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punkshort · 6 months

Text

All Yours

Summary: Tommy and Maria want to meet a group from another community to establish a trading relationship. One man comes onto you a little too strong, sparking a reaction from Joel.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader, established relationship, set in the TWWW universe but can be read stand alone, no use of Y/N.

Warnings: jealousy/possessive behavior, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected sex, fingering, language, mild violence/blood, vague allusions to SA (nothing graphic)

Word count: 6.8K

March 2006

"So, what exactly do we need to bring with us?" Carrie asked, leaning over your shoulder as you spread out your notes in front of you on the desk.

"Maria said she wanted to have an idea of our production numbers for each season, so we know what we can spare for trades."

A couple months ago on patrol, Tommy and Joel came across a smaller community deep in the mountains. After watching them carefully for a few weeks, and a very lively discussion during a town hall meeting, it was agreed that they would approach the community in an attempt to strike up a trading relationship.

Satisfied that you had all the documentation you needed, you stuffed the notebooks into your pack, along with a few samples of medicinal herbs as a good faith gift.

You both slid on your coats, hats, and gloves as you made your way to the stables, the early spring morning still very brisk. The sun was just beginning to peek over the trees as you approached the small group waiting outside the barn. You scanned the group of five quickly before your eyes settled on Joel, who had been talking to Eugene about something that made him appear tense until he saw you approach, and his face relaxed.

"All set?" Joel asked you, taking your rolled up sleeping bag and attaching it to the back of the saddle, next to his own.

"I think so," you replied while giving Eugene a smile and wave in greeting.

"Shouldn't be too long of a trip, dear. We'll be back tomorrow, late afternoon," Eugene told you as he mounted his horse.

Tommy had chosen a neutral place in between both settlements to discuss trades: an abandoned ski lodge. When you heard of the location, you were grateful you wouldn't have to sleep on the muddy forest floor.

Joel hopped up on the back of the horse and reached his arm down to help you climb up behind him. You wrapped your arms around his stomach and gave him a small squeeze with your arms.

"You didn't have to come, you know," Joel murmured over his shoulder as he followed behind Jake and Carrie's horse, exiting through the gate.

"Yeah, but what would I do while you were gone? Probably just waste away," you joked, making yourself chuckle.

"I'm serious," he said. "Could be dangerous. We don't know these people yet."

"It'll be fine, Joel," you tried to assure him. "I'll just explain my production numbers, Carrie will discuss the medicinal stuff, and we will just hang back while you guys figure out the rest."

Joel huffed and rolled his shoulders.

"Just don't like you outside Jackson too much. Like knowin' that you're safe," he said, directing your horse around a fallen tree.

"I know. But I want to help. Maria is excited. She said this could be really good for the town, and I want to do my part."

He grunted, effectively ending the conversation.

Joel had always felt this intense need to protect you. Since outbreak day, his one and only goal was to keep you safe. There had been a few close calls in your journey before Jackson, ones that affected him deeply and stirred up frequent panic attacks from shouldering the guilt and blame. When you found Jackson, he was finally able to relax, seeing you safe and happy. He still struggled with his own trauma from past events, some days worse than others. And taking you outside the walls of Jackson was steadily careening him towards having one of those bad days.

You reached the ski lodge before the other group, much to Joel's relief. It was the first time you've seen him look pleased all day. The place was enormous. You noticed it appeared to be able to host weddings or conferences in the off-season as you walked by three huge ballrooms and a kitchen before you finally reached the main lounge. Couches, sofa chairs, and tables with chairs were scattered around the two-story room. The walls were mostly windows, allowing visitors to admire the beautiful mountains surrounding the building.

The room was built around a big fireplace in the center, which Tommy and Jake immediately began to inspect.

"Maybe we should get some wood. We're early, we got time to kill," Tommy mused aloud. Joel's head swiveled around the two-story lounge while he gripped his rifle, looking up at the balconies above to make sure you were truly alone.

Tommy slid his backpack off and rummaged around until he found a hatchet in its leather carrying case.

"C'mon, Joel. Before we lose daylight," Tommy said, giving Joel pause. His eyes flicked over to you sitting at a table talking to Carrie while you unloaded the food, no doubt planning what to make for the group for dinner.

"Can you take Eugene?" Joel asked him quietly, so the rest of the group wouldn't overhear. Tommy raised an eyebrow at his brother before answering.

"Joel. I'm not gonna ask an old man to trek into the forest and help me haul wood up all those steps."

"Jake, then," Joel tried, his eyes traveling back to you. Tommy sighed and put a hand on Joel's shoulder.

"It'll be 30 minutes, at most," Tommy assured him. "She's a big girl, she'll be alright. Y'know she can defend herself, probably better than most."

"Yeah, but what if the other group comes when we're gone?" Joel asked, furrowing his brow and shifting his weight.

"We've met them before, Joel. You've met them before. What's the problem?" Tommy asked, growing impatient. Joel sighed and reluctantly slung his rifle over his shoulder.

"Alright, let's be quick," Joel huffed.

Joel made his way over to you as Tommy let the group know his plan to collect some firewood. Joel gave you a quick kiss and squeezed your bicep gently.

"I'll be right back, sweetheart," he murmured.

"Be careful," you told him with a small smile. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his mouth opening and closing anxiously, unsure how to vocalize his concerns.

"Joel! Let's get a move on," Tommy called out as he made his way back down the hallway that led to the entrance.

"Sooner you leave, the sooner you'll be back," you told him, giving his chest a small shove. He nodded and turned on his heel to follow Tommy down the hall.

You and Carrie were opening some canned goods and rifling through the kitchen when you heard the front doors of the lodge swing open. At first, you thought Joel and Tommy had managed to cut up firewood in less than fifteen minutes, but then you heard strange voices, and you knew it must have been the new community arriving. You dusted your palms on the sides of your jeans and glanced at Carrie.

"Guess we should join the others," you told her, trying to keep your voice steady. You didn't want to worry Joel, but the prospect of meeting new people in a strange place did make you a little nervous. You didn't have the best track record with people since the outbreak.

As the two of you made your way back into the lounge, you subconsciously rested your hand on the butt of your handgun. You entered the room just as the group was entering from the other end. You examined them carefully as you made your way over to Maria. They had brought five men with them. Two of which were older and had grey beards, one was bald while the other had messy curls. The other three were younger. One seemed particularly young, younger than you. He was skinny and his eyes darted around nervously. You got the impression he was asked to join as an extra body and a last resort.

The last two men were likely in their thirties and seemed to be the muscle of the group. One of the men had darker hair that was shaved close to his head and a rigid jaw. You vaguely wondered if he had past military or police training.

Your eyes finally landed on the last man, only to discover he had already clocked you from across the room. He had dirty blonde, slicked back hair with piercing blue eyes and was surprisingly clean shaven. You noticed most of the men in Jackson didn't bother to shave their beards unless it was particularly hot out, so it struck you as strange. Maybe you had been staring because when you met in the middle of the room, the blonde man's eyes never left your face.

"Neil, Dean, great to see you again," Maria greeted the two older men with a handshake. You could tell immediately they were kind by the way they smiled and spoke, which helped ease your nerves a bit. However, the blonde man had yet to stop staring at you, and it was becoming unnerving. You felt Carrie shift next to you and you wondered if she noticed it, too.

Maria introduced you and Carrie to Neil and Dean, since Jake and Eugene were already acquainted with them. When you shook their hands and looked into their eyes, your nerves settled a little more.

"And I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met," Maria said to the other three with a smile.

"Oh, where are my manners," Neil, the balding one, said. "This is Lucas, Sam, and Carter." Neil pointed to each of them respectively. Sam was the young, skinny boy, Lucas was the military type, and Carter the blonde.

You looked each of them in the eye and gave them a tight smile. Carter gave you a sly smirk and you instantly looked away, focusing your attention on Maria. She invited the group to sit at a larger table in the lounge, and you all traipsed over to find a seat. You didn't think it was a coincidence that Carter sat directly across from you, and when you exchanged quick looks with Carrie, you could tell she noticed, too.

"So," Maria said, folding her hands on top of the table. "Tommy and Joel are just out getting firewood, but they should be back soon. We can get started, I don't want to keep you unnecessarily."

"Sure thing," Dean said, reaching into his bag to pull out some notebooks.

"Why don't we start with the girls? They can go over our medicine and vegetable harvest numbers, and then Eugene can discuss livestock," Maria said, looking at you expectantly. You took a breath and reached across the table to grab your worn notebook.

You began by showing the men your production numbers from the past year for vegetables, all of them nodding along and taking notes except for Carter, who was blatantly trying to get a look down your shirt when you leaned over. You had enough and shot him a frown in the hopes of embarrassing him, but a wide grin just spread across this face instead.

You were wrapping up and about to pass your notebook along to Carrie to review the medicinal herbs when Carter finally spoke for the first time.

"That's all?" he said, the deepness of his voice surprising you. You looked at him and blinked.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your fingers still pressed onto the open pages of your notebook.

"Vegetables and fruit? I'm sure you got something else you can trade, sugar," he said, his eyes quickly scanning your body up and down.

You paused for a moment, wondering if you were just paranoid or if he was really suggesting what you thought he was suggesting. Your gaze flicked back to Maria, who seemed to pick up on the same thought you had, and she stiffened in her chair.

"Carter," Neil said lowly, his tone a warning. Your left hand remained on the notebook, but your right hand fell to your side, fingers tapping the butt of your gun.

After a heavy silence that seemed to last an eternity, Carter's face split into a toothy smile as he laughed heartily.

"Come on now, I'm just kidding. Relax, girly," he said to you, but you did anything but relax. In an attempt to not ruin the potential trading relationship with this community, you pushed the notebook to Carrie and leaned back in your chair, choosing to let his comments go.

Carrie nervously and quickly went through the numbers on the herbs while you kept your eyes trained on her, ignoring the heat of Carter's gaze.

Carrie was just finishing up when you heard the front doors swing open once again, and relief flooded through you when you heard Tommy and Joel walking up the hallway.

They entered the room with armfuls of wood, which they deposited next to the fireplace in order to shake hands with Dean and Neil. They were then introduced to the rest of the group with firm nods of their heads before pulling up chairs of their own. Maria was catching Tommy up on what he missed when Joel sat down next to you. You turned in your chair and put your hand on top of his with a squeeze. He gave you a quick smile and leaned forward to listen to Maria, oblivious to the way Carter was studying you two. Carrie met your gaze, and her eyes widened a fraction, trying to silently convey the thought you were also having: what the fuck?

Before Eugene could begin talking about the livestock numbers, you stood up and tugged on Carrie's arm in the process, also making her stand.

"We're gonna go back to the kitchen, get some food ready," you announced, and Maria nodded, her eyes briefly looking at Joel before falling back on you. Joel was looking up and watching you curiously. You gave him a tight smile before hurrying back to the kitchen with Carrie. It was then that he finally noticed Carter's gaze, which was firmly fixed on your retreating form, not even trying to hide the way he stared at your ass as you left the room. Joel cleared his throat roughly, drawing Carter's attention off you and onto him. He gave Joel a light huff and turned his attention back to Maria.

"That was fucking awkward," Carrie said with a disbelieving laugh once you were safe inside the kitchen.

"Okay, so it wasn't just me?" you asked, your hands on your hips. She shook her head.

"Oh, hell no. Even Jake noticed it. Joel's gonna fucking kill him if he pulls that shit again," Carrie said, and you groaned, getting back to prepping various dishes for dinner.

Dinner went smoother. Carter mostly kept his eyes to himself, the tension from the room had dissipated, and the group had begun laughing and trading stories. It appeared while you and Carrie were making dinner that a trading agreement had taken place. Tommy had brought a bottle of whiskey along and was passing it around to celebrate while you and Carrie helped clean up. You were picking up a stack of plates at the end of the table when you heard a voice behind you.

"How 'bout dessert, sugar?" Carter whispered in your ear, making you nearly drop the stack of plates in your hands. You whipped around but he had already taken a few quick steps back, creating a healthy distance from you so as not to draw the attention of others.

"Excuse me?" you said, your heart hammering in your chest. He held up his hands in mock surrender with a smirk.

You so badly wanted to tell him off, stand your ground and make it known you weren't just brought along to feed people and clean up after them, that you were doing it to help your friends, your community. But you recalled how excited Maria was about this relationship, and looking at her now, you could see she was relieved that she could provide more goods to the town with this new prospect. So, you gave Carter the benefit of the doubt.

"There might be canned fruit or something," you muttered, trying to find Carrie so you could walk back to the kitchen together, but Carter reached out and snatched your elbow, this time drawing a scowl to your face.

"I was thinkin' 'bout somethin' else," he said, and you could now tell he had been drinking by the slur in his words and the heaviness in his eyes. You swallowed roughly and glanced around the room, scanning for Joel. He was talking with Dean and Tommy near the fire, his back to you.

"Don't gotta be nervous. It's a compliment," Carter told you, picking up on your anxious body language.

"I'm with him," you said curtly, nodding your chin in Joel's direction. "Even if I wasn't, I'm not interested."

His eyes slowly dragged across the room and landed on Joel before swinging his head back to you, giving you a shrug.

"Huh," was all he said in response, still looking at you hungrily. Over Carter's shoulder, you saw Joel shift, his eyes instantly landing on you. In your periphery, you saw his body tense and he began to make his way across the room. Your eyes flicked to his and he stopped in his tracks, waiting for you to direct him. You gave him a subtle but firm shake of your head. His jaw clenched but he stayed where he was, his eyes jumping from you to Carter.

You turned and marched towards the kitchen, your pulse racing so fast you felt lightheaded.

You all settled in for the night, rolling out sleeping bags and claiming couches. The new group ended up having too much to drink and decided to leave in the morning. You were fixing up your sleeping bag next to Joel's while he stared at Carter flopping down on a couch from across the vast room. You weren't thrilled with the idea of having to stay the night in the same place, but you were comforted by the fact that you were next to Joel and your friends.

"I don't like the way he looks at you," Joel said bluntly as you unzipped your sleeping bag.

"I don't either," you told him, and his eyes finally dragged from Carter to look at you, the surprise evident on his face. He had fully expected you to insist he was overreacting, but the fact you agreed with him put him on edge even more.

"Let's just get through the night and get back home," you said, tucking yourself into your sleeping bag.

"You ain't leavin' my sight til then," he said gruffly, then followed your lead, zipping his bag up partially so he could still press his upper body against yours while you slept.

And although you agreed, not wanting to leave his sight, you found your bladder was too full shortly after everyone had fallen asleep. You looked over your shoulder at Joel. He was sound asleep and snoring softly against the back of your neck, his arms wrapped around your waist loosely. You thought about waking him up but decided against it. He looked so peaceful, and you knew you would be quick.

