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arlh0e · 3 months

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Moving on in time

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Hozier x gn! Reader, angst, post-break up, youre in his band, touring with Hozier, public embarassment, emotions on high, mutual frustration, miscommunication, tension you could cut with a knife

Summary: Its been months since the break up, you had been with andrew for years, but with the touring and your busy schedules, you decided it was best for the two of you to go your seperate ways. At the time, you hadn’t thought about the fact that when he decided it was time to record and release a new album, you would be back on tour with him, helping him perform music that he had written about your break up.

You had been avoiding andrew like the plague offstage for months. You were well into the unreal unearth tour, and though you enjoyed his music, and you loved playing with him and the band, you really hadn’t realized how emotionally taxing this would be.

Playing bass in the band meant you stood up toward the front of the stage next to him. And you had made a point to pretend that everything was fine and cool while you were performing, but truth be told, there was no possible way that the two of you could ever have anything even resembling a friendship ever again.

It broke your heart all over again if you were being honest. You hated not speaking to him, but you hated having to act like you were still best friends even more.

Tonights show was particularly hard on you. You were all sleep deprived, and Andrew had gotten particularly frustrated during sound check, so even though the show had been running smoothly, tensions were on high and you were doing everything in your power not to show it.

You were doing your best to calm down, but listening to music he had written about how angry he was with you and how your whole relationship was nothing but toxic (First Time was by far your least favorite, it painted a completely inaccurate portrayal of how you treated him.) it wasn’t exactly what you’d call an easy feat.

The biggest problem came during Francesca. He always glanced over to you periodically, it was something that he did to everyone, to make sure everyone was doing okay, but for whatever reason, during francesca, he took it upon himself to all but stare you down for the majority of the song.

It was subtle at first, barely noticeable, just sideways glances, but by the time the second chorus came around, he was turned in your direction staring at you as he sang.

Jesus fucking christ.

This man really had the audacity to spend hours shit talking on you and then sing the only kind words he had to say directly to you.

Whatever happened to keeping his private life a secret? Whatever happened to “there’s no muse”?

He was staring a hole into you, all but calling you out publicly in front of an audience of god knows how many people. You had known he wasn’t perfect, everyone was capable of mistakes, but this isn’t something you’d ever expect from him.

This was cruel.

And the worst part about it? He actually looked genuine. He was looking at you, pleading, all but begging silently. Of course, you knew it was all an act, likely something he had planned to grab the attention of his fans and get people talking, but it still hurt.

You knew that you were still in love with him, and realistically, you had thought until the album release, that he had felt the same, and as much as you hated the idea, you had thought that reconciliation might be possible.

Seeing him look at you like that, like he was still in love with you, like he actually meant a word of what he was saying made you want to cry. You were stunned.

You honestly half decided then and there that you would quit at the earliest opportunity. You loved touring with him and you loved music being your full time job, but this was too much. He couldn’t do this to you.

You held eye contact with him, willing yourself not to be the first to look away, refusing to let him win.

You did your best to stabilize the lump in your throat as you stepped toward the mic, still looking at him as you sang his lyrics with him.

“Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I.”

It was a phrase he used to say to you, something he had told you toward the beginning of your relationship, when you were still in the process of healing from the religious bull shit your parents had instilled into you, and you went through a short lived patch of worrying that if there was a hell, you’d be going there because you had slept with Andrew so soon.

He had comforted you by telling you that if there were a heaven, the walls weren’t strong enough to hold two people who were so in love with one another and that you’d both be sent to hell for loving more absolutely and unconditionally than god himself.

It was a sweet sentiment, and something he knew only you would get, nevertheless fan went crazy over the lyrics that were meant to comfort you but that he had twisted into something that only brought you pain now.

You knew what he was doing when he wrote it and that was what felt the worst. He had turned what you had once considered your greatest comfort and the most heart wrenchingly beautiful thing anyone had ever said to you into your single least favorite sentence in the entire english language.

As the song came to a close, you maintained eye contact with him for a concerning amount of time, as the crowd erupted into applause.

Finally, he turned away from you, looking back to the audience and thanking them for coming before ushering the band forward for a bow.

You walked forward, took Andrews hand briefly and bowed, staying there just long enough for the lights to come down and then you all but ran backstage.

The tears were flowing freely by that point, not wanting anyone to see you, you rushed to the nearest bathroom, locked the door and cried.

You knew he wasn’t fond of you anymore, but this was a new kind of distaste. Cruelty like that bordered on hatred, a sentiment which, until now you didn’t think he was even capable of. If you had known that this was what would come of the decision to break up, you wouldn’t have done it. Hell, if you had known, you would’ve opted to just stay friends.

You debated how you would go about quitting. After that stunt, you knew that this was no longer good for you, regardless of how much you loved touring and regardless of how much you loved him. You needed to leave and to never speak to him again. Distance was the only way you’d ever get over him.

Once you had calmed yourself down, you opened the door, and headed down the hallway to Andrew’s dressing room and knocked on the door. After a few deep breaths, you were ready to face him.

The door opened just a crack, before opening fully. “Ehm… Hey?” He looked genuinely confused. Sounded it too, though his whole body did visibly relax when he saw it was you.

“Hey.” You took one more deep breath before continuing. “I just wanted to let you know, I think it’s time to find a new bassist. I will not be touring you any longer after the break in December.” Your voice broke a little bit toward the end. You were angry with yourself for showing how upset you were. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had gotten a reaction out of you.

His face fell. “What? Why? If it’s about us not talking, I swear I’m not ignoring you, I just-” you cut him off mid-sentence.

“No. Andrew it’s about everything.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “I can handle standing next to you while you play music about how much you hate me for breaking up with you. Thats fair. It’s deserved even. But what I can’t stand is that. What you just did on that stage was nothing short of cruel.”

He let out a sigh, looking down at his feet. “I didn’t-” he cut himself off, running his hands over his face. “I didn’t meanwhile it like that I just-“

“Then how did you mean it Andrew? Because what it looked like to me was you talking shit to thousands of people and then acting like you still want me because you knew it was going to hurt.” I was all but yelling at him by now. I was positive that a few stage hands were overhearing this, but I didn’t even care. For all I cared, the whole world could know about how awful he was being.

“Can you please just come in? Can we talk about it? Please?” He looked completely genuine. I couldn’t tell if he was just stressed about losing an original member of the band, or if he actually cared that he had hurt me, either way, he wasn’t going to change my mind.

“Fine. 10 minutes, but don’t expect to change anything. Im quitting. You’re not changing that.” I said sternly, moving past him to sit on the small couch in the corner of the room. With a sigh, he closed the door, and let out a sigh.

“You wanted to talk. So talk.” I cross my legs on the couch, looking down at my hands, refusing to look at him.

“Look, I’ve been wanting to explain the album to you for a while.” He walked across the small room, placing himself on the opposite side of the couch from you. “When we broke up, I was hurt and I was angry, and I channeled that into my writing.

That doesn’t excuse any of it, and you’re well within your rights to be upset with me, thats more than fair.” He let out a sigh, looking at his hands, you could tell he was shaking. You wondered if this was as stressful for him as it was for you. If he was upset, you knew it wasn’t for the right reasons of course.

“I just don’t want you to think that I don’t still care about you. I was devastated, hell, I still am but I don’t want you thinking I hate you or something. I wasn’t doing anything to hurt you, I use my writing as an outlet and I needed a way to turn this into something I was proud of.”

I looked up to meet his eyes. They held nothing but truth. It was one of the great things about knowing him so well, I could read him like a book. If he was lying to save his own ass, I’d know.

“And I already said that I understand that.” You took a few breaths, trying to calm yourself and failing miserably. Your tears broke free and you sniffled as you wiped your face. “What I don’t understand is why you took something you used to say to me for my comfort, threw it into a song about me and then stared me down onstage while you sang those words and looked at me like you’re still in love with me, knowing damn well that I’m not over you.” The words left my mouth before I could even process what was happening.

My hand shot up to my mouth. Way to go. Just show the man all your cards. Throw away any advantage you had in the conversation. Great job.

His eyes lit up a bit. For the first time in months, it looked like he had hope. It pulled at your heart a bit, seeing him react that way even though you knew it wasn’t out of any remaining love he held for you. He was just glad you didn’t hate him probably.

“Okay, A.) I didn’t know that, and had I known, we would’ve had this conversation way earlier and B.) I wrote Francesca as a last ditch effort to get you back. I put that in there because it’s the truth.” He sighed again, this time a bit more hopeful, but still frustrated and sad. “I wasn’t planning on singing it to you. It just kind of happened. I didn’t think, I am sorry for that. And Im even more sorry for not explaining myself earlier.” His hand moves to his hair, running his fingers through his curls. It was something he did when he was thinking really hard about something.

“I get that.” You sighed in response. “I still think it’s best that I leave though. As far as I can tell, it’s better for both of us if we just cut contact.” You were still crying, bordering on sobbing. You pull your knees into your chest and curl your arms around yourself. It was a hard enough decision to make, but putting the thought into action was so much harder.

“Please don’t say that.” He sat up, moving slightly closer to you, he was pleading with his eyes, he looked desperate. You could even see the beginnings of a few tears filling his eyes. “Look, I know I’ve said a lot of shit that really hurt you, I can’t take that back, but please at least give me the chance to try and fix it.” The first of his tears spilled over and his voice cracked.

“Andrew, before all of this, I would have said yes, hell I would have even said we could try being together again, but at this point, I don’t know if I’ll ever go a day without questioning if you actually care about me. Thats not something that can be fixed.” I pull away from him, turning and putting my feet on the ground.

“Baby, please just let me try. And if you still want to leave by December, then I won’t stop you, but I’ve been dying seeing you every day and not talking to you.” He moves next to me and takes one of my hands in both of his. “Please. Just can we try?”

You sigh, looking down at your hand in his. He was so warm, his touch just as inviting as you remembered, he was close enough that you could smell him, he still wore the same cologne you had picked out for him years ago. It was woodsy and sort of musky, and the way it mixed with his natural scent drove you absolutely nuts.

With another sigh, you lean your head onto his shoulder. “I kinda hate you a little bit.” You huff, frustrated. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wan’t to work things out between the two of you. You wanted nothing more than to take everything back and go back to being together.

