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meowzfordayz · 5 months

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saying goodbye at the train station

Author’s Note: all relationships are romantic except for Muichiro x Reader — for Muichiro’s, Reader is his older sibling. *Technically* this is not spoiler free, but the spoilers are presented non-canonically (they’re injury related).

saying goodbye at the train station

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~2,500

CW: death content, mild sexual content, traumatic injuries

Suggestion Fulfilled: I don't know if you're accepting asks (if you're not I'm so sorry for disturbing you 🥲) but I was wondering if you could do a modern au based on WW1 or WW2 with all the hashira enlisting as soldiers and saying goodbye to their s/o at the train station ⛽...

~faqs~

“Promise me, promise me you’ll come back. Alive.”

You whisper, clinging to his lapels, forehead smooshed into his chest

Savoring the steadiness of his heartbeat

Wishing you could keep it safe with you at home, tucked warm and certain beneath the bedsheets

“I promise, my love.”

“You always protect everyone,” you sniffle, eyes squeezing shut, “So how about you come back and protect me.”

A fierce desperation, a hopeless greed, that perhaps your smile will be enough

“Of course,” Gyomei chuckles lightly, kissing the top of your head, “Anything for you.”

“Must you board the train?”

He only nods, arms aching as he continues holding you, once more memorizing the curve of your body against his, the scent of your hair tickling his nose, the sorrow of your tears dampening his jacket

—

“You came back.”

You’re already sobbing, smile wider than it’s ever been, hands quivering as you rush toward him

“Most of me,” he murmurs sheepishly, “I’m a leg less than before.”

“You’re never less to me,” you declare firmly, “I love you.”

“I hate you for leaving me. I hate, I hate this, this stupid, senseless war.”

You’re glowering, refusing to touch him, arms crossed over your body

“I hate it too.”

He mutters, itching to hold you, loathing how your final moments together are bleeding with strife

“Then why partake?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Obanai sighs, anxiously eyeing the clock behind your head

“You can always make one,” you retort, wiping tears from your ruddy cheeks before they fall to the platform

“Dearest, let us not part on such terms.”

“Let us not part at all!” you’re shouting

“Is this really how you insist on saying goodbye?”

He’s stern, yet soft; tenderly heartbroken

“I don’t want to say it!” “Then don’t,” he gives in, pulling you into his chest in a single, greedy movement, relief filling his lungs when you grab ahold of him, “Don’t say goodbye.”

You whimper, “I love you.”

He whispers, “I love you more.”

—

“I’m never saying goodbye to you again,” you declare, awe and shock stiffening your limbs, your favorite silhouette waiting patiently on your doorstep

“And why is that?” he asks wryly, leaning heavy and tired

You’re cupping his face, delicate and careful, his skin tremoring as you brush over new scars

“If I had said goodbye, would you be here now?”

“Dearest, nothing in this world could ever stop me.”

“I’m so afraid for you.”

“For me?” she quirks a teasing eyebrow, “I can take care of myself.”

“I know, but-”

“But you like taking care of me too,” she interrupts gently, knowingly

“Mitsuri, what if-”

“What if I’m okay, you’re okay, and this is all a dream?”

“This is war,” your voice raises, “You can’t be so flippant about dy-”

“I’m not going to die.”

She sounds so certain, so steady, so-

“Mitsuri, I’m terrified.”

Your bottom lip trembles, wiping the smile off her face, strong arms wrapping sudden and tightly around you, familiar warmth only deepening the ache in your chest

“I know baby, I know,” she murmurs, grimacing to herself, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re not going to die, right?”

You’re demanding, pleading, begging for her to-

“I promise, baby. You’re not gonna lose me.”

She promises again and again and again

As many times as she can before the train begins to whistle

—

“Don’t scold me,” she mumbles, “But I-”

“YOU DIDN’T DIE!” you scream, promptly flinging yourself toward her

“Well-” she blushes

Your eyes widen, halting on your tiptoes, narrowly avoiding bowling both of you over, “Your arms…”

“I’m-”

“ALIVE, and the love of my life,” you quickly shush her

“You aren’t-”

“Of course I’m bothered,” you reply simply, “You’ve suffered traumatic injuries.”

“Things won’t be the way they-”

“Well obviously,” you shrug, “You aren’t the way you were.”

“And that’s alright?”

“I still love you. I still want to be with you.”

“Baby… I love you.”

“Don’t get into trouble, okay? Be safe, my love. Please.”

“Why are you telling me that?” you snort, raising a bemused eyebrow, “You’re the one leaving.”

“You say that like you have so little faith in me returning,” she quips back

You fix an even stare on her lighthearted expression, shaking your head as your mouth twists

“Hey,” her tone softens, warm hand reaching out for your hip, “My love, look at me.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you allow Shinobu to tug you into her arms, despairing at the thoughts flickering in and out of sight

“I’m a nurse, I should be safe from most of the fighting.”

“You’re one of few people who would willingly touch fighting, without a ten foot pole,” you retort

She laughs at that, a floaty, mesmerizing sound nestling into your chest, her grasp tightening around you

“How about this, my love: we both do our best to avoid trouble.”

You nod into her heartbeat, fingers clenching as the train’s whistle begins to blow, tears brimming at the reality of the silence awaiting you at home

—

“It would appear you’re as adept as ever at creating trouble,” a familiar voice chirps

Startled, you glance up across the kitchen, eyes widening in amazement

“SHINOBU!”

“I come home in one piece, and this is how you welcome me?” she asks teasingly, body hardened beneath your embrace, yet more fragile than you remember, “My love, the kitchen is, frankly, in shambles.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, “Shut up and let me cherish you.”

“Do not worry too much. I know it will be hard not to, but try. For me? Try to worry only a little.”

“You’re asking a lot of me,” you sigh quietly, eyebrows knit together as you stare into Kyojuro’s earnest gaze

“I ask because I know you are capable,” he smiles softly, thumbs rubbing warm and solid across your knuckles, his hands large and calloused as they encompass your own, “I ask because I worry about you.”

“I’m the last thing you should worry about,” you admonish gently, “I’ll be… safe.”

“And I will try my best to be as well.”

