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softguarnere · 1 year

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Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 14: Part of The Group (All Along)

Summary: And then something strange happens – the replacements arrive.

A/N: My wifi has been out and shows no signs of being repaired any time soon. Ergo, I'm posting this in kind of a rush, so any mistakes will be fixed when I have access to a connection for longer. See y'all at the end of the semester 🫡💕🕊️

Warnings: language, smoking

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs @ithinkabouttzu

England, 1944

For once, Zenie finds that she doesn’t want to be alone with Shifty. Zenie isn’t anywhere that Shifty is and is everywhere that he isn’t. She carefully plans and coordinates her movements so that they’re never alone. They’re only together in groups, or with at least one other person, like Earl or Skinny. When she can’t guarantee that they won’t be left alone together, she sticks closer to Bill than ever. Suo fratellino? More like la sua ombra – his shadow.

All the careful planning, the cautiously choreographed movements . . . It makes her feel like she’s back in the mountains, trying to move between home and the diner with the least amount of interaction with the man downstairs in front of the radio. The realization makes her feel icky. One day she will never feel repulsed by interacting with a man again.

And then something strange happens – the replacements arrive.

She hears him before she sees him. Luz must notice it too, because they both pause in their game of cards, their eyes flickering toward the loud laughter coming from a small group of unfamiliars. One loud laugh rings out above them all. And it sounds . . . familiar.

“Ah Christ, don’t tell me there’s two of them,” George mutters.

The laugh sounds a lot like Bill’s. And when the replacement steps into view, he even walks like Bill – that confident swagger that’s hard and breezy all at once. He’s got a bright smile that’s almost as bright as his hair. He and the other replacements offer Zenie and George a respectful nod as they pass, and Zenie finds herself smiling back at him.

“What do you think?” Luz asks.

Zenie shrugs, slapping down her next card to resume their game. “I dunno. They’re paratroopers, same as us.”

“Yeah. Same as us.” The replacements look younger and cheerier than everyone who made it through the jump into France. Neither of them says anything about it. Then, or later when they tell Bill that they think they’ve found one of his own. The news only makes him smile.

“From Philly, huh? Well then, he must be pretty tough. We’re in good hands.” For the first time in a while, his smile actually reaches his eyes.

The papers in her jacket pocket crinkle as she moves. Sitting on the bed, pulling on her boots, she can’t decide if she should put them with the rest of her belongings before she goes. What’s the point of carrying them around? She’s stared at them for the better part of the day and hasn’t gotten anywhere with putting her thoughts onto the page. It’s not like inspiration is suddenly going to strike while she’s at dinner, forcing her to pull out a pencil and jot down her feelings while the rest of the company happily chatters around her.

A letter from Bobby was waiting for her when she got back from France. Somewhere between Dear Tommy and the usual updates on life back home, Bobby had changed his tone. Something has happened with your family, he wrote. I would tell you, but at the same time, I don’t want to hurt your morale. So I’ll leave it up to you – do you want to know?

Dear Bobby, of course I want to know, I left them, but they’re my family and I want them to be okay and please tell me, please tell me, please tell me that my mother is okay and that it’s not her – she doesn’t write. Of course she wants to know. She wants to know that her mother, her brother, her sister, are all okay. She just has to find a way not to pour her desperation onto the page, because she knows Bobby, and the last thing she wants is for him to think that he’s damaged her morale. Any eager words that pour from her heart and her pen are the product of a young girl’s own romantic folly, not the bruised determination of a soldier.

At least the other paper in her pocket has a beginning. Dear Mama. She’s not sure what to say beyond that. Everything felt so certain before coming back to England. Before that night at the brothel. (She’s faced with the uncomfortable realization that if she was mistaken about Shifty, there may be more that she’s gotten very wrong. She tries not to think about it too much.)

Thump! Toye hops off his bunk and straightens his tie. “Ready?”

Zenie finishes lacing up her boots and then shoves the papers under her pillow so she won’t have to think about them until they return to the stables tonight; out of sight, out of mind. She tries for a smile.

“Ready.”

Ten feet tall and bulletproof, Shifty had once said to describe the feeling their uniforms gave them. With her jump wings and her unit citation medal pinned to her jacket, Zenie can’t help but agree. Even the replacements have them, but looking around, anyone can tell who made it through Normandy – they’re all swaggering around like they own the place, looking down their noses at the new guys and shooting each other cocky grins a mile wide. This must have been what Matthew and his friends felt like when they strutted around in their uniforms after baseball games with adoring girls on their arms.