He chuckled a little bit, leaning his head to rest against the top of yours. “Thats okay.” You can feel him smile against your hair, placing a kiss on the top of your forehead. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You move yourself closer to him, pulling your legs into his lap. “I really do miss you.” Your voice is muffled by his chest. “As stupid as it sounds I’ve thought about just coming back probably a million times.”

His hand is in your hair, moving across your scalp, soothingly. It was nice. “It’s not stupid. I’ve come so close to cornering and begging you to take me back on a handful of occasions.”

You laugh a little bit. “Just don’t write any more mean songs about me okay?” You look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since the start of this conversation.

He leans down and places his lips against yours for a fleeting second. “I promise, love.”

I tell you what, when an Idea strikes, I be writing so fast, I did that in like 3 hours.

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the-casbah-way · 8 months

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forgive the brief jesus chris superstar rant but. there is a very important difference between the pharisees being villains and the pharisees being antagonists. they're technically antagonists because they're actively working against the interests of our protagonist, but i don't believe they should ever be played as villains. they're not evil or bad or wrong. they're terrified just like literally everyone else in the show is, and their actions are completely justified. to me that's the entire point of the musical. it's not about christianity; it's about the impact the roman empire's brutal and violent imperialism had on everyone on all levels. including jesus and judas, but also including the pharisees, and even herod and pilate. when a powerful coloniser forces their presence on innocent people they are the only winners. everyone else suffers, even the puppet kings and high priests who look like they're reaping some sort of benefit from it all. that's roman propaganda. the romans kept native rulers like herod and caiaphas in power to maintain the illusion of provincial autonomy, and keep populations appeased and therefore under control. everyone in the show is acting out of fear of the romans. the one roman character we do see (pilate) is acting out of fear of his own emperor. it makes no sense to cast the pharisees as two dimensional Bad Guys, especially when the same productions that do that usually offer a sympathetic portrayal of pilate. it would be so easy to stage and direct a production in a way that makes it obvious that the pharisees are doing what they're doing because they truly have no choice, and not because they're pure evil and want to kill jesus for the sake of it. it's not only an antisemitic trope but also undermines a really important theme of the musical. if you can see the humanity in the violent roman governor installed forcefully on conquered land then you can afford some humanity for the pharisees too. they are victims of pilate and victims of rome just like everyone else

#THEY ARE NOT ALLIES OF PILATE. they have a common interest yes. ie avoiding punishment from rome #but the pharisees have no choice but to go to pilate. they have no real power. because like i said. they are puppet rulers #i am just tired of seeing the pharisees as villains #IF YOU WANT A VILLAIN (idk why you need to have one i don't think this show is about that) IT SHOULD BE FUCKING PILATE. AND NO ONE ELSE #THE PHARISEES ARE NOT VILLAINS. THEY ARE NOT EVIL. THEY ARE VICTIMS.#i am tired of seeing them costumed or directed in a way that makes them stereotypical Bad Guys #the 2k version of jcs is my favourite but i HATE how it portrays the pharisees at times especially annas #when annas pushes judas to the floor for literally no reason it's like. you are going out of your way to make these guys seem evil #sucks because the actor from 2k is the best annas i've ever seen in terms of presence and voice #and the actor who plays caiaphas in that film does a really good job at showing fear instead of pure anger and evil #but it's generally all still done in a way that makes the priests seem evil. in my opinion #and yes i called pilate violent. he's not in A Lot of productions but. the real pilate was an extremely brutal governor #and there's a very good reason for portraying him as such. especially when you consider the themes i mentioned here #jesus christ superstar #jcs #ask to tag

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optimisticaudience · 10 months

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Sound of Freedom, Operation Underground Railroad, and Tim Ballard are frauds who hurt the people who fight actual human trafficking.

Talk to anyone who fights real trafficking, they will tell you what is wrong with Ballard. To start with, he used to fight child sexual exploitation as a federal agent but he quit to act as a vigilante. Here is the short version of how OUR works: they go into a foreign country and throw money around until a pimp approaches them. They then tell the pimp they want children, and ask the pimp to bring kids to a secondary location. Then they call the cops, have the police arrest the pimps, streams the arrest on FaceTime for a high tier donor, and then go home. If you don’t get what’s wrong with this let me explain: OUR raises the demand for child sex slaves. A mommy blogger who Ballard brought along wrote an entire article about her experience. He says his team is all sorts of CIA agents and SEALs, but apparently moms from Utah are more reflective. It turns out some of the kids were trafficked for the first time FOR Ballard. He waved money and encouraged that trafficking. Afterwards, he left the country with a handshake promise that the kids would be cared for by the police. He will say the kids got aftercare, but evidence says otherwise.

But maybe that’s not enough for you?

He hired a psychic in Utah to tell him where a child was in the Dominican Republic. He flew a team as well as that child’s father down to the town the psychic indicated and found nothing other than locals scared of the American paramilitary vigilantes who were asking for children.

He and a sister organization said they were evacuating people from Afghanistan. No one has found any evidence to prove that.

He has claimed OUR saved a 12 year old girl from slavery. Then, she was 11. Then it turned out she saved herself a decade ago without his help and they want to get credit for rescuing her.

He claimed to be partnered with American Airlines, who have no idea what he is talking about.

So what actually DOES Ballard do?

He campaigns against drag queens

Promotes Qanon/Wayfair conspiracies

Cast the actor who played Jesus to play himself in his own movie. (The actor actively campaigns on blood libel Q conspiracies)

But beyond all that, just remember the movie isn’t donating to anti trafficking causes. It’s just asking you to buy more tickets to juice the numbers.

Donate to your local shelter. Most trafficking victims are trafficked by loved ones or people close to them. The victims need all the help they can get.

And another thing: People are conflating criticism of this film with apologia for child trafficking. I keep seeing posts say it will “Raise Awareness,” despite it being an incorrect portrayal. If that’s true, then Die Hard is raising awareness about bank robbers.

Here’s an idea: watch or read ANYTHING from real survivors of trafficking.

#tw trafficking #tw abuse #tw sex abuse #tw child abuse #sound of freedom #operation Underground Railroad #Tim Ballard #jim caviezel #tw antisemitism #bc caviezel is

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c-l0wnery · 2 months

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Two popular headcanons about Sophia's character suggest she was either a love interest or a big sister/mother figure to P. While both interpretations hold value, I personally believe she served more as a big sister/mother figure to P, and here's why:

Sophia and Geppetto:

One notable difference is their approach to P's transformation into a human. Sophia encourages P's choices, even if they involve lying, recognizing his progress, while Geppetto often demands obedience and no lies from P (I am certain he is well aware that lying is what makes him human), even so that he becomes distressed over the occurrence that P's hair is growing and not knowing how to deal with his metamorphosis of becoming human. Sophia's supportive nature contrasts with Geppetto's rigidity, indicating a maternal influence.

Granting Life:

Both Sophia and Geppetto played roles in giving "life" to P, akin to parental figures bringing a child into the world.

Carlo:

Sophia's long-standing connection with Carlo reveals her nurturing demeanour, which was made clear at black seaside, akin to a big sister comforting him in times of distress. (Yes, I am aware that P and Carlo are in fact not the same person, but I do believe that Carlo has influence on P his actions because Carlo his ergo is infused with his heart, we have seen this with multiple puppets such as, the puppet maid Camille, Romeo The King of puppets and even Sophia when P decides to fuse her ergo with the doll, it did not create an entirely different being, Sophia stayed Sophia because that is what ergo makes possible.) This dynamic parallels her relationship with P, suggesting a maternal influence.

Statue:

The imagery of Sophia cradling P mirrors the Madonna della Pietà (the Blessed Virgin Mother Mary cradling the mortal body of her son Jesus Christ after his Descent from the Cross.), symbolizing her maternal role in P's life, particularly evident in the True ending.

Original Story:

Sophia's multifaceted portrayal in the original Pinocchio story aligns with her nurturing and maternal characteristics, further supporting the big sister/mother figure interpretation.

Appearance:

Sophia's mature demeanour contrasts with P's youthful innocence, emphasizing her role as a guiding figure rather than a romantic interest.

Record Shadow Flower:

While Sophia's record hints at a love story, it is not to be forgotten that Alidoro, brother of Eugénie, gifted his sister a record with a song depicting a love story about a wolf who went an a journey to propose to a girl.

In essence, Sophia embodies the parental guidance that Gepetto fails to provide, making her a more fitting parental figure for P. While the romantic interpretation is valid, viewing Sophia in a nurturing role offers a refreshing perspective, highlighting her depth beyond mere romantic tropes.

#lies of p #pinocchio #sophia monad #lies of p alidoro #lies of p eugenie #lies of p pinocchio #lies of p geppetto

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dana-chan-the-control-brain · 4 months

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Ngl 'm kinda salty that instead of having Sun, or Solar, or Monty in today's gaming video on Laes, they had Roxanne, someone who is irrelevant to their channels besides being a running gag for teasing Sun. I know that Davis is probably too busy to record with Kat, Reed, and Valentine but I'd rather wait for him to be available for however long it takes than to watch a gaming video with Roxanne in it :/

My only theory as to why the Roxanne Show did this huge collab was because that they have recorded a VR lore collab episode with them as well and they were available.

Which.........

Isn't great.

I don't like their portrayal of Vanny.

That's my woman blorbo and you screwed her up.

Keep her away from me.

Although, I've never been a big fan of their Roxanne portrayal either.

My personal opinion. Take it with a grain of salt.

I thought the Christmas Special was terrible.

youtube

"Did everyone enjoy the Holiday Special?" "No RAGS... only you did." "Oh... well that pretty much my target audience anyway..."

*i watched the whole thing so you don't have to. Honestly, if you have seen the two very short clips of Davis's Sun and Earth/Kat singing, that's all you need. Because they're the only two of this musical that can actually... well... sing.*

The singing made my inner choir kid cringe.... and I just... did not care for the plot.

Roxanne was stressed over the holidays... because of the drama SHE created.... She whined about her estranged on again off again father not liking Christmas, whined when Gregory tried to invite Cassie over, Whined when Gregory was upset and dealing with drama of his only ghost friends potentially leaving the astral plain, Was annoyed when Freddy was trying to be a good boyfriend because she wasn't happy that not EVERYONE was having "the best christmas ever" Cus "Who doesn't like Christmas?" I don't know, Roxanne... people who are busy, people who work retail, people with dead relatives (like Cassie by the way) .... people who don't CELEBrate Christmas???

