hums, voice still a low whisper, “I’m gonna be heading in once Gaz and Price make it to the second floor to clean up the first, in case there’s anyone left.”

“You’ve been behind the facility this whole time?” Soap’s voice cuts through, surprised by the fact.

“Mhm,” Ghost hums.

“It’s a bit boring back there, innit?” Gaz’s voice crackles through, his voice a little breathy, “You can sweep the first floor, by the way. Should be nobody left, though. Pretty sure all the soldiers were just faffing around, not doing much.”

“Fucking faffing around?” You ask incredulously to yourself, though apparently your voice is loud enough to make Soap chuckle.

As if he can read your mind, Price’s voice comes through, “Faffing around is just doing nothing or doing nothing particularly productive, [c/n].”

You sigh and push your PTT button this time, talking into your mic, “You couldn’t just say that, Gaz? You had to say something silly like faffing around?”

“It’s not silly,” Gaz says, his frown audible, “They were faffing around.”

“Jesus, fuck,” You breathe out, laughing lightly, “It’s totally silly.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it’s—”

“I just want one day where you two don’t start up stupid arguments like this,” Price’s tired sigh comes through, “Just one day, I beg of you both.”

“Aw, Captain, we were just faffing around,” You whine playfully, the misuse of the slang making Soap cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter and you hear Ghost groan into his mic.

“That is absolutely not how you use that,” Gaz says, though you can hear some laughter in his voice—from your very non-British accent saying British phrases, you presume, a small grin gracing your lips at the thought.

“It sounded natural to me,” You lie straight through your teeth, shrugging even though only Soap can see you.

“You’re insufferable,” Gaz groans, making you laugh quietly, “Never use British slang again, please.”

“What if I get a British accent? Will that fix it?”

“Nothing can fix what you’ve said today, [c/n].”

“Well that’s dramatic,” You scoff, “I’ll learn British just for you guys.”

“Holy shit, please stop talking,” Price’s exasperated voice interrupts the both of you, “You’re both insufferable. Drop it.”

“… I don’t think I will,” You say defiantly, making all three British people in the same voice channel as you groan in unison, the sound sounding like some sort of middle school choir trying to sing in harmony, “I’ll use Duolingo or something to learn it.”

“British isn’t a language you learn, you muppet,” Price grumbles, making you snort.

“Muppet?”

“It’s someone who’s dumb and clueless and can’t take a hint, like you,” Ghost defines, “And Soap, most of the time.”

“Daen’t go draggin’ mae into this,” Soap’s voice quickly cuts through, “I haven’t said onything.”

“Uh, yes you absolutely did, earlier, remember?” Gaz argues, ignoring Price’s protests for him to stop arguing, “About Ghost being stupid with the tea thing?”

“Oh, I’ll have you all know—”

“Ghost, don’t start—”

You listen as the once casual, teasing conversation turns into an argument and chuckle quietly to yourself, knowing that they’d be arguing about this until you all finished your assignment.

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sarcasmic-skies · 2 years

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the platoon brainrot is strong

#saw this film for the first time at 8 yrs old #it is my 2nd favorite film of all time #everyone needs 2 see it #fellow platoon enjoyers marry me #ty posts #what ty’s watching

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shelyue99 · 1 month

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(When Winters was inquired about his relationship with Nixon) "You seem to have been polar opposites. You didn't drink, nor did you swear. Nixon did both and in huge quantities. He would have been the last man whom I think you would have befriended. What was the foundation of your friendship with Nixon?”

Dick's eyes shone as he recalled his old friend. "It is hard to explain. I had first met Nix when we were at Fort Benning, Georgia, in officer candidate school. Later we served as platoon leaders under Sobel's command. A special bond always exists among the platoon commanders in any military company, particularly when they perceive their own commander as 'the enemy. I stayed in Easy Company, but Nix was transferred to higher headquarters. He drank too much, but he was also very conscientious.

He was conscientious in his own way, on a man-to-man basis, and he always looked at what would best benefit the battalion. His contribution cannot truly be measured. There is no question in my mind that Nixon was the best combat soldier in 2nd Battalion. By the time we jumped into Holland, I was so lonely that I needed someone in whom I could confide my inner thoughts. That someone was Nix.

Whenever the bullets began to fly, I could turn and there stood Nix.

He always walked on my left side, one or two steps behind me. This was his token of respect for me as a commander."

Dick continued, "I also had the opportunity to observe how he handled himself under fire. The best way to illustrate this was in Holland when we encountered a German roadblock. As the 2nd Battalion peeled off to the left, Easy Company was placed on the extreme left flank, crossing a flat field in broad daylight. About two hundred yards before we encountered the roadblock, we came under intense machine gun fire. The Germans stopped us dead in our tracks. Nixon and I hit the ground simultaneously. When he did, he took off his helmet and saw that a bullet had pierced it. Nixon had a smile on his face. Here's a guy who came under enemy fire and laughed about it. Of course that night, Nix got roaring drunk.

In hindsight, Nix probably needed me as much as I needed him. He was undoubtedly the coolest man under fire whom I ever encountered in combat."

From “Conversations with Major Dick Winters.”

#dick winters #lewis nixon #band of brothers #winnix #I think I’m crazy about them

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bechnokid · 8 months

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I had a really fun drawing session with @bunni-hopper the other day! We were just drawing Keroro stuff, and I ended up drawing a sort-of reference for Giroro to make up for the fact that I drew him in regular dress shoes last time. Shame on me! He's a combat boots man!!

Some details/headcanons:

Keronians don't have "ethnicities", but I had him be Viet in mind.

Giroro is the 2nd tallest of the Keroro Platoon.

In the original series, he has a crush on Natsumi, but in this gijinkaverse of sorts, he sees her as a rival.

I imagine him (along with Keroro and Dororo) to be in his mid-30s.

Has a crush on Kururu, but is in severe denial (Kururu knows and takes full advantage of this).

More or less the same as his original counterpart: very serious and hot-headed.

He still has a photo of his family in his belt buckle, and he will never replace it!

Writes surprisingly good poetry. Once submitted it to a radio show, and it made many girls cry.

#keroro gunso #sgt. frog #giroro #kerojinka #bechno art #eye contact cw #eye contact warning #food cw #food warning

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militarymenrbomb · 3 months

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U.S. Army Warrior Fitness Team Member

Capt. Brian Harris

Capt. Brian Harris, was born in Edmond, Oklahoma and graduated from Edmond North High School in 2009. He was a member of the high school’s baseball and wrestling teams throughout high school. He enlisted in the Oklahoma Army National Guard in August of 2009 as a firefinder radar operator (13R) in field artillery. While serving in the Guard from 2009 to 2013, Harris attended the University of Oklahoma and actively participated in the Army ROTC program. During this time, he was introduced to functional fitness and began competing at a high level at various competitions around the country. In 2013, Harris commissioned into the Regular Army as a Medical Service Corps officer and that year was selected as one of twenty two medical service officers to attend flight training and be trained as an aeromedical evacuation officer (67J) / UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter pilot.

Harris’ assignment history includes Fort Rucker, Alabama where he attended Army flight school followed by Fort Carson, Colorado as a section leader, platoon leader and staff operations officer for the 2nd General Support Aviation Battalion, 4th Combat Aviation Brigade. During his time with 4th CAB, Harris participated in several full-scale training exercises and served one nine-month deployment to Afghanistan in support of Operation’s Freedom Sentinel and Resolute Support providing aeromedical evacuation services across RC-East and RC-North. In 2016, he was named the 4th Infantry Division’s “Junior Officer of the Year” for his efforts both in combat and garrison. After his time in Colorado, Harris returned to Fort Rucker to serve as the operations officer for their Air Ambulance Detachment (110th Aviation Brigade) known as “Flatiron” providing 24/7 crash rescue support to the Aviation Center of Excellence, as well as, routine support to 6th Ranger Training Battalion at Eglin Air Force Base and support to the local civilian population in accordance with the Wiregrass Letter of Agreement.

Harris is a CrossFit Level 2 certified trainer and master fitness trainer (phase 1) and has accumulated more than 700 hours of one-on-one and group coaching time teaching functional fitness methodologies to servicemembers and civilians enabling them to reach their fitness and lifestyle goals. He has competed at the local, regional and national level in functional fitness competitions. Under the old CrossFit season format, Harris was a 2 time regional qualifier and recently represented the United States of America as a member of the national team at the International Federation of Functional Fitness World Championships in Malmo, Sweden (2018).

His awards and decorations include the Air Medal with “C” device, Air Medal, Army Commendation Medal with 2 bronze oak leaf clusters, Army Achievement Medal with 3 bronze oak leaf clusters, Meritorious Unit Citation (2-4 GSAB, 4CAB), National Defense Service Medal, Afghanistan Campaign Medal, Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, Army Service Ribbon, Overseas Service Ribbon, NATO Medal, Combat Action Badge, Basic Army Aviator’s Badge, Parachute Badge, and the Air Assault qualification badge.

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blurredcolour · 5 months

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It's Better This Way | Part One

It's Better This Way Masterlist

Carwood Lipton x Enlisted!Female Reader

Finding yourself injured and without shelter in Haguenau, you shift your focus to caring for the unwell Lipton, but as his promised battlefield commission comes through, it becomes impossible to continue pretending that your feelings for him aren't slowly killing you.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Angst, Bull Carries Reader, Minor Reader Injury, Detailed Descriptions of Pain, Language, Weapons, Pining for a Married Man, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. There will be a happy ending to this but unfortunately Lip and the reader are going to have to go through it first. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5048

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

The fabric of Randleman’s ODs felt remarkably rough against your left cheek as you pressed your face tightly to the small of his back. Each time the soles of his jump boots met the wet streets of Haguenau, your body jostled against his as he ran with you slung over his shoulder, a series of splashes sounding around you as the entirety of 1st platoon fled from the outpost you had very recently been sheltering in. You wrapped an arm around his middle, trying to limit the violent bouncing of your body as the other bent at the elbow to protect the back of your head in anticipation.

“Sergeant why is your platoon running around outside?” You could hear Captain Winter’s voice and felt Randleman skid to a halt, the others quickly following suit.

The man holding you turned to address him with you still dangling from his shoulder. “Well sir, first she started sniffing like a bloodhound, next thing I know she’s screaming like a banshee to ‘get out’ so out we got, sir.” He replied, obviously winded, guilt swelling in your chest both at the urgency you’d expressed seemingly all for naught and the lengths Randleman had gone to get you of that cellar and into the street.