Silence weighs heavy between your hope and his reality, the distinct lack of promise tart in the air as you swallow thickly

“Write to me, okay? And I shall write to you.”

“I love you, Rengoku Kyojuro. I love you.”

“And I love you,” his voice sinks deeply, labored beneath the emotion in his throat, “This, I can always promise you.”

—

“Kyo?” you blink slowly, stunned by your unexpected visitor

“Who else could I be?” he drawls familiarly, “I guess I beat my letter home. I have been honorably discharged due to injury.”

Honorably discharged?

Due to injury?

You nearly gasp, the sight of his bandaged face finally registering, your arms thrown around him before you can even think

“I failed so terribly, Kyojuro. I worried immensely!”

He laughs loudly at your confession, dazzling grin burying itself in your shoulder, melting into your scent, your tears, the quivering of your body

“Ah, well, I suppose I failed somewhat too. I was not… entirely, safe.”

“Clearly,” you mutter, rueful and endeared, inhaling remnants of ash and winter clinging to his coat while your embrace tightens, “But you’re home.”

“You’re so silly. How could I not return to you? How could I even dare?”

“Do not call me silly when you are going to war!” you snap, fingertip pressing harder and harder into his sternum with each emphasis in your sentence

“Fine. Ridiculous.”

The urge to pinch the smugness from his face dissipates as quickly as it surfaces, promptly replaced by a fresh wave of tears as you wrap yourself once again in his arms

“Oh love,” he murmurs, all tenderness at the sudden switch of your demeanor, “I promise you, I could not dare. I will return to you.”

“As you are, or in a coffin?” you sniff petulantly, nose scrunched and dripping, “Because I shall only accept the former.”

“And the former you shall receive,” he answers resolutely, eyes closing against the rolling bile in his stomach, “I love you.”

You want to tell him The world is cruel

You want to tell him Your smile makes it less so

You want to tell him I hate you

But you can’t

Not when he already knows, and still chooses to love you

Not when you know how transparent such lies would be; brittle and self serving; temporary salve smeared over the fears trampling themselves in your head

“I love you more, Sanemi.”

“Idiot,” he says

Impossible he thinks

—

“You’re incredibly annoying,” you mutter, almost breathless as you rush toward his awaiting embrace

“I did precisely as you asked,” he chuckles, final threads of dread loosening at the feeling of your heartbeat, alive and well, pressed firmly to his chest, “Not a scratch.”

“Surely you’re lying.”

“Hm,” he hums noncommittal, smirking as he amends, “Okay, quite a few scratches. But I’m here as I am, as I promised.”

Words dissolve on your tongue, opting instead to kiss his chin, his earlobes, his cheeks, forehead, the tip of his nose, his eyelids, hesitating at his lips as you whisper

“I apologize for ever doubting you.”

He kisses you softly, tasting like the color of autumn, holding you as gently yet fiercely as a spring breeze

“I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” he mutters, wriggling in your hug

“Do you mean that?” you ask lightly, chin resting delicately atop his head, refusing to release him

Sighing, Muichiro hesitantly pats your back, eyes squeezing tightly

“Mui, I’ll come back for you.”

“How about you stay,” he retorts, mouth twisting, “If you leave, then you’ll-”

“Be okay. I’ll be okay.”

“What if you can’t find me?”

Your heart clenches at the drop in his tone, tears welling when he finally returns your affection, his arms angry and lonely as he clings to you

“I could find you anywhere,” you declare, “I love you.”

“What if other kids bully me?”

“Then I’ll find them too, and beat their asses,” you smirk

“That’s not very nice.”

“Well neither is bullying my younger brother.”

A gentle sob rocks into your chest, the train’s whistle cutting through wet silence, a chorus of crying children and weeping guardians growing loud in the background of your little world

“You’re coming back?”

“Of course.”

“You won’t forget me?”

“Never.”

—

“Mui?”

Someone unrecognizable yet achingly familiar turns at the sound of your voice, his limbs long and wiry, face more slim than you previously recall

“Ready to go?” you smile softly, outstretching a nervous hand toward him

From stillness to full sprint, Muichiro launches himself at you, the brightest grin matching yours as he shouts giddily

“YOU CAME BACK.”

“If I die, will you remember me?”

“You won’t die,” you scoff

“No guarantees.”

You meet Giyuu’s somber gaze with your own wry expression, his hands cool as you clutch them to your chest

“Tomioka Giyuu,” you begin sternly

“Hm?”

“Do you want to die?”

“No.”

“Then, you won’t,” you shrug, pressing warm kisses into the dryness of his knuckles

“Ever?” he asks, deadpan humor surfacing as the tension in his shoulders loosens

“You know what I mean.”

“Your faith in me is incredible,” he murmurs, tugging away from your grasp to cup your cheeks, thumbs tracing the outline of your lips with a trembling sadness, “I can only hope to repay you adequately.”

“There is nothing to repay,” you smile faintly, nuzzling into his palms, “I love you.”

“And if I die?” he whispers

“Then I will remember you fondly,” you promise softly, “With my heart, body, and being.”

—

“I suppose I didn’t want to die,” Giyuu says abruptly, snowflakes stark and glistening in his hair, nearby lamppost illuminating the relief and darkness etched into his cheekbones, “Although I did, quite obviously, lose an arm.”

“I suppose that is quite obvious,” you squeak in the doorway, eyes wide with shock, “You’re home.”

“Are you disappointed?” he questions carefully, fingers curling away from their desire to caress you

“Disappointed?!” you exclaim, “No!” head shaking profusely, “I just didn’t expect you to return so soon!!!!!”

“Well, losing an arm quickened the process.”

“Why aren’t we hugging?” you demand

“I’m wet and cold and you’re cozy and dry. Allow me to-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, swallowed by the heat of your embrace as you fling yourself at him, tears dampening him further as you sob into his shoulder

“Tomioka Giyuu, I love you.”

“And I love you,” he finally grins, “I love you to the moon and back again.”

“Take care of each other. When one of you feels low, raise their spirits. When one of you feels angry, listen to their feelings. When one of you is in danger, come to their rescue. You are my brave spouses, my brilliant partners. I trust I shall return to all of you, whole and sound.”

“Tengen.” “Don’t leave us!”

“Must you go?”