And I was waiting for the other shoe to drop so much in this special. Because so far, All they've sung about what makes Christmas Great is the Commodification and the Commercialism of Christmas.

That's what makes Christmas great. The cookies, the presents, the colorful lights.....big parties, traditions... etc etc....

Which, come on, I do NOT expect animatronics to get up like the Peanuts Holiday Special and tell me about the Birth of Jesus Christ.

But what I did expect them to do, was talk about the importance of family, and why being with the people you care about is so important... and there was... an attempt at that. But it didn't really land for me.

They didn't even bother to get into how other people celebrate Christmas.

It was all hyping up the commercialism of the Hoilday, and getting excited about that... I understand Gregory, cause he's a literal child... but every single animatronic was either for Christmas or anti Christmas for very commercial reasons.

And what's the crisis.... Roxanne is upset because not everyone likes Christmas and no one is falling into line for her plans for the Holidays... Not everything is about you. Gregory's friends are literally dying and Cassie is mourning her Dad over the holidays.

I thought the special would be about appreciating what you have, even if things don't work out. But no, everything works out and even her estranged father makes up with her for no reason other then because.

Respect for all the voice actors, talent and origination to get the RAGS Christmas Musical together... I just did not care for the plot. And People are free to disagree with me on this... but I found the whole Musical rather shallow and I have seen Hallmark Christmas and Rankinbass Movies with more meat.

I will say.... TSAMS (and MAFS to some extent) did a much better holiday special with far less production... because that's what it's really about, just spending time and exchanging gifts with people who you know care about you. And Earth and Solar experiencing Christmas with others that care about them for the first time and a feeling of warm togetherness and family that wasn't about a big planning or party, while also packing in some of the stressful feeling of the Holidays as well.

And yeah. If Sun was on "Vacation" they could have used this as an opportunity for Solar to be in gaming videos, since Davis himself isn't sick.

We've never seen Solar and Moon play a game together, and I know I'm not the only one asking for it in the official server.

Just involve Solar in more gaming videos. HE ASKED to be in them more. Just DO IT.

#tsams #danachan's asks #danachan's replies #this is so salty #lol I was feeling that salt

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questionableratatouille00 · 2 months

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𝓜𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓞𝓷 10

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda and Y/n talk about their love lives as they get closer. Now, Y/n is sure that she’s getting better. Everyone in the group is. But there’s still work to be done. And not just for Y/n. Is it possible that even Sam Wilson needs help?

Warnings (Entire Series): This series deals with mature topics, including, but not limited to: death, mental health issues, physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, grief, trauma, general unwellness, illness (both mental and physical), and a most likely inaccurate portrayal of group therapy (though it’s much better than whatever was going on in TFATWS.) Please mind the warnings below.

Warnings: talks of death, dead romantic partners, nudity, let me know anything else that should be tagged.

🌻Series Masterlist 🌻

𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

You wake up the next morning, Wanda still tucked into your chest, breathing deeply.

You slowly toss your head back, staring at the headboard.

“Good morning,” she murmurs, readjusting her fingers on your chest.

“Morning.” You looked down at her. God, she was beautiful.

You stared at each other for a moment, gentle and pure adoration in both of your eyes.

“I should uhm, I should get up. I’ll make you breakfast.” She offered. She pulled away, getting up and out of bed. She covered her chest, before realizing that there wasn’t much of a point. She gave an awkward smile before walking into her walk-in closet.

She left the door open, and you watched as she slipped a shirt over her head. It was quite long, and went down to her mid-thighs. When she turned around, you could see what the shirt was. A Dick van Dyke show t-shirt.

“Can I use your shower?” You asked as you sat up.

“‘Course, go right ahead.” She hummed.

She left the room, and you got out of bed. You collected your discarded clothes off of her bedroom floor, walking into her master bathroom, which was connected to her room.

You turned on the shower, setting your clothes on the empty space between the two sinks. One for her and one for her dead husband.

Jesus Christ, that was dark.

Her dead husband probably slept in the bed you fucked his wife in, your brain added. You groaned internally as you turned on the shower.

After staring at yourself in the mirror, you stepped into the shower, standing under the hot water. It felt nice.

You stood there for a few moments, your eyes closed, listening to your breathing.

And then you heard a knock at the bathroom door.

“Can I come in?” Her voice called gently from the other side.

“I won’t stop you,” you said back, your voice slightly echoing from the bathroom interior.

She opened the door, pulling off the oversized t-shirt. “Mind if I join you?”

“I don’t mind one bit.” You hummed. She stepped into the shower, and you moved to let her into the water spray.

“Sam called.” She murmured. “Something about a boat. It’s from Louisiana, but he got it down here in New York.”

When she saw your confused expression, she chuckled and shook her head.

“Yeah, I don’t know. But he needs help fixing it or something. He mentioned his sister trying to sell it. I can’t tell if he’s fixing it up to sell it or if he’s fixing it up to convince her not to, but he needs help fixing it.” She explained.

“Oh. I’ll go help him out. S’anyone else going?”

“I told him I’d be there. Pretty sure everybody else will come down too.” She had a gold necklace on, a small heart.

You helped each other wash your hair. It was more loving than sexy, something that felt special to just the two of you.

With Nat, showering together usually meant something more steamy. And it was never nonconsensual or anything like that, and sometimes you’d just shower together because you felt like it, but even then it was nothing like this.

Wanda revealed that she had made muffins. You ate them together before you left to go home.

Once you got back to your apartment, you changed clothes and told Sam you’d be there. He’d sent a text to the group chat when you were in the shower.

And you were there. You and Wanda drove separately, not really wanting to make it clear what you’d been doing the night before.

You were positive someone had put it together already, but you were begging the universe to at least give you some time to come to terms with it.

You were currently working on cleaning the windows of the cabin, wiping them down until they looked nice.

Wanda called for you from outside the cabin. “Yeah?” You responded as you went outside to see her.

“Can you grab that? I can’t get it.” She pointed to a pack of hardware nails.

“Yeah, sure.” You reached for it. And reached for it. Your fingers touched it once, you swear.

But even you couldn’t reach it, and you wanted lightning to strike you down right then and there.

“Here you go.” Thor grabbed the nails and handed them to you. He smiled warmly, as if proud of what he’d done.

“Thanks, Thor.” You said kindly, but tiredly.

He grinned before walking away.

You handed Wanda the nails without looking at her.

“Thank—“ She began to tease, but you cut her off.

“Don’t even say it.” You grumbled, and she chuckled before walking off with the nails and a hammer.

You began to clean the outside of the windows.

“How long has that been going on?” Steve said suddenly from beside you. You gasped, he had scared you.

“Sorry.” He murmured.

“It’s fine.” You hummed. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You and Wanda.” He nodded. “It’s cute. You should see the way she looks at you.”

You felt your face get hot. “There’s—it’s not like—nothing is going on.”

“B-S!” Bucky said in a sing-song voice as he walked over. “Bullshit.”

“Fuck off.” You groaned. “It—it’s complicated.”

“She really does like you, though.” Steve said.

“And it looks like you like her too.” Bucky teased.

“Shut up.” You groaned as you tried to focus on the windows. Bucky and Steve chuckled, walking off to do something hopefully productive.

You heard footsteps coming from behind you. “Whoever you are, please for the love of God do not lecture me on my potential romantic relationships.”

“I never said I was gonna.” Sam chuckled, walking up beside you.

“Good.” You went back to cleaning the windows.

“Thanks for coming out. To help.” He smiles, the gap in his teeth warming your heart slightly.

“Oh. I thought you were thanking me for being gay.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You know, she really does look a lot happier when she’s with you.”

You couldn’t help but feel a bit lighter at that. “..You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“That must mean it’s extra true.”

“I guess so.” You reached higher as you wiped at the top of the windows.

“You still think about Natasha?” He tilted his head as he helped with the window next to the one you were working on.

“All the time.” You answered earnestly. “I’ve been trying to ‘get better’—whatever the fuck that means. Sometimes I don’t get why I can’t just get over it.” You rambled. “Sorry. That was a lot.”

“No, I get it. Riley..he was my Natasha.”

“Oh.” You blinked. “Guess we’re a lot similar than I thought. How..how do you cope?”

He nodded, before speaking again. “I guess I realized that you don’t have to move on. Grief is a hell of a lot like love; always there, even if you don’t feel it at times. It comes in waves. Some days it’s gonna be a tsunami, other days, it’ll be a tiny little ripple in the water that laps at your shoe.”

You nodded slowly. “Thank you. That..actually helps.”

He smiles softly. “I didn’t become a counselor for nothin’.”

You rest your head on Wanda’s chest as she rubs circles into your back.

You liked her bed; liked her choice in sheets. White duvet, with tiny sunflowers over it. Yellow and white pillows, gentle yellow sheets.

“I still think about Vision sometimes,” she murmured into your hair.

“I think about Natasha. I’m pretty sure that’s normal.” You told her.

She nodded. “Sometimes, it’s like this wave washing over me, and nobody how many times I stand up..it just comes back to knock me down again. But I guess it just means that the love was real.”

“You sound a lot like Sam.” You chuckled.

She smiled, her nose crinkling as always. “Maybe that means we’re both right.”

“Maybe.” You looked up at her.

“Vis had this thing he used to say. It was uhm..” she paused as she tried to remember it. “What is grief, if not love persevering?”

“That’s a sick ass quote, but I’m pretty sure it’s from a movie or a book or something. That’s hella poetic.”

“Nope. It’s all his.” She replied.

“Damn. He was smart as fuck.” You laughed a little.

“Yeah. Sometimes annoyingly so.” She giggled with you.

“I’m glad I get to be here with you.”

“I’m glad too.” She grinned, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And then one to your lips.

a/n: SHES HERE and it’s been a long time coming. Love the dialogue for this one.