“What did you find, Corporal?” Captain Speirs’ voice reached your ears as he stepped around Randleman to address your inverted face, and you turned your head to speak to your commanding officer, despite the rushing of blood in your ears.

“Really big sh–” Your response was cut off by the explosion of the now vacated building, your eyes going wide before you were suddenly shielded by a wall of ODs as Randleman, and therefore you also, were ushered into a nearby alley for cover.

Your head was starting to swim, the pressure of hanging upside down becoming almost too much. “Think you could put me down, Sarge?” You wheezed and Randleman leaned forward, setting your feet on the ground with a muttered apology.

The rapid draining of blood back to its normal places had you sway on your feet, and you grabbed for his collar, wincing at the unexpected pain in your palm. You looked at the burn there in confusion as Randleman steadied you by the shoulder.

“Your face is bleeding, Corporal.” Speirs said quietly and you dug your battered handkerchief from your pocket, quickly pressing it to your cheek with a wince at the sparks of pain that erupted there, before grabbing a scoop of snow with your hand, sighing a little at the instant relief it brought to your heated skin.

The filthy state of your ODs, a brand-new set you’d just changed into not two hours ago, brought a frown to your face. Lipton was going to be so disappointed in you. Hearing your name, you looked to Captain Winters quickly, following as he motioned for you to head into the Company CP with him and Captain Speirs. A quick glance over your shoulder revealed the rest of 1st was splitting up, one group heading to where 2nd was positioned and the other to 3rd. Randleman was nowhere to be seen.

“Sit.” Winters gestured at the worn settee, and you sank into the lumpy cushions apprehensively. “What exactly happened in there, Corporal?”

“Well, sir, we were in the basement waiting for dinner when I could smell something burning – and it wasn’t just the cooking. I followed the scent of it to – well I think it was the coal cellar? And opened the small door. Then I could smell cordite, like artillery, which seemed an even worse thing to smell than smoke.” You grimaced and gritted your teeth against the pain that seared through your cheek in response. “So, I crawled in there just to figure out what the hell was going on when I saw a shell, bigger than the ones in Bastogne, just sitting there amongst smoldering wood and coal, a gaping hole in the bricks above it. But I guess opening the door fanned the flames or something because it started to get very hot in there and even though it hadn’t detonated when it hit the side of the building at some point, I figured we needed to get out of there as soon as possible.” You looked up to the two men staring at you with exhausted expressions, a stunned silence settling over the dimly lit room before Speirs cleared his throat.

“How did you get out?”

“Bull yanked me out of there, thankfully. I was not crawling backwards fast enough.” You looked up as the man himself appeared with Roe in tow, the medic quickly coming over to look at first your face and then your hand, working at bandaging your burn to start.

“Well done, the both of you.” Winters chimed in at last before turning to Speirs. “We need to have each platoon conduct a thorough inspection of the buildings to make sure there’s nothing lurking anywhere else.”

“Yes, sir.” Speirs nodded in reply before looking back at you. “We’ll get you some gear as soon as we can, Corporal, and find you a bed too.”

“Thank you, sir.” You replied before they walked out deep in conversation, and you winced as Roe probed at your face. “Thanks for pulling me out, Sarge.” You gave Randleman a lopsided smile.

“Sorry I caught your face…” He muttered guiltily.

“Just adds to my rugged good looks.” You joked bravely, looking to Roe as he sighed.

“We’re gonna have ta pull all these splintahs out.”

You nodded in resignation, trying not to frown in dread of the process. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

“Can ya lean back fo' me?” He shuffled closer to stand between your legs as you tilted your head to rest against the ornate wood frame of the settee, closing your eyes as he leaned in.

Shoving your unbandaged hand into your pocket, you curled your fingers into a fist, tensing in preparation for the oncoming discomfort of Roe rooting around in your flesh for the apparent crop of slivers you’d acquired during your adventure.

“Ya gotta relax you' face fo' me.” He chided gently, holding up his flashlight and a set of tweezers he’d procured from his aid kit.

“Sorry, Doc.” You exhaled, doing your best to relax the muscles of your face and jaw so he could do what he needed to do as quickly as possible, eyes closing again.

The scuff of boots across the warped hardwood floor followed by the soft ‘click’ of the front door signalled Randleman’s departure, so you were surprised by the dipping of the cushion beside you and a gentle tap at your elbow. You opened your eyes to see Lipton sitting there, looking just as unwell as he had when you’d put him to bed an hour-and-a-half ago. You narrowed your eyes, silently communicating that you would be discussing his presence later, but, undeterred, he offered his hand for you to hold as Roe began to pluck fragments of rotten timber from your cheek.

Fighting with the urge to yank back from Roe, and to cry out pathetically, you pulled your hand from your pocket to clutch at Lipton’s tightly, feeling a great deal of comfort as he held tightly in return.

“Can you hold that for me, please, Sergeant?” Roe handed him the flashlight and began working at a particularly large sliver.

Your fingers threaded through Lipton’s to squeeze almost painfully as you did your best to endure silently, the wedding band on his ring finger indenting into your skin as he rubbed his thumb soothingly along the edge of yours.

“You’re doing great.” He wheezed, full of congestion.

Unwilling to surrender without a fight, the shard of wood split through the thin barrier of your skin, drawing a yelp from your throat, much to your embarrassment. Mercifully neither man commented on it. After two smaller slivers were easily plucked free, Roe swiped your skin clean and pressed a piece of gauze to your cheek, wrapping several lengths of bandage around your head across your nose to hold it in place.

“All done, now get some damn rest, tha both of ya. You’ll be no good backin' up tha patrol tonigh’, I’ll tell tha Cap’n.” Roe muttered and hurried out – he always seemed to be in a hurry, something you did not envy him.

Sitting up, you rounded on Lipton immediately. “Bull called me a bloodhound and a banshee all in the span of thirty seconds, why are you out of bed tempting fate?”

“Heard your platoon ran into some trouble.” He grumbled sheepishly before a cough overtook him, body shaking the settee with the effort.

You frowned deeply. “You’re about to run into a whole lot more trouble if you don’t get back to bed, come on.” You stood, tightening your grip on his hand and pulling him after you as you made your way toward the back of the building.

Finding the room he’d settled in earlier, you led him over to the bed, pushing on his shoulders until he sat down, pulling off his untied boots.

“You need to be careful of that hand…” He protested weakly.

You simply ignored him as you lifted the sheet and blanket to tuck him in. “And stay here this time.” You said firmly as you made sure he was propped against the pillows to keep his coughing to a minimum.

“Stubborn woman.” He grimaced up at you, making your lips stretch into a smirk.

“Not very creative when you’re sick, now are you Lip.” You muttered and settled onto the filthy rug on the floor beside his bed, not at all concerned now that you’d coated your once clean ODs in all manner of dirt.

“What are you doing?” He croaked, turning his head to watch you lay on your side with the uninjured half of your face resting on your bicep.

“Making sure you don’t go anywhere, not even when the patrol is on its way across the river in a few hours.” You glared up at him affectionately.

“There’s gotta be a free bunk in the other room, go on–”

“I’m not falling for that again, Lip, you already sent me off to get some dinner and snuck out of bed. There will be no repeats.”

“You’re gonna get all dirty again…”

You snorted sleepily, shaking your head. “Too late, now sleep, will you?”

He huffed in annoyance, sending you one last baleful glance before seeming to settle into the bed. You sighed, letting your eyes drift shut as you curled up tight against the chill in the room – all your gear including your coat, blanket, and scarf were lying at the bottom of a heap of rubble, having not been a priority for you or Randleman as he dashed out of there. Despite all that, you were relatively comfortable in a room with four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. It was peaceful, aside from the odd noise outside and Lipton’s ragged breathing. Sleep had just begun to caress the edges of your consciousness when the warm weight of a blanket draped over your body.

At first it was seductive, trying to pull you under into a deep sleep, but realization dawned in your sluggish brain just where the blanket had come from, and you bolted up from the floor. “Dammit Lip, what are you doing?” You hissed at the man covered only in a sheet, pushing yourself to your feet to drape the blanket over him once more.

“Just get up here then, would you? I won’t sleep with you curled up on the floor like the Little Match Girl.” He replied firmly.

What ensued was a silent battle of wills as the pair of you glared at one another in the near-dark of the room until he broke out into another coughing fit, and you relented out of concern for his health.

“Call me stubborn” you muttered, unlacing your boots and yanking them off to set beside his before crawling over his legs to wedge yourself between his body and the wall.

It was not the first time you had slept next to Lipton – you had spent the majority of Bastogne sharing a foxhole with him. Yet there was something unspeakably intimate about sharing a bed that grated at the already frayed edges of your nerves. Doing your best to keep your back to him, willfully ignoring the persistent ache in your left cheek where it pressed against your arm, you sighed dramatically as he tugged at the blanket until it mostly covered you as well.

“Goodnight Clifford.” You said sternly, bringing out the big guns – the first name he loathed.

“When I’m better…”

“Hurry up and get better, then.” You grinned fondly as you spoke, eyeing the peeling grasscloth wallpaper in front of your nose, the ornate designs harkening back to a different time in the building’s life.

A gravelly chuckle was the only response he could muster before he finally seemed to heed your advice, breaths evening out, deepening, as he allowed his body the rest is so desperately needed.

Loving Clifford Carwood Lipton came as naturally as breathing for you. From the moment you had laid eyes on him back in England nearly six months ago, you had been lost. His kind hazel eyes, his humility, his selflessness, his strong arms, his level head amidst utter chaos – the list of reasons why you loved him was endless. You had certainly not joined the experimental female paratrooper program with the intention of finding romance, nor had it come to you willing either, for your heart belonged to a married man. You’d missed your chance with him by less than a year.

Initially the agony of your plight had been so acute you’d considered applying for a transfer, but the thought of being apart from him had proven even more unbearable. You had realized then that you were well and truly lost. Lost in the middle of a war, doing all manner of things a woman had never been allowed to do before. So, like any pain encountered during training you had taught yourself to live with it. Live with the fact that Lipton would never be yours, that maybe you would never find yourself another. It was just your lot in life to have your love so close yet so far out of reach and so you got on with making the most of the time you could have with him.