He smiles softly, kissing Suma’s forehead, caressing Makio’s cheek, squeezing Hina’s hand

“Please, Tengen, take care of yourself.”

Nodding at your request, he slips a light finger beneath your chin, kissing you gently as he murmurs

“As you wish.”

You cling to Makio as he kisses Suma, hugging Suma as he kisses Hina, sniffling into Hina’s shoulder as he kisses Makio, lungs heaving from the smoke and bitterness hanging in the air, grateful for the haven of love wrapping itself around you

“If I perish far from home,” he says quietly, “Then do not grieve for the rest of your lives. Thrive for yourselves. Your livelihoods are more precious than mourning a single soul.”

“Tengen!” Suma wails

“How can you be so nonchalant?!” Makio cries

“Don’t ask that of us!” Hina protests

“You’re wrong, Tengen. We are precious to you, just as you are precious to us.”

Meeting the steeliness in your gaze, Tengen chuckles lowly, chest full of warmth and belonging as he shakes his head fondly

“I love you endlessly.”

“And we love you!”

“We love you too!”

“We love you infinitely!”

“We love you, Uzui Tengen. Take care.”

—

“TENGEN!!!! YOUR EYE?!?!?! YOUR HAND?! WHERE IS ITTT?!” <— Suma

“SUMA! You can’t just ask him that-” <— Makio

“Tengen?! He’s home??!!” <—You “TENGEN!!!!!” <— Suma

“I trust you all took care of each other?” <—Tengen

“HINA WOULDN’T LET ME COOK.” <— Makio

“Makio burnt dinner twice.” <— Hina

“I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!!!!” <—Suma

“We survived.” … … … “Somehow.” <— You

“[y/n] kept us together.” <— Hina

“Barely.” <— You

“It was difficult without you.” <— Makio

“Really?” <— Tengen

“Actually. We thrived.” <— Hina

“... oh?” <— Tengen

“Especially without you and your flashy biceps. ” <— You

“Heyyy.” <— Tengen

“Group hug!!!!!” <— Suma

#hashira x reader #preferences #ww2 au #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #gyomei x reader #obanai x reader #mitsuri x reader #shinobu x reader #kyojuro x reader #sanemi x reader #muichiro x reader #giyuu x reader #tengen x reader

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nightofnyx8 · 7 days

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#spy x family #twiyor #wip #ww2 au

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pyro-thon · 2 months

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Animation I did for art class 🧍🏻‍♀️

#my art #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod ghost #cod König #simon ghost riley #cod au #cod mw2 #ww2 au

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bird-slayer-brainrot · 2 months

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Soldier On, Come Down - Chpt. 1. - - Ineffable Husbands WW2 au human!Crowley angel!Aziraphale angst multi-chapter

(TW this chapter contains light gore (st*bbing so that bit will be marked with the first and final world in red text)

London, 1939

Aziraphale, Principality and Angel of the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden, loved humans.

He had lived amongst humans since his assignment on Eden had ended, and he quite enjoyed his role as Heaven’s official ambassador to humanity. It had been a shock to receive such a coveted position (as much as Angels could covet, anyway).

The job had its downsides, like any, but for the most part, Aziraphale could overlook these. The books, food, wine and art made it worth it.

Humans were amazingly clever creatures, with a knack for imagining purposeful, advanced creations to Angel in Heaven could have ever dreamed of, if they did dream. They were masterful artists, poets, writers, inventors. Aziraphale, nearly six thousand years into this extended assignment, stood in awe at the inventions of the human race.

The motorcar, however, was an exception.

On a Saturday evening in Soho, Aziraphale was particularly bothered. He had plans to attend an Opera at the West End. These plans were interrupted when the driver had stopped him miles from the theatre. It was drizzling, as it often did in London lately, and Aziraphale crowded himself underneath a canopy to avoid getting soaked.

Aziraphale could have miracled the driver to take him to the right language, but with the state of England and the war going on, he felt it was best to cut down on miracle usage just in case he needed them for something important, which he probably would. And he didn’t want to risk Heaven the memo from heaven about too many frivolous miracles.

“Are you going in?” a voice spoke beside him. Aziraphale turned, ready to offer his apologises

He hadn’t realised he had been standing in the entrance way to a storefront.

But he was stuck on the words as he came face to face with the man.

He was perhaps the most beautiful person Aziraphale had ever laid eyes on.

Aziraphale was still staring when the stranger cleared his throat.

“Oh, my apologies.” Aziraphale said too loudly. The gentlemen was dressed in black and grey, which would have struck Aziraphale as unusual if, immediately after, Aziraphale noticed his striking copper hair. He wore it longer than was the fashion. He was also very tall, and slender. He held a black umbrella that he seemed to be in the process of wringing out his umbrella before he’d noticed Aziraphale.

“Are you alright?” the gentlemen said with concern. Aziraphale was still staring, so he tore his gaze from the gentlemen’s face.

“No. Yes. I mean.” Aziraphale stuttered. “I just got caught in the rain.”

The man nodded, the small smile still on his face, then he held out his umbrella.

“Would you like to borrow mine?” he said without hesitation. Aziraphale looked up him again ready to insist he was fine, but stopped when he noticed his eyes.

They were the colour of liquid gold, except for the ring of green surrounding his pupils. It was deep, Earthy green Aziraphale last recalled seeing in the Garden back when he’d first received this assignment.

“No. No thank you.” Aziraphale said softly. “I think I should like to stay here.”

My Dear Anthony,

I hope by the time this letter reaches you in England that you and Anathema will be quite settled in, with Annie at university and you doing your things (I must confess, I don’t quite recall the word you used to describe your profession. It may come to me one day.)

I must admit, dear brother, that although you grumble when I express sentiments to you, that I will miss you terrible when you return to England. There shall be a Crowley-shaped hole in my heart, I should think, for a long time till come. Please do come back and visit us in California.

Thank you for taking care of Anathema. It has always been her dream to attend Oxford. Do you remember when she was a little girl, with her book on magic and fairytales? She’d take it with her everywhere.

She can be quite stubborn at times, but she is a remarkable young woman, and I know that, under your guidance, my dear Annie will be something great. Please give her my love.

Take care of yourself.