#moving on #wanda maximoff fic #wanda fanfic #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda x vision #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader

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brookheimer · 11 months

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i feel very mixed on shiv's ending, particularly her choice to return to tom -- i think it makes sense from a thematic/character arc perspective and is a powerful yet devastating indictment of both shiv and the world that created her as well as showing that the cycle of abuse will always continue to cycle, that shiv will become her mother etc, but i also think it does not make sense from a character/internal logic perspective. it's a choice that makes sense from the writers, but not from shiv, not yet. it could've been a brilliant ending to her character, but is tainted for me by the less-than-ideal execution of it, which felt very rushed, making shiv's final submission to tom feel forced by the show rather than forced by the situation or honest to her character. the ending is not inherently misogynistic from the writers' side as i've seen some criticisms claim (it is a dark but real portrayal of misogyny within capitalist society and how it's internalized within the white women who end up at the hips of the CEOs who run it), but i do understand how it could feel that way. the show fails at building up to (and thus convincing us) that the version of shiv we currently know would so immediately subject herself to her mother's fate, so instead of it feeling like shiv's hand was forced by patriarchy to place herself into her worst nightmare, it instead feels like the show itself was the thing that forced shiv to take that route, which does leave a sour taste in the mouth. it doesn't feel like the result of a choice shiv would make or the impact of patriarchal society bearing down, it just feels rushed and thus wrong. shiv would've benefitted immensely from a few more episodes or even just a few scenes dedicated to teasing out her newfound willingness to subject herself to immense disrespect in order to remain close to power, but given that her entire character has always been defined by her inability to do just that unless forced to (which i don't think she was in this situation as she could've easily not waited in the car for tom, not put her hand in his, but she did), her return to tom feels hard to comprehend, and her near immediate submission to him hard to stomach.

(read more under the cut because jesus christ did this get long)

in my mind, at least, i've always understood shiv as being respect-driven rather than power-driven -- she wants power, yes, but more than anything she wants to be taken seriously and respected and seen as a legitimate player, and time and time again we've seen her blow up situations that would've been very advantageous long-term because she felt disrespected and needed to speak up and force people to take her seriously (which, ironically, typically results in the opposite). shiv's overarching goal is power, but her immediate necessity is always respect. her dignity is her number one priority at any given moment, even when it shouldn't be, even when it stops her from attaining the success and power she wants. i can kind of understand shiv going against kendall because of this -- she's always had a very, very narrow lens whenever she feels like she's being disrespected, and even though it is infinitely more humiliating for your (somewhat ex) husband to betray you and boot you out of the CEO position behind your back at the behest of your supposed closest ally (and for you to still vote for them after that!!!) than it is for you to magnanimously allow your brother to be CEO (which would publicly be seen as a choice, as telly etc said - sibs need to stand united behind one chosen CEO - rather than shiv being out of the loop and fucked to infinity), the narrowness of her vision upon seeing kendall about to win makes it impossible for her to think about that legitimately. it's not just jealousy, it's indignity: shiv feels she earned CEO through her machinations with mattson and feels genuinely sick seeing the loganified kendall grinning at the head of the table, hearing his "that's fucking right" and witnessing his cocky entitlement to the job that belonged to her. so, she does what she always does when she feels disrespected, when she feels her dignity is at stake, and impulsively blows everything to fuck, including her own best interests. that makes sense for shiv, at least somewhat -- i still think that as much as she wouldn't want ken as CEO she'd feel like at least w that outcome she'd be seen as a player and a deciding factor, whereas with mattson/tom she'd be viewed as a pathetic fucked-over nothing woman pawn etc (a situation of unparalleled indignity imo), but i can rationalize her choice to go against ken anyways as being part of the narrowed field of vision she always gets upon feeling disrespected by men in her life that makes it impossible for her to think strategically (and i guess even though the disrespect was greater and more humiliating from tom/mattson than ken, ken was the most recent most present and most lifelong source so that's all she could focus on; seeing him like logan was too much to bear). it's hard to imagine shiv publicly throwing her vote behind two men who publicly fucked her as humiliatingly as mattson and tom just did, even if the other option is kendall, but i think that's part of it -- it's fundamentally illogical, even from her disrespect-lens, because there's just something about kendall specifically being in charge that she's never been able to stomach. it's visceral and impulsive. it's not meant to make "sense." it's just what she feels she has to do to preserve her own dignity, even though it works directly against those same interests realistically. it wasn't executed very well, making it hard to entirely buy it given just how publicly humiliating the alternative is, but it can still be chalked up to her historically one-track-mind when it comes to indignity by the hands of kendall in particular. it's a last-ditch attempt for shiv to at least feel like she's maintaining her dignity, her self-respect, as counterintuitive as it actually is. it makes sense. i can stomach it.

again, shiv's fatal flaw (in logan's eyes and aside from her original sin of being a woman) has always, always been her inability to shut up and make the smart move in situations where she feels she's being disrespected or not taken seriously. if shiv stayed quiet during that dinner with the pierces, maybe she would've been logan's CEO, but no, she couldn't stop herself, she needed to feel she was being taken seriously, she burst out 'cmon, dad, just tell them it's going to be me.' she is unable to play it smart, to keep quiet, to win when winning means perceived disrespect. she's allergic to it. even on a personal level, she shoots herself in the foot constantly because of this: she is unable to let herself have the things she wants because she can't put herself in positions that open her up to disrespect and perceived inferiority. she can't be vulnerable because she needs to be respected. tom asks her if he could 'try to make love to her' in episode one of this season, and even though she clearly wants to, she says 'no, i don't think so, tom.' tom tells her he 'wants her, wants this' back in episode six, and even though she clearly wants that too, she draws back and says 'well then you shouldn't have betrayed me.' shiv is fundamentally incapable of allowing herself to remain in possibly advantageous situations when she feels at risk of being seen as lesser, of being disrespected, of being perceived as weak. that is her response to patriarchy. when patriarchal forces bear down, shiv is unable to grin and bare it -- she has a short fuse, a sharp tongue, and an inability to entertain even a second of being treated like The Woman, of being looked down upon, especially when it's for her gender. it's the one thing she cannot do, cannot let herself do, and it's why she fails to "win" over and over and over again. she shoots herself in the foot the second her patriarchy disrespect sensors tingle. she makes the wrong choice, the dumb choice, the one that makes her feel like she stood up for herself in the moment but ends up leaving her powerless and helpless in the end. that's the only explanation for why she chose to vote against kendall (the clearly better option for her long-term as she'd 1) be respected as part of the decision, as someone who helped choose the CEO rather than a Woman who got fucked over and had the door slammed in her face by her husband and close ally simply because she possessed a womb, and 2) probably be head of ATN or some other area of waystar, she'd have actual power within the company and be respected as a legitimate source of power rather than the CEO-to-be made CEO's humiliated wife -- if she was capable of making the smart, selfish choice in terms of power instead of having a hair-trigger reaction to gendered disrespect and cocky male superiority, she would have voted kendall. but she is not capable of doing that. she never has been. so she voted tom and mattson.

so what i still cannot for the life of me understand is what would compel this shiv, the one who cannot stomach indignity even when power's on the line, to immediately return to tom's side the second he beckons her, which is like five minutes after he becomes CEO (the job she was promised) by mattson (who gave it to tom instead of shiv because 'why get the baby lady if i can get the man who put the baby inside her?'). it makes perfect, cruel, devastating sense from a show perspective, and that's what most people are talking about, understandably. it's a devastating yet unavoidable, inevitable outcome. she's left with no other choice once she makes the decision against kendall, and patriarchy compels her to play the good wife to stay close to power. except, like... she does still have a choice. she does not have to go back to tom's car. she does not have to sit patiently waiting for him. she does not have to quietly congratulate him on his victory. she does not have to place her hand in his. these are all choices she made very voluntary. they're choices between maintaining her dignity and self-respect at the cost of future power versus maintaining the potential for future power at the cost of her dignity and self-respect -- the classic siobhan roy conundrum. she's been faced with it time and time again (even just five minutes prior with kendall) and she has never, not once, chosen the latter of her own volition. she hasn't been able to. that's her fatal flaw. maybe i could stomach her going back to tom if she didn't congratulate him, didn't place her hand in his when he expectantly held his out -- then some dignity would be preserved, maybe. but her complete and total submission for the sake of future power does not make sense with her lifelong inability to do just that. it makes sense that this would be her eventual endpoint, but we have seen nothing that implies shiv would so willingly subject herself to this feminine submission of wife and mother before person or source of power, to the complete and utter humiliation of being the quiet wife at the side of the man who knifed her in the back (and notably handed said knife by the man she thought her closest ally) in order to steal the job she fought for her entire life and, in her opinion, had earned. maybe she would come back to him eventually, for love or (more likely) for power, but it is incredibly hard to believe that shiv 'impulsive when faced with indignity' roy would be capable of immediately and publicly playing the role of the good wife after such intense and public humiliation at the hands of her husband.

really, the way i feel about the shiv ending is similar to how i feel about the daenerys ending -- unlike most people, i really wasn't that against the daenerys outcome. i thought it made a lot of sense and was interesting, devastating, and fascinating. i thought there had been a few signs all along and that that ending for her would make sense and be far more interesting than a Hooray ! Girlboss ! ending. however, it was poorly executed -- it was rushed. it did not make sense from where daenerys was at that point in the text. it could've worked, it could've worked brilliantly, but it needed more time to build and fester in order for her ultimate turn to feel earned rather than forced for the sake of the point the writers wanted to make. that's kind of how i feel about shiv. i get the ending and i don't think it's inherently bad or misogynistic or anything, but it feels like the writers saw the possibility for a shiv 'mommed' ending and immediately took it, with little regard to what actually made sense for shiv herself to do in that moment. outcome > character. that's frustrating for me particularly for succession because my like number one reason for adoring succession as much as i do is their consistent refusal to operate the way most media does (using the characters as instruments to achieve the plot/outcome the writers want), instead prioritizing following the characters themselves in a way that feels honest and real. it's character-driven, not plot or ending driven. i think that this fell by the wayside a few times in the latter half of this season simply because there was so much that needed to happen in such a short space of time (especially during the finale), but in my opinion, at least, the most egregious case is shiv. given more time, more development, more build-up, the last shot of her hand in tom's would've struck the chord the writers wanted it to -- and for some people, it did anyways! but for me, it rang out and fell nauseatingly flat. it felt hollow and wrong and unearned. shiv could end up becoming her mother, that feels entirely possible, but not in this particular sense, not yet. in what world would siobhan roy willingly choose to be seen as nothing more than a woman hanging off her husband's arm, especially when said husband had publicly humiliated her and ruined her entire life just five minutes prior? when, just five (metaphorical) minutes prior, she was the one poised to be CEO and everyone knew it? when now everyone will see her on tom's arm and whisper and gawk? she has become her worst fear, yes, but unlike kendall, it does not feel earned. it does not feel like she has actually become her worst fear. it feels like the show forced her to. not patriarchy or the situation or her own desire for power, but the show itself. that's what feels so shitty.