Before standing up, you glanced around the room. The rest of the group seemed fast asleep, and the bathrooms were only a few feet away from where you slept. You sighed and slowly unraveled yourself from Joel's grasp. He grunted and readjusted, moving to sleep on his back, but remained out cold.

The ladies restroom had three stalls and two sinks. You went as fast as you could, eager to get back to the warmth of the lounge and Joel's embrace. It was dark, but it was a full moon, so you didn't bother to bring a flashlight with you.

You swung the bathroom door open to exit into the short hallway when you smacked into a wall of muscle, causing you to stumble backwards in alarm.

"Wha-" you began to say, but a strong hand clamped over your mouth, stifling your words and pushing you backwards into the room, your back slamming hard against the wall.

You couldn't see who it was, but you knew it wasn't Joel based on touch and scent alone. And when you heard his voice, it just confirmed your suspicions.

"Finally gotcha alone, sweetness," Carter muttered into your ear, pinning you against the wall. You struggled against him, but he was too strong, and you were having a hard time seeing in the dark. Your heart was pounding in your chest, blood rushing in your ears as the panic set in. Not again, please, not again.

He brought his face in front of yours and you could smell his sour breath, stale whiskey invading your nostrils as you mumbled against his palm.

"Really happy we met today," he said quietly. "Your town's got some real pretty women. Maybe we can come to some kind of arrangement. I can get you things, for a price..." he trailed off as his other hand skirted down your side. You squeezed your eyes shut and brought your knee up as hard as you could, praying in the dark that you could hit your target. A loud groan that bubbled up from his throat let you know you were successful. His hand slipped from your mouth slightly as he doubled over, clutching his crotch with the hand that was just on your body moments ago.

"Joel-!" you began to shout, but his hand quickly covered your mouth again, this time with more pressure, bringing tears to your eyes.

"Shut the fuck up," he muttered angrily, bringing his other hand up to your neck. "Quit bein' such a tease, you been starin' at me all night."

You shook your head as much as you could with your mouth still held prisoner by his palm. You brought your hands up to claw at his hand pressing on your throat, your vision going spotty.

Suddenly, the pressure was gone, allowing air to flow freely again. You gasped and coughed, leaning forward as your fingers gently touched the sore skin on your neck. You quickly stood back up, swinging your head around in the darkness, trying to see where he went.

"Get your fuckin' hands off her," you heard Joel growl, along with the unmistakable sound of knuckles thudding wetly against soft, damaged flesh. You could hear their boots squeaking on the tile as the scuffle continued and you blinked rapidly, trying to make your eyes adjust so you could reach the door and go get help.

The fight must have been louder than you realized because the bathroom door swung open, flooding the room in light from Maria's lantern, with Neil, Dean and Tommy right behind her. You pressed yourself flat against the wall as you tried to not get caught in the fight between the two men, who you could now see were swinging on each other wildly, spinning around the small room, slamming each other into the stalls, and grabbing at each other's shirts, trying to get the upper hand and pull the other down. Joel's fist came in contact with Carter's nose so loudly, you heard the crack of bone and winced. Carter stumbled backwards with a pained cry, crashing into you and causing you to fall to the floor.

You felt a burning in your wrist when you landed as you frantically scrambled between him and the floor, desperately trying to get out of the way. Joel saw his opportunity when Carter fell, clutching his nose. He snatched him up and off you by his collar and hauled him across the room with a grunt. Joel grabbed Carter by the hair and yanked him back, so his face was angled up to the ceiling. Carter looked at Joel manically, desperately squirming on his knees and clawing at Joel's wrists to try to loosen his grip when he realized Joel was about to slam his face into the porcelain sink.

Tommy pushed his way into the room and broke up the two men before Joel had a chance to crush his skull. Carter sat crumpled on the floor, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. He attempted to stand but slipped on his own blood, making him fall back to the floor.

"Alright, Joel, enough," Tommy muttered, his hands pressed firmly on Joel's shoulders, pushing him back against the wall. Joel panted for breath through clenched teeth, his eyes wild as his gaze jumped from Carter to Tommy. As if he suddenly came to his senses and remembered you were still in the room, he pushed Tommy off him and made a beeline towards you, hunched over in the corner of the room.

"You alright, sweetheart? Lemme look at you, c'mon," he said gently as he crouched down, hooking a finger under your chin and pulling it up. You let out a shaky breath as your eyes roamed his face. He had a few cuts under his eye and a bruise forming on his jaw, but apart from his knuckles, he appeared unscathed. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the fear in your eyes, then his gaze dropped to your throat where dark, circular bruises were forming from where Carter pressed his fingertips into your delicate skin. You could see the shift behind his eyes turn from concern to rage, and you reached out to grip his arm tightly before he could start another fight.

"Stay," you whispered, your lip trembling. He sighed and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. You inhaled his scent, a mix of sweat, blood and tree sap, and you felt your pulse slow down a fraction.

"Get him the fuck outta here," Joel growled over his shoulder. At some point, Lucas must have joined the crowd because he entered the room to help Carter up from the floor, allowing him to lean on his shoulder as he ushered him out of the room and down the hall.

"I'll go get Carrie, she can look you both over, patch you up," Maria said, but you stopped her.

"Can I just have a minute?" you whimpered softly, your voice not quite right. Maria nodded and waved Tommy out of the room, closing the door behind them, leaving you and Joel in the quiet, moonlit bathroom.

He leaned back to look at you again, his thumb tracing gently over your cheek. You didn't realize you were crying silent tears until he leaned forward to kiss them away, then let his forehead rest against your own.

"What happened?" he finally asked, his eyes closed with his forehead still pressed against you.

"I had to pee, he cornered me in here, it was dark," you squeaked out. Your head was pounding, and you felt exhausted but there was no way you would be able to fall asleep now.

"Did he touch you?" Joel asked nervously, afraid of the answer. You shook your head quickly, and a sigh of relief slipped past his lips.

"Not like that. Just my throat and he covered my mouth," you told him, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to get closer. He leaned back against the tile wall and pulled you onto his lap, your face pressed against the side of his neck.

"Shoulda woke me up," he murmured into your hair.

"I know, I'm sorry," you whispered, letting your hands fall from behind his neck to rest gently on his chest.

"Don't be sorry," he replied, his body tense. "Shouldn't have to be this way in the first place."

You pulled your head back and cupped his cheek with your good hand, gently stroking the bruise forming on his jaw. Overcome with a swell of affection, you leaned in and pressed your mouth against his, tugging his lower lip between yours. He moaned softly and opened his mouth, his tongue dipping past your lips until it found its mate, licking into your mouth until he pulled a small whine from your throat.

He broke the kiss and leaned his head back against the wall, his fingers carefully wiping away the last of your tears.

"Thank you," you whispered, and he shook his head.

"Don't gotta thank me," he replied, then sighed as he pushed himself into a standing position. He reached an arm down to help you up off the floor, and that's when you remembered your wrist. You whimpered and yanked it out of his grasp, standing up on your own and rolling your wrist around to test it for damage.

Joel tenderly took your hand in his and turned it around, inspecting it for swelling.

"It's too dark in here, let's go find Carrie, she can take a look at it," he told you, leading you out of the bathroom and back into the lounge.

Carrie sat you both down on a loveseat with her med kit. She tested your wrist and determined it was just a sprain, so she wrapped it up tightly for you before moving to Joel. She was sanitizing the cuts on his knuckles as you both watched Tommy and Maria having a quiet conversation with Dean and Neil across the room. You were trying to tell by their body language what was being said, but it was impossible. Finally, the group broke up and headed back to their respective people.

Joel stood up defensively when Tommy and Maria approached, giving Carrie a quick 'thanks' under his breath. She sat down next to you, eyes wide as she rubbed your back, asking gently if you were okay and if you needed anything. You shook your head and gave her a small smile, then turned so you could listen to what Maria had to say.

"Relax, Joel, it's alright," Maria said, putting a hand out to him. "You don't need to explain. Dean said there's been an incident or two like this back in their town. It was all 'he said, she said', so they couldn't do anything about it."

"So they brought that fucker here?" Joel seethed, clenching his fist.

"They're gonna take care of it when they get back," Tommy assured him. "Won't be a problem in the future. Trades are still on. Kept him around 'cause he's a good shot."

"Christ," Joel mumbled, rubbing his hand over his beard and turning away. Maria kneeled down in front of you and took your hand in hers.

"You okay?" she asked softly, and you nodded. She examined your face closely until she was satisfied that you were being honest, and stood back up.

"They're leaving, obviously," Maria said, gesturing behind her to the group packing up. Carter laid on a couch with his arm draped over his face, clearly in pain.

"Why don't we try to get some sleep so we can get the hell outta here early?" Eugene said from a sofa chair next to you. You all mumbled in agreement, but waited until the other group left, Neil and Dean giving Tommy and Maria a quick handshake before venturing out into the darkness.

Tommy threw a couple more logs on the fire before he settled back into his sleeping bag next to Maria. Silence descended upon the room, but you still struggled to fall back asleep. Adrenaline was still coursing through your veins from the encounter as you tossed and turned in your sleeping bag.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" Joel murmured next to you, clearly on the verge of sleep. You sighed and shook your head, even though his eyes were closed.

"No," you whispered, letting out a quiet groan as you repositioned yourself yet again. Joel's eyes popped open at the sound and turned his head to look at you curiously.

"Can't sleep, too wound up," you whispered again. Joel chuckled and you scowled at him.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothin', just thought of somethin', made me laugh," he said, his eyes sliding back closed but the smile still on his face. You poked him in the ribs, and he jumped, eyes snapping back open.

"Tell me," you said, and he sighed.

"I was gonna make a joke, tell you 'I know what'll tire you out', but it seemed like the wrong time," he explained, closing his eyes once again and turning his head back.

You considered it for a moment before responding.

"Okay."

His breathing stopped and his eyes snapped open. He turned his face to the side again, raising his eyebrows at you.

"What?" he asked quietly. You shrugged and smirked.

"I said, 'okay'," you replied just as quietly. His eyes darkened as they flicked down to your lips, then back up again.

"Kitchen," was all he said, his tone deep and voice strained. You slithered out of your sleeping bag and jumped to your feet, trying your best to be quiet and not sprint into the kitchen. You pushed the door open and entered the nearly pitch-black room, noting the only window was a small circle at the top of the door, allowing an orange light from the fire to be the only light in the room. You chewed your nail nervously as you waited for him to join you, pacing around in a small circle, trying to relieve the ache that was growing between your legs.

The door swung open, and you whipped around right as Joel wrapped his arms around you, his mouth latching onto your neck. His beard tickled your skin as he made a trail of kisses all across your throat. It wasn't until he made it to the other side that you realized he had been kissing the bruises left there. You let out a soft moan and tipped your head back, your fingers digging into his arms.

"If we do this, gotta be fast and quiet," he whispered against your mouth before his tongue dove past your lips to tangle with your own.

"Mhmm," you hummed as you reached down to unbutton your jeans. He walked you backwards until you felt the cold stainless steel of the counter behind you. You hopped up to sit on top and bent your head so you could suck on his Adam's apple before you made your way down to his collarbone, which was just peeking out from the top of his shirt.

Joel pulled your jeans the rest of the way off and slid his hands up both your legs before stopping on your hips, squeezing before giving them a quick tug forward. You almost yelped but you covered your mouth at the last minute. Joel gave you a look of warning before he lined you up with the edge of the counter, his fingers sliding underneath the edge of your panties and yanking them off.

He ran his knuckle up and down your slit before his eyes shot up to lock on yours.

"Shit," he whispered, leaning forward to whisper filth into your ear while he inserted a thick finger inside you, followed closely by a second.

"What a good girl, all ready for me," he told you quietly. "How long you been like this, hm?"

"Since you broke his nose," you whispered heavily, spreading your legs wider for him. He paused a moment, clearly not expecting that answer. You squirmed a bit when his fingers stayed still for too long, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah? That turn you on?" he asked you, and you felt his breath quicken against your neck.

"Yeah," you said quietly, sighing when his fingers expertly found that spot inside you.

"Fuck. Dirty girl," he muttered, earning a gasp from you when he quickly removed his fingers in favor of undoing his belt and shoving his jeans down his thighs. "You liked when I beat that fucker for putting his hands on what's mine?"

You didn't have a chance to answer him because he quickly slid his cock inside you, making you gasp again and slap a hand over your mouth, but you nodded enthusiastically, squeezing your eyes shut.

"So warm," Joel muttered to himself, tipping his head back as he rolled his hips into you slowly, your legs squeezing around his waist. His hands hooked under your knees at his side, his head rolling forward lazily as he watched his cock disappearing inside of you, each time emerging slicker than before.

You began rocking your hips up to meet his in a desperate attempt to increase the pace. He noticed, and given the location and lack of time, chose to give you what you wanted. He snapped his hips harder, grunting quietly each time he bottomed out inside you. You bit down on the fleshy part of your hand, trying to stifle your whines as he pushed you higher and higher towards your orgasm.

He slid his hand from your knee and down your thigh to rest flat on your lower stomach, his thumb brushing against your clit and pulling an audible moan from your mouth. Joel stopped his movements to give you a stern look. He leaned down so his chest was nearly flush with yours, his mouth hovering over your ear.

"Gotta stay quiet, sweetheart. You know I love those sounds but we gotta be careful," he whispered. "Can you do that for me?" You nodded and covered your mouth with your palm again.

He hummed his approval and began rocking his hips into you, his thumb finding your clit and pressing small, firm circles. Your eyes rolled as the pressure built in your lower abdomen. Joel leaned back up so he was standing once again, watching your body jostle up and down underneath him as he fucked into you harder. He felt your walls clench around him and watched as your head tipped back against the stainless steel, your hand still firmly planted over your mouth.

"Tell me you're mine," he said lowly. Your head tilted back down so you could meet his gaze. You removed your hand from your mouth, little gasps escaping from your mouth with each thrust.

"I'm yours, Joel," you said as quietly as you could.

"Again," he said, teeth clenched. Heat creeped up his neck as his orgasm steadily approached, but he held it back until he could hear you respond.

"Y-yours. I'm yours, Joel. Fuck. No one else, only you. Only ever y-you. Shit, I'm close," you whined, clamping your hand over your mouth again to muffle your orgasm.

And then it hit you like a freight train. Your eyes squeezed shut and your body tensed, your cunt fluttered around his cock as the waves washed over you, soft whimpers and moans getting lost in your palm.

"That's my girl," Joel mumbled, pounding into you harder now, desperate to join you. "All mine, huh? This mine?" he asked you, grabbing a handful of your ass and giving it a shake. You nodded and whispered a yes, your hand falling to your side.