Your Loving Sister,

Lucy

Crowley smiled down at the letter from his sister. He would never admit it, of course, but he missed his sister terribly. California, too, with its bright, sunny weather. The rain and fog of London coloured the world bleak in comparison.

Crowley had been back in London for a month. Anathema, his niece, was due to start at Oxford, once she got her acceptance, in three months.

She was a standout in stuffy old England, with her American wardrobe, accent, and mannerisms. She stood out in LA, too. She’d spent the days

Crowley had an apartment in Soho that he’d rented out in the year he’d been in America. The death of Lucy’s husband and Anathema’s father had hit their family hard. With their pieces stitched haphazardously back together, Anathema had decided that Oxford was her calling. England was a fresh start, and Crowley had to return at some point. Her mother had, after some convincing, agreed.

He was meant to meet Anathema for dinner that evening at the pub they frequented later on. With nothing else to do, Crowley decided a walk and some fresh air would do him some good, and stepped out into the English rain.

The Drooping Donkey had all the grace of a typical Soho bar on a Saturday evening. There was a group of soldiers crowded around a pretty young woman playing the piano, a lively war-tune Aziraphale recalled hearing over the radio on the BBC earlier that morning when he was rearranging his Atlas collection. They nursed warming bears. Chatty patrons took up the tables. There was luckily one spare (Aziraphale may have the ability to have any table he wished to, however he believed in ethical use of miracles) and, after ordering a glass of the house red, Aziraphale made his way over to it and took a seat, content to wait out the storm before going home.

When Aziraphale looked up, he made eye contact with the red-haired gentlemen from earlier. He was alone at the bar, and when Aziraphale looked at him, he did something completely surprising. He smiled.

An hour later, Aziraphale was still recounting the event in self-pity. He could leave now, as the handsome stranger had left. In truth, he’d been too shocked by the gentlemen (who had, upon meeting him, offered him his own umbrella?) and had been unable to use his brain. He had no choice but to enter the bar after the gentlemen, who had held the door out for Aziraphale. Even now, Aziraphale replayed the memory of that brief, awkward interaction over and over in his head. It was pointless. It wasn’t like Aziraphale would ever see him again. He was a human. A handsome, kind human. Still, he had appreciated that small show of kindness. It left a warm feeling in Aziraphale’s chest. The war was getting to him.

It was dark outside by the time Aziraphale exited The Drooping Donkey. The rain had cleared and, while the street maintained most of the business of a typical Soho Saturday, the sidewalk was mostly deserted. That’s why, when Aziraphale heard a noise like a group of hushed voices and a loud banging sound, he immediately rushed to the source.

The redhead man from the bar laid crumbled against the wall of a deserted alley. He was bundled behind bags of rubbish. Aziraphale hurried over to him, kneeling down to see better and miracleing a source of light. Aziraphale’s checked that the man was still breathing first, which he was, but was barely conscious. In the light, Aziraphale could see immediately that he had multiple injuries. His face was bruised, and his knuckles and hands were red. Then, Aziraphale spotted the spreading red across his stomach. Just below it, there was a knife.

It lay discarded in the wet, tossed carelessly, as though it had not just killed a man.

The stranger groaned as Aziraphale lifted the fabric away from the knife wound to locate the stab wound. It didn’t take long to find it. Blood gushed down the man’s abdomen from the puncture, and bile threatened to rise in Aziraphale’s throat as he realised that the kind stranger likely wouldn’t survive it. He had lost too much blood. Aziraphale had no idea how long he had been here, left like this. There was no time to take him to a hospital. He hadn’t been with a wife or friends at the bar. He would likely die here, cold, and alone.

Aziraphale reached down, pressing a hand against the wound, and healing it. It was overkill, to heal it completely, but the man looked in enough pain that Aziraphale couldn’t help but want to help him as best as he could. He spluttered at the motion, coughing harshly. Aziraphale stood up quickly, miracleing his trousers clean from where they had been stained by water and blood. He also miracled the stranger unconscious.

Aziraphale would have liked to have stayed with the stranger to make sure he got better, but he couldn’t answer the questions the man would obviously have. With any luck, the gentleman would wake up with a nasty hangover, with little recollection of what had occurred the night before. He’d likely interpret the black eye as being the result of a minor drunken scuffle. He would not remember Aziraphale, and Aziraphale would never see him again.

A kindness for a kindness was all it was. Miracling him out of sight, Aziraphale turned, and walked away.

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cc-horan28 · 3 months

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Be My Valentine - 9

The Wind, It Held Your Soul

(T) 1.7k

WW2 AU Soldier!Louis Tomlinson x Doctor!Harry Styles (3/3)

Tw death, implied time period accurate homophobia

Harry swallowed, lump in his throat firmly lodged, hands shaking as he glanced down at the little strip of paper.

18 words. They would be emblazoned across his mind forever. 18 words that changed everything. He still remembered the look Gemma had given him as she handed him the paper.

Harry is widowed in a time he cannot even accept it in public.

A/N: A huge thank you to Ash for helping me figure out the ending! And I love you Nashie and Anna for being there when I was having breakdowns over this! And ofc, ty to Akeyla for holding this fest and these amazing prompts just ah!

Title from Louis’ ‘Holding On To Heartache’!

Harry swallowed, lump in his throat firmly lodged, hands shaking as he glanced down at the little strip of paper.

18 words. They would be emblazoned across his mind forever. 18 words that changed everything. He still remembered the look Gemma had given him as she handed him the paper.

He had run from the stables as fast as he could when he’d heard the cook, Mrs O’Leary calling out to him. It had been months since he’d been sent back after a shell landed at the hospital Harry was working in, onfield. He had been waiting so long. He had thought it was a letter- from-

Louis. His Louis.

A sob racked his body as he bent over, paper crumpling as his fist closed down, nails digging into his palm. The pain was the only thing grounding him right now.

He had to give it everything he had to hold back from screaming. He squeezed his eyes shut, pawing at his eyes with his closed fist. Louis won’t like- wouldn’t- Another wave of anger passed through him as he sobbed, not caring if anyone heard him.