The room is falling quiet for Smokey just as Zenie slides onto the bench at the table that Luz, Bill, Skip Muck, and Jonny Martin are occupying.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Skip chirps. “You busy polishing those jump wings, Tommy?”

“Nah, he was probably busy with his hair.” Zenie manages to duck as Luz tries to ruffle her dark locks. She misses her hair. And, for the record, she does not take as much time on it as Luz has started claiming that she does. There’s just something comforting in knowing that she can take care of it. It reminds her of how Marilyn used to help her pin it up over night so that she could have curls for school the next day.

“You’re just jealous that girls like running their hands through mine more than yours.” He’s so shocked by the comeback that Zenie manages to mess up his hair while he’s frozen.

Laughter breaks out around them at whatever Smokey is saying from the front of the room. She’s missed something.

She’s not the only one, though. From the table behind her, she hears a frustrated voice ask, “Do you guys have any idea what he’s talking about?”

“Hey,” Zenie lowers her voice and uses her lips to point behind Bill’s head. “That’s the guy I was telling you about. With the red hair.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him around,” Skip agrees. “Heffron, I think.”

Bill takes a drag from his cigarette before glancing over his shoulder. He exhales smoke when he asks, “And ya think this kid is from Philly?”

“Positive,” Luz confirms. “There’s no mistaking that laugh.”

“Or that walk,” Zenie adds.

As if on cue, the redhead stands, resting his glass on the table with a thump. “Should be heading back to barracks.”

The second that he starts to turn he finds himself stopped by Bill’s hand on his chest, holding him in place. It’s so sudden that the replacement barely has time to cast an indignant glance down at the hand on his chest – which has sprinkled a few ashes from the cigarette its holding onto his tie – and the rest of their table doesn’t have a chance to register what’s happening. Is this an act of aggression?

“You Heffron?”

“Yeah.”

The pressure in the table’s atmosphere deflates. The fight leaves all the men watching the interaction. No need to jump into a fray tonight.

“Where you from?” Bill wants to know.

“Who’s askin’?”

“From Philadelphia?”

“South Philly, yeah.”

Even facing away from her, Zenie can hear the smirk in Bill’s voice when he removes his hand from Heffron’s chest. “I could tell.”

The replacement stares at him, puzzled. Bill’s friends might have relaxed, knowing that their friend isn’t out for a fight, but this boy hasn’t quite figured it out yet.

Bill gestures towards himself. “Seventeenth street.”

Now the replacement lights up. It’s such a quick change that it’s almost startling, how this boy can go from eyeing someone taller than him as he prepares for a fight to pumping his hand in a firm shake with a smile that’s a mile wide. And it doesn’t seem fake, like some of the men – like it’s for show. He really does seem happy to have found someone like himself when he exclaims, “Front street!”

Zenie knows how he feels because that’s how she felt the first time she noticed Shifty. In an unfamiliar place she had heard him mutter in Cherokee and something about knowing they were the same made her feel at home. Thinking about it now, she feels the hard sourness of unprocessed emotions lodge in her throat, sticking together in a big lump that makes it hard to swallow.

Bill jerks his head toward the table at the place across from him, motioning for the redhead to join them. He doesn’t seem to notice that this displaces Luz, Zenie, and Skip, who all have to scoot down the bench to make room for him. “Here, sit down.”

“You see that?” Skip asks as they move. “Guys been here a couple of seconds, and already he’s got a non-com telling us to make room for him!”

“Hey, Bill!” Zenie leans across Luz and takes a swipe at her friend. “You gonna bother introducing us to your new pal? Or should we just get on with replacing you?”

Bill laughs, stopping halfway through one of his questions about who he and Heffron may or may not both know. He uses his cigarette to point out other people at the table.

“Skip Muck from New York. George Luz from Rhode Island. Tommy Driver from North Carolina. And Joe Toye is around here somewhere. He’s from Pennsylvania, too, but not Philly.”

Heffron nods at them each in turn, smiling. “Hey, how ya doin’?”

A lot of the replacements that she’s seen so far seem . . . unprepared. Woefully so. All bright eyed and big mouthed. Maybe it’s the air of confidence mixed with street smarts that Heffron carries with him, but something about him is decidedly different. He’s more serious, somehow, than most of the others. Everyone else must sense it too, because before long he’s joking around with everyone else at the table and he acclimates so well that he could have been part of the group all along.

Smokey finishes whatever he’s been saying and the room bursts into applause and cheers. Zenie claps along automatically, not really sure what she’s cheering for and not really wanting to stop watching Bill and Heffron toss banter back and forth like a volleyball.