After every battle, every scrape with danger, the pair of you gravitated towards one another, your lungs refusing to fully inflate until you laid eyes on him. Confirmed he was alright. He seemed just as caring with the rest of the company, and quite honestly deserved every bit of praise coming his way, for he truly was the only reason Easy had made it out of that nightmare of a forest. A battlefield promotion loomed on his horizon, another divide to open up between you. The separation of a commissioned officer from a corporal like yourself seemed nearly as insurmountable as marriage to another woman. You were fiercely proud of him and yet it felt like the friendship you had forged would also have to come to an end any day now.

Listening to his labored breathing beside you, you could not help but frown as you carefully rolled onto your right side to look up at him. He was so pale, ashen even. Your heart ached with the desire to be able to take his suffering from him; he’d been sick for so long now and simply muscling through it for the sake of everyone else. Never thinking about himself.

The slow rise and fall of his chest caused the faint light that filtered through the boarded-up windows to glint off his gold wedding band where it rested on his hip and you swallowed painfully, forcing your eyes to close. You ought to take your own damn advice and sleep, too. With the pressure off your injured cheek and the warmth of his feverish body shared beneath the blanket, it was not long before slumber took you.

The eruption of gun fire shortly after 0100 signalled the return of the patrol, briefly tugging the pair of you back into consciousness. You wrapped your arm around his in silent admonishment against the thought of going to help, trying to quash any foolish ideas he might have harbored inside that head of his, and he grunted in annoyance but stayed put. The next time your eyelids fluttered open was sometime after dawn. The warm exhales of Lipton’s breath against your neck had your brows furrowing in bewilderment and you slowly pulled back to take stock of the situation.

At some point in the early morning hours, he had rolled off his stack of pillows and nestled his head beneath your chin, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You were by no means an innocent party here either, for your arms had slid around him in kind, hands still laying against his shoulder blades as you cradled him against you protectively. Even your legs were somewhat entangled, though the sheet provided something of a barrier.

Shit. Your heart could not take much more of this.

Nor could the sweet, sick man in your arms. You knew him well enough to understand that if he were to wake in this very moment he would be drowning in guilt and take it all upon himself. That was the last thing he needed right now. Taking a slow breath, you retracted one arm from around him to carefully extract his from your waist. Pausing, you watched his face very carefully to ensure he was still asleep before beginning to roll him back onto the set of pillows, gnawing on your lip in concentration.

His face crinkled in protest as cold air rushed in to fill the growing gap between your bodies, a feeling which you thoroughly empathized with, but again you were doing what was best. You paused once more before disentangling your legs and finally unearthing his other arm from beneath your side, tucking him in securely as though there had been nothing amiss during the night. Exhaling slowly, you climbed over his legs and grabbed your boots, creeping from the room to go find some food as your stomach not-so-subtly reminded you that you had not eaten dinner last night.

Tying up your laces on the settee, you followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen downstairs, procuring hot beverages and food for both yourself and Lipton. You were making your way back upstairs when you nearly ran into Speirs.

“How’s the patient?” He asked, pulling his cigarette from his lips.

“Slept the night, sir, so that’s a start.” You swallowed, hoping no one had taken it upon themselves to look in on him last night.

“Good. Keep an eye on him?” He asked and you nodded quickly.

“Yes sir.”

He nodded vaguely in response before continuing down the stairs, most likely to grab some breakfast for himself. Setting the coffee down on the floor, you cracked the door open, almost jumping as Lipton turned his head to look at you.

“You’re up early.” He rumbled and you grabbed the drinks before carrying it all in.

“Got hungry.” You muttered, sitting on the floor with your legs crossed beneath you beside the head of the bed. “Coffee?” You held up one cup and he took it, sipping it slowly as you dug into whatever hot medley of food was passing for breakfast today.

“Sleep ok?” He asked quietly and you nodded, looking up to him. “You?”

“Real well, thanks to some stubborn lady.” He gave you a lopsided smile and you bit back a laugh, shaking your head.

“Glad to hear it. Eat a bit?” You held up his dish and he picked at a few bites, which you considered progress.

“Am I allowed to get up now?” He asked, a little more color in his cheeks but still clearly exhausted.

“Captain Speirs has ordered me to ‘keep an eye on you,’ so no. Unless you know, nature calls.” You took a slug of coffee, enjoying the way it almost burned down your throat.

“Hmn.” He grunted in annoyance, passing back his dish of food and settling into the blankets. “I’m not being of any use at all in here.” He sighed.

“Getting better is of great use.” You countered sternly. “That’s your only assignment right now.”

“Well, it’s…rather boring…”

“I should be offended, Lip.” You teased, finishing up your food, setting his aside in case he wanted more later. “Want me to see if Vest is done with his book yet?”

He shot you a look, one eyebrow raised, and you patted his arm. “I’ll be right back then.” You grinned and took the dishes down to wash them quickly before finding Vest.

After much cajoling he agreed to lend it to you as long as you promised not to lose his place. You were mostly pleased to find Lipton asleep when you returned with your hard-won reading material and settled onto the floor, back against the wall, to dive into the story. Much of the day passed that way, you reading, Lipton sleeping, though he woke occasionally to eat, drink and relieve himself. By the time Speirs knocked and poked his head in the door mid-afternoon, Lipton was looking remarkably human.

“Think you can join us up front, Lieutenant?” He asked as Lipton sat up quickly, nodding.

“Of course, sir.” He replied and swung his legs from the bed to slide into his jump boots.

Your fingers tightened on the edges of book, halfway read now, and you repeated the page number in your head a few times before snapping it shut as Lipton followed Speirs from the room. So, this was it, then. Walking after them quietly, you looked over as Luz called your name.

“Jesus, you look terrible.” He teased with a wink.

“Oh yeah I think Doc might’ve overdone it with the bandages.” You muttered touching the swathes of them around your head. “Just some slivers in my cheek, I’ll be alright.”

“I got you a present.” He beamed, holding out a helmet and M1 for you to replace those you’d lost in the explosion, and you smiled warmly, taking them gratefully.

“My hero.” You smirked, eyes drawn to the front room as a lot of handshaking was going on.

As if sensing your gaze, Lipton turned towards you and offered a small smile, your heart throbbing as tears began to prickle at the corners of your eyes.

“God you two were made for each other you know that?” Luz muttered under his breath and your head whipped to the side to look at him sharply, a knowing grin on his features.

“Man’s married, Luz, you’re out of your mind.” You croaked, voice betraying you, a rising sense of panic flooding your system.

“Marriage ain’t forever anymore, you know.” He shrugged nonchalantly and you bit back the urge to smack him for wishing something like that on Lipton.

“Where’d they put you last night?” You changed the subject firmly, watching him blink several times before he processed your question.

As soon as he provided directions to 3rd platoon’s outpost you turned swiftly on your heel and clapped the new helmet onto your head, walking out the back door of CP. It was time to get out of there for so many reasons. First and foremost, Lieutenant Lipton was an officer with new duties to attend to and no time to spend with a regular trooper like yourself. Secondly, what had happened in your sleep could not be permitted to occur again – you had grown complacent and careless. Lingering at his side with the feelings that you harbored for him was nothing but a recipe for disaster.

Finally, if the loveable idiot George Luz had so very clearly seen right through you, who was to say who might catch wise next. You’d had your time in the sun, there was no need to be Icarus about it and crash to the earth. A swift excision was necessary and prudent. An opportunity like this was not likely to present itself again.

You nearly got away with it, too. For almost two months you managed to avoid Lipton for the most part, through the return to Mourmelon-le-Grand, where you were fully resupplied and rested, and then Sturzelberg. On the rare occasions where he proved inescapable, you afforded him the respect his new rank deserved, referring to him only as ‘Lieutenant’ or ‘sir.’ Even though you yourself had been promoted to Sergeant, there was still the gap of a commission between you that you used like a shield. You could tell he was frustrated with you by the way his lips would press into a thin line and his breath would leave his nose in a short, sharp exhale.

The bandages came off your face to reveal an angry, raised line across your left cheekbone and many attributed your retreat into yourself to disappointment at the poor placement of a scar on a lady. You honestly could not have cared less, you were quite frankly too busy feeling sorry for yourself; grieving your self-imposed exile from Lipton’s side.

It all came to a head in Buchloe. After a long and horrifying day, you were making your way back from the house Winters had requisitioned to 1st platoon’s quarters for the night, carrying tomorrow’s orders, when Lipton finally cornered you, alone, cutting through the alleyway.

“Sergeant, wait up.” He called out to you, jogging over and you swallowed roughly, taking a deep breath to fortify yourself as you turned to face him.

“Evening, Lieutenant.” You said quietly in greeting once you’d saluted him.

His lips came together followed by his telltale exhale of annoyance. God, you knew him too well, like an extension of your own self.

“Are you doing alright?” He asked quietly, tilting his head. “Even got Winters asking about you…”

Biting the inside of your cheek in self-chastisement, you straightened your spine to stand taller. “I’m fine, Lieutenant, sorry to have troubled everyone.” You offered a smile, hoping it resembled your former ease.

His eyes narrowed as he shook his head once, almost violently. “Would you quit that?” He said with a quiet vehemence you didn’t honestly know he had in him. Apparently, he could still surprise you. “You know my name. Knew how to use it just fine in Holland and Belgium and France.” The last country he named held a tinge of sadness, sending your thoughts hurtling back to the early morning hours when you had awoken to him nestled in your arms.

Clearing your throat, and the image from your mind, with a forceful cough you set your jaw obstinately. “And then everything changed, sir.”

“God you are stubborn, woman. Lord help the man who has the privilege of trying to make you his wife.”

You unconsciously took a step back, his statement colliding with you like a blow as your eyes began to burn. Under any other circumstance the jibe would have made you laugh. Would have you returning it with some equally snarky volley of your own. But for the fact that the only man you would be willing to give such a chance was standing before you, furious with you, and you knew it could never be him.

Tilting your head to the sky you blinked furiously, willing the dampness of unbidden tears to retreat behind your eyelids. Your lips trembled as they spilled down your temples and into your hairline, breath shuddering as you fought to inhale through the painful lump in your throat, the crushing weight of longing and disappointment piled upon your chest. You were vaguely aware of Lipton whispering your name apologetically before he stepped closer to grasp your shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, that was uncalled for, please don’t cry.” He rambled desperately as you roughly dragged the cuff of your ODs across your face, frantically trying to hide the mortifying evidence of your feminine hysterics. Your other hand pressed against his shoulder, trying to push him away, but he barely budged, only spurred on to pull you closer. “Forgive me, please.” He sighed your name against your cheek as he pulled you into him, his helmet nudging yours further back on your head. “I didn’t mean a word of it, you deserve so much happiness and love and he’ll be a great guy, I know it.”