His Louis. The telegram wasn’t even sent to him. Of course it wouldn’t. To them they were nothing. To them they didn’t- couldn’t even exist. None of that mattered. None of it mattered. He wouldn’t even get to hold a funeral for him. He couldn’t face the idea of burying an empty coffin, of having to pretend he was just a coworker- a friend. Like he wasn’t there for the only man he’d ever loved.

He had no idea how long he stayed curled up like that, lost in thoughts of LouisLouisLouis. It was the cold that finally forced him to sit up, head freezing from where he had been resting it against the glass.

He couldn’t even face moving away from the bay window, going near the fireplace. That would involve seeing Louis’ sofa.

Harry remembered how he would climb onto him, slotting himself onto the single-seater, legs tangled with his, toasting crumpets by the fire, sipping the tea Harry didn’t even like but had anyway, just to keep Louis company.

This bay window was Louis’ idea. ‘So we can sit together properly’, he used to say with that grin of his, eyes all crinkled up, ‘Without you squashing me,’- Harry ran his hand over the soft leather, smoothened by the years of use. Everything was his, wasn’t it-

He exhaled shudderingly, distantly surprised when he saw it fogging up in front of him.

His face was cold, tear tracks feeling icy on his skin. He eased his grip on the paper, hugging one of the pillows to his chest as he glanced down,

WESTERN UNION

DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT CAPTAIN LOUIS TOMLINSON IS OFFICIALLY REPORTED AS KILLED IN ACTION JULY NINTH.

Tears welled up, clouding his vision as he clutched the pillow closer, burying his face in it. He cried loudly, beyond caring if anyone heard him, wailing out Louis’ name plaintively.

He breathed deeply when he pulled back, feeling slightly dizzy. He could have sworn he smelled jasmine and cinnamon. Hints of the Brumes perfume Louis liked- had liked- to wear at home.

Sure, it had said pour femme on the little bottle, he thought with a small, sad smile; but Louis never cared. Neither of them did.

He vaguely registered the insistent knocking on the door and curled up with his back to it, holding on to the pillow.

“Harold. Harry, please.” he heard Gemma say, slowly, like she was measuring each word out, but the slight tremor in her voice gave her away “Harry, don’t isolate yourself. I know- I understand you need space. And time. But this isn’t what Louis would have wanted,”

Harry barely registered what her next words were, all coherent thoughts drowned out by the rush of anger he felt.

“Don’t you take his name, not just to console me,” he shouted, stalking across the room and throwing the door open, “Don’t take his name, Gemma. Not when you brought me this godforsaken piece of paper.” He waved the said paper around, tears milling in his eyes despite the anger he felt. He knew his anger at his sister wasn’t justified, but he couldn’t care less.

“Don’t,” he repeated, voice breaking as he collapsed onto the ground, sitting on his haunches with his head in his hands.

“Louis,” he cried, slumping onto the ground, legs a tangle, the carpet cold under him.

He felt Gemma crouch beside him, whispering something that he didn’t quite understand over his own voice, but he stood up when she did, letting himself be led to the sofa by the fireplace.

She didn’t say anything, just gently combed through his hair as he stared at Louis’ sofa.

Louis’ sofa

It hit him at once, and this time he couldn’t even choke out any sounds. Louis’ sofa which wasn’t his anymore. Where he wouldn’t sit anymore.

Harry was grateful for her silence, her company. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he was left alone right now. He couldn’t fathom why he had wanted her to leave. Not her too-

He felt tears silently run down his face, gruelling visions of Louis alone somewhere, over the Channel, lying in a field threatening to swallow him. He tried to push the thoughts away, curling up into his sister, pulling his feet up, and taking shaky breaths to try and calm himself.

They sat there, Harry quietly hiccupping as he felt his tears dry up, only to be replaced by anger. It wasn’t aimed at Gemma this time, though.

“I didn’t even get the telegram,” he said, voice raspy already, “They didn’t even send it to me. My husband is gone, and they couldn’t even send me a fucking telegram,” His voice was rising, and he felt himself shaking with the intensity of all that he felt.

“Harry,” Gemma breathed out, sighing deeply and choosing not to say anymore. Harry needed to get it out of his system.

“They couldn’t because that would mean acknowledging us. They’re too busy pretending we don’t fucking exist and throwing those who protest into jails. I don’t want to erase him, Gem. I don’t want to erase us,” he broke off, closing his eyes as he bent over, forehead resting on his knees as he finally let himself think of Louis, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I’m not going to pretend,” he said, toying with the congealed dried eggs on his plate, like it was the most natural conversation to have. Like he hadn’t not said a word for two days. “We’ll hold a proper service for him. And I won’t pretend. I won’t talk about how great a person he was, or what a good soldier he was,”

His voice was raspy from disuse, throat raw from all the crying and screaming he’d done, bouncing between mad anger and complete desolation. He took the glass of orange juice Gemma offered with a silent nod.

She had been an angel, a constant presence, never invading his space, giving him the time he needed to process while still being a rock he could anchor to.

He took a small sip, ignoring the tears that were threatening to spill. He would have time for all that later, but he wanted Louis to have a proper send-off, and so would his sisters. And he knew Louis would have done the same, had the tables been turned. Had it been him killed on the Somme.

He quickly brushed the tears away, almost angry at himself.

“It’s okay if there’s another service, an official one, for everyone else. But I won’t attend it,” he said as firmly as he could in his state, “Everyone who knew, who cared about him- about us- we’ll have a separate service.”

That was all he could muster up the strength to say. Gemma stood up, patting his shoulder and kissing his cheek lightly. “He would be proud,” she whispered, “And so am I. I’ll give you some time. Ring for me if you want to talk,”

He pushed the plate away, watching Gemma’s retreating figure silently. He folded his arms and buried his head in them.

He was used to the silence by now.

He closed his eyes as he threw the last handful of dirt, face tilted up as he let the sun warm his face. The tears coursing down his cheeks still stung against the wind, but the golden glow he saw from behind his eyelids made it just a bit more bearable. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if it was grey and rainy.

Sunny days were Louis’ favorite, Harry thought, biting down on his lower lip. He used to love heading off to Kensington, getting some fresh rolls on their way there and having them by the pond. They always had to sit just a bit too far away, and still got suspicious glares from passersby, but Harry wouldn’t have had it any other way.

