#no proof reading we die like men 🫡

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 5: What They Call a Family

Summary: Something about watching Shifty in Clinchco makes Zenie look at him differently. It’s strange, to mix the two worlds. Personally, she doesn’t mind it.

A/N: Whelp, we survived the holiday weekend and tumblr finally allowed me to upload my moodboard. I hope y'all had a good holiday, and if yours was difficult, then I am once again sending you virtual hugs 💕For the curious, the title of this chapter is a reference to the opening line of Santa Fe in the original Newsies movie :)

Warnings: guns, racism, period-typical language in regards to race, mentions of improper chest binding

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs

December, 1942

Despite the distance between the two, Clinchco is not much different from Zenie’s hometown. It’s got a different layout and more diversity. It’s in a different state. The town had a similar experience with the Depression in the thirties. The main source of income for most of the locals is the mining company that the town is named after instead of agriculture like at home. But nothing about it feels foreign. She’s a stranger here and is relying on the hospitality of her friend, and yet, she really does feel as if she’s coming home.

“That’s where I went to school,” Shifty explains as he tours her through the town. “Here’s the church my family goes to – Baptist, like most everyone else around here. I used to shine shoes on this corner. Best business, see, on Saturday afternoons.” Through it all, he saves the best for last. “And that is where I spent most of my free time.”

Clinchco’s woods are beautiful, deep, and cool, just like the ones back home. Even in winter, when most of the trees stand unclothed, their skeletal arms raised toward Heaven in worship, the steady heartbeat of life thrums through the place, giving it a different kind of beauty than the buds and flowers of the warmer months.

Shifty is in his element as he leads her through them, rifle slung over his shoulder and eyes on the branches above them, looking for any squirrels that might come scampering along. He tells her about the things his daddy taught him about listening and being prepared. It shouldn’t come as any sort of shock to Zenie that her friend grew up getting the same education from his father that she got from her grandmother as they foraged in the woods back in North Carolina. But somehow it still brings a kind of comfort – different from any that she’s felt before – to know that someone so similar to her exists, and that they’ve found each other.

Frying Pan really does have the best view, just like Shifty told her it would. Jacket collars pulled up to protect them against the winter wind, they stand at the top and survey the sprawl of mountains and hills and town from the precipice.

“Used to love comin’ up here with my daddy. Just to stand here and listen and try and use what he taught me.” He laughs, shakes his head. “And to flip coins in the air and shoot at ‘em. That way no one could complain, you know, about wasting money.”

“Probably a good thing you did it, though. The coins and the time with your dad, I mean. You’ll be more prepared than any of us when we get into combat.”

Shifty nods, forehead scrunched, just like it always does when he’s really thinking about something. “Kinda worries you, huh? Realizin’ that not everyone grew up learnin’ how to survive. Some of those guys never even held a gun before joinin’ up.”

“Well, if anyone is gonna survive, it’s you. I might know how to walk quietly and find food, but you’ve got eyes like a hawk and hearing to match.”

He laughs at first. Then he takes a step closer to her. “Close your eyes.”

“What?” He’s far too observant not to notice the way the breath hitches in her throat.

“Somethin’ my daddy taught me. Close your eyes.” When she does, she feels his gentle hands come up to cover them – no peeking allowed. A beat of silence passes, then another. Finally, he whispers, “What do you hear?”

Besides their quiet breathing, there isn’t much. A birdsong nearby that she doesn’t recognize. The gentle whistle and wheeze of the wind as it glides over the bare trees and rustles the leaves around their feet. If she really concentrates, she thinks she can hear the distant babbling and bubbling of a creek. She tells Shifty as much.

He’s smiling when he uncovers her eyes. “See, you’re good at this too, Tommy. Observation is a skill. One ya gotta keep sharp, or else you might get outta practice.” His voice holds a tone that she doesn’t recognize on the last sentence.

He stares out across the valley, so she does the same. She feels him glance at her. He opens his mouth, and she thinks that he might say something. Instead, he only lets out a breath, readjusts his rifle, and starts to walk back the way that they came.

“Mama is makin’ pie for dessert tonight. We don’t wanna be late for that.”

There’s probably some sort of rule or commandment or something that Zenie breaks every time that she thinks ill of her own family. She’s never liked her father, and she harbors some sort of disappointment towards her siblings, and those feelings never fail to make her feel downright bad. Sure, lots of people probably wish for a different family or a different life at some point – but watching Shifty and his family, she can’t help but feel downright jealous.