His words, his closeness, only served to intensify the flow of tears as you half pushed at him, half clung to him, a pathetic sob working its way past your lips. How could one man be so lovely and impossible all at the same time. You thought it was a fluke at first, the brush of his lips against your cheek as he continued to utter soothing things while you simultaneously struggled against and leaned into his embrace. But then his lips were pressing against yours and everything stopped.

You stopped thrashing in his arms, tears stopped pouring from your eyes, sobs stopped shuddering through you, time itself seemed to stop. The temptation to bask in the feel of his unbearably soft yet slightly chapped lips against yours burned brighter than the sun, but that rude conscience of yours reared its ugly head once more and you shoved forcefully against his shoulders, able to at last push him back a step.

Lipton paled as horror unfurled across his features. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.” He breathed.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to avoid, Lieutenant.” You muttered bitterly and straightened your helmet, stepping to the side to put some more distance between you even as your heart continued to beat an erratic tattoo against your rib cage.

Realization dawned slowly on his features, a gradual lifting of his eyebrows as his jaw dropped open, eyes widening dramatically. Sweet, sweet Lipton, oblivious to the end it seemed. You sniffed harshly, shaking your head.

“Go home to your wife, sir, it’s better this way.” You continued on your way down the alley, leaving him there in stunned silence as fresh tears blurred your vision.

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Read Part Two

It's Better This Way Masterlist

Tag list: @bcon24 , @ronsparky

#carwood lipton x reader #carwood lipton imagines #carwood lipton imagine #carwood lipton #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fic #band of brothers

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sgtgrunt0331-3 · 1 month

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U.S. Marines from Combat Engineer Platoon, Battalion Landing Team (BLT), 2nd Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit, place explosives on a Ba'ath Party Regime symbol outside of the Qalatsukar Secret Police Station on April 7, 2003.

(Photo by: Sgt. Zachary Bathon)

#usmc #us marines #oif #operation iraqi freedom #military #history #combat engineers #warrior wednesday

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lavalais76 · 2 months

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I recently wrote a post asking if any of you think Jon Snow is actually dead. I got likes, but no response. I had to be sure I wasn't the only one thinking this way, so I copied a comment from RyanBarnes13 on Reddit, and I agree with him and a few others as well.

RyanBarnes13:

He’s alive. Aemon has that dream vision on the trip where he wakes up and is almost desperate to tell Jon " cold preserves." The first was a non- fatal neck cut. 2nd was a belly stab, (depending on where) could miss all vitals. 3rd stab was in the shoulder blades. So into the bones, not organs. He fell to the snow. And never felt the 4th blade. It's very, very likely that Jon wasn't actually stabbed a 4th time. (All he felt was the cold)

The key thing is the SNOW, it actually freezes and stops the blood loss which is what actually saves most stabbing or shooting victims. People have laid in SNOW for 12 plus hours and recovered from what should be a very fatal wounds.

Yes he will warg into ghost, and he is probably unconscious and in a coma like state. Jon has to finish the crypt dream of Winterfell that he continues to have,and wakes up from. This time he will finish it, and will talk to the wolf he saw in the last iteration.

And yes the regular science will confound everyone, and after sewing or burning his wounds, Melisandre will light a fire, put Jon there and the rapid warmup will help Jon recover and voila!!!!!!! A miracle!!!

Edit: actually if you look at the very last sentences, he falls first, does not feel a fourth stab, cause there is no stab, he does not warg, he only feels the cold. He is laying in snow. So he is still in his body. He calls to Ghost for help.

“Jon fell to his knees. He found

the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold …”

— George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones 5-Book Boxed Set by George R. R. Martin

That belly punch is the big if. If he hit organs yeah it’s a slow septic death if Jon survived the initial stabbing. But it reads like it wasn’t near as bad of a stab. Bowen Marsh is crying unlike the others. Reads like he still isn’t quiet 100% on doing it. And definately is lacking the fighting skills. He punched Jon. And the dagger stayed when he let go. That says it went in deep enough to stay in. But who the hell stabs a guy and it is described as a punch????? Seems off.....

But unlike nowadays they stabbing into lots of muscles. Not fat. It’s a lot harder to cut through.

We actually had a soldier in Iraq that worked out all the time in our free time, he got shot in the abdomen. Turns out working out saved his dam life, the bullet hit the ab muscles and it actually stopped the bullet before it penetrates to the organs. Honestly we all worked out after that. Protein shakes and weights for the whole platoon.

But that’s what I’m seeing described more in this stabbing.

*This last comment comes from: BowTiesAreCool86

"Oh, you think he's dead, do you?" - GRRM.

Also, from another interview

I: "Getting stabbed to death by one of his friends?"

GRRM: "Wait til the next book"

I think he'll be pulled back from the brink, a more successful spell than was worked on Khal Drogo, but it will cost him part of his "soul" in one way or another.

* I personally think Jon will be in a coma like Bran was and he will Warg his wolf. From there Jon will learn of his abilities with the help of Bloodraven and Bran. I also think Jon is more powerful than Bloodraven AND Bran. Jon will probably be allowed to leave the wall when Rob's WILL surface which is SOON, or the Northerners will come together and will be Jon's "get out of jail free" card.

As far as they know he is the last living son of Ned Stark, and they would rather see a Stark in Winterfell than the Bolton's or Stannis. They are bidding their time, but Jon is in grave danger even at the wall as we already know. I'll say this until the books prove me wrong: Satin had something to do with Jon's stabbing. He is "the hidden dagger."

Things will change BIG TIME once Sansa Stark makes it to Castle Black as well. These are my thoughts on Jon Snow. Everyone automatically assumed he died and the theories I read of his return are totally unbelievable. YES, he will be a changed man and NO he will NOT be some zombie who can't communicate or stuck in Ghost.

No one ever talks about Jon's unnatural super strength. They showed a little in the show, but not enough. Jon has the blood of the 1st men and old Valyria. He is full of ancient magic that he isn't even aware of. His near death experience and being in Ghost's skin will change EVERYTHING. I also happen to believe that Jon is a greenseer and will find out of his heritage himself.

Jon might die later in the series and be brought back, but as for now; Jon lives. Any thoughts? 😊

#jon snow #jonsa #jon x sansa #girl in grey #sansa stark #jonsa meta #jon x sansa meta #i dont think jon died the boy in him did #jon is in a coma like bran and will warg ghost

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landinrris · 7 months

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In which Lando's an infantryman and Carlos is a medic who practices self-destruction in the form of isolation. Tags: Vague un-named character death, vague depictions of violence, 2k word drabble

The medics of Lando’s company are a sort of enigma all their own. Stand-offish, isolated, avoidant—not wanting to get too close to the rest of the men. On the one hand, Lando understands. Treating fallen men is hard enough as it is, let alone the issues should that man be a friend.

And there are so many casualties—of course, the medics aren’t going to enmesh themselves in the pockets of camaraderie that form within the platoons like the rest of them.

Some of the medics are friendlier than others. Of the two medics in Lando’s company, one is slightly warmer than the other—more willing to joke around a bit. The other one though… the one with thick dark hair and permanently wide eyes… the one who sits on the outskirts of every group and stuffs his hands as far into his jacket pockets as he can get them to protect them from the cold... Lando wants to know him.

Carlos Sainz, Medic, 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division.

Carlos is one of the original men from the company who has somehow never been injured. He’s someone Lando has looked up to as if he were a god—as if he were invincible, made possible by the fact that he’d trained for two years before ever stepping foot back in Europe.

In the six months since being with the company, Lando’s only spoken to him a handful of times. Even when they were back in England awaiting their next set of orders, he’d kept to himself, only exchanging full sentences with the other medics.

Now, ever since they’ve been holed up in the snowy hellscape outside Bastogne, Carlos has taken his solitude to a new level.

Lando still watches Carlos in awe as he flits around the snowy ground between their foxholes, cheeks red from the cold and nose rubbed raw, like a deer—every footstep as light as the last. He practically blends into the environment with his light green-grey fatigues and helmet covered in a steady layer of snow and frost. His back might as well be permanently hunched from trying to keep a low profile. He must be what the army had in mind when they thought of their boys out here fighting the good fight.

As the weeks wear on though, Lando watches Carlos’ temper grow thinner like everyone else’s. He loses his scissors and spends an hour jumping between foxholes trying to filch some off another guy. He asks Lando for his and any spare morphine he has twice, not remembering he’d already done so.

Lando blows up on him for that—for the audacity to not remember such a recent conversation when there are so few of them. Is he that forgettable that Carlos can’t tell him apart from someone else? As if Lando is a brand-new replacement and not someone who’s been around through advances and retreats alike.

When Lando’s holed up in his own foxhole with an actual new replacement, a young kid who’s still wet behind the ears, his resentment toward Carlos dissipates. They’re undersupplied out here, barely any food or ammunition, let alone medical supplies. They’re quite literally surrounded by the enemy on all sides—remembering who he last asked for supplies is probably the last thing on Carlos’ mind.

And still, Lando can’t help but complain to some of the others about it. They let him, probably because it helps to take everyone’s mind off the borderline inhumane conditions. Besides, it isn’t like there’s much else to do while they wait for another assault to begin.

And then the kid from Lando’s foxhole takes a shot to the neck on a patrol he insists on taking the lead on.

It happens so fast. One second, the only noise is their boots crunching in the snow and the next, the air around them is filled with the cracking of bullets and splintering tree bark. Everyone around him drops to the ground and behind the nearby trees. They’re pinned for several seconds before the sergeant they’re following gathers his thoughts and throws out commands.

Lando tries to get to the kid, to get a bandage on him to stop the bleeding, but the constant barrage of bullets fired in their direction prevents him. The other soldiers attempt to lay down cover fire for Lando to get to him, but even that doesn’t work. He tries and he tries—yells himself hoarse for the kid to stop moving so the enemy soldiers will stop shooting long enough to save him.

Nameless hands hold Lando back by the shoulders and eventually pull him up and away when it’s clear they’re not going to win this.