“I could have shot the kid a dozen times!” Talbert announces from somewhere behind her. Oh, so they’re talking about that – the Night of the Bayonet. It makes Zenie wince to think about what happened to him, and how easily it might have been any one of them – could have been her. The cries for a medic had come while Doc Roe was in the foxhole she and Bill were sharing. It feels so long ago now, yet never too distant.

Talbert doesn’t seem all that torn up about it, though. Laughs follow when he proclaims, “I just didn’t think we could spare a man.”

Heffron catches her eye and tilts his head, puzzled. “What is he talkin’ about?”

“The Night of – “

“The Bayonet. Yeah, that’s what everyone keeps sayin’, but what does it mean?”

“Smith stabbed him on accident back in France. Thought he was a Kraut.”

Heffron winces in sympathy. “Ouch.”

“All right, listen up men! A couple of announcements.” Lipton says, ending all the laughter as he steps to the front of the room. “First – listen up! The training exercise scheduled for twenty-two hundred . . . has been cancelled.”

Loud applause breaks out again, and Lipton holds up his hand to quiet them. “Secondly, all passes are hereby revoked.” There’s a brief pause where the mood of the room plummets. He rushes on before it can fall too far. “We’re heading back to France. So pack up all your gear. We will not be returning to England, boys.”

He says more that Zenie doesn’t really hear. Not returning to England. It feels like they just got there!

They all sit, waiting, unsure of what to do. In the end, it’s Bill – ever the leader – who puts out his cigarette and stands with a sigh.

“Well boys, we best get goin’. Looks like it’s up to the Airborne to go fend off the Krauts.”

#wifi company fix my connection in a timely manner challenge #sorry for the late update #like a girl (like a man)#my writing #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #oc zenie mcglamery

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kurlyfrasier · 2 years

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5) Bleeding Heart: A Chronologue (part 1)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Synopsis: Din left you and Grogu on Tatooine to go hunt a bounty and regrets it.

Series Masterlist

A/N: Takes place just before Beskar Kisses & Grime. It’s been a while folks! This is only part 1 of...2...maybe 3 parts for this chapter (?). Haven’t decided yet/haven’t finished part 2 yet lol so we’ll see where it goes! But I felt you all deserved and update (: It took, like, 3 or 4 tries before I finally settled on writing it like this, so I hope you ENJOY! (:

Warnings: Attempted suicide (sorta), thoughts of suicide, no use of y/n, if you like that. PLEASE TEXT/CALL YOUR SUICIDE HOTLINE IF YOU HAVE THOUGHTS/PLANS OF HURTING YOURSELF (dial/text 988 for the US, I believe. Please correct me if I’m wrong).

I don’t think there’s any new Mando’a on here. Let me know if there is!

Word Count: 1,154

The Mand’alor is considered the greatest, most feared warrior throughout the galaxies. Stories are told of their valiant violent deeds. Rumors, some laced with truth, of death and destruction. They wield the most feared army and carry the strangest of weapon as their crown.

Din Djarin, Mand’alor, was certain the past kings were shaking their heads, looking down at him in disappointment as he laid there in the rain, unmoving. Not because he was injured from a battle, but because his traitorous legs decided they would get no further from you.

He regrets now, not paying attention to Bo-Katan when she would attempt to tell him of past Kar’ta tales. He regrets now, not doing some research on the myth itself.

With great effort he dragged an arm across the ground and himself until his hand met the button he seeked on the vambrace of his other limb. One of many. He decided it was pure luck that he selected the correct button when he said two simple words.

“Ni ceta.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Day One:

“Go back,” the darksaber itself chanted those two simple words, whispering weak and tinny through his head since the moment he left Fett’s Palace.

“This was a mistake,” he spoke to absolutely no-one, alone in his ship as he watched the stars blur by in hyperspace. Din had decided to chronologue this trip. In case he never saw you again. In case this bounty was finally more than he bargained for. In case this Kar’ta thing became a bigger problem than anticipated. His heart hadn’t stopped its rapid pulse since he left Tatooine’s atmosphere. “I should’ve never left you and the kid at Fett’s. My heart can’t take it.” It was a statement; matter-of-fact, the honest to Maker truth.

DIn had spoken more in the last couple of hours than he had ever spoken in his life, he was sure of it. The moment the thought occurred to him to record this hunt was the moment he spilled his guts to future you. The one the recording was meant for after his demise.