i wouldn't necessarily call the writing misogynistic as a result of this, as it's less a flaw of misogyny and more a flaw of bad, rushed writing that could happen to any character. it's the same as with daenerys -- although (somewhat unlike succession) there were many, many aspects of GoT's writing that were deeply misogynistic, especially in the last season (just look at fucking brienne), the core issue with the daenerys plotline is not one of misogyny but of time. they did not give daenerys the time needed to become the version of herself seen burning down the city. that could've easily been a focus of previous episodes, but it wasn't. they simply did not develop her enough for that turn to make sense yet. it could make sense, hypothetically, at some point down the line, but at that point it felt sudden, off-putting, and wrong. shiv could easily become her mother. that's been made evident especially regarding her relationship to pregnancy/children, love, and vulnerability (or the lack thereof). but for this ending to make sense, we would have needed to see signs of shiv imitating her mother's willingness to be relegated to the sidelines, to bring out the food while the men eat and make deals, in order to remain tangential to power. that is a concession shiv roy had never been willing to make prior to the last five minutes of the entire show. other signs of shiv imitating caroline or falling prey to patriarchal norms throughout the show are not enough to undo shiv's fundamental refusal to weather gender-related indignity even when doing so would benefit her. in my opinion, that's why the final five minutes of shiv's plotline were so unsatisfying.

shiv could become her mother, and her ending could be a devastating portrayal of the inability for even rich white women to escape their original sin of being a woman in a man's world, as well as a dark, ironic criticism of both women like shiv and the patriarchal world that breeds them into existence. but because the show did not develop shiv in this particular direction and because her entire character thus far has been defined by her self-destructive insistence on being respected at all costs, shiv's ending did not land the way it could've, or should've.

#WOOF okay this was long. not even gonna read it over bc if i do i'll never stop editing to it or adding to it and god knows no one needs tht #so if it's shit well. forgive me #but yeah this is just my take. i felt really unhappy w shiv's ending but didn't quite know why because the ending itself i can imagine bein #fine with but really i just feel very frustrated by the show writing over any agency she would normally have had in order to make their #point by the time the episode ended #honestly the more i think about it the more i feel this season should've had more episodes -- i think another season after this one would b #GREAT for me personally obviously but unnecessary for the show itself and possibly too much of a good thing #but at the same time the latter half of this season could really have benefitted from a little wiggle room and space to develop #so it wasn't just Sudden Mattson Likes Tom or Wait Did Mencken Disappear or Remember Roman's Sexuality or SHIV FUCKING SHIIIIV lolllll #ok. this is too long. post #succession #succession spoilers #long post #and i mean LONG #should i do a read more? i never know what the like courtesy is lmao #well . yall asked for it so here u go #shiv roy #succession meta #i guess #edit i did a read more this is disgusting LOLOL #100 #casey shut the fuck up about shiv roy

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blurredcolour · 5 months

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Lavender's Blue, Lavender's Green

[One-shot]

Lewis Nixon x Enlisted!Female Reader

After you wind up injured in a freak accident, your relationship with Captain Nixon is forever altered.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Minor Reader Injury, Detailed Descriptions of Pain, Language, Alcohol Consumption, Weapons, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Oblique References to Nixon's Alcoholism and Infidelity, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [oral sex - m/f receiving, unprotected vaginal sex] - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. Some liberties were taken in describing reader's family life/personal history for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. 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: 8358

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

The floorboards creaked beneath your jump boots as you followed O’Keefe into the backroom of the half-destroyed café in Thalem. You could hear the strains of a string quartet rising from the square below, and the conversation between Luz and Nixon a few rooms over. O’Keefe had shown up as a replacement during Easy’s second stay in Mourmelon-le-Grand, wide-eyed and eager to get his hands dirty. The rest of you had just been glad to make it out of Haguenau alive.

But there was something about the naïve boy that reminded you of your little brother back home, the youngest of four siblings born after you, last to join the party, the most eager to experience life when the rest of you were all jaded by the loss of your mother during his birth. Add in the fact that you too had been a replacement once, joined Easy in Aldbourne for Operation Market Garden – one of twenty-seven women selected as the first female paratroopers to join the 506th – and you had felt a certain protectiveness over the kid. Which was why you found yourself watching over him now, even in this relatively harmless town.

Another groan of wood had your eyes flicking to the floor, something about the pitch of the slats not sitting right with you, but before you could open your mouth to warn him, there was an ominous ‘crack’ beneath O’Keefe. He let out a horrific shriek as the boards beneath him began to give way and you lunged forward, snapping out your left hand to grab onto any part of him you could. Seizing him by the back of the collar of his ODs, you landed flat on your stomach with a grunt with O’Keefe dangling through the newly created hole in the floor. Your helmet tumbled from your head, bouncing off his and crashing onto the tiles below.

Your arm was aching under the strain of his body weight but as you tried to spread some of the load onto your second hand, you realized the butt of your rifle was jammed between the floor and your body, pinning your right arm against you by the strap over your shoulder. The sound of multiple sets of boots running into the room was quickly followed by several pairs of hands pressing against your calves, bracing you to keep you from following O’Keefe through the hole.

“I gotta let you go, Patty.” You grit out. “It’s not far, ok?” You assured him, able to see through the ragged gap in the wood that he was dangling only a few feet from the floor below.

His response was not what you were hoping for. “Don’t let me fall!” He cried out, looking up to you with wide, calf-like eyes. “Please don’t let me go!” He began to clutch at your arm, flailing his legs as though he wanted to climb back up.

His body swung like a pendulum, bouncing and jerking before ultimately wrenching your strained shoulder from its socket and careless words born of pain from your lips.

“Augh! Jesus Christ, you fucking meatball! It’s only two feet! Let go!” You cried out, clenching your eyes shut against the blinding pain, your grip failing as your arm started to go numb.

He continued to whimper nonsensically and thrash about as heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs followed by a set of lighter ones.

“Let go of her you fucking meatball!” You heard Perconte snap at O’Keefe from below and cracked your stinging eyes open to see that Bull had seized the boy around the waist, the thrashing finally stilling before the weight of him was released from your limb as, at last, he let go of your arm.

Relief tingled through you, though did nothing to lessen the raw ache in your shoulder. Afraid to move, afraid to inhale more than tiny sips of air lest you fan the flames of pain, you laid perfectly still with your arm outstretched toward the ground below.

“What a fucking meatball.” You heard Luz giggle from behind you as he stepped forward. “Let’s get you up.” His voice grew closer as he leaned forward.

Mortifying as it was, laying there in denial was not going to make the agony end. Taking a shaky breath, you asked quietly. “George, can you go find Doc, please?” You were hoping not to arouse the suspicions of Webster, Liebgott, and Nixon who were somewhere in the room still. At least one pair of hands was still firmly gripping your calves.

“Uh, the meatball is fine, I mean Bull might tear him a new one but…” He trailed off as you turned your head slowly to look up at him, brow furrowing as lances of pain pierced your neck and shoulder. It felt as though someone were pouring boiling water down the sleeve of your uniform.

“For me, please.” You clarified, perspiration dotting your skin under the strain of masking your discomfort.

The room fell silent, whatever Liebgott and Webster had been bickering about forgotten as Luz shoved his way past them and shot out of the room. You felt the pressure against your calves ease up before Nixon was kneeling on the floor next to you, features etched with concern. “Where are you hurt?”

“Left shoulder.” You exhaled, swallowing at the way his eyes ricocheted over your prone form.

“Think you can get up for me?” He asked, his voice enticingly soft, making your heart skip a few beats as you felt suddenly willing to try anything he might ask of you so long as he kept speaking like that.

“Maybe?”

The smile he awarded you with filled your stomach with bubbling effervescence. “Good, let’s get this out of the way first.” He carefully extracted your M1 from beneath your hip before sliding it off your good shoulder, handing it off to one of the other men in the room.

Sliding his arm around your waist, he started to lift your torso from the floor, punching the air from your lungs painfully. Gnawing on the inside of your cheek viciously you did everything you could not cry out in pain. You were not the first woman in Easy to get hurt – Esther had been hit by shrapnel from a tree in Bastogne and Pearl had been shot during Dike’s disastrous assault on Foy. Both had been awarded a purple heart. You were just a girl who’d tried to hold too much weight – there would be no medal for you, so it would be best not to make a scene.

“Shit you must be in so much pain, I’m sorry.” Nixon grumbled, seemingly at a loss as to how to get your arm out of that hole and you into a more comfortable position.

Roe’s voice downstairs broke through the haze of pain, and you clenched your teeth, willing yourself to hold on a little longer as you heard him hurry up the stairs.

“You two, out.” He said firmly to Liebgott and Webster who left without comment before his hands came to rest on your hips, pulling you backwards. “Bend ya knees for me, that’s it, good job.” He spoke calmly as he worked with Nixon to lift you up into a kneeling position well away from the hole in the floor.

As your left arm drooped, your right hand quickly moved to support it in more or less the position it had been when O’Keefe’s movements had pulled it out of place. A millimetre of movement in any direction had you whimpering pathetically in the back of your throat despite your best efforts to keep the sound sealed behind your lips.

“What’s going on?” Roe asked as he knelt in front of you, taking in the way you were supporting your arm before he started to undo your ODs and then your wool shirt beneath.

“It’s my shoulder, Doc.”

He nodded as he carefully pulled open the collar to take a look, his fingers skimming along the skin of your shoulder and the strap of your undershirt. As they honed in on the hollow where your joint ought to be, you let out a yelp and nearly keeled over backward at the searing pain, grateful as Nixon pressed a hand to your lower back to keep you upright.

“Yeah it is. It’s out of joint.” Roe confirmed the sneaking suspicion you’d had.

There had been something agonizingly familiar about the whole thing, taking you back to a hot summer day when you were ten years old, riding your father’s new horse despite his explicit instructions to wait for him to be done in the field before you tried to mount it. The horse’s black coat had shone almost purple in the sunlight of the afternoon, warm to the touch as the barely broken-in animal had suffered no more than one lap around the paddock before bucking you from its back.

The force with which you had struck the ground had dislocated your left shoulder that day, and the drive into town to see the doctor had been a torturous thirty minutes during which every jolt and bump had sent pain shooting through your body. But as soon as the doctor had put it back in place, the relief had been almost immediate.