"That's right. How 'bout this sweet little pussy? This mine, too?"

"Yes," you whined a little louder than you intended. You opened your eyes and watched him as his gaze traveled up your body, locking eyes with you. You saw a bead of sweat trickle down from his temple as his hips stuttered against you. His hand that was once placed over your stomach slowly traveled up your body, resting over your sternum, right over your pounding heart.

"And this?" he asked, softer now, eyes wide and pleading. You nodded and covered his hand with yours.

"Yes, Joel. All yours." You told him firmly, and with that, he pulled his hips back, groaning quietly as he came all over your stomach, his hot spend dripping down your sides and leaving small, pearly white dots on the countertop.

His eyes lingered on your stomach a moment before he reached down to pull his pants back up. He cleaned you up with a rag he had grabbed before following you into the kitchen, and helped you sit up, being mindful of your sore wrist.

You slid down from the counter and felt around with your foot until you found your discarded clothes. After dressing yourself, you turned around to pull Joel down into a messy, lazy kiss. He leaned back to look at you in the semi-darkness, his hands resting on your waist.

"I'm yours, too, y'know," he said softly. You smiled up at him and ran a finger gently over the bruise blooming on his cheek.

"I know," you whispered, planting a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He pushed the door open a crack to make sure no one was awake before opening it all the way and leading you back to your sleeping bags.

"That did the trick, thank you," you murmured to him, yawning as your eyes closed, burying your face in your sleeping bag. His arms wrapped around you from behind and he kissed the back of your neck.

"Anytime, sweetheart," he said, his voice muffled by your hair as he held you tightly against his chest.

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

Note

I truly love your writing and wanted to put in a request for Wednesday. She has a nightmare (you know, those pretty vivid ones that feel insanely real) about the reader dying, and she already wakes up with tears rolling down her cheeks, and because of her story with the visions, this nightmare gets her really scared, so she sneaks out of her dorm because she needs to be sure that reader is okay, and getting there reader wakes up and realizes that Wednesday has been crying, and after some insistence, Wednesday allows herself to be comforted and melt in reader's arms? Thank you

“I thought i could stop it Wednesday. I thought I could end this seemingly never ending nightmare…for all of us.” You told Wednesday weakly as you bled out in her arms, face and body torn to bloody ribbons as your clothes were barely hanging on by threads; much like you were. Prior to now Wednesday found herself wandering the woods, seemingly lost as a little girl while the frost that lightly caked the ground nipped at her feet and the howling winds of sheer cold scratched and clawed at any aspect of her exposed skin that’d be susceptible.

She had been following a blood trail that looked a few hours old and were already crystallised and muddied by frosted flakes ground; however the further she ventured in pursuit of uncovering a potential mystery, the blood became fresher, brighter, untouched by mud nor frost. Wednesday wondered that if she knew where that blood trail would lead her, would she still venture forth valiantly or back away to sustain her ignorant belief that you were alive, sleeping in your dormitory safely. As she knelt herself down against the rigid ground, hearing the stiffened blades of dead grass crunch, bend and snap under her like bones.

Wednesday held your rapidly depleting body against hers as she tried to keep her tears at bay for letting yet another person close to her gain a close encounter with death before herself. From touching your arm alone, Wednesday knew that she had came far too late to do anything and by joe you have lost far too much blood to even move never-less stand on your own two feet that were giving way to frost bite or numoania; You had barely even reacted when she first arrived to see the blood covered snow pooling beneath you as you laid slumped against a tree.

One question lingered on her head as she cradled you against her in naive hopes that some of her body warmth would be transferred over, Why did you go alone? You knew the Hyde was a powerful foe, capable of disembowelling a person with a single swipe of his claws. So why did you think that you’d be able to take him on alone? Why didn’t you bring back up? Why didn’t you bring her? Sure neither of you would’ve stood a chance but at least you could’ve died together against that tree. “You absolute idiot! You know how the Hyde is y/n! He’s a merciless murderer, what delusion did you come up with that made you think that you could stop him?”

Her voice came across weak, pathetic and broken as the grass beneath the imprints of her footfalls. She felt her undead heart fracture and crack under the intense emotional overload she was experiencing in that moment it became borderline suffocating. Her chest seemed to tighten with every rasp of breath that you took, it tightened even more so with every little spec of life that was drained from your eyes, each constriction was tighter then the last that Wednesday thought for certain that this was how she was going to die; of a broken heart.

“For you,” you stated weakly before turning away to cough up blood that splattered on the found next to you, staining it a deep pink, “for Enid, for Xavier, for Ajax, for Eugene, for everyone and anyone who has or will suffer because of it and as for revenge for those who have already been slain by it.” You reached a cold hand and pressed it against her own. Just as she suspected, your had was cold, too cold that ice might as well have run through your veins but that didn’t deter her in grasping your hand tightly; taking in the fact that you didn’t even flinch when she dug her nails into your skin.

You’ve already lost all feeling within your limbs at this point and calling out into the void for help was useless; in the end Wednesday was forced to watch as you began to go limp in her arms and as your breathing stopped, Wednesday finally let loose a few tears that dropped down onto your cheeks where they crystallised from the cold. “You idiot,” she uttered under her breath as she pressed her forehead against your cold one, “you fucking idiot, acting the hero when nobody asked you to…why…goddamn it why.”

Wednesday broke from her nightmare with a gasp as she bolted up in her bed to see that she was no longer in the frigid woods where you died but the warm dormitory she shared with Enid, who was sleeping soundly across from her. It felt real…too real for her liking that Wednesday feared that it might be a vision of a future yet to come, one she couldn’t prevent; She felt something wet and warm trickling down her cheeks and reached a hand up to wipe away at it, awaiting to see the crimson of your blood smeared across the pads of her fingertips, only to find that she had been crying, both in her nightmare and in reality.

She lets out a unsteady sigh as she absentmindedly started to rub at her arms as though trying to rid herself of the phantom cold that still nipped at her skin even in her awoken state. Wednesday could still feel your cold body pressed in her arms that she would’ve thought that she had somehow carried your spirit over with her and now you were tasked with haunting her into insanity. The lines between her dreams, visions and reality has became too blurred for Wednesday’s liking that she found herself being pushed into sneaking out of her dorm by her fear and urge to know for definite that you weren’t out in those woods alone right now, marching towards your final battleground.

She had to know that you were safe, no, she needed to know the you were safe; She’d hunt you down and tie you to something if she must if it meant keeping you alive. So when she slipped past the door to your room, thankful for the privilege you got for having the entire dormitory to yourself. Wednesday was even more thankful that when she turned to look towards your bed and found that you had woken yourself up. “Wednesday? What’re you doing here you know Weems is going to blow a fuse if-“ you didn’t get to finish your sentence as Wednesday full on tackled you back into the bed, squeezing you tightly within her hug that only continued to constrict you against her as though you were a stress toy.

You were about to make a comment on how strong she was for someone of her stature and build, you quickly threw it out of the window when your whole body went rigid right as you felt something wet tricking down the side of your neck and collarbone followed by a series of sniffles; That’s when reality hit you, she was crying, Wednesday Addams was crying into your shoulder. You pressed a hand against her back, rubbing it comfortingly as you allowed her to practically concave your ribcage under the guise of relief, you’d happily die in her arms if that’s what it took to console her.

“Hey, what happened.” You asked her softly and just as you were getting use to having Wednesday in your arms, she was already pushing herself away from you, fury burning within her dark teary eyes as they looked at every inch of you like she was seeing a ghost. Her hands grasped at your face, fingers smoothing over your skin in certain areas, sighing in relief when what she was trying to find wasn’t there which only made you weepy even more. You knew that Wednesday gets visions now and then and how realistic they were but she handled them accordingly but you guessed that whatever she experienced tonight was even worse then her visions; a nightmare.

A nightmare that included you to some capacity and that made you fret over her well-being more so then how you personally felt about being within someone else’s nightmare, nor the questions you held about your position within them. “I had a nightmare, you died being an idiot and going after the Hyde alone, acting the self righteous hero.” Her words would be stung has the situation been a little different but with how tightly her hands gripped your face and the fear still running rampant in her heart, you couldn’t blame Wednesday for acting and feeling the way that she did. “Of course I’m an idiot but you know I would never do that shit if i knew it would only end up inexplicably hurting you.” You said softly as you press your head against hers, feeling her unsteady breathing as it brushed past your cheeks unevenly.

Wednesday was still frightened from what she witnessed and she wasn’t certain wether she was still in her dream or actually within reality with you. Her mind was frazzled and her emotions kept spiking out of control as her chest began to mimic that constricting feeling she felt within her nightmare. She didn’t know what to do and she didn’t dare close her eyelids in fear of seeing your dead eyes staring at her almost accusatory and on top of all that, she felt like she couldn’t get a single ounce of breath within her lungs from her overwhelming anxiety. You took one of her hands from your face and placed it to where your heart was located, “you feel that? That’s how you know I’m alive. I’m right here Wednesday, I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to and right now you need to know that I’m still alive, that I’m still here.”

You told her as you squeezed her hand tightly so that she could feel your bodily warmth burn into the back of her hand. “This isn’t a sick dream is it?” Your heart broke for Wednesday, seeing the next batch of tears welling in her eyes as the hand that gripped your heart tightened it’s hold on your shirt. You prepped kisses into her forehead and hair as you managed to draw her closer into your chest, watching how she practically closed herself within you; her face replaced her hand as it was firmly pressed against your heart and her arms quickly clung themselves to your back as her nails clawed the fabric of your shirt. “No, even if it was I’d let you kill me for lying to you. Now shall we attempt to go back to sleep?”

“Please.” Wednesday whispered against your chest and you somehow managed to tuck the pair of you back into your bed, throwing the covers over both of you as sleep then drifted you back into it’s realm where you and Wednesday were lying in the frosted flakes woods together, warmly clothed and alive.

#Wednesday x reader #Wednesday x you #Wednesday fic #Wednesday fanfic #Wednesday imagines #Wednesday imagine #Wednesday Addams x reader #Wednesday Addams x you #Wednesday Addams fic #Wednesday Addams fanfic #Wednesday Addams imagine #Wednesday Addams imagines

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mads-nixon · 4 months

Text

See the Good

Eugene Sledge x Medic!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Merry Christmas @iceman-kazansky!! I literally squealed when I saw I got you as my giftee! I loved your prompts, and I hope you like what I did with them!! I'm going to post one gift per day so that they'll be a little spaced out! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of k company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Prompt: “You always see the good in people. Even me.”

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: When Gene can only see himself as the terrible things he's done in the war, (y/n) is right there to remind him who he really is.

Warnings: descriptions of dead bodies (non-graphic)

OKINAWA, JAPAN: MAY, 1945:

The ground beneath their boots trembled, and the deafening whistles of mortars filled the air as (y/n) and the rest of K Company ran for cover. They sunk into the muddy sludge below them, turning each step into a battle against the sucking earth. Gripping her corpsman pack with white knuckles, (y/n) followed Gene, not daring to stop in the barrage.

“They have us targeted!” Burgie yelled, hurdling over a giant boulder in his path. “Get to cover!”

Just as (y/n) ran past the remnants of a demolished shed, a sudden blast threw her violently to the ground, sending a cascade of mud in all directions. Her ears rang with disorientation as she blinked slowly, struggling to regain her senses. The ringing faded into a muffled whine and a face appeared in (y/n)‘s vision. Although the figure’s face was blurred, she knew it was Eugene. His mouth moved rapidly, but she couldn’t understand a word he said. Realizing this, he quickly grasped the front of her uniform and hoisted her to her feet, throwing an arm around her waist to keep her upright as they bolted for cover.

Reaching the rocks, (y/n)‘s hearing slowly faded back, and the sounds of booming artillery reached her ears.

Sledge pulled on her arm, helping her over the rugged terrain. “Come on. We’re almost there!”

Finally reaching the safety of cover, the company continued farther into the rocks to escape the barrage. Snafu was in front of them and on the verge of a panicked breakdown.

“This is bullshit!” he cried, plopping down on a rock. “If I ever find the FO that called that arty, I’ll shoot him!”

Gene maintained his hold on (y/n) as he led them toward a big rock, his frustration evident. “They’ll just do it again,” he huffed, gritting his teeth. “All because some asshole officer read a map wrong and nobody gives a shit about us!”

After he sat (y/n) on the boulder beside Snafu, Eugene took a deep breath and sank beside her. He turned to the dazed woman beside him, her once white corpsman armband a brown and muddy mess. “You alright?” he asked her, knowing even he himself wasn’t alright after what happened before the shelling.

The woman and her baby…

(Y/n) nodded slowly, her eyes rising from the ground to meet his. ”Yeah. Just got my bell rung. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Sledge persisted.

“Yes, Gene. I’m okay,” she murmured wearily, rubbing her eyes. “Really.”

Removing her helmet, she threaded her fingers through her (y/h/c) hair, wincing at the dried mud that pulled at the roots. Over their time on the dreadful island, they all discovered that the jungle was just as much an enemy as the Japs.

Snafu stared wide-eyed at the ground below him, hands on his head as his chest heaved. His expression was the same one that each marine wore as they grappled with the massacre they’d just witnessed.

What country uses its own civilians as shields for a surprise attack?

As a corpsman, (y/n) had seen more death than the average marine, and after the fierce fighting on the islands of Peleliu and Pavuvu, she was struggling to remain afloat in the vast ocean of numbness that threatened to drown her. The only thing keeping her above water were her boys, the men of K Company: Sledge, Snafu, Burgin, and De L’eau, although Jay had been transferred to intelligence. They’d lost so many good men, and it made her even more thankful for the guys who had always been there for her.

“Corpsman up front!”

The call snapped (y/n) from her thoughts, and she quickly rose, momentarily losing her balance until a strong hand grasped her upper arm, holding her steady. She felt the warmth of his hand through her thin ODs as he held her in place, accompanied by a blush creeping up her neck.

“(Y/n)-” Gene started.

Shrugging him off gently, she turned toward the call. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Be careful,” he whispered after her, watching her form disappear into a sea of olive-green uniforms. With another deep breath, Sledge sat back down, trying to calm his still-racing heart. She had been right behind him…until she wasn’t. Panic had gripped him when he saw her motionless figure in the mud as the artillery rained down around them. When she opened her eyes, he felt a weight lift off his chest.

Rain drenched the marines through the night as they held their position looking up to the ridge. Around 2000HRS the next day, (y/n) trudged back to her squad, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Dried blood clung to her cracked hands, refusing to wash away, no matter how many times she’d scrubbed them raw. The casualties were unending like the rain that constantly poured on them. Luckily, the downpour had come to a stop in the early morning.