None of it changed the fact that Louis was gone and Harry doubted if he would ever entirely come to terms with it. With never seeing his eyes crinkle with laughter, or hear him singing his versions of Vera Lynn’s songs. With never waking up to him sipping his awful unsweetened tea next to him, newspaper rustling as he bent down to kiss him. With never seeing him again.

No, he couldn’t think like that. Louis was always the romantic between them, talks of a beautiful after, free from pain and discrimination and everything they hated being brought up whenever they got even vaguely theological, or drunk, or both.

He couldn’t help but chuckle weakly, thinking back to those evenings together.

Some day, he would see Louis again. The jasmine in the air, with not a bloom in sight was a testament to that.

They would never fade away. But for now, the silence would have to do.

A/N: again, I'm so sorry i don't know what possessed me to write this. Don't go and reread the first post. No matter what

Reblogs are always appreciated 💕

#bemyvalentine2024 #bemyvalentineno9 #widowed #larry stylinson #tw death #tw implied homophobia #Harry Styles #Louis Tomlinson #WW2 AU #angst #so much angst #hlcreators #hltracks #hlficlibrary #sorry for the ending #larry fics #larry fanfiction #larry angst #one direction

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footprintsinthesxnd · 1 year

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Love and War Masterlist

Synopsis: Bob Floyd never expected to fall in love during the war, especially not with a pretty, young nurse during basic training. But love works in funny ways and can their love stand the rest of time, the war and the distance that separates them. Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+. Pairings: Robert Floyd x female!nurse reader Disclaimer: This series is a cross over of ideas from TGM and Band of Brothers, a WW2 series based on the real life events of the 101st Airborne Division. All characters are original characters (except for Bob Floyd) and they are not representations of the real, brave men who fought in WW2. I have tried to make all the events in this series as accurate as possible but please bare in mind this is fanfiction and i have added/ changed certain things to fit with this.

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Character Moodboards and OC profiles

Part 1 - Camp Toccoa, Georgia - 1942

Part 2 - Upottery Airfield, England - 1944

Part 3 - Operation Market Garden, Netherlands - 1944

Part 4 - Mourmelon-le-grand and Paris , France - 1944

Part 5 - Ardennes Offensive, Bastogne - 1944

Part 6 - Hagenau and Germany 1945

Part 7 - Austria - 1945

Part 8 - Home, Alabama - 1947

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If you’d like to be tagged in this series or some of my other fics please fill in the taglist form provided.

#robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #ww2 au #top gun maverick #Bob floyd ww2 #101stairbornedivision #ww2 nurse #bob floyd x reader

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temozarela · 2 months

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what if i told you that i’ve already written the final chapter of a ww2 au satosugu fic of which i’ve barely started writing chapter 1 of

what then

#panda is human #panda is a nickname #there are no pandas in this fic i swear #it’s going to be very tragic #i can’t wait #naoya hate club unite #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #angst #geto suguru #jjk gojo #jjk geto #satosugu #jjk angst #geto x gojo #ww2 au

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plentyoffandoms · 4 months

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My Beloved Solider (WW2 AU)

Main Masterlist ♡ Adam Page Masterlist ♡ Alternate Universe Masterlist

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Warnings: nothing.

Gifs & Photos do not belong to me.

WC:799

Stephen- Adam Page

My darling Treasure,

I am on leave in Paris, and I can finally write to you without being bombarded by my men interrupting me or bullets flying at us.

It has been so long since I have seen you. I miss the sound of your voice, the smell of your perfume, but I really miss our conversations. I even think back about the first conversation we ever had when I had a moment to think.

I was tasked with bringing you your mail, but you were busy talking with a nurse. The moment I heard the sound of your voice, I was smitten.

At first, I thought it was because it was so long since I laid my eyes on an attractive woman, but the moment I looked into your eyes, I knew I was done for.

I made sure that any time something had to be personally delivered to you, I was the one who volunteered. My friends, Matt and Nick, quickly realised what was going on.

Then, that night happened. My weekend pass wasn't revoked, and I was able to go out, and there you were.

I bought you a drink. Do you remember that? But you turned down the drink, so I asked you to dance instead. We spent the night dancing, laughing, and getting to know one another.

That night, I kissed you for the first time, and I felt like I was walking on air, but then the next time I saw you, you hardly paid any attention to me.

Then, the next weekend, we were both free, and I just had to talk to you, even though you kept walking away. I still remember what you said to me. "Stephen, you will go off, and I will never see you again. You may die, and my heart will go along with you."

That was our first and only night together. I promised you between kisses that I would come back to you, and I have done everything I can to make sure I come back to you.

Forever your Solider,

Stephen.

My Stephen,

I have read your letter over and over again, as I do for each letter I get from you. I do remember that night clearly, and I think about each and every single moment I had with you.

I spend my days training women and watching men come and go.

I will not lie to you. Many of the men have hit on me when they are on their weekend passes, but no one compares to you, my love.

I tell them that I am taken and that I am waiting for you to come home. One arrogant man thought I was lying, and when I mentioned your name, he backed off.

You have made a name for yourself. Many stories here are about you and your men, and oh Stephen, I am so proud of you.

This letter is short, as there is a Sargent meeting, but I wanted to get a letter out to you today.

I love you, my Stephen.

Faithfully yours,

YN.

My sweet YN,

I sadly will not be coming home as a whole man. I have lost my left arm. I understand if you do not want to wait for me anymore, as I can not do what a whole man can do.

Our future plans of the two of us running my family's ranch are no longer on the horizon. I will sell it once I get back.

I will always love you.

Stephen

I didn't hear from her. Not even when I came home. I came to my family ranch and could see that I could not run this with one arm.

I had some help from neighbours, but they have their own places to run. I was alone one day, and I heard a knock on the door.

I told them to go away, but they didn't. I swung up the door, ready to tell them off, when I saw her standing there.

"YN? What are you doing here?"

She didn't answer. She crashed her lips against mine, wrapping her arms around me, and I did with my one arm. We finally broke apart, breathing heavy.

"I love you, Stephen. You are a whole man, no matter what you think. You are man enough for me."

"YN." I tried to say.

"I want to marry you, Stephen, and only you."

◆

We had a small wedding, two weeks later. She never left my side as we grew old together. We had five children together. Four boys and one girl.