“You can put it back, right?” You asked hoping to avoid transport somewhere like this.

“Yeah, I can.” Doc smiled softly and started digging through his satchel. “Let’s get ya some morphine first, alrigh’?”

“Wait, don’t, I’ll be useless.” You said sharply. “It’s just going to hurt when you put it back in, right?”

Roe looked to you with wide eyes, hands stilling before his expression hardened a little. “It’s gonna hurt like hell when I put it back in.” He clarified firmly and you felt Nixon’s hand twitch against your back.

“And then after that I’ll be fine.” You insisted bravely.

Nixon sighed your name, and you turned your head too fast, barely stifling a cry of pain behind trembling lips.

“Maybe you should just let Doc give you the morphine.” He said gently.

“No.” You replied stubbornly despite the fact that he was a ranking officer, turning your face back to Roe more carefully this time. “Just get it over with, please.”

Roe sighed heavily at you, muttering bitterly in French. You caught a word that sounded an awful lot like ‘mule’, but before you could question him about it, he set one hand on your bicep and the other on your forearm. A noise of pain snuck past your lips unbidden, and you clamped your free hand over your mouth as he shot you a knowing look.

“Yer gonna yowl like a goddamn alley cat, take tha morphine.”

You glared up at him stubbornly until he started to move again, bending your arm at the elbow before slowly pushing your bicep in to press along at your ribs. You let out a sob of agony against your palm, aware that the murmur of conversation downstairs had faded away, but helpless to quell your involuntary reactions to Roe’s manipulations of your limb.

You felt Nixon shift at your side, watched his knee slot between yours before he carefully cupped the back of your head to guide your face to press against his neck. Your hand fell to your lap as you burrowed into the collar of his ODs, cheek pressed against his skin, the fabric of his uniform doing a much better job of muffling the sounds of pain spilling from you. His hand sought yours between your bodies, clasping your forearm, and you gripped his tightly in return as Roe turned your left arm out from your body at a ninety-degree angle before pulling downward on your bicep.

A tremendous wail wrenched from your throat with enough force that you anticipated the taste of blood before an audible ‘clunk’ sounded from your left shoulder, resonating through your torso as your joint slid home. The tension melted from your body in an instant as the pain left you, replaced by nothing more than a dull discomfort, slumping against Nixon to take a few deep breaths. Long enough to note the hint of cedar in his aftershave before you remembered yourself.

You had found Captain Nixon handsome from the first moment you’d laid eyes on him, but as he was a married officer with an English mistress you’d also gone above and beyond to steer clear of that mess. Unfortunately, it had done little to dull your body’s natural response to his presence.

Straightening quickly, you frowned to see you’d left wet patches of tear drops on his collar, releasing his hand as though it burned you to try and brush them off.

“It’ll dry just fine.” He assured you warmly and you swallowed thickly, shuffling back a little to turn to Roe.

“Thanks Doc.” You frowned to see him pulling out a sling.

“Jus’ for a few days, can’t have it slippin’ back out.” Roe muttered and unceremoniously wrapped it under your left elbow before tying it behind your neck. “I’ll let Cap’n Speirs know yer on ligh’ duties, he’ll probably send ya up ta Major Winters as a runnah.”

You let out a sigh of relief as hopefully that meant no aid station, no getting separated from the company and lost in some replacement depot. Looking down you frowned at how open the collars of your shirt and OD jacket were and began trying to reassemble yourself one-handed.

“Here.” Nixon offered softly and carefully buttoned you back up to where you usually wore your uniform before he pushed himself to his feet, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you up as well. “Ok?” He asked and you nodded, trying not to notice the way the warmth of his body seeped through your clothes.

“Thank you, sir.” You said quietly and he nodded warmly in reply.

Grabbing his things, he gestured for you to lead the way out of the room, following close behind. As you reached the main floor, Luz held out your helmet which you took with a nod of thanks, putting it on your head before retrieving your rifle from Liebgott. You could hear Perconte continuing to give O’Keefe shit outside and you frowned deeply, making a beeline for the sound of his voice.

“Hey! I’m fucking fine, knock it off.” You barked tersely before you were beckoned over by Captain Speirs.

The sound of an explosion further up the road had your eyes fluttering open, the ruined village of Thalem dissolving into the sun-drenched back of a transport truck parked on the autobahn in Bavaria just outside the SS resort town of Berchtesgaden that 2nd Battalion was supposed to be taking. You’d been sitting here for at least twenty minutes now, the road blocked by a no-doubt man made rockslide that so far had proven impervious to everything the mortar boys had thrown at it.

Just what had pulled your thoughts back to that afternoon several weeks past you couldn’t say, though it was not the first time you had found your mind wandering there during a lull in activity. In fact, it had become harder and harder to find a time when you were not thinking about Nixon, much to your chagrin. It was not good for your health, even though his impending divorce had become very public knowledge nearly two months ago.

A palpable tension had been born between the two of you that day in Thalem, something you were certain others could sense as you’d spent two weeks at Battalion HQ, running into him more often than ever before. Averted gazes, stiffened postures, cleared throats – neither of you quite knew how to behave around each other anymore when interaction had been so natural and inconsequential before. Something had been changed that day in the café and there was no going back to the way it had been previously.

Shifting higher on the wooden bench you noted a couple of the guys in your platoon were dozing in the truck with you but everyone else seemed to have emptied out to watch impatiently as though the pressure of the entire battalion’s eyes might send the rocks cascading the rest of the way down the mountainside. The scuff of jump boots on pavement pulled your attention to the rear of the vehicle and you smiled to see O’Keefe approaching.

“Hey Patty, got tired of watching the blast boys?” You smirked and offered him a hand to pull him up, swallowing at his hesitation. “Come on, I’m fine I told you.” You chided gently.

He took it carefully and allowed you to help him into the truck and that’s when you noticed his helmet tucked under his arm, filled with wildflowers of all sorts of colours. Your breath hitched in your throat as the sight smacked of summertime at home, a dart of nostalgia and longing piercing through the layers of armor you had carefully layered over your heart to make it through this war.

His eyes followed yours and he beamed as he plonked down on the bench beside you. “There’s tons of ‘em just growing alongside the road. I thought you might like some.”

Looking to him softly you took his proffered helmet, setting it in your lap as you looked them all over, picking up a particularly vibrant purple one. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” You murmured distantly, practically transported by something so simple as wildflowers.

“Do you think that one is lavender?”

A snort from the back of the truck announced Liebgott’s return and you glanced over to see him leaning against the grill of the transport parked behind yours.

“Lavender grows in France, not Bavaria.” Webster corrected O’Keefe, tucking his notebook into his pocket before hopping up to sit on the bench across from the pair of you.

“Isn’t there that song about lavender, though? Lavender’s purple, billy billy?” Perconte squeezed in beside O’Keefe, crowding his personal space.

Ignoring their usual antics, you smiled softly to yourself, hands began to move from muscle memory as plucking the longest stemmed flower you could find before carefully winding the purple flower around it, repeating the process over and over as you started to sing.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly, lavender’s green”

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s the song!” O’Keefe declared brightly.

“Shut the fuck up, meatball.” Perconte hissed through gritted teeth, elbowing him sharply so you would keep singing.

“When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so ‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so”

Unaware that your voice was carrying across the rockface of the mountainside, you were lost in the chain of flowers you were weaving from O’Keefe’s helmet, the verses coming back to you easily after years of singing them to your younger siblings.

“Call up your men, dilly dilly, put them to work Some to the plow, dilly dilly, some to the fork Some to make hay, dilly dilly, some to cut corn While you and I, dilly dilly, keep ourselves warm”

A hush fell over the valley, even the mortar team ceasing their attempts to break through. It was not the first time they’d heard you sing, you knew all the verses to ‘Blood on the Risers’ and happily shouted them along with the rest of the Company, but it was the first time you’d sung in such a feminine way before. You’d found the most expedient way to integrate into Easy was to be one of the boys, yet here you were, reminding each and every one of them that you were a woman.

“Lavender’s green, dilly dilly, lavender’s blue If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, and the lambs play We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harm’s way

I love to dance, dilly dilly, I love to sing When I am queen, dilly dilly, you’ll be my king Who told me so, dilly dilly, who told me so I told myself, dilly dilly, I told me so”

As you finished the song, you curled the chain of blooms into a circle and wove it closed with several stems before turning to place it on O’Keefe’s head, blinking as it slipped down over his eyes. A chorus of harsh laughter at his expense broke out around you and you huffed in annoyance.

“Oh shoot, Patty, I put too many flowers in there, sorry about that. I’ll make you a new one.” You gently pried it off his head, setting the large crown aside before setting to work on a smaller one as the sound of a jeep could be heard coming up the road.

You’d barely put the finishing touches on the smaller crown of flowers when Speirs was ordering everyone to form up into their platoons and O’Keefe had to vanish. Mortifyingly, you found yourself standing on the pavement with both circlets clasped carefully in your hand, somehow loathe to leave them in the transport truck to be trampled but also aware that you couldn’t just carry them with you.

“Captain Nixon can look after those for you, Corporal.” Major Winters voice cut through the din of soldiers tramping back and forth to collect their gear and get ready. You turned to see him grinning at you from where he stood leaning against his jeep.

Nixon, for his part, was staring at you with an unreadable look on his face – Confusion? Bewilderment? Shock? Whatever it was it made you want to duck your head shyly, an impulse which you fought hard against as you hustled over to hold out your handmade treasures.

“Thank you very much, sir.” You murmured quietly, swallowing as he hesitated a moment before taking them gingerly, as if they were made of spun glass, while Major Winters watched on with a broad grin. “Sirs.” You saluted and hurried back to your platoon, not wanting to be the cause of any further delay, but still unable to put your finger on just what Nixon’s expression had been.

As it turned out you had quite a bit of time to puzzle it over. After securing the town without incident and cheering on the select few who made it up to the Eagle’s Nest, you ended up on a patrol under Major Winters where he discovered the ruins of Herman Goering’s hunting lodge. Left on guard duty overnight with Patty, you let him ramble on about all the things he wanted to see and do now that the war in Germany was practically over while you quietly tried to decipher the enigma that was Nixon.