She’d been at the BAS since the previous afternoon treating and evacuating wounded marines from the already bloody battle. Continued artillery and fire throughout the day brought a steady stream of bleeding men through the tent’s entrance. One of these men had been Bill Leyden. He wasn’t in good shape, and when (y/n) saw the damage on her friend’s body, the air rushed from her lungs. After pushing away the panic, she quickly helped other corpsmen stabilize him, before sending him off to a hospital ship. As she watched him go, her heart sank at the realization the company had lost another man…another friend.

“Hey Doc,” Snafu called out gently as she approached.

She looked up from her feet at the man with a tired smile. “Hey, Snaf,” she whispered. “You seen Gene?”

Motioning over his shoulder, Snafu replied, “He’s right over there. But, Bill…“

“Yeah,” she sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We got him stabilized. He should make a full recovery. Lost a few fingers, though.”

In a trance-like state, Snafu nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. It was something they all did. A way to escape the horrors they lived through. With a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, (y/n) moved to find Sledge, but the Cajun’s voice stopped her.

“Eugene. He got a letter…his dog died.”

She turned to face him with raised brows. “Deacon?”

“I guess,” the man nodded. “I think he’s bothered more than he’s letting on. You know how Eugene is.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to him.”

She found him staring into space ahead of him as he sat up against one of the island’s many rocks. Before she approached, (y/n) simply watched the man before her. She could see his growing stubble and the mud that splattered his cheeks, but what worried her was the blank expression on his face. She longed to see the lopsided smile that used to hang from his lips. (Y/n) didn’t know how long it had been since she’d seen that smile…too long.

Pulling her satchel off her shoulder, she quietly approached him and slouched down beside him. They sat silently for a moment, the warmth of their touching shoulders spreading through them. Gene was the first to break the silence.

“Did you see Bill?” he asked quietly, his eyes still glued on the rocks in front of him.

(Y/n) nodded, looking up at him with a small smile. “Yeah, he’s gonna be okay.”

Gene leaned his head back against the ground with a thud, his eyes closed as a shuttering sigh escaped his lips. She sat up off the rock and turned toward him, gently taking his hand.

“I’m sorry about Deacon.”

The second her fingers intertwined with his, Sledge’s heartbeat accelerated, and the man felt heat spread through his body. He took a moment to compose himself before he opened his eyes. He looked down at their intertwined hands before meeting her concerned gaze.

In that moment, Eugene could have sworn she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It didn’t matter that she was coated in blood, mud, and sweat. She was there for him like nobody else had ever been in his whole life. Sure, he was close with his parents, but he felt they never completely understood him.

Who’d have thought that he’d have to travel almost eight thousand miles to find someone who could do so?

Eugene’s eyes flashed down to her lips, unable to control himself as their closeness made him suddenly bold. He always wondered what they’d taste like. How they’d feel against his. They were chapped, just like everyone else's, but that didn’t matter. The young man wanted a way to show her how much she meant to him. Sure, there had been moments where he told himself he was going to kiss her, but the moment ended before he had the opportunity. Something in the moment felt wrong, though, and he decided to wait once more.

“Thank you,” he whispered, swallowing thickly as he tried to regain his composure and keep the memories of his beloved dog at bay. “He was a good dog.”

“How old was he? 10? 11?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “10.”

The woman’s eyes searched his face, trying to get a read of what he needed from her. She saw pain in his hazel eyes. Pain from the loss of Bill. Pain from the loss of Deacon. Pain caused by the war.

She decided he needed some hope. Some laughter.

“Did I tell you about the time Snaf and I almost got caught stealing from an Army captain?”

Later that day, Gene and the rest of his squad sat among the rocks, each lost in their mind. (Y/n) was beside him, writing in her journal, and they were doing the same…all except Peck, who was attempting to dig a foxhole in the soaked ground. Since the day they arrived on the wretched island, Sledge kept up with how many days they spent there with tallies in the back of his Bible. With the days running together, they rarely knew what day it was or how long they’d been there.

“What’s the date?” Burgie asked, putting down his small journal.

The group turned to Gene, who took a deep breath. “June 5th, maybe. Might be the 6th.” He turned to (y/n). “(Y/n/n), which one you got?”

“I have no idea,” she sighed. “I gave up keeping track a while ago.”

Peck decided to chime in as he dug. “We’re never getting off this island.”

Everyone was thinking it, but he was the one person who dared to speak it aloud.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, glancing over at Gene with an annoyed expression. If looks could kill, Peck would be six feet deep from the redhead’s glare. His jaw clenched tightly, and his chest began to heave as he stared at the replacement.

Sensing his rising anger, (y/n) reached over and placed a hand on his thigh. His eyes moved to meet hers, and her (y/e/c) irises seemed to whisper, ”He’s not worth it,” and, “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Gene took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Beating the crap out of Peck wouldn’t bring Bill back, and letting anger consume you was a dangerous game. Every time he was tempted to let it in, (y/n) was right there, a soft presence telling him that hate was not the answer. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted daily. Sledge had seen what men could do to each other. He had seen what the Japs did to his friends.

Looking away from Gene, she was met with a strange stare from Snafu, who was smoking a cigarette and sitting on their makeshift toilet. His gaze was questioning, but not criticizing. When the man’s eyes drifted down to her hand, her stomach dropped, and she felt like she was caught red-handed. (Y/n) quickly removed her hand from Gene’s leg and shot to her feet.

“I’m gonna go-uh-do some rounds,” she announced, not daring to look at Gene or Snafu.

A few seconds later, she went treading through the sludge, her corpsman satchel pressed tightly to her side. The men all watched in confusion as she left, unsure what had made her so jumpy all of a sudden.

“She alright?” Hamm asked once she’d disappeared from view.

Burgie, always an observer, glanced over at Sledge to watch his reaction. He looked somewhat like a kicked puppy. Wrapping up his Bible, Gene began to tuck it into his pocket without a word.

“Don’t worry about (y/n), Hamm,” Burgie replied with a nod.

Hamm raised an eyebrow at his sergeant. “But did you see her-”

“She’s fine,” Snafu interrupted, pulling up his pants and rejoining the group. “Besides, she’s already got someone to worry about her.”

At the statement, Eugene froze, a cold chill running through him despite the heat. A million thoughts ran rampant in his mind.

Is there someone else in her life?

Does he know something I don’t?

Does he know how I feel?

Groaning, Burgie smacked the Cajun’s shoulder. “Shut up, Snaf. Don’t go starting crap.”

The sergeant first noticed the bond between Sledge and (y/n) back in training, but especially when the company landed on Peleliu. They always stuck by one another when they could, and she seemed to help calm the Marine amid his anxiety. As time went on and their relationship changed, Romus knew they had feelings for one another, even if they didn’t admit it. He’d never spoken about it to anyone, fearing it could become a rumor that would possibly get the pair in trouble if they ever acted on their feelings. Hearing Snafu insinuate something between them sent a pang of panic through him.

“We all worry about (y/n),” he continued. “But she’s a great corpsman. She can hold her own.”

Before he could finish his sentence, Eugene rose to his feet and went to take a leak. He did have to relieve himself, but he also wanted to get away from the conversation. If Snafu knew about how he felt, the man would never stop tormenting him. Even if it was in a joking way, Gene didn’t want to be the subject of Shelton’s teasing.

Just as he made it to a somewhat secluded spot, he heard Mac’s voice ring out from above him.

“I need a stovepipe boy up top!” he yelled, coming down from the ridge.

Gene slightly ducked his head behind a rock, hoping the lieutenant would miss him. To his dismay, Mac caught his movement in the corner of his eye.

“Sledge, that’s you. Bring some comm wire.”

Sighing when his superior disappeared over the ridge, he muttered, “Yes, sir,” and went to follow his orders.

The stench of excrement and death permeated the air as (y/n) walked through their temporary camp checking on the men. Her eyes watered from the smell, and it took all her willpower not to gag. Even though she’d built a great tolerance to gruesome sights and smells over her time as a corpsman, sometimes it all got to her.

Snafu’s stare replayed in her mind, and she hoped that she didn’t accidentally give herself away to the group. Worry buzzed in her stomach like the disgusting flies that seemed to be ever-present among the mud and filth of Okinawa. (Y/n) tried to busy her mind with the long list of men to check on, but she couldn’t focus more than a few moments before getting lost in her head again.

Spotting a man on her list, she called out to him.

“Hey, James,” she greeted, approaching his muddy foxhole. “How’s the ankle?”

He groaned and shook his head. “As good as it’s gonna be, Doc.”

In the barrage the day prior, the private slipped and rolled his ankle in the mud trying to get to cover. He insisted he was fine, but some of his squadmates sent (y/n) to check on him. Henry James was a stubborn young man who wasn’t even old enough to drink, yet he was on a foreign island in Southeast Asia fighting for his country…fighting to survive. She crouched beside his hole, inspecting the ankle that was elevated above the entrance.

“Were you able to stay off it much?” (y/n) asked, gently prodding the bruised skin.

“A buddy of mine took my OP shift so I didn’t have to walk around on it. It’s more stiff than anything.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “That’s how ankles are. They’re tough-”

Her voice came to a stop as yelling filled the air. It wasn’t cheers of victory or anything of that nature. They were cries of attack…of desperation…of death. The second the sound registered in her mind, she was darting toward the ridge, hoping to get there before the shooting started in case someone got hit. The rapid beating of her heart filled her ears as she ran through the mud and past battle-weary marines. A few of them called out to her, but she didn’t hear them.

The first ping of an M-1 being fired echoed through the air as she made it to the base of the rocky ridge. Cursing under her breath, she quickly began her ascent. Finding the most solid footing, she climbed the hill, using the jagged rocks as handholds. Gunfire filled the air, silencing the screams of the enemy. (Y/n) was out of breath when she made it to the top, but she didn’t stop. Most of the fire had stopped, but a few shots still rang out.

At the moment the corpsman reached the other marines at the top of the ridge, her heart sank at the sight of Eugene unholstering his revolver and aiming at a wounded Jap.

“Cease fire!” Mac cried from the other side of the ridge. “Cease fire!”

Gene didn’t care.

“Damn, Sledge. Leave him,” Hamm muttered to the redhead.

Whipping around to face him, Eugene scowled. “What for? He’s a Jap, ain’t he?”

(Y/n) watched in horror as Gene opened fire on the man already wallowing in the mud. He missed the first two shots, but the third hit its mark, hitting the Jap just above his hip. The soldier sunk into the mud face down, his writhing coming to an end.

“Cease fire!” The Lieutenant repeated as he neared them. “Cease fire, damn it!”

Satisfied with his work, Sledge grabbed his rifle from beside Hamm and turned to descend the ridge. When he noticed (y/n) a few yards away, he froze for a moment, his eyes resembling a dark storm cloud that could start down pouring any second. Guilt seemed to cloud his usual hazel eyes, and he looked away, unable to stay steady beneath her gaze after what he’d just done. He then continued down the ridge.

Mac was quick to confront him, gripping his carbine in one hand with white knuckles.

“I told you to cease fire. What are you doing?”

The private spun to face Mac with gritted teeth.“Killing Japs,” he seethed, turning to go down the hill again.

Before he could get far, the lieutenant spoke again. “You just gave away our position!”

“I think they’ve got a pretty good idea of where we are,” Gene chuckled bitterly.

Mac pointed toward the dead Japs. “I told you to cease fire. You’re supposed to be observing, and then I see you with a damn sidearm!

“We were all sent here to kill Japs, weren’t we?” Sledge screamed, climbing back up to be nose-to-nose with his lieutenant. “So what the hell difference does it make what weapon we use?”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but flinch at Gene’s sudden outburst. She’d never seen him like this before, and she wondered what made him finally break. What was the straw that broke the camel’s back? What had happened in the five minutes she was gone?

A tear streaked down her cheek seeing the man she cared about more than anything giving in to the war. Seeing a man be reduced to a shell of who he once was was always heartbreaking, and (y/n) didn’t realize just how much until she witnessed him finally crack.

“I’d use my damn hands if I had to,” he whispered to a frozen Mac, who clenched his jaw and slowly walked past him. (Y/n) was quick to try and follow Gene once he stormed down the hill, but a gentle hand on her shoulder held her back.

It was Burgin, his face scrunched with concern. “Let ‘em cool off, (y/n/n).”

“Romus, he-”

“I know what he means to you,” he interrupted in a whisper as he glanced around them for any eavesdroppers. “But trust me. You need to leave him be for a little bit. Let him think.”

(Y/n) swallowed thickly. “Please don’t tell anyone, Burgie. I could be-”

“Your secret’s safe with me…He needs you, (y/l/n), but give him a few hours.”

Releasing a shuddering breath, her gaze dropped to the ground. “He was fine when I left. What happened?”

“I don’t know. But we did hear him hollering about something right before he went up top.”

“Thanks for everything, Burg,” she sighed, patting his shoulder softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and the guys.”

A sheepish smile grew on his face, and he chuckled under his breath. “You’d be a lot more ladylike, that’s for sure. The other day, I’m pretty sure I saw you smoking Sledge’s pipe.”

“Whatever,” she groaned, rubbing a hand down her dirty face. “A lot of women actually smoke, ya know?”

The rest of the afternoon did not go according to (y/n)‘s plan, and she was unable to check on Gene after he cooled down. Within an hour of his outburst, she was called back to the field hospital to assist in an all-hands-on-deck emergency following a Jap ambush. The corpsman was up to her elbows in blood, bowels, and every other bodily fluid from vomit to urine. It was a hard night, and it got even worse when a terrible rainstorm moved in, trapping her from returning to her company due to poor visibility.

(Y/n) spent the night, and most of the next day, helping around the hospital. She dressed wounds, administered pain meds, and helped transport men to the hospital ships on a Jeep. A radio call was received that told of the 1st Marine’s plans to take the ridge, and (y/n) knew she needed to be there.

She caught a ride to the ridge just in time for the assault. The men were checking their weapons and quietly conversing with each other as she walked through the various companies. When she reached her squad, however, silence filled the air. They all had thousand-yard stares, and the group was missing two guys who had been there the day before. Her pace slowed as she approached them.

“Hey, guys,” (y/n) said softly, her eyes flicking from man to man. When none of them acknowledged her, she knew something bad had happened. “Where’s Hamm and Peck?”

Silence.

She took a deep breath, trying not to imagine the worst. “Please, guys, whe-”

“Gone,” Gene interrupted harshly, his gaze snapping to hers. “Hamm's dead and Peck’s gone. He cracked.”

(Y/n) felt the all-too-familiar punch of grief knock the air from her lungs. Eugene’s hazel eyes were dark and stormy, even more so than the previous day. She swallowed thickly, attempting to push down the emotion that clogged her throat.