I thought I was going to grow up alone, but she never once gave up on me. Loving me for who I am, and I loved her until the day I will die.

Tag list: @lghockey @nicoleveno14 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @hooks-martin @wwenhlimagines @melissahausen @faerieofthenightcourt @tahiri-veyla @midwestmade29

#aew #all elite wrestling #reader imagine #female reader #reader insert #ww2 au #wrestler au #adam page imagine #adam page fic #adam page fanfic #adam page #hangman adam page

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lumierew · 1 year

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Arthur

#hetalia #aph england #arthur kirkland #aph #hws england #old photo #ww2 au #cherry

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ships-to-sail · 3 months

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And just like that, here we are again!

It is a truth universally admired that in every fandom I enter sincerely, I will begin to contemplate a WW2 AU and at last, we've arrived at that inevitable day! And so:

“Welcome to Coney Island,” Nora says, looping her arm through Henry’s again and patting him on the hand gently when she sees the look on his face. “Isn’t it —” “ — bright,” he whispers, clearing his throat and then repeating himself, his voice stronger. “It’s so bright.” It’s the middle of the day and everywhere he looks he sees more electric light bulbs than he’s ever seen before. They outline the signs above alcove-sized shops and restaurants so big they seem to take up almost entire city blocks. They shout at Henry to try things like Nathan’s hot-dogs and new filterless camel cigarettes, scream at him that he’s in the home of the world’s fastest roller coasters, the longest scenic recreational train, wonders and marvels that all vie for his attention so energetically it sends a shiver along his arms. “And you ain’t seen nothing yet,” June practically squeals as she loops through his other arm and starts marching him in the direction of a large wooden monstrosity, looming large along the thick-slatted boardwalk. The sign in front spells out CYCLONE in big swooping letters, and Henry swallows thickly, the first leaden drop of trepidation slithering down his spine. And he knows, now, that he should have stopped it then. Should have found a way to beg off politely, but, well. He hadn’t, not then and not when they’d meandered their way through the cue, making small talk about the other attractions nearby and how often June and Nora made their way this far down the city. And not when he’d stepped behind Nora on a too-small wooden cart, taking his seat like nothing at all was amiss. And so now, really, he has only himself to blame, head cradled in his hands and nothing in the world where it ought to be. “I think I might need to lie down for a moment,” he says thickly, and the girls chuckle nervously, but that’s not what Henry hears. What Henry hears, over their laughter, over the screams of the next round of victims on the coaster behind them, over the steady drum of waves in the distance, is a deep voice painted along the edges with warmth like a slow drip of honey. It’s not an accent, persay, but it’s a history, and it might be the most beautiful sound Henry has ever heard. “Aw, shit Nor — what’d you do to the poor sod?!”

As always, I'm chomping at the bit to see what all y'all are working on, so PLEASE feel free to take the open tag, and if you do make sure to tag me so I can see it! Otherwise, tags are below the cut!

@dumbpeachjuice @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @orchidscript @everwitch-magiks @happiness-of-the-pursuit @indomitable-love @celaestis1 @cricketnationrise @rmd-writes @inexplicablymine @welcometololaland @kiwiana-writes @clottedcreamfudge @lilythesilly @sparklepocalypse @nontoxic-writes @tintagel-or-cockleshells @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

#red white & royal blue #rwrb #fanfiction #six sentence sunday #bugle boy of company b #ww2 AU

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nightmare-creatures-art · 1 year

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WW2 AU // he’s so sexy in his little uniform but unfortunately he’s still a mass murderer

(Yes I used that one hot Chris Evans / Cap set pic as a reference)

#star wars #star wars fanart #clone wars #anakin skywalker #anakin fanart #baby giiiirl #anakinsstuff #men in uniform #mass murder #but hes so sexy #ww2 au

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nightofnyx8 · 15 days

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As Time Goes By

CHAPTER TWO

read on ao3

#twiyor #spy x family #anya forger #Loid teaching Anya to play the piano will always be the cutest hc for me #ww2 AU

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pyro-thon · 2 months

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König doodles

#my art #cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #cod könig #cod mw2 #cod au #ww2 au

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bird-slayer-brainrot · 2 months

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Soldier On, Come Down - Chpt. 2. - - Ineffable Husbands WW2 au human!Crowley angel!Aziraphale angst multi-chapter

There was a knock on the door of the bookshop.

Azirphale looked up from his novel, sighing, and rose from his comfortable chair to answer it. Through the small window in the door, Aziraphale spotted a young, bespectacled woman frowning as she raised her fist to rap on the door again. Aziraphale hastily opened it. Aziraphale was about to tell her that the bookshop was not open, and to come again another time, before she pushed the door open, crowding Aziraphale, and marched uninvited into the bookshop.

Aziraphale watched in shock as the young woman crossed her arms.

“What are you?” she said in an American accent. She was looking at Aziraphale with a cross expression on her face and Aziraphale, who had no idea what was happening or why this strange, bossy, brightly dressed American was in his closed bookshop, just stared at her. Azirphale would have laughed if he wasn’t so confused. Out of all the things she had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. She was a human.

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale said in his politest customer-service tone. The young girl looked like she was having none of it. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I can sense it.” She scrunched up her nose, and gestured around the place with her hands. ”You don’t feel human.”

The gravity of the situation finally seemed to set in. It was possible for the girl to have minor psychic capabilities. Possible, and highly, highly inconvenient. “My, dear,” Aziraphale tried to interrupt her. This was not how he had expected his day to go.

“I saw you. You healed my uncle and then you left. I saw the entire thing.”

Aziraphale froze.

“Don’t even think about it.” She stated firmly. Aziraphale, who had been thinking about erasing this whole encounter and the events before (especially that part) from her mind and setting her on her way, immediately stopped considering the possibility of getting out of this easily.

He also, admittedly, was slightly impressed. The human was bold, demanding Aziraphale to pay attention. She stood in her bright red dress, frowning, looking wholly out of place in Aziraphale’s beige and brown bookshop.

“So are you going to explain?”

Aziraphale sighed.