Lando continues to scream until he has to put his feet under him and move himself back towards their line. And then, through it all is a figure perched on the ground against the trunk of a tree watching in the direction they’re running from.

It’s Carlos, looking like the angel of death himself—dark clothes against the white expanse of their world. The church was wrong when they said Hell was hot. Hell is frozen ground and six inches of packed snow. Hell is tree bursts and bullets. Hell is the kid from his foxhole lying in the snow and turning it red.

It’s not even like Lando was overly close to the kid. He was a replacement, someone who had no idea what he was getting into and whose first foray was the Ardennes Forest in winter. He’d only been here for a few weeks, Lando and him only having a few meaningful conversations that didn’t amount to much in the end. And now he’s gone, and Lando can’t even do the one thing he promised by getting his things from him.

Lando keeps going because he has to, but the weight hangs heavy on his mind for the rest of the day. This isn’t his first casualty. Hell, he didn’t expect the kid to last very long anyway given what they were currently up against, but they were supposed to have at least a bit more room to move.

The other medic, Max, lets Lando huddle up in his foxhole and not talk about it later that night. He can’t bear to be alone right now much less go back to his own hole. Max lets him crawl under the tarp and raises the thin army-issued blanket so Lando can get closer. It’s not much, but it’s a warm body—another living person who understands the horrors of what they’re going through.

If Lando were in a better mood and capable of coherent thought, he’d remark upon Carlos sliding his way into the foxhole an hour or two later, a relieved sigh on his lips. The thought that he’d been looking for Lando of all people is surprising. Carlos doesn’t talk to anyone but the other medic. Why is he looking for him?

Carlos doesn’t leave though, nor does he say anything to Max. Instead, he proceeds to hold a thinly wrapped chocolate bar out to him with hands shaking from the cold, a thick and low, “For you. Please eat it, Lando,” that leaves Lando speechless.

Lando looks at Carlos wearily, the gesture unexpected. The words seep into Lando’s bones and fill him with an unsettling warmth for how simple they are. His mother would be appalled to know he doesn’t say thank you, but his voice doesn’t work. All he can do is reach out and bite off a chunk, letting the sweetness melt over his tongue.

Carlos gives him this gift, shifts closer to him whether out of desire or coldness, and Lando can’t help but think this is some sort of new leaf they’re turning over.

Nothing truly changes around them after that night. The enemy still shells their location every day or so, the snow keeps falling, they remain surrounded. And yet, Lando lets himself gravitate to Carlos where he hadn’t before. What’s more—Carlos doesn’t try to stop him.

It’s unsettling how easily Carlos lets him in.

More and more men Lando had once thought were invincible start to fall, some from minor wounds and others from more serious ones. He can see the way Carlos’ hands start to shake more and more—the way Carlos loses some of the lightness in his steps. Lando has to pull him out of his foxhole once when someone’s yelling for a medic and Carlos is sitting there frozen while the sky explodes above them.

In the quiet aftermath, once everyone has calmed down and the silence is so thick it threatens to suffocate Lando, he finds and sits with Carlos. The sheer presence of the other man is enough to settle Lando’s nerves, the wordless presence Carlos offers acting like a balm to his soul. Maybe it helps to be next to the one person he’d trust to save his life.

Still, Carlos continues to pull back from chiming in on the group around him. He sits farther away, as if his very presence is a curse against the company, destined to bring violence and death upon them. Lando takes extra helpings of their meals and watery coffee over to him and sits perched on his own helmet. He half thinks he’s hallucinating, but Lando swears he sees Carlos’ shoulders relax a few inches when he’s nearby.

Not everything is downhill though. Sometimes, Lando can see remnants of the Carlos from the early days of this campaign. One afternoon, he jogs up to where Lando’s huddled at the edge of the line with two other guys in his characteristic little half-hunch. He asks some inane question with the authority of someone who’s on a mission—one that all three of them answer negatively, and then he’s gone again. The exchange leaves Lando with a fond smile on his face while the other two men seem lost.

“What?” Lando asks when he notices them looking at him.

“You don’t think it’s odd that you’re the only person he talks to, it seems like? Apart from Verstappen.”

Lando shrugs, unsure of how to respond even if it’s true. It’s not like he’s done anything significant to break Carlos from his shell. They’ve still barely talked. And really, the only thing Lando can think of is that he’s no longer letting Carlos use the demons in his head as a means to drive people away. Despite how hard he tries, Lando’s going to be there, and Carlos seems to have accepted that.

He gets a step further on a miraculously sunny afternoon seated in a foxhole at the edge of their line. Carlos crawls from the edge of the tree line and practically pours himself in next to Lando, shoving their shoulders together in unspoken fondness. They have to be quiet out here so close to the enemy, but Lando doesn’t mind.

He looks over just as a sunbeam is catching Carlos’ face and lighting up his eyes for the first time in weeks. The low-hanging clouds full of snow are gone, and in their place is the most beautiful shade of amber Lando thinks he’s ever seen. He swears he stops breathing, embarrassingly obvious even when he should be twice as discreet as he normally would be.

Carlos doesn’t look away though. “What are you looking at?” he asks instead.

Lando should deflect, maybe turn it into some sort of jibe, but he’s so caught off guard that all his normal excuses dry up. It takes more energy than it should to utter out the barely-there, “Nothing, I just… nothing.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at Carlos’ lips before it’s gone. “Maybe you should watch the line then.” His hand brushes against Lando’s where he’s gripping his rifle and doesn’t move away.

Lando’s stomach lurches but he finds it in himself to roll his eyes anyway. “God, you’re annoying.”

The quiet laughter is enough to sustain Lando for weeks.

#carlando #writing tag #in which i've been rewatching Band of Brothers for the past two days and Lara told me to write something #It's obvious if you've watched but Carlos is essentially Doc Roe and Lando is Babe #I'm partial to like 95% of the BoB ships but these two and their dynamic of holding each other up is my fave so here we are

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bellewintersroe · 1 year

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Band of brothers x Nurse reader headcannons…

gonna indulge in a scenario I can’t stop thinking about, reader is the most gorgeous lady in the whole company and the most sought after too… who doesn’t love a bit of attention, especially from such attractive men ;)

Okay, just a little bit of background about you, so you’re frickin gorgeous, you know you are, but you don’t flaunt it, and you’re a little shy. You join the army to be a field nurse and you get sent to Toccoa, the training camp in Georgia in 1942.

let’s say you work alongside a bunch of other nurses, and you’re linked up with Easy, specifically 2nd Platoon (but we’ll get to that later). Of course the men all fancy the hell outta all the other women too, but you in particular are something else.

I think once everybody finally gets a weekend pass this gives you time to all gel properly, and this is when I think men would borderline fight for your attention. Maybe you’d stick to yourself and your close friends/ the rest of the nurses at first cos all the attention makes you a little nervous.

I don’t think the boys would be creeps, not the majority of the Easy men anyway. (Maybe Cobb or somebody would say something weird or sexist but you’d stand up for yourself).

anyway moving onto each of the boys.

Joe Liebgott:

So even if you don’t fit Joe’s description of ‘nice Jewish girl with great, big soft titties’ he suddenly changes his mind and tells everybody you are his type. He lies about every fancying any other type of girl, you apparently match his description perfectly.

probably would try be one of the first guys that wants to come sit with you, he knows a lot of his buddies are interested, but he’s soooo smug and proud of himself when he gets to your table first.

he doesn’t notice the funny look you give him when he accidentally steals one of your friends seats. Him and the guys probably accidentally swarm you at one point which may or may not leave others jealous (but it’s all fun and games).

I can’t imagine him being overly flirty and annoying, he smirks and winks a lot, but probably ends up getting a little nervous and makes sarcastic digs at his friends that you can’t tell if it’s a joke or serious.

the two of you probably end up being really good friends, if somebody’s upset you he’d always be like “jheeze, y/n, you’re forgetting how gorgeous you are.”

has nicknames for you, and probably gets more protective as the war continues. Not just protective in a way that’s like ‘you’re too good for him’ but if you’re upset or worn out from working too hard he’d probably force you to go rest.

kisses his teeth at guys that embarrass themselves by throwing themselves at you (not like he didn’t do this when you first met). Floyd Talbert:

Alike Joe, he’s one of the first to come sit with you. He’s not subtle like the other guys, smirks openly in your direction, his eyes literally glimmer whenever you see him.

probably manages to make you blush just from introducing himself.

tries fairly hard to flirt with you, even if people are around. His friends probably ruin it for him, laughing and sighing at his flirtatious antics. He doesn’t like being interrupted so probably stops dead in his tracks- doesn’t want to make you embarrassed.

probably catch each others gaze every now and then but he made it so obvious he was into you that it leaves you both feeling a little bit awkward.

fancies the fuck outta you and that never stops. Would probably be a lot more nice rather than flirtatious after a while, if he sees you physically or mentally exhausted he would be complimenting you on how hard you’ve worked and probably calls you an Angel.

you either get together, or not, but probably end up laughing about your awkward encounter years later.

Bill Guarnere:

Probably more tame, even tho he’s stunned by how beautiful you are, at the end of the day all these other guys are annoying hounding you like that. Bill gets straight up fed up when he hears them begging for your attention.

“stop houndin’ the poor gal, would ya??” Thank god for Bill.

he knows you’re part of second platoon, so he’s your Sergeant, so there’s be no funny business there. He gets pissed off at the guys giggling over you.

treats you with so much respect, sometimes people unintentionally treat you different because of the way you look, but Bill ensures he’s not being bias no matter how stunning he thinks you are.

people try to get it out of him about how he feels about you. Doesn’t hesitate to say you’re fucking gorgeous but it keeps at that. Again, he’s respectful, he’s your platoon sergeant and the two of you end up being super good friends.

One of the first guys there to genuinely make you feel funny and laughs at all your jokes. It’s a genuine friendship, there’s a lot of trust between the two of you, and Bill wouldn’t do anything stupid to risk that.

Shifty Powers:

Such a sweet, kind, respectful boy omg. He wouldn’t flirt with you because he wouldn’t know where to start. He thinks you’re a goddamn Angel.

deffo tells the other men to be respectful of you seeing as he makes such an effort to get to know you, tells the guys how genuine and lovely you are.

“jheeze, somebody’s got the hots.” Turns BRIGHT RED. His face scrunches and he ignores the childish comments.