“What happened?” she asked shakily, her eyes never leaving Gene’s.

Before he could respond, Snafu spoke. “Doesn’t matter. They’re gone.”

“Shelton’s right,” Burgin added. “It’s hard, but we’ve got other things to focus on.”

(Y/n) nodded once and dropped her gaze to the group, blinking away the tears that burned her eyes. Two more of their group were gone. Sure, Peck wasn’t her favorite person by any means, but he was still part of their company….on their side. And Hamm…he was a kid. A kid who deserved better than to die in the mud on some foreign island.

They all deserved better.

“Let’s move out!” Mac announced, waving for them to follow.

Each man followed suit, but Eugene hung back to wait on (y/n). Seeing her tear-filled eyes, he instantly regretted opening his mouth. The anger within him seemed to dissipate momentarily as he joined her side.

“Remember, you’ve got a bullseye on your arm,” he murmured, gesturing to the red and white medic brassard on her arm. “Please be careful.”

“I will.” (Y/n) lifted her helmet to look up at him through her lashes. “You take care of yourself, too, alright?”

“Yes ma’am,” he whispered, admiring her features. His eyes trailed from her eyes down to her nose, and then to her lips before flicking back to her (y/e/c) eyes. They stayed locked in each other’s gaze for a few moments, their eyes seeming to have a silent conversation communicating everything that was left unsaid. Gene slowly reached up to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. The racing of (y/n)‘s heart wasn’t from the artillery that had begun hammering the ridge, but Eugene’s warm caress against her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed at the gentle touch.

They both wished the moment could last forever.

Another yell from Mac shattered the moment, leaving (y/n) missing the tenderness of his hand in its absence.

“I’ll find you after,” he said, turning around and backpedaling to catch up with his squad. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

The corner of her lips quirked into a smirk. “I’ll leave that to you.”

Once the battle had died down and all the remaining Japanese were either killed or taken prisoner, (y/n) went searching for Gene. When the bullets began to fly, she couldn’t get the boy from Mobile off her mind, and anxiety churned in her stomach as she looked for him. The stench of gasoline, blood, and burnt flesh filled the air along her ascent to the ridge. Bodies of both marines and the enemy lined the narrow path up the hill, and her eyes scanned each one, praying that none of them were the men she’d come to love dearly.

“Burgie, you seen Sledgehammer? He was just over here.”

Hearing the familiar Cajun accent, she spun toward the voice and sighed in relief when she saw Snafu atop an old bunker, his legs swinging as he sat on the edge with a cigarette hanging from his lip. Romus was talking to another sergeant a few feet away, his rifle swung around his shoulder.

“There you are!” (Y/n) called out, reaching up and slapping Snafu’s foot. It was all she could reach from his elevated position on the concrete bunker. “You alright?”

He smiled and raised an eyebrow, blowing a puff of smoke into the humid air. “Not a scratch on me,” he mused. “I don’t know where Eugene is, but don’t worry, I just saw him. He’s okay, too.”

With this news, a wave of calm washed over her, and she let out the breath she’d been holding since they parted. “Thanks, Snaf. I’ll find him.”

“Have fun,” he laughed, waving his cigarette around in front of him. “And do me a favor and fuc-”

This caught Burgie's attention. “Hey!” He interrupted, scolding Snafu like he was a parent whose child was acting up in public. “Cut it out.”

Busting out laughing, Snafu winked at (y/n), who could feel the embarrassment creeping up her cheeks at his intended comment. She raised a hand and flipped him off with a grin before continuing her search for Gene.

It took her a few minutes of wandering to spot his familiar frame among the sea of dirty green uniforms, but when she did, a huge smile painted her face. (Y/n) almost called out to him, but something stopped her.

He was sitting alone on the busted remains of a bunker with his helmeted head in his hands, his weapon lying idle in the dirt beside him. She continued toward him slowly, observing the gentle shake of his shoulders that told her he was crying.

“Hey, Gene,” (y/n) murmured with a softness that matched the gravity of the moment, lowering herself onto the earth beside him. He reacted quickly, averting his gaze and hiding his face as he wiped the tears from his dirt-covered cheeks.

Reaching over, she softly turned his face toward her. After a moment of resistance, he gave in to her gentle touch. His eyes, glistening with unshed tears, met hers. (Y/n)‘s fingertips traced the dirt-streaked paths on his cheeks, her touch a soothing escape from the horror they lived in.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, ducking to meet his eyes. “I’m here.”

Gene’s lip began to quiver, and a stifled sob escaped him as he covered his face with trembling hands. “I’m a monster, (y/n). The things I’ve done…” he strained, moving away from her comforting touch.

(Y/n) watched the play of emotions on his face as he stood up abruptly, throwing an arm out to point to a bombed-out building. The skeletal remains of what once was a home loomed in the smoky haze. “There was a family in there. Now a baby with grow up without a family! I called in the mortars up there! I did that! I’m a monster!”

“No,” she shot up, her voice cutting him off. “You are not a monster, Eugene Sledge. We are at war. We’ve all done terrible things here, but it does not make you a monster. The fact that you’re feeling like you are proves you’re not. It means you’re human, Gene.”

Another tear streaked down his cheek as he clenched his teeth. “After Bill and everyone we’ve lost, I wanted to get them back. I wanted to. You saw me yesterday!”

“Eugene! Look at me!” she ordered, cupping his cheeks as she implored his attention. His gaze wandered everywhere but her face until she spoke again, her tone much softer this time. “Hon, please look at me.”

Tear-filled hazel eyes met hers, and she tugged him a little closer, they’re faces only inches apart. “We all want to get them back. You are not a monster.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he croaked, more tears spilling down his cheeks. “What if this is who I am now?”

“I know exactly who you are. You are Eugene Bondurant Sledge. You’re still that same boy from Mobile, Alabama who loved his dog more than anything, the same one who loved to fish with his father, and the very same one who I fell in love with before we even stepped foot on foreign soil.”

A sob escaped his lips, and his eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed by her words. “There’s no way you can love me like this. You deserve someone else who-”

“I don’t love anyone else, Gene!” she urged, tears stinging her eyes. “I love you, and I’ll say it over and over, every single day, for as long as it takes to make you believe me.”

Shaking his head, he tried to break free from her touch, but she held on. “I’m not a good man.”

“You are good, Eugene. You are a good man. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, but it’s how we respond to them that makes us who we are. This right here? It proves you’re a good man.”

Her words seemed to break through in his mind, and he froze for a moment. Pulling off his helmet, he moved (y/n)‘s hands from his face and cupped her cheeks, his red eyes still glossy. “I love you,” he murmured, voice wavering. “And I will spend the rest of my life working to be worthy of you if you’ll let me.”

The tears (y/n) had been holding back filled her eyes, a few of them trickling from her waterline. She nodded in his gentle hold. “You already are.”

He wiped a few tears away softly, a lopsided smile forming on his lips. “You’re too good for this world, darlin’,” Gene cooed. “You always see the good in people. Even me.”

With utmost care, Gene reached up and removed (y/n)‘s helmet, her tousled (y/h/c) spilling out. The fading sun added a soft glow to their faces, emphasizing the exhaustion etched in their features. As he delicately held the helmet aside, Eugene’s eyes met (y/n)‘s, a silent understanding passing between them. He closed the gap, his breath mixing with hers as his eyes lingered on her face, taking in every detail-the mud smudges, the fatigue-as if memorizing each nuance.

With a gentle touch, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was a tender blend of longing and comfort, a quiet promise to stay by the other’s side. In that moment, the world around them ceased to exist. Time slowed as they embraced, finding solace in the simple act of being together at last. The sounds of war faded into the background, replaced by the gentle symphony of two hearts seeking refuge in the warmth of each other’s touch.

#hbowarsanta23 #i hope you liked it!!#hbo war #the pacific #hbowar #the pacific x reader #the pacific imagines #the pacific imagine #eugene sledge #eugene sledgehammer sledge #eugene sledge x reader #eugene sledge x medic!reader #gene sledge #sledgehammer #eugene sledge imagines #snafu shelton #merriell shelton #ww2

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stagbeetleboy · 1 month

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You know I knew what to expect with the dune books but I did not anticipate the sheer scale of galactic eugenics and it’s effects on the world building.

The books are so clear where the movie (I’ve seen the first one) is muddy and more interested in scifi spectacle and aesthetics.

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meenah · 1 year

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hm you know what. i think the reason its important to understand homestuck’s trolls are fundamentally a thematic worldbuilding and not like a logical one is because the point is that their society is based on eugenics and it is going to be a broken society no matter the context because its hyperbolizing why and how eugenics is bad. like the point is that you cannot fix troll society. its fictional aliens there to get across the concept “hey maybe saying people are predisposed to be in any sort of position over another is going to lead to something really, truly awful.” usually i wouldn’t give homestuck’s writing enough credit to say it was intending this but it’s hard not to say that was intentional when the same exact damn thing happens with beforus. this point definitely gets muddied in the latest texts of homestuck however (cough tavros handing over the ghost army cough).

#grace post #eugenics cw

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footprintsinthesxnd · 5 months

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Young Love and Old Money

Summary: this series follows the story of Lewis Nixon and Josephine Wills and their trials, tribulation and love throughout WW2, including stories of their friends in between. Warnings: swearing, mentions of war, heartbreak.

Masterlist Moodboards

Aldbourne May 1944

Josie hadn’t been able to face watching the trucks leave. As soon as Lewis had told her of the 506 impending departure from Aldbourne she felt as though her life was over. Just a short five months ago she had been walking down a flower-lined altar to marry the love of her life and now she could be losing him forever. Time with Lewis had been few and far between, as the intelligence officer he was often away sorting out plans and ensuring that the invasion would go off as smoothly as possible considering the circumstances. Civilians weren’t meant to know the invasion plans but Lewis trusted Josie implicitly and she was sworn to secrecy. She felt as though if she knew what was to unfold it would make their parting easier but it didn’t. If anything it made the whole situation worse because she now knew that her husband would be throwing himself out of a situation plane over Normandy probably under fire from German artillery. What’s not to worry about?

The trucks had been rumbling by since the early hours when Josie still lay in bed, cold and alone as she stared at the bare ceiling. Lewis had stayed at the barracks that night so he was on hand and could depart with the others so he had said his goodbyes to her that afternoon. Even though they both knew it was coming, nothing could have made it easier. To Josie, this was the last straw. Jess had already been shipped overseas and was working at an aid station in France. Lewis, Dick, Eugene, George and Julian were all shopping off for the Normandy invasion. Will was off flying God knows where. All of a sudden Josie felt truly alone.

“I’ll be back in no time Josie. Sink has promised 3 days and nights of fighting and we will be relieved. I’ll be back in Aldbourne before you even have time to miss you,” Lewis reassured her, peppering her cheeks with sloppy kisses that caused a small smile to break upon her lips.

“But I already miss you, Lew and you haven’t even left,” Josie knew she sounded pathetic and whiny but she didn’t care. Her husband was leaving her for his potential impending doom, she had every reason to be upset.

“I know. I miss you too but you knew this was coming. We all did but I promise I’ll always find my way back to you,” Lewis chipped her cheek tenderly, his wedding band feeling cold and familiar against her skin. Josie could recall so many nights with their hands in twined, her fingers running over the gold band. It amazed her how something so simple could signify so much. She only hoped that over in Normandy her love could still protect him as if she still had him in her arms, tucked up in their bedroom in Aldbourne.

As for Lewis, he knew far more than he was letting on, the perks of being an intelligence officer one could suppose, but he wasn’t about to let Josie know that. He didn’t want to worry her, knowing that she had more than just him to worry about in this fight. For a start, he’d have to find a way to keep George and Julian as far away from any potential trouble as possible. As for Jess, Lewis had already contacted the field hospital she was at and asked the medical officer there to inform him of any planned movements or relocation of staff. Even if he couldn’t be there for his wife he was going to make damn sure he’d protect those she loved at all cost.

Normandy 6th June 1944

The Sherman lurched and cranked its way down the muddy farm track, its large caterpillar treads churning the mud beneath them, gouging deep into the ground. The incessant whistling and wiring was getting on Lewis’ nerves and he was beginning to regret his decision to hitch a ride with the 2nd Armoured Division straight off of Utah beach. Lewis felt his body rock back and forth and the tank trundled downwards towards the old farm buildings where the 506 had gathered. A familiar redhead appeared on the side of the road and he called out to the tank commander to stop the convoy. Lewis smiled down at Dick who was still sporting his blackened face from the D-Day drop.

“Going my way?” He called out, watching a small smirk appear on Dick’s lips.

“Sure.”

Lewis helped Dick climb up beside him, warning him not to hurt himself which caused Dick to shove him lightly and the pair laughed as the tank convoy continued down the track.

“So, how was your jump?” Lewis asked, watching as his friend thought over the previous night's escape.

“Can’t complain. Lost my M1 and my leg bag snapped so until I found the rest of Easy I was with a kid called Hall.” Nixon looked on sympathetically as Dick recalled taking the gun batteries at Brecourt Manor. Lewis enjoyed his job as Intelligence Officer but he sometimes felt as though he wasn’t really in the fight, although from the recollections of other soldiers, he was glad to be further from the front at times.

“How did you leave things with Josie?” Dick asked, as they clambered down from the Sherman and thanked the crew for their lift.

“She was upset. She didn’t come to watch the trucks leave but we said our goodbyes. I promised her it would only be three days and nights but I’m beginning to feel like that was just a moral boost.” Dick laughed in agreement. Neither of them could believe that they had dropped into Normandy just for the so-called ‘three days and nights of hard fighting’ to then be relieved.

London July 1944

Josie sighed, stepping quickly down the concrete steps of the Royal London Hospital, her heels tapping rhythmically as she hurried towards the bus stop. She had completed her final day of training with the Voluntary Aid Detachment. Seven long weeks of hard training in first aid, home nursing and medical hygiene had all led to this moment and having completed her final examination she was officially part of the VAD. Josie had signed up shortly after Lewis left, ‘well there was no point sitting at home and moping,’ she had thought as she posted her application the morning of Easy Company’s departure from Aldbourne.

Josie clutched her hand tightly around her handbag, ensuring it didn’t blow open as she hurried down the bustling London streets. The letter for Lewis and her call-up papers were neatly enclosed. She had written to Lewis the previous night explaining everything that had happened since he’d left for Normandy. The VAD normally required a trial of one month working in a hospital and then three months of ‘hard work’ before being offered a full-time position in a hospital. However, with the number of casualties in Normandy and the demand for more nurses, Josie had completed further practical training in a London teaching hospital alongside her VAD training and had been one of a handful of women who were selected to ship out to Normandy.