Her name was Anathema Device. Annie, she had insisted, for short. She wanted to know everything. This strange human girl had somehow managed not only to figure out that her uncle’s recovery was… divinely inspired. Not only that, but she had also somehow tracked Aziraphale back to his bookshop, despite the numerous miracles in place that should have made that impossible. Should have.

“It wasn’t easy.” She admitted over a second cup of tea. “I almost had trouble trying to re-locate it again today.”

Aziraphale nodded with understanding. Annie was indeed a human, and a self-proclaimed ‘occultist’. She was definitely a character.

She seemed to understand that the half-explanations Aziraphale offered were all she could reasonably expect to get out of the bookseller. What she really wanted to know was if there would be any lasting effects on her uncle – whose name was Crowley – and seemed pleased to know that he would be fine.

Aziraphale smiled as the young woman shrugged on her coat. By now, he figured erasing her mind would be a pointless endeavour. She waved at him as she exited the bookshop, and Aziraphale’s heart stopped when he saw a flash of red-hair on the pavement outside his bookshop.

Anathema watched as the white-haired man crouched down. It was hard to miss it, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

She had been running late to meet Crowley. Her conversation with Newt had drawn out. They had been arguing about the affluence of the Bronte sisters in America, in which Newt had insisted that, in his semester abroad in America (New York), he had heard not one person mention the famous literary sisters. Anathema had argued that Newt likely wasn’t hanging around interesting enough people, which seemed to shut him up about the whole thing.

She had hurried to The Dirty Donkey, which had fortunately not been too far from where she’d met Newt. She hoped Crowley hadn’t been waiting too long for her.

The stranger was crouched over a body. He seemed to flutter his hands suddenly, which Anathema found strange. Then, she felt it.

When he left, walking quickly, quietly down the not-empty street, Anathema hurried over to where the man had been. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw an unconscious Crowley,

Aziraphale couldn’t help the need that seized over him to make sure Crowley was alright. He was an angel, and it was his duty to guide and to help humankind. Checking in on the gentlemen from the alley was only polite. His duty, it was his duty.

Aziraphale decided to walk the mile to the bar he knew the human frequented from his conversation with his niece. Turns out, they lived near the bar, and were meant to have dinner the night Crowley was attacked.

As Aziraphale approached the bar, he paused, suddenly embarrassed with what he was doing. In all likelihood, he wasn’t even there and Aziraphale was just being foolish for hoping he’d see him there.

Aziraphale willed his legs to work, and entered the bar

His long legs crowded below the low and worn bar table. He seemed to be waiting for someone, probably Anathema.

“Hello.” Aziraphale greeted him nervously. He had stopped a foot short of the table, not wanting to intrude just in case suspected person suddenly showed up.

Crowley looked up at the sound of a voice. The glimmer of recognition clear in his eyes.

“It’s you.” He stated. Aziraphale nodded. So much for the checking up on him, he could barely formulate a sentence.

“Please, sit.” Crowley announced. Aziraphale’s eyes widened at him, but the human man gestured to the seat opposite him. Wordlessly, Aziraphale obliged.

He was back to wearing his glasses, and they did well to hiding some of the deep purple bruise Crowley was sporting. He looked, for the most part, unaffected by what had occurred the night before. This was good, excellent. Aziraphale had come here. He had done what he had meant to do.

Crowley was watching him. Aziraphale suddenly wished for the privacy sunglasses would afford him. Crowley made a gesture to the worker, and, after asking what Aziraphale wanted (“Wine. Red.” Aziraphale had finally given in when Crowley insisted he buy his companion a drink.) ordered. When the barmaid left, he turned back to Aziraphale, and spoke.

Crowley had woken at midday to what was possibly the worst hangover he had ever had the misfortune to experience.

There was a noise from beside him. Crowley pulled himself up slowly, his arms weak with sleep. Anathema was there in a moment. She was saying something, but his head was pounding relentlessly. A cold glass of water was thrust in his hand. Crowley drank from it.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked softly. Crowley made a sound, and handed her back the empty glass. She was still watching him nervously. He would ask later what happened, but he needed to sleep.

Crowley heard the whole strange tale, trying his best not to interrupts. Anathema was almost bouncing with excitement.

But when she had told her uncle in no uncertain terms to expect the blond gentlemen at the bar that evening (her intuition, she told him), he argued. It was ridiculous, all of it. Crowley had known Anathema had a power of sorts, though he did not fully understand the scope of it, and she was desperate to have the answers. Crowley was her unwilling accomplice.

(Though it wasn’t a small part of him that was curious. Besides, it was only good manners to thank the man who had saved your life.)

So Anathema had insisted on it, and Crowley found himself that evening sitting across from the most intriguing gentlemen he had ever seen.

“I was telling Anathema about this book of prophecies I’ve been trying to locate for the best part of fifteen years, and Anathema looks me straight in the eye and tells me she has a copy!”

Crowley snorted out a laugh that was probably too loud, as Aziraphale chuckled at the tale.

They had been sitting at the table for a while, by this point, and were multiple wine bottles deep into their discussion. Crowley had learnt that the man, whose name was Aziraphale, loved books. Crowley admittedly knew little about books, or prophecies, but found himself rapt by Aziraphale’s musings.

He had done this for Anathema, meeting with the gentlemen. But Crowley found himself actually enjoying the conversation, and Aziraphale hardly seemed deterred by Crowley’s stoic manner. It was nice, having a conversation with someone who made it feel like talking to him was the most natural thing in the world. Even if Aziraphale lead the conversation, Crowley hardly wanted to leave the conversation. He couldn’t remember the last time talking was nice.

“Oh dear, I’ve held you too long.” Aziraphale suddenly exclaimed. It was true. Crowley looked around, just noticing the empty chairs and tables. Aziraphale moved to stand clumsily. Crowley suddenly felt the urge to ask him to stay.

“Thank you, again.” Was what he said instead. Aziraphale looked at him anxiously, and gave him a small smile before hurrying out the door.

It was strange, but Crowley had done his duty and thanked the man. He picked up his hat, and stood up to go.

(Chapter two! I wanted to do more this chapter but the past week has been full with uni kicking in (ahhhhh), my birthday (19, i feel old) and me suddenly getting sick today which has led to me being bedridden. Either way, I'll aim to have chapter three up earlier on Friday next week. Stay hydrated xX)

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