But deep down, he’s in love. He knows he can treat you right; he wants to prove it and tell it to you but he’s too shy.

look, not because he’s insanely attractive; but because of how lovely he is, I think Shifty probably has the best chance of becoming your boyfriend. He wouldn’t see it coming, and he wouldn’t be smug, but he’d be so content and happy that he could be with such a beautiful woman.

day dreams about you.

He’d let you practice any of your medical stuff on him, he’d go as far as saying you could practice taking blood on him. (You wouldn’t do that).

but nah, he makes such an effort to reach out for you, he’s not overly flirtatious or obsessive, he’s just kind and super mature about it all.

Eugene Roe:

Tries not to stare in absolute awe. When all the other men aren’t gawping at you he’s stealing small glances at you. Maybe you catch him one or two times and it makes you smile- and then he smiles- and you keep making eye contact every now and then for the first week or so.

genes in loveeeeee.

when you eventually get talking, you kinda both ignore what happen out of pure shyness?? I think once things become more professional and serious (cos ur out at freakin war) Gene would push any thoughts about you he had to one side.

Obviously he’s scared of growing close to anybody, so because you’re so nice and caring he finds it difficult and maybe he pushes himself away a little?

I think if you made the effort to reach out for him, it wouldn’t be difficult to get him close again. He’d experience genuine feelings for you and he’d never ever objectify or treat you differently just based on your looks.

maybe when things are getting calmer and the war is over in Europe he starts to smirk more and I think he’d become more playful about all the men fancying you.

Alongside Shifty he’d have one of the best chances of getting with you imo.

Ron Speirs:

I feel like you’d probably meet midway through the war, and although you’re stunning the last thing on Ron’s mind would be dating or crushing on anybody.

(but for the sake of what I’m writing let’s be realistic) people can’t control when they’re attracted to somebody. So all of a sudden when you’re right in front of him, breathless and trying to report something to him, hair dishevelled over your face slightly, Ron’s eyes wander over your face and he feels his mind go blank.

fuck! How’s he supposed to act all big and scary when you’re so beautiful and you’re right there in front of him. Would take him a second or so to snap out of it, you’d physically see him regain focus again and you probably think he doesn’t want to listen.

you’d be intimidated asf let me tell you rn.

he snaps back into reality anyway and would respond to you the exact same way he probably would for anybody else- except he asks for your name and just nods or something mysteriously after you’ve given him it.

I feel like Ron is the man of all men in easy, so he’d probably have a good chance of getting with you.

when things become more calm after the war, he’s less uptight and you’d probably see a much more friendly side to him.

anyway he wouldn’t want to be weird or overstep his boundaries, but you’d catch him joking more often with you than anybody else. I think he’d become protective as well.

even tho he can play this off as ‘I’m her Captain’ it’s definitely not that, he’d have a soft spot that would only show once the war is declared over.

maybe he gets a little sad that you just see him as some scary ass Captain and if you’ve heard all the rumours then why would you even wanna be friends with him?? I think it could be a source of anxiety.

let’s say if you never ended up getting together I think Ron doesn’t engage in any kind of weird jokes or conversations about how ‘hot’ you are. He finds it weird and disrespectful and he’s aware of how unfair it is on you, and also how unprofessional/ bad that could be.

probably reprimands some of the guys more than a few times.

Roy Cobb (this isn’t a match EW, just wanted to add a little drama, as always 😏) :

Not only is he annoying asf but he’s rudeeeee.

I think you’d shut him down IMMEDIATELY, let’s say he comes over and he’s super drunk and acting all leery and stumbling over onto you. He thinks he’s impressing you but in reality he’s spitting everywhere and it’s grossing you out.

so at first you politely shut him down and I feel like he’d probably be like; “awwww, c’mon lady don’t be so uptight.”

Then you’re not so polite, and neither are your friends. He finally storms off with a huff and leaving the rest of you in a mixture of disgust and laughter.

throughout the war I doubt you’d be close to him, you’d never end up treating him because he wouldn’t let you. And when this becomes an issue, he starts to insult your work and that he doesn’t want treated by a girl like you.

somehody would deffo step in and be like wtf??? Who tf are you talking to because I know it ain’t her?? Liebgott or somebody would probably threaten him, and you’d have to do the whole ‘Joe no pls don’t fight him!!’

but seriously Cobb would cause a lot of issues when you were there simply because he doesn’t believe you, as a woman, should be out at war, plus he’s bitter you turned him down publicly and several times.

would never act up in front of Winters or Nixon, or any of his superiors. Kinda sly and slimy.

anyway one day he’d fuck with you and you’d end up physically pushing him or cursing him out or something and some of the boys/ other nurses would most definitely stand up for you against him.

Safe to say he doesn’t fuck with you again after that.

#Band of brothers x reader #joe liebgott x reader #floyd talbert x reader #shifty powers x reader #gene roe x reader #ron speirs x reader #bill guarnere x reader #Band of brothers headcannons

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kuebandungs · 3 months

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Duty After School Imagine : 03

☆ Kwon Ilha x Reader ☆

DUTY AFTER SCHOOL IMAGINE Masterlist

◕ _______⁠_⁠_⁠__♡♡♡________⁠_⁠_ ◕

"Ouch! Did you hurt me on purpose?"

You hissed lightly at the man in front of you. Then continued your activity of applying medicine to the wound on his face.

"Shh, slow down."

That man—Kwon Ilha— said, and stopped your hand movement. He looked at you with a stare that was hard to interpret.

Feeling the unpleasant air around you, you cleared your throat softly. "So, don't be a tough guy," you said, pretending to be angry.

Ilha lets out a long sigh, he has no intention of releasing your hand from his grip. Instead, he plays along with your fingers.

"He's such a jerk! I can't keep quiet." he said.

You just shook your head in wonder. You don't know what kind of grudge Ilha has with the Ranking One in your class.

Even earlier, after Mrs. Park's shocking announcement about military training, Ilha had a fight with Younghoon that resulted in scars on several parts of his face.

"Never mind, there's no need to think about him. Why do you care so much about Younghoon?" you said as you pull your hand out of Ilha's grasp to organize the medicine box.

"Are you crazy?! I don't care about that bastard!" he argued.

"Okay, then. If you don't care, then don't bother him. You should have approached him so you could get smarter like him, instead of engaging in fight."

"Nope, not a chance!"

You chuckle secretly, feeling that the attitude of this man who always looks fierce at school seems funny.

"Alright, get some rest. Give my regards to your mother, I'm going home."

You got up from the chair in the living room of his home. After slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you head out.

"I'll take you home," Ilha said, following you.

"No need, I can go by myself."

"I didn't ask."

You gave him a lazy look. Stubborn Ilha. The boy who likes to be on his own. He who doesn't like to listen to others. After all, he was your best friend since childhood.

Behind his stubbornness, you know that there is a soft side to you. Ilha who likes to be on his own, is the same Ilha who will take care of you without being asked. The Ilha who doesn't like to listen to others, is the same Ilha who always provides his ears to listen to your stories.

"Why are you standing still? Don't you want to go home?"

As soon as you realized that you had been daydream, you instantly caught up with Ilha who was already walking.

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

DUTY AFTER SCHOOL IMAGINE

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

"Ilha, are you coming?"

You laughed at the man's sour face.

He had confidently said yesterday that he would not participate in this military training activity. But look at it now, there's a suitcase next to his seat. You laugh even more at Ilha's annoyed expression.

"My mom forced me to go, she said I'd just be lazy at home," he said.

"Well, I totally agree with Aunt Kwon." You playfully ruffle Ilha's hair, making him give you a fierce look.

Look, how can a guy who often makes other students dare not approach him —for fear of being bullied— be this adorable?

"Hey, it's still early in the morning but you guys are already being flirtatious like that!"

"I wonder, how can (Name) always stare so fondly at Ilha."

"What's so attractive about that guy?"

The astonished remarks were heard from Heerak, Hana, and Bora. You don't mind with their reactions. You return to your seat when Mrs. Park enters the classroom with a soldier.

"Salute. I'm Lieutenant Lee Chun Ho. I will be the 2nd Platoon Commander. Nice to meet you."

You stare unblinkingly at the soldier's figure. His aura really makes you feel hypnotized.

Meanwhile, Ilha who realized you were being mesmerized by Lieutenant Lee, could only glance sarcastically.

"Is there anyone who wants to be a clerk?"

Because you're enjoying the beautiful scenery in front of the class, you don't listen to Mrs. Park or Lieutenant Lee. Don't even realize that almost all of your friends are avoiding Lieutenant Lee's gaze.

"You're in the back," Lieutenant Lee's gaze suddenly falls on you.

You just blinked, too surprised to suddenly become the attention of the whole class.

"Me? Why, sir?" You ask confused, also trying to hide your blush in your cheeks from being stared at directly by Lieutenant Lee.

"You're going to be a clerk whose job it's to record the training and documentation of the member of Second Platoon to send to the parents. You don't mind, do you?" he said in a tone that sounds like an order.

You're so nervous that you can only nod slowly and ignore the mocking laughter from your classmates.

"Alright, three bonus points will be given to the clerk and the senior enlisted."

Immediately, a groan of disapproval could be heard from your classmates. They felt jealous that you and Yoojung —who were appointed as Senior Enlisted— were getting extra points.

"Huh, now you guys regret laughing at me?" You said with a satisfied laugh.

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

"Hey, hey, hold on! Give me 2 seconds!"

After that shout, you see Taeman running and are immediately chased by Ilha and others while pointing their guns, pretending to shoot Taeman.

You just shook your head and laughed. You actually wanted to play chase like them, but you were too lazy especially in this hot weather.

"Hey, stop playing around and get over here!"

Until a shout from one of the male soldier was heard. But, Ilha, Taeman, Bora, Hana, and Heerak were still having fun and didn't care.

Prit!!!

"What are you guys doing?! Hurry up and gather! NOW!"

Another shout makes you gasp in surprise. However, it also managed to make Ilha and others who had been playing chase stop instantly.

Lieutenant Lee, who had just shouted angrily, quickly approached Ilha and grabbed the weapon in his hand roughly. Then he gave a lecture to all the students of class 12-2 or what was now called Platoon 2 about not playing with firearms because it was very dangerous.

"Three fastest to the goal!"

All your friends are confused by Lieutenant Lee's order. The moments after, with hesitant steps, Youngshin started running towards the goal. Instantly you and the rest of your friends followed suit.