A car horn behind her caused Josie to jump, spinning on her heels to come face to face with the familiar Austin and a cheerful pilot behind the wheel.

“Will?” She called, approaching the window as it rolled down and revealed the familiar face.

“Hello Jojo, where are you heading in such a hurry?” He smirked, leaning casually against the steering wheel. His blue eyes shone in the afternoon sun and were radiating light, unlike the eyes of the men Josie had been treating those last few weeks.

“I need to catch the bus. I’m heading back to Aldbourne tonight and if I miss this one I have to wait an hour for the next one and I won’t get home before dark,” Josie explained hurriedly, conscious that every minute she wasted talking to William was another minute she would be late for her bus.

“What’s the rush, Josie? Surely we could spend the evening catching up. I haven’t seen you since your wedding,” William gave her a pleasing look, a look he knew that Josie had never been able to resist.

“Okay, fine,” she opened the car door and hopped in, her summer dress causing her to slip against the car's leather seats. “One drink okay and then we need to head back to Aldbourne.”

“You have my word.”

William had always been a man of his word but as the two friends reminisced and caught up one drink turned into two, turned into three and by midnight they were walking arm and arm along the road to a hotel. Josie snorted loudly at something William had said and the pair fell through the grand, silver door of an expensive hotel.

Following Will to their respective rooms, Josie wandered up the lavish corridors that were clad with red, leather wallpaper and mirrors that were spaced a meter apart from each other. When they reached their hotel rooms opposite each other Josie turned, pushing a key into the lock and turning it. The door swung backwards on its hinges and revealed the darkened room.

“Well, this is me. I had a really lovely time tonight, Will. Thank you for taking my mind off everything,” she gestured around her with a sigh. Between Lewis leaving, constant bad news from France and her VAD training Josie had barely had time to stop and breathe.

“I had a really splendid time too,” Will admitted, leaning closer to Josie against the doorframe. “A really good time.” Josie felt William leaning towards her and without a second thought, she pushed him backwards, sending him stumbling over the hallway rug.

“William, stop! What I’m God's name do you think you’re doing?” Josie gasped, looking in utter horror at the man she had once called a friend. “Will, I trusted you.” She could feel hot tears polling in her eyes and trickling down her red cheeks, her mascara running in dark black smudges.

“Josie, I’m so sorry…” William stepped towards her but Josie raised her hand to stop him.

“How could you, William? I’m married.”

“Yes, but to the wrong man. You were always meant to marry me, ever since we were children. It was written in the stars.” William pleaded, his hands clasped out in front of him but Josie stepped backwards into her room, pulling the door closed with her.

“Good night, William.” She knew her voice sounded colder than she would have liked. William had been her friend for many years and had stood by her despite her parents but this was a step too far. Josie didn’t bother to turn on the lights, she fumbled her way across the room to the large double bed. She knew the covers would be lavish, everything about the place was grand and in normal circumstances Josie would have been exploring all the amenities of the room but not tonight. She fell like a rag doll onto a bed, her tears falling faster and heavier now as she sobbed into the sheets. Josie had felt alone ever since Lewis and her friends left for France but now she felt even more alone because she had lost her only remaining friend.

“I miss you, Lewis,” she sobbed, bawling her hands into her eyes like a child. “Please come home.”

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @desert-fern @mayhem24-7forever @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @hesbuckcompton-baby @sweetxvanixlla @ronsparky

#band of brothers #young love and old money #lewis nixon x oc #lewis nixon #oc band of brothers fic #band of brothers fics

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yeahcurrahhe-e · 10 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 ��𝐄

( 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐄?)

〚 𝐉. 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐁𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓 〛

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➛ mentions of blood/death, self-esteem issues

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 ➛ anonymous: I was wondering if I could make a request for Liebgott comforting a sweetheart who struggles with depression and self-esteem, -confidence issues, please? Maybe with Nrs 1 and 19 from the angst list and Nrs 17 and 16 from the happy list? — prompts used: “who did this to you ?" , “you look awful”, you're not alone. you never were” ,"i trust you, it's okay”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 was reamed with an overbearing tense silence.

The gargled breaths and pleas of Eugene Jackson had been its cruel predecessor, before he asphyxiated on his own bloodied implores beneath her hands as Roe and her scrambled to alleviate his airway.

In the oppressing construct of silence, she had no choice but to be privy to the tide of stares pooling around her whilst she discarded blood-spoiled rags into a bucket. They mocked her abilities. Her presence in the room, in the company, in the Airborne.

They could have started screaming at her, a deluge of acrimony not too unlike the German artillery that had dealt destruction to most of the town. They didn't have to, her crippled esteem was already aware of what they would say. Because she knew she was supposed to be better. And tonight, and too many times throughout their European campaign, she hadn't been.

"We'll bury him beside the others." Eugene passively muttered to Martin, accepting the grey blanket into his war-toiled hands, and draping the thin cloth over the young man's stagnant body.

The pair of downcast men glanced over to the female medic that knelt at Jackson's uncannily angled feet, tides of guilt, regret, and anger wading across her muddied face. Could they see right through me? was her acknowledgment of their stares, even as she remained deathly still and silent as the boy before her.

"I'll help you, Doc, Martin patted the dark-haired medic on his staunchly drawn shoulder, the gesture similarly wrenched with stiffness, then stepped with discretion towards Y/N.

The abrupt pressure from his grasp encompassing her forearm, jolted her from the isolation of mind-numbing anguish, her stature ricocheting with a sharp startle.

"Why don't you go take a rest? We'll get a medic from reserve duty to relieve 'ya, kid," his hands shifted as to pluck her upper arms to persuade her away, scrub herself of the ghastly disaster on her skin and OD’s.

"But, Jackson-" she blurted with a forlorn, uncharacteristic hush, haywire mind mainstreamed to the thought of the young boy's body finding its permanent tomb in this ravaged basement.

"Roe and I got him," Martin pursed his lips, a hair away from being a frown, "Go sleep, YIN."

Sleep? her sorrowful stare slanted over to him, a pinned gaze of bewilderment dealt forward. Sleep after a boy just suffocated on his own blood as he tearfully implored for me to not let him die?

Eugene Roe is now knelt on compact floor in front of her; as a fellow medic, he knew the anchoring feeling of defeat when a soldier couldn't be saved by them despite all the training they were equipped with, and how foolish it is to play God. How sleep, when it came, was fitful at best; it was only another landscape where those that had been laid to rest would find them, scream at them from beneath torn flesh and bullet holes.

"Go and get cleaned up. Heard they actually brought in some showers from battalion this mornin" his whisper was so gentle, regarding that now she was a disaster of tears and convoluted emotions; her headstrong mental barriers futile amidst a grieving mind.

"Okay;" the passive agreement was again uncharacteristic, an indication of a surrender to a grief she had staved off for months…years.

It was a typical tendency of Y/N Y/L/N to take anv part of her that was decaying, and cast it off as a ghost, something she'd never take a moment to mourn. She had the grace of moving on with certainty, standing tall and leading with steady nurture. She wasn't without her psychological cracks, he knew that, perhaps she was just better at subduing the surges of temptations that frisked about with each traumatic scar. And it was cruel to be one of the few who could iostle aside those feelings like a broom would a collecting of dust. Perhaps if you have blood on your hands often enough, your skin a canvas for the grot of the dead daily, and your hand tender from the many who have grasped it as if it would save them, you merely learn to dim the feelings like any anesthetic would.

After Eugene Jackson, the anesthetic now throbbed with dullness against a painful billowing of despair and anger in her nerves, draining through her rather than just skate over her skin.

And, as she traipsed numbly out of the basement, nostrils throbbing with death, she wondered with dread if this had been her breaking point - the final shard of her old self being ground into the Earth by Death himself as she had fought to save Jackson.

She may as well have been a dead girl walking as she trudged down the dirt path towards the depot of portable showers.

—

THE EMBLEM of first sergeant felt burdensome on her frayed uniform, as her grimy finger traced over the sewn patch, gaze fixated on an echo of herself in the shower's timeworn mirror.

The traces of a bygone, golden girl from Toccoa, lingered beneath the grime of the day, seeking to emerge with a tightness in her chest; bound around freely and not within the shackles of misery. Back when the world exhilarated her. Before a life at war rotted her soul.

Maybe she could have saved Eugene Jackson.

The reflection of a young woman with her hair gathered haphazardly beneath her helmet, eyes weaved with the whispers of unshed tears - was wholly and utterly a far cry from someone that could have. Jackson's glassy, lifeless eyes would forever remind her of such. Remind her that she was no good; just a killer. He saw right through her.

Hastily, as if to wrench herself away from mourning the girl and Jackson, she liberated her hair from the notorious ponytail she fixed it in, it now a soft glide down to her mid-back.

When she had enlisted, it was with an absence of peer pressure on her shoulders, it being an internal pressure to show everyone that a woman could do anything a damn man could. The repercussions of it all, had been gliding ghosts in her head when she filled out each line on the enlistment form, a stamp of approval from superiors ultimately separating her from a mainstream pathway to the Army. They had all commended her abilities, her response times, her grace and humility - everything a wounded soldier could pray for.

Somewhere amidst the ripped flesh, the blood as bright as any field-born poppy, and the shrieks for God's sparing, she lost all of it. She failed. And she didn't even know who to begin with in her solitary trek through remorse. Hoobler? Julian? Jackson?

The mirror shifted into a blur as she moved herself hastily around to discard her reflection, suppressing a hideous sob with a hurtful bite of her bottom lip. I failed him, and him, and him too.

Y/N hastened across the slimy floor of the washroom with an ache in her feet formally settling with each step, seeping right through to her bones.

She shed her filthy gear to the damp crevices of the tile, it being a heap of grot that couldn't possibly become more spoiled by any tendril of organic scum. The taunting melody of blame traipsed through her head like a rabbit of mockery, with each extraction of the blood-spoiled fabric from her skin. You failed. You failed. You killed those men - those boys!

Hastily, she wrenched the handle to permit a deluge of lukewarm water to pour over her tear-beaten face, the trickles of water alluring out goosebumps beneath scrapes and splotches of earth. The water ran over her skin like an earnest caress, tainting with the colors of the earth and innocent blood spilled, her teeth clenched with a hiss at what scrapes it was unearthing. Anything to dispel the tingle in her nose of an impending cry.

Despite the misery accompanying her in the lonely showers, she begrudgingly lowered her head to allow the water to beat on her neck in steamy rivulets. The subtle heat soaked into her skin, her muscles miles away from being merely cramped as the water felt like sparks and flickers on them.

The wilily snake of rebuke wined around her anguished mind, despite her longing for a ceasefire of the misery beneath the running water. They didn't want to die and you had promised they wouldn't. Their blood will always be on your hands. And here you are in your warm shower, while they're somewhere in the dirt, wishing they could feel anything else that wasn't absolute anguish. They all thought you were supposed to be the best. Look where that got 'em.

Harshly, she then yanked off the shower, the now chilled water barely exuding through the stampede of frenzy that homed itself in her brain.

Almost too belligerently and ruthlessly, did she then scrub the oval droplets of water from her skin with a flimsy towel. I know I failed. Scrub. I know I failed. Scrub. I know I failed. Scrub. I know I wasn't good enough. Scrub. I wasn't. Scrub.

And, perhaps, she never had been.

—

WAR'S SIGNATURE SYMPHONY accompanies the stark black night as her feet instinctively trace the path to the medic's billet. There's the crescendo of machine gun fire, the crooner of a mortar round, and then the subtle alto notes of a man screaming for his life.

She hated how it greeted her internal torment like an old friend, her footfalls anchored to the Earth as if her body was a magnet for misery that evening. It was an entirely new symphony, curated with the orchestra of those boys' screams, a percussion of the weapons that stole their youths, and a choir of her wounded esteem.

It had casted her so far from reality that she never heard the footsteps that curtly approached her, only surfacing in awareness when something heaved her abruptly backward.

She cast a hand down to pluck her utility knife from her belt before the individual seized her wrist, damn near twisting it to the extent of breaking. Her face scrunched, twisting around furiously so she could push them away despite her wrist's confinement.

"Nuh-uh, you don't get to save yourself," the soldier grunted against her resistance; he is evidently inebriated from some poached German alcohol, the stench of its mediocre quality on his breath and uniform. It's the amber liquid aflame in his nerves that now stokes his anger and resent towards her.

The soldier is a replacement; no more than eighteen. An eighteen-year-old who found himself in Death's watching gallery as his friend - Eugene Jackson - spasmed around from blood loss on the floor of a French basement.

And he's pissed at the world. At the war. At the superiors. At her.

Her chest was filled with this tightening feeling of misery as she whispers, "I did what I could, with what I had." Liar.

He knew it as well, bubbling frustrated with alcohol's poison driving her down to the gravel. She struck hard against it, chin skidding across its stony shards, abrading harshly against the sensitive skin. A careful hand came beneath it and she could sense the blood seeping down from the scrape. Don't feel sorry for yourself.

"Did 'ya now? Is that what you're gonna tell yourself - make your pathetic ass feel better about it?" he essentially snarled in her face, bowing over her pinned body with a complex only alcohol and despair could construct.

"I did my job, I did all I could!" her chest heaved like a woman possessed, a distant explosion rattling the ground beneath them. Bullshit! You killed that boy, beckoned an offending serpent from some corner of her subconscious - one that could see right through the words she pushed through gritted teeth.

"You can tell Winters that all 'ya want," he commenced with a flurry of smoky breath through his own gritted teeth, leaning down a hair closer to her now, "But we both know that Eugene Jackson died because of you - no bullshit about a lack of supplies or hands. It’s on you.”

Her limbs exerted no effort to shove him away, to mount an endeavor to flee. Because, she knew he was right.

She remained there, back constrained against the ground's muck, a macabre comparison to those boys that preyed upon her lame remnants of sanity. She let the soldier scream himself raw beneath the whistle of a mortar across the river, allow him to despise her in that seemingly eternal moment. Because, no matter how good of a medic - a soldier - she was drawn to be by superiors who would never fire a shot in this war, no matter how good the medicine, no matter the strategy, boys died. Died in flashes of a sniper, an ambush, red. She didn't want to move, gaze burning towards the young man, conversating wordlessly to extinguish her misery however his vengeance deemed fit. Do it. Before another boy dies because of me- before another mother loses her son because I wasn't good enough.

Dirt-powdered fingers clenched her cheeks, her frown molded into a restrained gasp at the blinding pressure exuding into her flesh,

"You ain't even worth a fucking bullet," he indifferently stated, words slicing rather than tumbling through the dry air.