The Powers’ household is filled to the brim with love. A warm household is something so foreign that Zenie feels like she needs to tread carefully or risk shattering it. But the love is strong, and even if she does trip, it doesn’t seem like it would shatter or cause any serious damage.

Shifty’s two youngest siblings are like him in that they’re good natured and kindhearted. Frankie, his youngest brother, asks them lots of questions about the Airborne and talks about how he can’t wait to be old enough to join up. Gaynell, his sister catches them up on the small-town goings-on and ribs Shifty good naturedly. In turn he’ll tug at her hair as she passes by, but there’s no malice in any of it – just the way that siblings can tease each other about small things without anybody getting their feelings hurt.

Then there are his parents. His mama is a beautiful woman of Scotch-Irish and Cherokee descent who is positively tickled that Shifty managed to befriend someone like himself so far from home. She’s so excited that Zenie, Shifty, and Earl McClung have all become friendly with each other that Zenie finds herself hoping that they can all three return someday after the war just to visit her.

She also wants to know all about where Zenie is from. Zenie hates lying to Shifty, and she finds that she hates using half-truths on his mama even more.

“What’s your town like, Tommy?” she’s keen to know. “Is it a lot like here?”

Zenie can’t bring herself to tell her that Clinchco, even though she’s been here all of a few days, seems friendlier and more homelike than, well, home. She doesn’t tell Mrs. Powers about how Shifty and Earl – besides her own sister, obviously – are the only other part-Indians that she’s ever really gotten to know – the only people whose experiences she feels like she can relate to in some way. She doesn’t tell her about how the kids at her school would war-whoop at her and run from her on the playground, begging her not to scalp them if she caught them during tag. She doesn’t tell her that she ran away because she felt like the walls of her own home were suffocating her and she couldn’t stand the sight of the streets and buildings that she had known all her life.

Instead she smiles and says, “Yes ma’am, but I think Clinchco is a lot nicer” and accepts the slice of chocolate pie that she’s offered after dinner. Mrs. Powers makes the best pie in the entire world; if she lived in Zenie’s town, she would have put the diner out of business a long time ago.  

Shifty’s daddy is everything that a father should be – which is everything that Zenie’s own father is not. Mr. Powers is reserved, yet kind, and he has the same shy looking smile that Shifty does. He asks them lots of questions about their training and quietly tells them stories about fighting in the Great War long after everyone else has gone to bed. His laugh is loud and jolly, but he never raises his voice.

Something about watching Shifty in Clinchco makes Zenie look at him differently. It’s strange, to mix the two worlds. Personally, she doesn’t mind it.

Back in the woods, Shifty’s words about observation being a skill were right. Of course he meant being observant while on the hunt or in combat, but Zenie can’t help but use the skill on him. Because she’s always known that he’s reserved and kind, but she never realized that he was humble or a prankster until she saw him with his parents and siblings.

“How are you with a gun, Thomas?” Mr. Powers asks during dinner on one of their last nights in Virginia. “Darrel said in one of his letters that most of the men in your company had never used a gun before.”

“Well, I’m nothing compared to Shifty. None of us are.”

Shifty’s cheeks take on a pink hue, like a soft sunset. “Lots of the men are fine shots. Thomas is one of ‘em.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t make expert marksman, like somebody did.”

Mrs. Powers’ face lights up. “Expert marksman?”

“Only two men in the whole company earned that title, and he’s one of them.” If he won’t brag about himself, then Zenie is happy to do it for him. It’s a hell of an achievement, and he and his family all deserve to be proud of it.

“You never mentioned that in your letters,” his daddy beams. “Congratulations, son!” He claps Shifty on the shoulder, and although the expert marksman in question shakes his head, he can’t stop smiling. When his family is done hugging him and mussing up his hair, he shoots Zenie a wink as his mama insists on everyone taking a helping of banana pudding as part of the celebration, and she feels herself break into a grin almost as big as his.

They let Zenie have her own bedroom. It belonged to one of Shifty’s brothers before he joined up, and after all her time in the barracks with the rest of the company, lying alone in a bed is a welcome reprieve. She can relax, take off her bandages like Doc – or Gene, as he promises she can call him –  insists, and listen to the sounds of nature outside without fear of being found out every second.

It’s peaceful. A kind of peace that she’s never known, not even back in her own home in her own town. It would be nice, after the war, to return to Clinchco and enjoy it all again.