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

"It's all because of you, you know?" you whispered.

Lieutenant Lee's punishment is over. Now you and others are heading back to the dormitory. You walked next to Ilha.

The boy just glanced at you, not intending to respond you. That made you hiss in annoyance and punch his shoulder.

"Ouch! Why you hit me?!" screamed Ilha while clutching his shoulder.

You glance at him lazily. "No need to exaggerate, I hit you lightly."

"Was it light? You're using internal force!" protest Ilha.

"Shut up, I'm tired. I don't have the energy to deal with your nonsense."

Ilha secretly smiled wryly, "Oh really? You tired, aren't you?"

Without any prompting, Ilha wrapped his arms around you quite tightly. He sandwiches your neck between his arms and body. You who were surprised, tried to break free.

"Akhh! Kwon Ilha, let go of me! You're sweating, you know! Ilha, let me go!!" You were still trying to shake off Ilha's embrace, while the man was laughing at you.

"Hey, let go of (Name). She's having a hard time breathing."

You sighed gratefully, as Jangsoo's words just now managed to make Ilha's embrace weaken and you were able to break away from him.

"Woah, thank yo—"

"Really? Her face doesn't show that she's having trouble breathing."

You who were about to turn to Jangsoo to thank him, suddenly paused in shock as Ilha brought his face closer to you.

"Oh, your face is red. Was I too tight earlier?" Ilha looks at you worriedly when he sees the reddish color appear around your cheeks.

It feels like you want to run as far as you can and drown yourself in the sea. You really hope that this man who is still staring at you doesn't realize that the redness on your face isn't because of difficulty breathing, but because of him.

Yes, you can't lie if you are currently feeling misbehaving because of Ilha's attitude. You cover your embarrassment as much as possible, then push Ilha's face away from you.

Without saying anything, you rush ahead of Ilha and enter the girls' dormitory.

Meanwhile Ilha who sees you walking away from him, chuckles amusedly.

"She's so cute," he said softly.

"When are you going to confess your feeling? I'm tired of you guys being so standoffish."

It turns out that Bora had been next to Jangsoo, watching you and Ilha from the behind.

Ilha looked back at Bora. "Shut up! I'll say it later!"

"That's fine. If you're preceded by someone else, I'll be the one laughing the loudest."

"Damn you!"

[ ✓ ]

< 02. Soocheol

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jaerontaemo · 23 days

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Platoon Leader Trainee of the 2nd battalion, Lee Taeyong 💗

#nct 127 #nct #lee taeyong #taeyong #nct taeyong #nct lee taeyong #tyongie #tyong #tyongf

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mads-weasley · 9 months

Text

Epiphany Pt. 2: Out of the Woods

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: here's chapter two, guys! thanks to everyone who responded to the first part! y'all made my day! without further ado, enjoy! 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: Operation Overlord is upon Easy Company, and the brave paratroopers get their first taste of war.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, blood

Hundreds of tents lined the muddy fields surrounding the Upottery Airfield in preparation for Operation Overlord. (Y/n) found a dry spot amongst 2nd platoon and laid out all of her supplies. Looking at the various grenades, mines, and other random items, she groaned. “How am I supposed to put all of this in a pack? It’s ridiculous!”

“Tell me about it! ”Joe Toye scoffed from her right, staring down at his pile. “I’ve got a three-day supply of ‘K’ rations, chocolate bars, charms, candy, powdered coffee, sugar, matches, compass, bayonet, entrenching tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, my webbing, my .45, canteen, two cartons of smokes, Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenades, Gammon grenade, TNT, this bull, and a pair of nasty skivvies!”

Perconte rolled his eyes, tired of Joe’s rant. “What’s your point?”

“Come on,” Toye fumed. “This stuff weighs as much as I do! Probably twice as much as (y/l/n).”

“Yeah, yeah,” she chuckled as Joe continued.

“I still got my chute, my reserve chute, my Mae West, and my M-1.”

Frank got up and walked past the group, calling over his shoulder with an amused expression. “Where are you keeping your brass knuckles?”

“I could use some brass knuckles,” Toye sighed, sitting back on his heels.

(Y/n) finished readying her pack and attempted to lift it over her shoulder with a grunt.

“You and me both, Joe,” she gritted, failing the first few tries.

The fourth time, it weighed considerably less, and she was able to wobbly sit it on her shoulder without tipping over. A proud smile grew on her face, but when she turned and saw who was there, her lips formed a fake pout.

“Nix, you know I could’ve done that by myself?”

The officer laughed, his bright smile making an appearance. “Sure, I thought watching you fail three times was enough.”

Realizing he just admitted to watching her, he shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “Two years. Two years of training led us here. Crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, looking around at all her fellow soldiers. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

“Well, time did seem to crawl by when we were with Sobel.”

“Absolutely. I still remember his dumbfounded face when Luz impersonated Major Horton. It was the best day of my life.”

Vest came by with pamphlets, handing them to every soldier, announcing they were from Colonel Sink.

“George,” (y/n) called. “Can you do Sink?”

“Does a wild bear crap in the woods, son? Uh, sweetheart?” He corrected, cringing. “Doll? Your majesty? Great and mighty (y/n)?”

(Y/n) raised her eyebrows at him, smirking. “Nice try.”

Cracking a smile, he held up the paper and began reading it as the Colonel. “Soldiers of the regiment, tonight is the night-,” his voice lowered, becoming serious as he continued. “-of nights. Today, as you read this, you are en route to the great adventure for which you have trained for over two years.”

The message hung in the air as each paratrooper took it in. They were going to war. The realization washed over (y/n) like a bucket of ice water, and her mind flashed with the faces of the men she’d come to call brothers.

Don, George, Skip, Alex, Frank, Lip…

It could be the last time she saw some of them.

“Hey,” Nix smirked and pointed at the various mohawks Lieb had given some men, oblivious to her anxiety-ridden mind. “I think you should try that hairstyle.”

She rolled her eyes and playfully smacked him on the chest. “Whatever.”

When he didn’t reply, she followed his line of sight to Lieutenant Meehan, who stood atop a jeep. ”Easy Company! Listen up! Gather around me.”

Once Easy was fully gathered, he continued. “Now, the Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog. High winds on the drop zone. No jump tonight!”

Grumbles broke out from the men as they looked at each other in disbelief.

“The invasion has been postponed. We’re on a 24-hour stand-down. Drill sergeants, take charge.”

(Y/n) looked up at Nix as he lit a cigarette, shaking her head with a groan. “Great.”

“What?” He shrugged. “Can’t put up with me for another 24 hours?”

“You know what? You’re insufferable, Nix.”

JUNE 6th, 1944: UPOTTERY AIRFIELD

The channel cleared the next day, and the jump was back on. (Y/n) removed her helmet and grabbed the grease paint from George’s outstretched hand.

“I hate this stuff,” she grumbled, twisting off the cap.

She felt someone take the small can from her hand and recognized the culprit by their low chuckle.

(Y/n) turned to face him with a playful scowl. “Why are you so immature, Lewis?”

“Lewis?” He gasped, a hand flying to his chest. “Oh, I’ve really done it now.”

Her scowl broke as she shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

“See, I think you’re overthinking this,” he stated, holding up the tin. “All you have to do is get a glob,” he scooped a few fingers into the can. “-And rub it on your face, like so.”

To (y/n)’s dismay, he quickly reached out and smeared the paint down her cheek with a proud smirk.

“See? Voilà.”

Mouth hanging open, she snatched the can from him, hardly concealing her newly formed amused smile. “I hate you,” she deadpanned as she started toward the rest of her platoon.

His hand reached out and grasped her wrist. “Hang on. Let me fix it.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

Lew knew her well enough to see that it was taking all her willpower to keep the corners of her lips from curling into a smile. He thought it was an admirable attempt, but he could see straight through her.

What he didn’t expect was her glare to drop completely when he lightly tugged her closer by her wrist. An unreadable expression passed over her face, and Lew discovered he might not be able to read her as well as he thought.

Peering down at her, he softly brushed her (y/h/c) flyaways from her face before leaning down to be at eye level with her. (Y/n)’s breath hitched slightly at the gentle touch, and she looked up to meet his eyes.

“Don’t make me look like a raccoon, okay?” She whispered, nervousness flowing through her veins.

With a nod, he got some paint on a few fingers and cupped her jaw with his other hand before making lines across her forehead and cheeks. Tilting her face up softly, his touch trailed down her nose down to her lips. Nix’s gaze stayed there for a moment, swallowing thickly as he noticed their curve and the slight pout they were shaped in.

‘It would be so easy to lean in and…stop,’ he caught himself.

“Uh, all done,” he murmured, dropping his hands to his pockets.

(Y/n) blinked, coming down from the high of his touch. “Thank you,” she replied, her gaze locked with his. “Do you need any help with yours?”

Snapping out of his daze, he smiled bashfully. “I’ve got it.”

A few seconds later, Dick approached them, all geared up and ready to go. “It’s time.”

D-Day had begun.

Staring at the solemn faces of Skip and George across from her, the endless possibilities of what could go wrong flooded her mind as her stomach began to churn.

What if their stick blew up?

What if she was captured?

What if she was killed?

(Y/n) looked up at the sleeping man beside her, admiring his face in the dim light of the plane. Her eyes followed the curve of his nose down to his parted lips as soft breaths passed through them. Even covered in grease in a dark C-47, he was still breathtaking.

What if he was killed?

When they first met in that putrid-smelling mess hall in Toccoa, (y/n) never would have guessed what would become of the pair. The mysterious aura that first drew her to him was quickly wiped away after a few months, revealing a kind, but complicated, man who was sometimes too smart for his own good.

He was there to vent to when Captain Sobel revoked her weekend pass because her hair was “too long,” and was simply always there to support her. Through the new COs, new bases, and even new countries, he’d been a constant. Over the last two years, he’d been there for her, and she realized that if anything happened to him, she wouldn’t know what to do.

Sure, she was close with the other men in Easy, especially 2nd platoon, but those relationships were… different. Her heart didn’t skip a beat when George Luz or Chuck Grant walked into a room. Their smile didn’t cause heat to rush to her cheeks.

He was her best friend. There was no other way to describe it.

But do best friends look at each other the way they do?

Her thoughts continued to run rampant for the next hour as the paratroopers got closer to their destination. To her left, Tab was deep in thought, as well, pulling at his bottom lip as he usually did when thinking. Pulling herself from her thoughts, (y/n) nudged him with her shoulder.