It was cathartic, really. It made the heavy weight of lies and omissions he held on his shoulders feel lighter. His heart only felt dread. The darksaber felt betrayed.

“Go back.”

His throat kriffing hurt, but he wasn’t going to stop. It didn’t matter if the sands of every desert planet found its way into his throat, making his voice rough and scratchy. He would not stop telling you everything he had been wanting to tell you: translations of certain Mando’a words, the Mand’alor’Kar’ta legend, who you are to him, what you are to him, his childhood, Mandalorian traditions, the life he wants with you and the kid.

The kid. He had been meaning to tell you that he’s a little Jedi- or will be eventually. He’s been meaning to let Grogu show you all his fancy Force tricks, certain you would be amazed. That you wouldn’t make him feel ashamed or afraid to use it like so many others had in his past. The only thing he didn’t tell you was the insanity of the darksaber speaking to him.

“I don’t think I’ve told you this yet. At least, not in words you understand,” he said, preparing to end the longest monologue of his life. “You’re beautiful.” It was a statement; matter-of-fact, the honest to Maker truth. Said in a voice nobody would dare refute.

“Go back.”

Day Two:

“This planet is a backwater skughole,” he told future you as he stepped off the ship’s ramp, covered in armor and weapons galore with ration bars stowed away in the bag Grogu was usually carried in. “You would love it,” he grinned under his helmet, imagining the spark of wonder in your eyes as you took in the mud-soaked surface. He had landed in the only clearing he could find for miles. The forest and rocky terrain made it impossible to land anywhere near the small village the bounty had last been seen. A village that took sanctuary in a too-small canyon, the depths of which seemed to have no bounds. He was happy the jetpack would be carrying him down instead of rope and carabiner.

“On second thought,” he said, scanning for threats and finding none. “It’s probably best you and Grogu aren’t with me. I don’t think you have the right boots for this planet.” His own boots squelched as he marched his way through the clearing, mud caking his them as he continued to describe the planet.

“Go back.”

He couldn’t wait to leave. He couldn’t wait for his heart to stop burning as though it was roasting on the twin suns of Tatooine. He hated that you weren’t there.

Day Three:

Din sat on the edge of the canyon cliff, staring into its dark, foggy depths, thinking maybe if he jumped to his doom, it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

“Go back.”

If it wasn’t for the beskar, he was certain his soul would’ve left him to fly back to you.

“It hurts, Mesh’la,” Din said, voice coarse. He leaned back on his hands as tears cascaded down his helmeted face. “I need your balming presence, but you're not here. You’re at Fett’s. Where I kriffing left you like the di’kut I am,” he sighed, once more looking over the edge. “Maybe I should-”

And he was flying- falling, really, but his presence of mind had fallen off the cliff long before he had. The air whipped around him, singing through the crevices of his armor in a high-pitched wail. Visions of you and his son flitted through his mind’s eye, reminding him of life and love. Reminding him of his reason for living. The reason his heart now beat strong and steady. Dim pinpricks of light shown through the thick fog became brighter with each passing second. Quick reflexes had Din igniting the jetpack. But without righting his own body first, it made him somersault in the air many times over. The sliver of a dark, snake-like river below became the size of a roaring krayt dragon as he drew ever closer. Water splashed from the jetpack’s fire, sprinkling his armor, heaving Din back up into the thick canyon’s fog. Up, he flew with panting breaths, barely escaping death for the upteenth time. He landed, stumbling back on the ledge, heart pounding fiercely in its cage.

He stood facing the way he came- toward a ship a day’s walk away.

“Go back.”

He ignored the imploring voice, spinning on his heel to face the ledge once more. With trembling hands, he ignited the jetpack and made his way down to the bottom of the canyon, body numb.

“Ner Kar’ta,” Din cleared his throat, realizing he had never turned off the recorder, landing hard on the clay soiled ground, jolting his bones. “I’ll see you soon.”

Soon, he thought, could not come quick enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THANKS FOR READING!

ONCE AGAIN, PLEASE TEXT/CALL YOUR SUICIDE HOTLINE IF YOU HAVE THOUGHTS/PLANS OF HURTING YOURSELF (dial/text 988 for the US, I believe. Please correct me if I’m wrong).

TAGLIST: @againstacecilia @djarinslove @bxmxtx @takeyour-pants-off

#mandalorian #fanfic #din djarin x reader #suicide #read warnings #tv show #disney+#definitely updated this on ao3 days ago #sorry for the late update #not that i'm on a schedule #but it has been a while #suicide hotline #988 #988lifeline

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