Straightening from your lean against the stucco wall as you heard the sound of an engine approaching down the rather rough road, you swallowed painfully to see the man himself, posture quite relaxed as he cradled an open bottle of champagne.

“What is this place?” He asked as he climbed from the vehicle, dressed only in the wool shirt and pants of his uniform.

“Herman Goering’s house, we discovered it yesterday. Had it on double guard ever since.” Major Winters replied.

You nodded in greeting as they walked past you, though Nixon’s sunglasses made it even more impossible to interpret his mood than that last time you’d seen him.

“I can vouch for that, sir.” O’Keefe interjected quickly and you tried not to wince at his endearing awkwardness.

“Oh, anxious to get off duty, O’Keefe?” Winters taunted him.

“No, there’s just so much to see and do, sir.” The boy replied honestly, and you heard Nixon scoff under his breath as Winters unlocked the door.

“Heya meatball.” Nixon grinned in greeting as he followed Winters through the door and down the stairs and that time you really did wince.

O’Keefe looked at you hopefully and you motioned with your head for him follow them, knowing full well his curiosity must be eating him alive. Listening to the wind rustling in the trees, you sighed quietly, soaking in the peace of the moment before Winters made his way back up the stairs with O’Keefe, the boy yanking you into a hug.

“Victory in Europe! The Germans surrendered!” He crowed and you stared at him, stunned speechless for a moment before you hugged him back.

Major Winters chuckled behind him before nodding to you in confirmation, making you realize the bewildered expression that must have been on your face. You pulled back to slap O’Keefe on the shoulder with a grin.

“Gotta go get the others, there is so much booze down there!” He was vibrating with excitement.

Glancing over your shoulder towards the stairs you raised your eyebrows curiously.

“Go take a look, Corporal.” Winters nodded encouragingly before climbing into his jeep with O’Keefe and pulling out.

Hitching your rifle higher on your shoulder you carefully made your way down the stairs, mind still swirling with the news, fingertips buzzing with an odd energy you weren’t quite certain what to do with. As you stepped through the open gate into the expansive wine cellar, stocked from floor to ceiling, your eyes widened, trying to take it all in.

“What’s your favorite drink?” Nixon’s question interrupted your moment of shock, and you looked over to where he stood amid countless bottles of a richly colored red wine.

“Gin.” You replied walking further into the space, sliding your helmet from your head as he made a thoughtful noise in reply before beginning to hunt through row on row of bottles. You unshouldered your rifle to set the butt on the floor, leaning the barrel against a stack of crates before setting your helmet on top of them.

Gnawing on your lip you turned back to admire the intensity with which Nixon approached his task before a small cry of triumph escaped his lips and he pulled a green bottle from the corner, holding it out to you as he approached like the conquering hero. You could not stop the grin that tugged at your lips as you took it from him, looking over the unfamiliar label.

“Genever, from Holland. The precursor to gin. It should do.” He nodded with a self-satisfied smile.

“Thank you, Captain Nixon.” You replied warmly, doubting you’d need a whole bottle to yourself but still appreciating the gesture as you slid it into the jacket pocket of your ODs.

“Can you do me a favor?” He tilted his head.

“Sir?” You stood a little straighter.

“Call me Lewis.” He requested softly, his rich brown eyes seeking yours in the dim light of the cellar.

Swallowing roughly, your heart began to beat a little faster at the intimacy of his request as your mind flitted back to his earlier arrival.

“Only if you’ll do something in return?” You asked slowly.

“What’s that?” He leaned in, the sweetness of champagne still lingering on his breath.

“Can you stop calling O’Keefe ‘meatball’?” You tensed in anticipation of his reaction, your heart plummeting through the concrete floor when he recoiled as if you’d struck him. Guilt bloomed bitterly in your chest, a new crop to go alongside the one you had planted that day in Thalem. “Every time someone says it, I’m reminded of the worst thing I ever said to him.” You rushed to explain your request, cautiously optimistic as his gaze slowly returned to your face. “It…wasn’t his fault he panicked. I never should have spoken to him that way.”

Nixon’s brows furrowed a moment in consideration of your request. “You really care for the kid, don’t you.” He sounded resigned and you found yourself blinking at him stupidly as he made his way back over to continue perusing the shelves.

Slowly, your brain began to process the slump of his shoulders, the forced nonchalance as he examined various labels and added choice bottles to a wooden crate at his feet.

Could he possibly be… No, that seemed utterly improbable… and yet…

All that aside, it seemed as though it could not hurt to clarify your relationship with O’Keefe. “Reminds me of my kid brother, sir.”

Nixon raised his head slowly, turning back to look at you. “Like a brother…” He said thoughtfully and you bobbed your head in agreement. “Well, I suppose I can stop in that case then.” He smirked and you exhaled with a warm smile.

“Thank you very much, sir.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked down his nose at you expectantly.

“Thank you very much, Lewis.” You amended, pressing your lips together as they hummed in pleasure at forming his name.

Lewis’s lips stretched into a lopsided grin as he eyed you warmly for a few moments before turning back to the task at hand, filling the crate and adding it to a growing stack by the entrance before grabbing another one to repeat the process. Shaking your head, you perched a hip onto one of the tables behind you, eyes scanning the room, reflecting on its previous owner, surprised at the sudden tightness in your throat as you remembered the fresh news of the German surrender. Clearly it was going to take some time to sink in, and frequent reminders, but the tears that were threatening to well in your eyes needed to be quashed until you could find a quiet place to unleash them as silently as possible.

Partly out of a desire to simply say his name again, and largely out of a need to distract yourself from the rising tide of your own emotions, you called out to him softly again. “Hey Lewis?”

“Hmmm?” He replied and you found yourself taking far too much pleasure in how quickly he turned back to you.

“I, uh, I was sorry to hear about your dog.” You said meaningfully, that tightness in your throat returning with a vengeance when an unveiled look of fragility overtook his features.

For the first time in nearly a month you were utterly convinced of how Lewis was feeling and more than anything you thought the man was in dire need of a hug. Before your brain even registered you were moving, your feet propelled you across the floor to wrap around arms around him, pulling him close. Almost immediately his arms slid around you tightly in return, one hand clinging to your shoulder as the other pressed some unknown bottle into your lower back, his face burrowing into your neck.

Tightening your embrace, you held him warmly, almost a mirror image of how he had held you in Thalem. You were completely oblivious to the traitorous tears that had snuck down your cheeks until Lewis was pulling back, setting the bottle of liquor aside to cradle your jaw and swipe at them with his thumbs.

“It’s a hell of a dog, but not worth you crying over.” He teased gently and you rolled your eyes, mostly in frustration at yourself, shaking your head as you sniffed.

“Is this…really all over?” You whispered in disbelief, and he pressed his forehead to yours gently as he nodded.

“We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harms way.” He uttered and you let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, burying your face into his shoulder as he pulled you tightly against him.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, unable to stop the flood of tears now that they had snuck past your defences, each shake of your frame somehow causing Lewis to hold you tighter as though he might prevent you from crumbling to pieces. The bottle of genever pressed between your bodies almost painfully, digging into your hip, giving you something tangible to focus on as you reined in your shuddering breaths, lifting your head slowly.

“God, I got your uniform all wet again.” You said, voice thick with the aftereffects of your breakdown and he shook his head as you wiped at his collar with your sleeve.

“It’ll dry just fine.” He repeated his assurance from the café with a smirk, and you gave him a watery laugh, wiping at your face roughly.

“Trooper, is that a bottle of Dutch-gin in your pocket or…” He grinned deviously and your jaw dropped before you smacked his shoulder playfully as a peal of laughter escaped your lips.

You shuffled back to put a proper amount of space between your bodies though you noted his one hand remained splayed upon your back. The one that had previously been at nape of your neck dropped to retrieve the bottle from your pocket. “If anyone is in need of a celebratory drink, it’s definitely you.” He murmured gently.

He tilted it towards you, and you reached forward to tug at the red ribbon as he held the bottle steady, breaking the wax seal over the cork. You let the debris fall to the ground before unsealing the cork with a promising ‘pop.’ You scoffed in playful protest as Lewis helped himself to first sip before setting the genever in your outstretched hand. Taking a swig, you blinked at the complexity of it compared to the dry gin you were accustomed to in England or back home. It burned its way down your throat into your empty stomach, igniting a warm glow from within.

A few rogue droplets had been left on your lips, but before you had the chance to swipe your tongue out to collect them, Lewis’s fingertips were tracing along the sensitive flesh. Your breath caught in your throat at the way his eyes were focused on your mouth as he worked at gathering every bit of liquid whilst also tracing the fullness of your lips before lifting his fingertips to suck them clean. Dizzy from lack of oxygen, Lewis’s proximity, and the way his eyes were now boring into yours, you swallowed tightly as his hand pressed tighter to your back, pulling you closer once more. His lips had barely brushed against yours when a host of voices sounded at the top of the staircase.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” He swore against your mouth before you darted back out of his grip, chest heaving as you shoved the cork into the bottle of genever and returned it to your pocket forcefully. You quickly began to look for something to be doing with yourself.

“I’ll start loading these into the jeep, Captain?” You asked, voice tight as a bow string and all he managed in response was a dazed nod as you quickly scooped up one of the crates filled with his choice of bottles, nodding to the newest crop of arrivals on your way up the staircase.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you set the crate into the back of the jeep Winters had left for you and O’Keefe during guard duty, trying to take deep breaths of fresh air to clear your head. Christ that had been close…close to being caught…close to kissing Lewis…You sunk your teeth into your lower lip trying to smother the broad grin that threatened to unfurl on your features. There were far too many people about now to be grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Fishing your canteen from your webbing, you took a deep sip of water before smoothing your hands over your uniform and, feeling somewhat collected, returned to the cellar to move more crates.

Lewis seemed to have regained control of his senses, not that you dared to look at him, but his directions rang out through the cellar to load most of the wine into the trucks that men has just arrived with for the enjoyment of the officers while you continued carting his personal stash up the stairs until the jeep was full to bursting. All in all, he claimed five truckloads for himself and the officers of 2nd battalion. You rode backwards in the jeep, doing your best to stabilize the crates over the rough track back into town, doing your utmost to ignore his proximity in the vehicle.

A very warm welcome awaited your return to the lavish hotel where the officers were billeted, and many hands made short work of unloading all those trucks so they might make another trip for the rest of the men. By the time you’d made your way to Lewis’s room with the last of his crates, there was barely space to move for all the alcohol stashed within. No more than a small walking path from the door to the bed, if you were being honest.