He snatched away his unforgiving clasp from where it confined her flushed face, indents of his fingernails on the crimson-beaten skin.

There's the essence of a scowl on his face as it's glorified in the moonlight when he drew up his posture, a drunken influence in his stature.

"You shoulda just stayed home, with all the other broads. Woulda saved a lot of men," he snapped down at her through the evening briskness; his inebriated mind not dulling his talent to pluck at her confidence's last surviving shard, do away with it in a predictable mockery of her gender.

He then staggered away, seemingly satisfied, his silhouette vacating its obscurement of the moon's milky glow. The beams pirouette across her bloodied chin, the odd spasm of her limbs as her haywire mind can't quite comprehend the overwhelm that has it hostage.

All she knows, as the moonbeams sketched runways across her body cradled on the road, is that he was right.

—

BY SOME GRACE OF PITY, perhaps by God Himself, she hauled her body begrudgingly from the stone and with languid footfalls found her way through the doorway of a nearby billet.

She has the presumption that all the soldiers serving as its temporary inhabitants, would be in their bunks - buried about in their olive-colored Army blankets, hair tousled by flaccid pillows, mouths agape to occupy with smoky air. All none-the-wiser to her pitiful presence as she waded in the darkness of the ramshackle vestibule, minuscules of gravel on a bloodied chin and humiliated tears supple in her eyes.

One soldier wasn't. He had discarded his blanket twenty minutes prior, departing the upstairs barracks and not stirring even the lightest of Easy's sleepers, all too content to be in a bed that wasn't an icy foxhole.

And he watched her as she had lumbered through the front door, gravity awkwardly placed in her heels, for it seemed cumbersome to even take a step.

In the platinum betrayal of moonlight, he observed how it grazed over the dirt on the highs of her cheekbones, the laceration on her chin, and how she pinned her wrist to her chest in a lame cradle.

"You look awful,” the pipeline between thought and verbalization is nonexistent in Joe Liebgott's brain, as the observation stumbled out into the stale air nonchalantly.

The poor girl's hunched body emits a jolt, suggesting there was a erroneous assumption of solitude for her one-person pity party, and she turned towards him, almost as pale as the sky's nightly ornament.

"Jesus Christ, Joe," she exhaled hotly, squinting at her boyfriend as he held himself up in the doorway in a slump, face alight with splotches of blemish from burrowing it in the pillow overnight, chestnut hair tousled, and faintly resembling the coiffured up-do of the bygone day.

She felt horridly conscious of her disheveled appearance beneath his inquiring gaze. Can he see right through her? Does he know about Jackson - her failure?

"What happened?" he bowed his head in an indication towards her wounds on display in the moon's spotlight.

"Oh, this," she feigned nonchalance, it extending simultaneously to her tone and to the gesture she funneled forcefully through her bruised wrist. The corners of her eyes fleetingly crinkle at the soreness that twinged through the limb as she continued, "Just tripped while carrying some new supplies towards the medic CP.”

He eyed her now with an unconvinced squint, having noted how the lack of fabric around her wrist betrayed the canvas of violets and yellows around it - how the hues were cast in the outlines of finger marks.

Before her chaotic mind could spare a second for reality and thus a reaction, he is in front of her with a fluid stride, fingers to the discolored body part.

"Who did this to you?" his frustration tensed with a clench of his jaw, as he welcomed the offending serpent of anger to the atmosphere.

When it came to her, Joe Liebgott was even more easy to set off, almost like flicking the top off a grenade to allow it to not be girded in a container no more. If a man dared to hassle her, belittle her, or merely make her upset, Joe would shoot them before their heart could strike one last time.

Her nervous chuckle seemed to cower beneath the serpent as she flexed her wrist from him, "I told you what happened." And if I told you the truth, I would tell you I deserved it.

"There's finger marks on your wrist, Y/N." he scoffed incredulously. His mind wanted to throttle her with more agitated questions: why aren't you more mad? Why didn't you fight back?

The sense of the girl with a firecracker smile and a disposition to match, had been snatched from reality and replaced with the aura of a girl who is barely a cinder - a ghost.

His fingers shifted with intention for the swollen laceration on her chin, gaze simultaneous in movement as if to reassure that his touch would be tolerable. Her instinct conquered over a waned scream of objection in her mind, the instinct set forth in her eyes; it's okay, I trust you.

Discreet fingers amble beneath her chin, mindful of the debris and sorely raw abrasion beneath them. His radiating dismay and frustration could be felt through his touch, as if he was burning it off like a furnace.

Her head then bowed, nearly wilting, as her chin came to lean against her chest, fretting restlessly with the hem of her jacket. Failure. Failure. Failure. You got what you deserved.

"Hey, don't go quiet on me now," he exhaled, voice far more labored than he anticipated it to be as he decisively dropped his hand from her wound, grasp now favoring her forearm instead.

To his bewilderment, her body then jolted out with a meager quiver, her withstanding fortifications set alight by the overwhelming misery and humility devouring her soul. She wept, hot tears soaked into the lines of exhaustion on her young face, leaving damp evidence upon her cheeks.

Y/N's hand clasped around his wrist that reposed against her arm, throat feeling dry and exhaustion rattling her bones.

"I want to be left alone," she had never sounded so mournful as she now spoke; her plea for solitude was foreboding, an off handed indication towards a wish for death. She sucked in her cheeks, teary glint in her subtly bloodshot eyes relentlessly betraying her on every front, "... I also deserved it all. I failed. I failed each of those boys."

He warily raised his thumbs to brush away the lukewarm tears trickling down the arch of her cheeks. Her face was warm between the clasp of his callus palms.

"You're not alone, 'ya never were," he murmured with a flush exhale, “And you’d be the last to fail anyone. You save our asses everyday without question; some of these dimwits wouldn't even consider running into the crossfire for someone. You? Major Winters could ask ‘ya to jump and you'd say ‘how high?’ You didn't fail anyone, 'ya hear?"

Her toilworn eyes flicked up to him, pupils nearly blown wide as if to refute: I did! I failed Jackson. I failed Hoobler. I failed Julian. I failed them as they screamed at me to save them - my sworn duty to them! And I failed each fucking time, Joe!

Her chest now heaved with mouthfuls of the brisk night air, the electrical storm that crumbled her will, beneath the gloss of her eyes.

"You know that they were beyond saving, and you still gave your best damn effort with what shit supplies 'ya had. You did all 'ya could," Joe clasped at her wrists to drive whatever thread of attention she had in that second towards him.

"Tell me 'ya know that," he murmured, his shuddering breath fanning over the flush of her cheeks. That you believe it.

"I know," her chest deflated with waning misery, her response a whimper amidst the alleviation as the olive fabric of her OD's was dampened by a few lithe tears. I know but I still hate myself. Allow me to hate how I couldn't save Jackson.

"Let's get 'ya cleaned up, doll," he lightly exuded a tauter squeeze on her forearm, as if aware that all he could do was be there for her, and that cornering her into agreement was an unfair tactic.

Y/N nodded her head dimly, relenting to his guidance towards the desolate powder room to have her superficial wounds patched, and knowing he was maybe the closest she'd ever get to mending the mental ones.

#hbo war #hbo war imagine #hbowar #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine

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hajimehaga · 2 years

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Let us melt together like the drippings of wax to build anew.

blu sniper belongs to @boned-spy

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #my art #tf2 ocs #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #gaspard legrand #eugene muddy

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planet-poptropica · 2 years

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Is director D still the director of the spy organization and is he reformed?

What about bad ?or is muddy sword working for bad?

⋆ In my AU, after MS defeats Director, she becomes the Director of HQ as per the plot, but she quits almost instantly because it's too much stress (which is one of the reasons Director's hair fell out). That's when she has the realization of the hard work Director provided for the agency and felt bad for him, so she decided to give him a second chance, BUT she didn't trust him completely so she decided to stay but as his "assistant" to keep him in check. So yes, Director is still the Director of HQ and he's reformed. ⋆

⋆ As for the B.A.D. agents, as I mentioned in this post, they originally belonged to Eugene. So Director sent them right back where they came from, since he no longer needs their services. So no, MS is not working with B.A.D., and never would. ⋆

⋆ Thank you for the ask! ⋆

#poptropica #director d #eugene #muddy sword #asks for me #anonymous #she also stayed because she needed a job #and being an agent pays quite well #she gets to continue to go on adventures AND gets paid for it #what more could she ask for hjsbdj

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jump-wings · 7 months

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HBOWarDaily's Short Story Exchange 2023

Show: The Pacific

Ship: Eugene Sledge x Snafu Merriell Shelton

General Reader

For @ahsokatanoss I hope you like it!

An Evening

They crossed the corridor, Eugene in front, Merriell behind. When they reached the door, Eugene moved aside and allowed Merriell to enter his room first. He closed the door behind them. The door made no more noise than the beating of Merriell's heart. Eugene leaned back against the door, hands in his pockets. He was watching Meriell with his eyes. Merriell walked around the room a bit. He picked up a few items on the shelf and looked at them, but he neither saw what he picked up nor was he interested in the decor of the room, just a few pathetic attempts to postpone the inevitable conversation. But somehow someone had to say something, and he knew it had to be him.

''You have a nice room, Sledgehammer.'' His voice came out lower, higher-pitched, and more strained than what he had planned to say in his head. The words almost reached his lips like tiny daggers, creating wounds in his throat. Eugene caught Merriell's eyes on his own and wouldn't let go. He said thank you and waited. He would push Meriell to the end. Merriell looked away. He waited for a few seconds in the middle of the room, looking helplessly at the carpet.

''The food was very nice.'' Again a thank you came from Eugene and he waited again. His eyes are fixed on Merriell. Merriell waited too, the bitter water rising from his stomach to his throat. He finally made up his mind, he could postpone while he ate and chatted with Eugene's family, he could postpone while Eugene's father showed him their land, he could postpone while he listened to his brother reminisce about the war in Europe, but here he was in Eugene's room in Alabama, the two of them alone and he found himself in a kind of trial in Eugene's eyes. He couldn't put it off any longer, feeling like prisoner b5rought tıo court. He had nowhere to run and no excuse to escape. He lifted his eyes from the carpet and stared into the big brown eyes watching him.

''Eugene, I…''

''Why did you come?'' Eugene's voice was angry.

''To see you.'' He looked away, his voice a whisper.

Why? Why did you come to see the man you've seen too much to even say goodbye to? Suddenly, months later?

The anger in Eugene's voice grew with each word, but the anger in his voice couldn't hide the underlying pain. Eugene's pain reached Merriell. Snafu's heart ached again, with pain at the same frequency as Eugene's, a pain that had not stopped since the moment he got off the train.

Eugene rose from where he was leaning and stood upright. He clenched his hands into fists and pressed his nails into his palms.

Ever since they returned - one to Alabama, the other to Louisiana - from the endless forests of the Pacific, its hills, its rains, its muddy soil, and its endless islands that had turned into graveyards Merriell, who had always been overconfident, had been struggling with indecision. Eugene, who had a calm nature since his early youth, was angry. Everything they knew about life was rewritten in the Pacific.

He just couldn't return. He couldn't turn around and couldn't even say goodbye. He couldn't shake his hand and look into his eyes for the last time. He wanted to, but he was undecided and could not do it. His heart couldn't stand it. This was too much. He was asked to realize a reality that had never been more real until the train entered the station. Suddenly, he is asked to leave behind the last years of his life, the person was created from him in the war, the skills he was taught to fight, the brutality, the death, the blood, and the only person he has ever learned to trust and love - Eugene - and return to a life like nothing ever happened, many times he doubted its existence when he was in the muds of Okinawa. Which one was the dream? Louisiana or Okinawa? Which one was the reality?

If he had turned back and said goodbye to Eugene as he got off the train in Louisiana, he would have lost everything. He would lose those times, the times their existence was disgusting but still too valuable to lose, but most importantly, he would lose Eugene forever, his memory.

He was undecided until the last moment. While choosing what to wear - casual clothes, a suit, or even he thought about his marine uniform uniform -, while he was taking his best suit to his sister because he couldn't iron it himself, while taking leave from work, while buying the ticket for the train to Alabama, while waiting for the train to arrive at the station, while getting on the train, while sitting in his seat, while finding Eugene's house, while walking down the road to Eugene's house, while knocking on the door of Eugene's house, and yet he had come this far. Now he was standing in the middle of Eugene's room, looking into his eyes contains anger and pain.

When Eugene got off the train months ago, he didn't think anything, he didn't feel anything. In the months that followed, anger came to visit him. Why didn't he shake him by the shoulder and wake him up? Why hadn't he just woken him and said a goodbye? All this time, they had lived as if they had never met, they have never knew each other? After everything they've been through together in this world, who could understand them better than each other?Why didn't he even wake him up and say goodbye, didn't he even love him that much?

I wish I were like the men who wrote those thick books he saw in Eugene's hands, Merriell thought. Maybe I could explain it then. Snafu had made up his mind. In one breath, he said all the words that suddenly appeared in his mind.

''I couldn't say anything to you that day because I, because you… I can't say goodbye to you. I can't say goodbye to you because if I did, you would leave and I didn't want you to go. I didn't want anything to go away we lived together. I didn't know how to do it.''

Eugene listend him. Now he had figured out how to calm down. He smiled faintly, gently. He looked into the emerald green eyes of the man he loved. His eyes wandered over the dark curly hair falling on his forehead. Almost he had never seen him so helpless before.

''If you had woken me up, we would have found a way together. Don't run away from me, Snafu.''

''Never again. I am not going anywhere.''

#hbowarshort23 #the pacific #eugene sledge #snafu shelton #thepacificfanfic #fanfic #eugene x snafu #hbowardaily's short story exchange #hbowar #hbo war #hbo war series #sledgehammer #merriell shelton #merriel snafu shelton #to find

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jjsanguine · 7 months

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BL/QL Ask game: The Ugly, the Bad and the Worst

From @clara-maybe-ontheroad

I feel like starting a random tag ask game for all the terrible shit us QL-lovers put up with, sometimes for pleasure, sometimes for pain, sometimes for both! The list of questions ended up being very long so no one has to do them all, just the ones you want, but I'm excited to see what everyone comes up with :)

The categories are:

Worst soundtrack / weirdest song choice in a BL

I listen to basically anything so I've yet to really be weirded out. I have kpop, world music, afropop, Afrobeats, gospel, country, drill, R&B, praise and worship (?) and others I don't know the genre names for jumbled together in the same playlist lmao.

Most cringe-inducing line (cute)

"Let's kiss the dog together" in Lovely Writer. I don't like dogs so this made me crease even more. Kissing animals is gross I'm sorry.

Most cringe-inducing line (actually bad)

Any line I truly disliked is blissfully gone from my memory.

