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eddiemxnsons · 4 years

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𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐑 𝐃'𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑 — 𝑺.𝑷𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑺

requested by @tyenesnakes

Omg could you do #5 “We're just friends", "Friends don't nonchalantly do this sort of shit” for Shifty or Talbert? (Your choice!)

INNOCENCE. What a rarity within war, a single flame amidst the darkness succumbing those who were ransacked of their own by the sacrifices and tragedy of war.

To Sergeant Y/N Y/L/N, Easy Company seemed internally penned in a reoccurring hellfire with Hades himself, their days cyclical with blood, spent scatters of ammunition, ringing ears, and the bellows of something that was far from human — a creature being ravaged by licks of searing flames.

It was anybody’s bet as to which section of the line the screeches resonated through, a crack in the morality of human beings as they would sputter our chuckles over the dying cries of the enemy.

A majority of Easy soldiers would click tongues in amusement, ruminate with celebration and laughter heedful of sound discipline yet not for a soldier yards away choking on his blood. The younger soldiers didn’t even resemble their spry selves in that decline of humanity, their eyes burning into their guns as if it would give them everything they’ve ever desired. She detested the Krauts at an identical magnitude, yet had gazed into the insipid eyes of too many young men that couldn’t have volunteered for military service — they were that young.

Perhaps that’s why Easy’s sole female soldier was inclined towards Darrell ‘Shifty’ Powers, one who never spared Death a simper when his pals reveled in its beguiling presence. The young man was agile upon his feet, the anchors of military boots swaying rather than embedding in the earth, one hell of a shot with his weapon. Yet, he was Easy’s rarity, of an innocence that burned along with their drowning exhaustion, their cascade of ashes that simmered with contempt, distress, and madness. A smile could always be drawn on his face for the sake of the crumbling statues of his pals running to their vanishing humanity to salvage it.

He had ran to her as well, whether or not she was a bitter, silent disaster in the snowfall of Bastogne. He had been drawn to her as much as she was, a forged string sewn at Toccoa.

Thus commenced a fiery romance — more so an affair — that echoed with fret in the sensible part of her mind; if they were ever caught, she’d be discharged and he of similar reprimand. She hadn’t dragged her heels through shit at Toccoa to be here, giddy for the first man who showed her some decency.

Their relationship was disastrously sacred, tarnished with secret rendezvous at foxholes, barracks, abandoned homes to acquire an addictive relief from tragedy — an intoxicating, unspoken connection that strayed beyond sex. Yet, a cold bed each morning following their lustful rendezvous was a blunt reminder of war’s devastation that mingled just outside, that they were merely friends as it was senseless to recognize as anything else. Innocence was rare in war, love was its poison that had entangled itself in Y/N’s jumbles of nerves, electrifying its tips every moment she was around him.

As she was presently, an electrical storm of anxiety and distress twitching fingertips tinged with blood, a crimson reminder of the young boy’s body limp in a damp basement a few houses away. Y/N hadn’t sought Shifty in his room for their typical activities, intense sorrow and agitation radiating off her the moment the door opened, her welcoming herself into the darkness of the room.

Shifty had eyed her through the shadows with throbbing concern, inquiries pooling on his tongue but common sense hindering its release, the drips of blood on her ivory skin and OD’s warding off such questions. Their unique relationship had permitted him to witness Easy’s intimidating sergeant course through humanity’s most foreboded emotions, had been made aware that distance needed to be amidst them.

Y/N’s obsessive pacing could have embellished a light path in the wobbly wood of the floor, the footfalls strategic as any soldiers’ would be. Absentminded fingers poked and prodded at her dog tags suspended beneath her collar, the fabric of her OD’s an irritable, viscid veneer on slightly goose-bumped skin despite the bleak air of the evening. Her mouth was dryer than a sandbox beneath the summer sun whilst her mind contemplated through races of agitation the loss of Eugene Jackson and this relationship was casting. The frustration was a burning rod weaving between the bones of her ribcage, cooking with their shared, fervid gaze. She could be the next one sprawled on a frigid basement floor, and he would continue on with memories associating her to being a mere distraction.

Fuck it.

“I love you,” Y/N blurted with an ache in a throat devoid of water, feet scuffing on the floorboards when halting her pacing to treat him to a partial turn; she was humiliated, an acrid lining of nausea on her stomach as the words were very uncharacteristic of her, a harbored secret she scowled towards.

Shifty's posture shifted with a jolt of bewilderment, meeting the declaration with a perplexed crinkle of his expression, his Southern cadence low when he murmured, “We’re just friends.” He could taste the poignancy of her silent response of despair, acidity of her wrath, and the blazing of her anguish, whilst she shook her head and it all gradually soaked into his chest.

“Friends don't nonchalantly do this sort of shit, Powers,” Y/N growled back at him, evidently exasperated and grappling with how to manage it, “And I won’t be a damn distraction — a memory in your head that I was some desperate whore. Is that what I am to you? I mean, fuck, you practically vomit optimism but can’t handle when the feelings are returned?” She regarded how he winced like he was in anguish.

“No, no. You’re not a whore, a distraction,” he murmured, so gentle, regarding that now she was a disaster of frustration and humiliation. Reluctantly, he stepped towards her with fingers just mere inches from her goosebumped arm. He wanted to touch her but seemed like he couldn’t bring himself for a fleeting moment, “You never were.” Y/N felt Shifty’s warm breath disperse over her flushed features, recalling all the instances before where they were this close.

“I love you, too,” his hands cupped her face, his left palm cradling her cheek while his right one eased on the deposit between her shoulder and neck.

She eased his fingers from the flush of her cheeks, clasping them rather than allow them to clench into a fist at his side, “I hope you do, you’re stuck with me now, Shifty Powers.”

#band of brothers #hbo war #band of brothers imagines #shiftypowers shiftypowersimagine

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