“This is the last of it, sir.” You said as you looked around for a spot to put it and he looked to you sharply.

“We talked about this…” He teased, shuffling forward to grab it from you, hoisting it over to another corner of the room but you barely heard him as your eyes fell onto the two flower crowns sitting on the window ledge beside the bed.

“You kept them?” You breathed in amazement.

He looked to you before following your gaze and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was told to look after them for you.”

Picking your way across the floor carefully, you knelt on the bed with your boots hanging off the edge behind you, smiling softly to see they were a little dried out but truly no worse for wear. “You did an excellent job of it, Lewis.” You barely whispered his name aware the door was still open.

Setting your rifle on the floor at the foot of the bed, you put your helmet on the ledge before picking up the larger crown, rolling onto your hip and then onto your butt on the mattress in time to see him closing the door. “I’d bet money this fits you.” You smiled softly.

“Save your money, I already know.” He grinned, ducking down beneath the circlet of flowers before straightening with it perched atop his dark hair.

Your eyes widened in delight. “It fits perfectly.” Your fingers gently straightened it, unable to ignore the softness of his chocolate strands at they brushed against your fingers.

Lewis’s gaze flicked to your lips briefly before looking back to your eyes and you took a slow breath before trailing your hands down to frame his face, enjoying the slight scratch of his stubble against your palms. “Lewis…” You exhaled, and he surged forward to seal his lips against yours firmly.

He settled onto his knees before you, hands gripping your waist as you parted your legs and dropped a hand to his back to urge him closer. Needing no further invitation, he scooted forward, pressing against you as his tongue licked its way into your mouth. You weren’t quite sure who started it, but your fingers were a flurry of activity, pulling at the buttons of each others’ uniforms. All he managed to reveal was the wool shirt you wore underneath, your webbing dangling limply from your shoulders, while you found his bare chest. Growing impatient, Lewis tugged your shirt and undershirt free of your pants and ODs until he was able to slide his hand against the soft skin of your abdomen, making your lips fall back from his with a whimper.

“Damn it why are you wearing so many clothes…” He growled and you pressed your face against his hair to smother your laugh, knocking the flower crown askew.

“Some of us were on duty today.” You muttered back, nipping at the shell of his ear before pushing his shirt from his shoulders, letting your hands skate along his back.

Leaning forward, he pushed you back into the mattress, nipping and sucking his way along your jaw before he methodically began to remove your layers of clothing and webbing, starting with a ruthless tugging on your boot laces, until you were left in your army issue brassiere and underwear. To say that they left a lot to be desired in terms of style was an understatement, but the reverence in his gaze as his eyes raked over his hard-won reward soothed your ego somewhat. Plucking the crown from his head, you tossed it gently onto the windowsill before hugging his hips with your knees and rolling him onto his back intent on returning the favour, your dog tags jangling against his in a metallic collision.

As you tried to slide down to reach the laces of his boots, however, he grunted in denial, hauling you in for a hungry kiss as he pulled your pelvis snug against his, making you inhale sharply through your nose at the feel of his hard length against you. “Gotta get your pants off, Lew.” You tried to speak but he kept interrupting you with brushes of his lips or darts of his tongue into your mouth. Huffing slightly, you rocked forward against him firmly, making yourself shudder, but you managed to get his attention as his head fell back, eyes staring up at you half-lidded, jaw slack in a silent moan. “Gonna start with your boots and then I’m gonna get your pants off.”

“And then you’ll do that again…” He breathed and you nodded licking your lips as he released your hips.

You were admittedly not nearly as efficient as him, fingers made clumsy with want, but through persistence you prevailed in removing his boots, pants, and boxers, adding them to the scattered heap of clothing on the small patch of floor. Skimming your hands up his bare legs you revelled in the way he trembled slightly, sitting up to watch you impatiently as you made your way up from the floor. Halting your progress a moment, you ducked your head to lick a warm, wet stripe along the needy length of his cock where it stood proud against his lower abdomen, drawing a shaky cry of your name from his lips that convinced you to linger between his thighs a little longer.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you swirled your tongue around the tip before slowly sliding his length into your mouth, watching his cheeks flush and eyes flutter close as he wrenched at the bedding violently.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart…” He panted, his abdominal muscles flexing erratically.

Smile curling around him, you dragged your lips up his length only to sink your mouth back down onto him, covering the last bit you couldn’t manage with your fist, allowing your saliva to run freely.

“Christ you’re good at that.” There was the edge of a whine to his voice and suddenly he was pulling your mouth from him, chest heaving. “Keep that up and this’ll be over before it begins…” He muttered and sat up, gripping your hips to guide you onto the bed properly.

His lips latched onto nipple through the thin cotton of your bra before you could open your mouth to apologize, making your hips buck up against his stomach greedily as your fingers delved into his hair. Pulling the cup down he laved his tongue along the sensitive peak, before shifting his attentions to its partner, your soft sighs of pleasure filling the room. Sliding his hands to your back, he guided you up to sit before making quick work of the hook and eye closure between your shoulder blades, tossing your bra aside onto a crate of liquor before pressing you back down into the mattress with a kiss to your sternum, just above where your dog tags rested against your bare skin.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them over your hips and down your legs before they too were unceremoniously tossed aside. “Goddamn sweetheart you are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He murmured, pressing his lips against the side of your knee before he hooked it over his shoulder as he came to rest on his stomach between your legs.

“Lew I…” You started to protest, embarrassed about the fact that you hadn’t seen a shower in a few days, but the words died on your lips as his fingers ran through your slick folds.

“You’re so wet, did I make you this wet?” He murmured in awe, and you nodded slowly, his answering grin almost blinding in its intensity. “Well, best not let it go to waste.” Lewis winked before sealing his mouth over your core, sucking the very breath from your lungs as his tongue delved hungrily to find your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Throwing your arm over your mouth, you smothered a harsh curse of delight into the crook of your elbow as he slung his forearm across your hips to pin them down so he might better intensify the level of pleasure he was dealing you as his tongue plunged into your heat. His nose took over the stimulation of your clit, while the stubble on his cheeks and jaw made your inner thighs tremble. The sounds he was making between your legs were positively lewd and only heightened the swirling headiness that wrapped around you. You clung to his hair as he began to suck on your clit, making you see stars behind your clenched eyelids, every exhale an eager moan or keen smothered against your skin.

Lewis’s hand slid up along your side to cup your breast, his fingers shifting to pinch and roll at your nipple, vaulting you over the edge as you rambled his name over and over. The tension of ecstasy slowly ebbed from your body, and he lifted his head with a broad grin, swiping at his upper lip with his thumb before sucking it clean. “Someday I’m gonna do that somewhere so remote you can scream at the top of your lungs.” He nuzzled your hair, pressing his lips to your ear as you laughed breathlessly.

“You sound so certain…” You teased, but he merely raised an eyebrow in response, his palm cupping your still-sensitive core, making your eyes roll back in your head.

“I am, yes. Certain that I can make you cum with my hands, my mouth, my cock. Certain that I’d like the opportunity to do so again and again…” You forced your eyes open to look over his features slowly.

“Yeah?” You exhaled, not quite sure what you had been expecting when you fell into bed with him, just knowing it was what you had wanted above all else in that moment.

“Yeah, sweetheart, until you’re sick of me.” He kissed you gently, the salty tang of your release still on his lips.

Gripping the back of his head, you returned the kiss hungrily, shifting your hips to rock up against his length, swallowing his ragged moan as you finally fulfilled your promise to repeat that motion. “Show me.” You whispered, aching to feel him inside you.

Lewis exhaled hotly against your lips before shifting his hips back, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance before he rocked forward to slowly sink into you. He sealed his mouth over yours almost painfully as you whimpered hungrily, his own rumble of pleasure reverberating through your chest. His head fell to rest against your collarbone, his breath caressing your skin once he was fully seated inside you, unmoving.

“Lew…” You whimpered softly, digging your fingers into his shoulders, writhing against him slightly.

“I know, sweetheart just…fuck you’ll be my undoing…” He whispered before he kissed you fiercely, pulling his hips back only to thrust forward once more, earning a moan of delight from you.

Your bodies began the push and pull of carnal pleasure, moving in tandem as though this were your hundredth coupling rather than your first. Grasping your knee, Lewis hiked it higher on his hip, angling his thrusts deeper into your willing body, making you toss your head to the side as you clenched your jaw against the desire to wail in delight.

“Wish I could…hear you so fucking badly…” He grit out before grasping your chin and turning your face back so he could press his mouth to yours as he rut against you firmly, his pubic bone grinding against your clit deliciously.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, the vicious undertow nearly obliterating your ability to think as Lewis quickly pulled out from your convulsing warmth to release across your abdomen with an agonized groan that was admittedly less than concealed before he collapsed onto the bed at your side. The pair of you lay there, speechless, covered in a sheen of sweat, chests heaving with frantic breaths before he shifted to feather soft kisses along the side of your face, reaching for a weathered scrap of green cloth that served as an army handkerchief to wipe your skin clean.

The ferocious growl your stomach emitted in the relative silence of the room had you tense as Lewis cracked up. “Sweetheart when was the last time you ate?”

“Oh, Christ I don’t know…” You muttered, covering your face with both hands in mortification.

Laughing richly, he kissed your knuckles before forcing himself up. “Alright, ok. Food. I’m going to find you some food. And then I’m going to spend the rest of this night right here in this bed with you, so don’t you go anywhere.” He looked down at you with playful seriousness as he stepped into the pants of your ODs, ruining the effect. “Shit.” He muttered.

Giggling into your palm, you shook your head before sighing as you pulled the blankets over your bare skin, feeling the chill of the mountain air now that he’d taken his body heat away from you. “Hey Lew?”

He looked to you quickly, nearly dressed – in his own clothes this time. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I’ll be here.” You smiled warmly, the stretch of your lips only widened by the grin of glee he directed at you before climbing back into bed to kiss you warmly. Your poor, empty digestive system growled insistently, and he huffed against your lips.

“Alright, fine…I’ll be back with food.” Lewis kissed your cheek before sliding into his jump boots and stepping out with his laces untied in search of sustenance for you both, fully intent on not making another public appearance until the next morning.

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Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @fuckoffthanos

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagine #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers

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