“So, I heard you got a present from home.”

He dropped his hand to his lap and grinned as he fished something from his bag. “Yeah, courtesy of the Kokomo police department.”

Floyd showed her the revolver with a proud expression. “It feels good to have a little bit of home with me.”

“That’s great, Tab. I’m glad you’ve got support like that from home.”

“What did your folks have to say about you joining up?” He asked.

(Y/n) took a deep breath before answering, willing the memory from her mind. “They weren’t thrilled, that’s for sure.”

He elbowed her side gently with a chuckle. “Well, we’re all real glad you decided to join this mess. Who else is gonna keep all of us straight?”

Laughing to herself, (y/n) leaned her helmet back against the rumbling wall of the plane, wishing sleep would welcome her soon. Her eyes shot open after a few minutes when the aircraft shook with turbulence. Nausea crept up her throat at the movement, and she groaned at the realization she wasn’t going to get any rest.

Time seemed to stretch on forever sitting on the hard metal seat of the plane. Some of the other men started to rouse and have small conversations around her, but all she could think about was her parents. Could they stand to lose another child?

Tears burned her eyes as her mind replayed the moment they heard the news about Pearl Harbor and her brother’s fate. Her mother’s wails when she collapsed onto the floor beside the radio. The deep ache in her chest didn’t seem to go away with time, and she doubted it ever would.

(Y/n) was pulled from her thoughts by a gentle hand on her shaking knee.

“You’re gonna be okay, (y/n/n).”

Lew.

“Yeah,” she sighed, furiously blinking away her tears. “I’m not worried about myself, though.”

“Don’t worry about me, alright? Stay focused on yourself.”

(Y/n) smirked and raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I was worried about you, mister ‘yale know-it-all?’”

At that moment, Nixon was thankful for the dark plane, for she couldn’t see the flush that crept across his cheeks. “Only by the kind way you speak to me,” he retorted, rolling his eyes.

Within seconds, his face became serious. “But I mean it, (y/n). Please be careful.”

“I will, Lew. You too, okay?” She replied, grasping his hand atop her knee.

Their conversation was cut short by the red light flashing on beside Dick. Nodding at each other, they prepared for what was about to happen.

“Get ready!” Lieutenant Winters yelled above the rumble of the plane. “Stand up! Hook Up! Equipment check!”

Following orders, they stood, hooked up, and started checking their helmets, followed by pulling on the harnesses of those in front of them. George stood between Nix and (y/n) in line, separating the pair.

“Don’t enjoy this too much,” George jeered back to her as she checked his equipment.

Through his humor, she could see the fear that each of them felt.

Dick’s voice filled the plane again. “Sound off for equipment check!”

“Ten okay!”

“Nine okay!”

“Eight okay!”

“Seven okay!”

Hearing her heartbeat in her ears, (y/n) attempted to push her fear deep down.

“Six okay!” Chuck yelled, tapping her on the shoulder.

(Y/n) repeated the motion for George, shouting. “Five okay,”

“Four okay!”

“Three okay!”

“Two okay!”

“One okay!” Winters finished, looking out the jump door.

Within seconds, the cloud cover dissipated, and explosions filled the air, violently tilting the plane sideways. (Y/n) lost her balance and fell back onto her seat with a curse. Luckily, Chuck grabbed her harness and hoisted her back on her feet in front of him.

As the plane continued to shake beneath their feet, she looked through the small window at the stick beside them just in time to see it get hit and go down in flames. Her mouth went dry at the sight, and she prayed that they wouldn’t share the same fate.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Someone yelled at the back of the plane.

Lip turned behind him. “Does that light look green to you?”

The man didn’t get to respond as gunfire ripped through the plane, peppering him with shrapnel.

“I’m hit!”

Among the chaos, the green light flicked on, and Winters called out to them. “Let’s go!”

Without hesitation, he jumped out the door, followed by Gene, Lew, and George. Following Luz, (y/n) didn’t even look before pushing herself out the door.

The first thing she felt was the wind whipping at her equipment as she fell through the air. Anti-aircraft shells exploded around her, adding to the deafening cacophony surrounding her. Explosions, screams, gunfire…it was a sound she’d never forget.

Even with her parachute deployed, the ground was fast approaching. To her panic, she couldn’t see her DZ anywhere. To make matters even worse, the wind guided her toward the dense forest instead of one of the many open fields surrounding her. She tried to pull up on the risers to change her direction, but it was too late. Within seconds, she flew into the tall European oak trees she tried so desperately to avoid.

All air left her lungs as she slammed into a tree, sending her falling through the branches. The sound of snapping wood filled her ears and she hissed at the sharp stings that covered her body as she fell.

With a jolt, her descent was abruptly stopped, causing her to swing into a nearby trunk with a thwack. (Y/n) groaned at the impact, feeling pain seep into her already bruised and battered body.

“Great,” she hissed, looking up at the tangled chute. “Of course, I landed in a freaking forest.”

Seeing she was only a few feet off the ground, (y/n) let out a sigh of relief and reached for her knife. When she looked down, she cursed at the missing bag that was supposed to be attached to her leg.

‘At least I didn’t put anything important in there,’ she thought.

The (y/h/c) quickly cut herself free of the chute and fell through the air again, landing on her feet with a wince. Even though she couldn’t see herself, she knew she had to look rough. The stinging from various cuts and scratches torso, arms, and legs were a dead giveaway to her appearance.

Pulling out her M1, she quietly made her way to a clearing better illuminated by the moon. She stayed near the edge, wary of being seen, and used her compass and map to try and figure out where she was. After a few minutes, she discovered she was a few miles west of the rally point. Just as she was about to move, a drip of red on her map stole her attention. (Y/n) took off her helmet and began to run a shaky hand through her grimy hair when a sharp pain flared from her temple, making her groan at the searing sensation. Pulling her hand away, she gasped to see it covered in dark red.

The paratrooper quickly grabbed a bandage and gritted her teeth, tying it the best she could.

“Head wounds bleed the most,” Doc Roe had said in a medic seminar. “You’re gonna go through bandages quick.”

She gently placed the helmet back on her head and took a deep breath. “You can do this, (y/n),” she muttered under her breath as she started moving east toward the rally point. “You can do it.”

She’d made it to the ground, but she wasn’t out of the woods, yet.

D-Day Plus Three: Sainte-Mère-Eglise, France

Since Nix finally made it to Sainte-Mère-Eglise on June 7th, his eyes searched the crowd for one face. Every day, he kept a constant check on who arrived and who they’d seen or heard from, and for two days, he couldn’t rest.

On the third day, he overheard some men from the 82nd.

“Did you see the broad?”

On instinct, he rushed out of the makeshift company CP onto the street filled with exhausted paratroopers, ignoring the concerned looks from the men as he quickly made his way to the front of the town.

“Thank God,” he whispered, seeing her wobbly figure from a distance.

Her downcast eyes didn’t see him approach as she dragged her feet in the mud, too tired to even pick them up.

“You’re late to the party,” Lew chuckled, trying to mask his relief.

Despite the ringing pain in her head, her eyes shot up to meet his. When their gazes met, she let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. He made it.

A tired smile grew on her blood and dirt-covered face. “Nice to see you, too, Lew.”

Extending his arm out to her, Nix pulled her into a tight embrace. It was like his mind needed physical reassurance she was there.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmured into her helmet.

Leaning into his chest, she let the rhythm of his heart calm her fear. Even in a warzone, she felt safe in his arms. “I was worried about you, too.”

A chuckle reverberated through his chest. “So you were worried about me, huh?”

Pulling back to look at him, (y/n) smirked. “I take it back.”

His playful expression changed to concern as he noticed her pale face and the blood beneath her helmet. “Hey, what happened? You’re bleeding.”

(Y/n) ducked her head to the side. “I’m fine, Lew. Really.”

“Come on, let me see,” he urged, gently unclasping her helmet.

A hiss left him, seeing the blood-soaked cloth haphazardly tied around her head.

“(Y/n),” he sighed, one hand tilting her jaw to see the wound while the other peeled back the bandage. The gash ran from her right temple to just above her ear. “This is deep. You’re gonna need stitches. Let’s go to the aid station.”

His tender touch left her speechless. “Ok-okay,” she whispered, following him to the medic tent.

The coppery smell of blood hit her like a ton of bricks the second she entered the tent. Men were lying on cots, missing limbs, and crying in agony. (Y/n) froze, unable to tear her gaze from the carnage before her. A guiding hand on the small of her back urged her to keep walking.

“Come on, (y/n/n). This way,” Lew muttered.

He led her into another tent that was less crowded and sat her down on a nearby cot. “I’ll go find Doc. Stay here.”

Laying back on the cot, (y/n) allowed her body to fully relax for the first time in almost three days. Soreness gnawed at her muscles, leaving behind a dull ache that drained all of her energy. Within a few minutes, her eyes began to droop, and sleep finally welcomed her.

“She’s in here,” Lew said, Doc Roe in tow. “She’s got a nasty cut on her head.”

The cajun nodded. “Alright, I’ll take a look. You know head wounds bleed a lot.”

Walking into the room, their expressions softened at her curled-up form on the cot. “Is it okay if she sleeps,” Nix asked, crouching next to her.

Grimacing, Roe shook his head. “I really should check her head, sir.”

With a nod, Lew gently shook her shoulder. “Hey, (y/n/n). Doc’s here to check your head.”

She weakly groaned and sat up slowly. “I think I could sleep for a week.”

Chuckling, Gene held his index finger up in front of her face. “Follow my finger.”

After a few seconds, he sighed, grabbing a suture kit from his satchel. “Doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but that cut’ll need stitches.”

Roe carefully cleaned the wound as (y/n)’s eyes screwed shut. “You ready?” He asked.

Keeping her eyes closed, her hand shot out beside her, grasping onto Nixon’s hand tightly. “Lew, please talk to me. Say anything, I don’t care, just talk.”

He squeezed her hand in response as she let out a hiss when the first suture pulled through her split skin.

“When I was in college…”

With Lewis Nixon’s warm and reassuring hand in hers, along with his distracting words, the pain became bearable. In the small medic tent in Sainte-Mère-Eglise, Eugene smiled to himself, witnessing the intimate moment between the two.

“Ce sont des idiots.” He muttered to himself. “Des idiots en mal d’amour.”

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