Most stupid decision made by a character

Any of Phupha's decisions in The Promise (2023), but chiefly the decision to disappear from 10 years. I know it was the driving force in the show but it was still a fucking terrible decision.

Worst plot line

Gram x Eugene in Not Me. Literally huh ??? I choose to ignore it.

The most problematic show you've watched

Probably Tharntype. I do not care what happened in Lhong's life man. Why are you muddying a cartoon villain with a sob story.

A show people love but you find bad

I never finished Love In The Air or Gap the Series. I didn't find them bad really, I just got missed an episode and then never caught up.

A show people find bad but you will defend

I don't know if people dislike the while show but secret crush on you episode 1 makes you want to peel off your skin and wring the ick out of your bones. But after you've taken a month or so to recover from that, it's a masterpiece.

A show that is just objectively bad but you enjoyed it

Probably Tharntype, purely based on me watching it several times but also wanting to throw my phone for like 80% of the runtime. It's like when I eat food and go "I'm not sure how I feel about this" the entire time, but have to conclude logically that I liked it somewhat since I finished it all of my own volition.

A bad show that you kept watching because you were intrigued/fascinated

A lot a lot of them. I am easily pleased.

A bad show that you kept watching because you were horny

There's no level of horniness that will make me stick with a show that I'm losing interest in. Why would I bother with something that has a plot in that case lmao.

A bad show that you kept watching because of that one character

I've never done this with a QL because I could just watch a fancam, but I am going to keep watching Outer banks even though season 3 was character assassination because Pope is my baby.

A bad show that you would still recommend

Why would I recommend a show I think is bad??

The character that ruined a show the most

He didn't ruin the show but Not's off screen redemption arc in Be My Favourite soured the ending a tiny bit for me. Not everyone has to win y'know?

Most awful character that you hated /Most awful character that you loved / A character that wasn't awful but that you just don't like

If I dislike a fictional character I usually just forget about them.

A hero that should have been a villain

Joke in Hidden agenda. He was a troubled guy but they could have gone full on toxic with it.

A morally bad character you're into

Kinn. Well, most characters in Kinnporsche. If they were real I'd want a few dozen degrees of separation between me and anyone with such casual disregard for human life.

A morally bad character you're not into and you wish people would stop being into

I don't really keep track of who others are into.

The show that disappointed you the most

Step by step. You don't even need to change the plot, just the pacing.

The Worst Show of Them All Because of Your Own Reasons

I 100% purged my memory of it, whatever this show was.

#ask game

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latibvles · 1 year

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SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic // i wouldn't ask you.

i wouldn't ask you to take care of me.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl , @softguarnere , @brassknucklespeirs , @monalisastwin , @mads-weasley , @eugene-emt-roe

SUMMARY: The return to Mourmelon is long-awaited, and with it comes a new change — Ron's (official) promotion to Captain is just one of them.

WARNINGS: uhhh remember to drink safely kids.

Mourmelon is as gray as it was the night they left it — although specks of green have put a new spin on the muddy streets, the canvas tents, mixed with the white of snow that's yet to melt and the general, dreary feeling that this small portion of France manages to encapsulate.

They left Haguenau three days later, by truck and train, Daisy slumped on Ginny’s shoulder in the boxcar and sleeping through a lot of it. She’s beginning to realize it’s a lot easier than sleeping alone, but she keeps that to herself.

Their first night back in Mourmelon, she woke up on a deep inhale and a cold sweat, the ringing of a shelling fading from her ears. It took her a moment to register the cot beneath her, the body on the other side of the tent — Jane sleeping peacefully on her side, her back to her. She can still feel it, the heat and the dust crawling on her skin. She thought these things were only for old soldiers, the ones that come home from war and are back to being little fish in big ponds.

People like her father, jolly and proud on the outside, battered and bruised on the inside, like overripe fruit.

If nothing else, she can empathize with that now, at the very least.

The first day she sees Easy Company again, she doesn’t see the whole of them, rather there’s almost a line out the door of the infirmary of men following up on the wounds they got in Bastogne, or Foy, or Haguenau. A mix of Dog and Fox before she sees the faces they recognize, and they smile. There’s no complaints about bad COs who make them march in parade blocks, although the usual complaints from enlisted men are to be expected regardless.

She catches Ron for the first time three days later, at the end of her shift, and they kiss on a poorly lit street like a couple of teenagers, and it makes her laugh like she can forget about how much harder it is sleeping alone.

They’re more careful now. Ron’s never cared much about the rumors encircling him and she’s never asked — but them, together, is a fundamentally different thing. There were enough rumors about officers keeping nurses to themselves, just like how they keep the better rations and the good cigarettes for personal consumption. Neither of them were especially keen on adding fuel to that fire. The things that they can get away with — late night meals, conversations among officers, shared walks to their respective tents, are almost sacred practices.

His promotion is officialized on March 1st, so he’s a good and proper Captain now — and Daisy doesn’t miss the complaints from other officers that she probably isn’t meant to hear, about how he’s narrowly evaded every attempt to celebrate. She asks him about it once, and he says he’s too busy with paperwork. Daisy doesn’t necessarily believe him on that front, and he knows that too.

“Why that look?” Daisy asks with a raised brow, noticing how his brows are knit together. They’re both walking to the bar serving as the officer’s club, hands bumping but not interlaced, in case they need to make a respectable distance between them.

“Captain Nixon wants to celebrate my promotion tonight, says we’ve been putting it off.” His words are a little clipped, but not targeted at her. She cracks a small smile, bumping him with her shoulder. She doesn’t state the obvious, that he has, and instead decides to entertain her own curiosities.

“And why’s that so bad?”

“Cause it’s Nixon. Have you ever drank with Nixon? It’s—”

“Y’know, you complain so much about Captain Nixon but do nothing to avoid him when the time comes. You aren’t fooling anybody,” He rolls his eyes at that, withholding a smile. “It can’t be that bad. Live a little, Ron.”

“You’re starting to sound like James.” He retorts, to which Daisy just gives him a shrug.

“Well, something had to come out of us sharing the same gene pool.”

She can hear the laughter and the clinking of glasses as they approach, and she reaches over to give his hand a firm squeeze, shooting him a gentler smile.

“I’m just saying you can relax a little bit.” Daisy leaves him with, before walking in first, catching Ginny’s eye and letting the blonde wave her over with that bright-eyed grin of hers.

Live a little. It became James’ argument for everything, at some point. Or rather, for every one of his bad ideas, like sledding down the stairs in a laundry basket or bringing a squirrel into school for show and tell as a kid. He’d lured it using a toilet paper roll lathered in peanut butter and nuts. Sometimes he could be persuasive enough to wrap them up in his nonsense. Other times, not so much.

“Mm, the captain behind her and she’s walking okay,” Ginny teases quietly enough to be drowned out by other conversations. Daisy’s face flushes, Rita snickers and Catherine alongside her just grins and rolls her eyes fondly. She takes up the seat saved for her, and lets out a sigh.

“It was a kiss,” Daisy tries to defend. Evidently, it’s useless. “I’m never living that one down, am I?” she asks.

“If it’s worth anything you’re significantly less trouble than this one,” Catherine muses, pointing towards Rita, who looks fired up and ready to argue. “Miss Forgo-Rank-And-Kiss-the-Corporal. Every time I saw Ginny at the hospital she was lying out of her ass to keep her from getting transferred.” Daisy snorts at that, as Rita’s face turns a brighter shade of red. Her mouth gapes, staring at Ginny who’s hiding her smile behind her glass.

“What did you say?”

“That there are far too many curly-dark-haired nurses running around for anyone to definitively say it was you — and that even if it was, it’s mine and Major Winters’ business to handle anyway.” Ginny responds, looking past Catherine at the man in question, who was one of many roughly clapping Ron on the back, although his smile is significantly kinder than Nixon’s, who looks like he’s scheming.

Daisy watches as Ginny’s smile morphs into something softer, and she grins.

“How is he? Major Winters, I mean.”

They don’t stay out especially late, but Daisy doesn’t miss that as they were taking their leave, Ron had to be caught in his third or fourth toast of the night.

He was never much of a drinker, as far as she knows, but she figures that it’s likely James and himself would have withheld things from her, especially about the parties she didn’t go to, the university life she wasn’t privy to. She isn’t especially worried — as she walks with her friends and ensures her friends make it to their cots safely, before beginning the walk towards her own.

It’ll be spring soon, but she could hardly tell with the evening chill. In the pictures, spring in Europe is a mosaic of brightly colored flowers and rolling green hills and cloudless skies. She wonders if anything will actually grow, or if it’s all been bombed to hell. At home, her mother would be planting the painted flower boxes with care, once the weather permitted, and pulling the curtains to let the sunlight in.

“Lieutenant Clarke?” A reluctant voice pulls her from her thoughts, and she looks back.

Sergeant- No, Lieutenant Lipton looks almost flushed, his face uncertain, giving her a quick salute. She returns it, and with it, a smile with a raised brow. Lipton’s never been especially awkward around her— or anyone, as far as she could tell. Daisy turns fully and steps towards him.

“Is everything alright, Lip?” The smile he gives her is tight-lipped, almost apologetic.

“It’s… Speirs. He won’t- he wouldn’t lie down. Kept muttering about having to see you and I told him I’d go get you… so…” Daisy lets out a bit of a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Lip, ripping the band-aid off hurts less than picking at it, you know.” He chuckles and gives her something of a half-shrug.

“It’s none of my business, and you’re both officers anyway.” Lip bumps their shoulders, and she follows him back towards his own tent, dimly lit by lamplight leaking through the cracks in the canvas. Lip stands behind her, as though shielding her from onlookers as she moves the flap — a shadow stumbling about as she does so.

Ron, messy-haired and bleary-eyed, wobbles on his feet, like he was getting ready to head out again. His face was contorted in one of frustrated determination — but it immediately softens into something sorrowful when he looks at her. It’s messy, the way he stumbles forward to embrace her and lean half his weight on her frame. She can smell the liquor on him like a pungent perfume, but says nothing of that.

“Should probably get inside, hm? Lay down?” she suggests, and Ron grunts as he shuffles inside. It takes both Lip and herself guiding him to sit on his own cot — and afterwards he falls to one side until his head lands in her lap. Lip sits across from him, and there’s a heavy sort of silence before she watches Lip’s face contort into that of concern, and she processes the wet feeling on her pant leg, the gentle tremble to Ron’s body. “Ronnie?” she asks quietly, running her fingers through his dark tresses.

“Ngh.” Is all he offers.

“Are you alright?”

He tilts his head to look at her. Tears are running down his cheeks, flushing his face more than the alcohol already did. Daisy couldn’t remember the last time she saw him cry. She’d always been the crybaby, the one who had to be taken inside to get her scrapes looked at and her tears wiped. Even when Robert shipped out early, or when his own deployment date came — Ron never cried. Not in front of people, anyway.

“I’ve taken care of myself all my life,” he laments, his voice scratchy and slurred. “N’ they say… when they make you a Captain, they ruin you. I don’t— I’m… I’m drunk, Dais,” Ron twists until his face (and the rest of his body) is turned and facing her, away from Lipton, like he’s hiding. Like he’s ashamed. “I think they’re right… when they make you a captain, they ruin you.”

Daisy looks up at Lipton, who’s looking at Ron with a soft expression. There’s not much to say that could reassure him when he’s like this- if he’ll even remember it. Still, she continues to card her fingers through his hair, continues to let him cry into her lap, let him lapse into something that isn’t the enigmatic Captain or even the partner so worried about her wellbeing that he forgoes his own.

“It’s okay.” Daisy mutters simply.

“Wouldn’t say that… f’you knew what I- what I did,” he mutters, his arms coming to encircle her. “You wouldn’t like me.”

Her brows furrow at that, and she shakes her head.

“I’m gonna like you no matter what you do,” Daisy mutters back, insistent. “Now go to sleep, okay?” He continues to mutter, his body trembling until it isn’t, his breathing ragged until it's even — and the whole of his weight on her lap. Daisy looks up at Lipton. “I don’t think I can… get up, like this, without- I mean I can try if you mind—” Lipton’s immediately waving his hand.

“No, no I don’t mind. I get it. He…” Lipton looks down at Ron, sleeping like the dead. “I didn’t think he’d be a weepy drunk. It’s… a little… I don’t think nice is the right word but…” Daisy lets out a breathy, quiet laugh, watching Lipton try to find the right word for the feeling, but nods all the same. It’s like he’s human. Looking back down, as Lipton puts out the lantern lighting up the space, she can’t help but think about how lucky they are, that they’ve got the day off tomorrow, leaning her head against the wall of the tent and listening to Ron’s breathing.

It’s a sleep without a cold sweat, or waking up with a rapidly beating heart. She figures it must have to do with the weight of him in her lap, or maybe the discomfort of sleeping propped up doesn’t allow her to dream. Either way, she’s in and out — in the early morning, Lip leaves the tent, but comes back with an envelope. In her own sleep-induced daze she hears him mutter a “for you,” before she succumbs again.

The second time she wakes up, it’s because the weight of the cot is shifting, and when she opens her eyes, Ron is rubbing the sleep out of his own.

“Christ…” he mutters, and she clears her throat. Ron whips his head to the side, and his eyes widen for a moment. “You- How long have you been—”

“Me, you and Lip had a slumber party. We wanted to do friendship bracelets but you were too inebriated to tie the knots,” she responds, and anticipating his next question, she promptly adds, “And Lip said we’re none of his business, so don’t beat yourself up over anything drunk Ron might’ve rambled about.” As she turns to grab the letter resting on the pillow, she hears Ron groan.

“Don’t let me drink ever again.” He mutters.

“I just won’t let you succumb to officer-induced peer pressure. Your alcohol intake is your business,” she chuckles. Ron just grunts in reply as Daisy stands up. It’s two letters, stapled together. The one on top isn’t her mother’s handwriting, nor her father’s — rather it’s something punched in on a typewriter, unidentifiable. Her interest is, unsurprisingly, piqued, as she begins to look it over.

“Who’s it from?” Ron turns to look at her. She says nothing.

She feels her heart sinking in her chest, the letter falling from her fingers as her legs give out beneath her. She can’t breathe. Her heart’s pounding in her ears, and she hears Ron’s shout for her, distantly, over the ringing. His arms encircle her as she falls to her knees. Her face feels hot. She lets out something between a whimper and a wail. Ron looks at her, and she looks at him, and he has to unwrap himself from her to grab it, read it for himself.

All at once, she watches something in Ron’s face break.

#fic // sad beautiful tragic #ronald speirs x oc #ronald speirs x ofc #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fic #hbo war fic #hbo war oc #hbo war ofc

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