It’s in this peace that her mind wanders a little too far. If she had grown up here, or if Shifty was from her town, she wonders if they would have become friends. Of course then he would know her as Zenie instead of Tommy, but maybe that wouldn’t matter to him. Either way, they would have gone to school together, and he might have come to the diner after playing basketball with his friends and they could have palled around.

Granny would have loved him. They would have gotten along well. Shifty would have been welcome in their house while Granny was living with them. She would have smiled and looked the other way if he brought Zenie home late from wherever they’d been, and pretended not to notice if Shifty gave her a kiss goodbye at the door –

The thought is so sudden that she sits up in the bed. Besides the pale winter moonlight streaming into the room from the window, she’s alone. Yet somehow, she feels like she’s just been caught doing something completely and utterly wrong.

Why had she thought about Shifty kissing her? He’s her friend, just like Toye or Bill or Gene . . . None of those friends makes her feel giddy whenever they walk into a room, though. And even though she smiles at Luz and Bill when they make stupid jokes, she doesn’t smile in spite of herself if she catches one of them glancing at her like she does with Shifty.

All the feelings that she’s been ignoring or writing off wash over her then like a flood that’s trying to drown her. She’s only felt this way about a boy once. Elijah Woodard, back home before the war. He had not reciprocated, and Zenie found it hard to consider romance with any boy since then.

But now those feelings are back. Now they’re about one of the men that she’s become closest to since joining the Airborne.

And there’s nothing that she can do about them.  

#no proof reading we die like men 🫡 #if there's mistakes I'll catch them later #but right now I am so freakin' tired #it's a problem for future me #band of brothers fanfic #shifty powers #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #oc zenie mcglamery #my writing

[levmada]

hello! how are you? hope life's going well for you!

I have a little question.

so, as we all know, there has been a lot of speculation on whether Levi's a virgin or not.

and I've read your personality analysis of Levi (which, omg, bless you, I love) and his mental issues etc...

but here's my question, according to your analysis and your opinion, do you think he is a virgin or not?

also, there's that part where he says that he was "popular enough" with women...what do you think he meant by that? idk why, but I believe he meant...maybe (perhaps (perhaps)) he meant how closely knitted he was with Isabel and *maybe* petra?

and thank you to all the contribution you have made to us levussy worshippers 🫡

and by the way! I love your account!<3

hiii :D that’s so sweet😭😭😭🫶thank u for reading :’)) i’m also happy to answer this lol.

i’ll start with that dialogue!

the “popular with women” bit of dialogue isn’t quite translated correctly into english. it’s more like, when it has to do with men and women, the implication Zeke makes is romantic. the limits of the language - and probably whoever's in charge of PR - default romance to men and women. women isn't the literal term in the japanese dialogue.

but the question is attraction and not general popularity.

while you could argue that the implications of the conversation matter the most - so Levi (self-proclaimed) was popular in the romance scene - you must also consider that Levi had to say he was popular enough, or else he would be proving Zeke’s accusation right in that Levi doesn’t know other people’s feelings.

(although, he is popular to people behind the walls, but i’m getting off topic.)

proof of all that bc my summary is bad🫶

if Levi did seriously answer Zeke in that moment, just knowing Levi and his avoidance of relationships, especially romantic ones as far as is shown in AOT, he would’ve likely answered generally because he could, instead of feeding into Zeke’s attempt to fluster him lol. and of course he could've lied, again, so that Zeke couldn't get the satisfaction of being right or flustering him.

any way you cut it, i don’t think he had anyone in mind.

😅just to get it out of the way for those who don’t know i guess cuz it’s a popular piece of trivia, isayama has never confirmed whether Levi is a virgin.

sex is innately intimate. no matter if you’re just seeking momentary pleasure - which Levi doesn’t seem like the type to do - it’s both intimate and exposing. Levi just wouldn’t engage in casual sex.

especially in the underground and the negative associations he has with sex, mostly as it has to do with pain and suffering - very, very most likely, at least, and supported by what we’ve seen of the bad boy manga so far when some attackers threatened him as a child to make him “do what his mother did”. and Levi would never run the risk for disease.

(also assuming condoms exist.)

like i talked about in that analysis, trauma, in this case being exposed to sex at a young age, doesn’t simply go away, and also it exacerbates other things like distrust and an unwillingness to be vulnerable in romantic relationships.

so if it were to be someone, it would have to be someone Levi has a close bond with and trusts implicitly. someone who’s a Scout, then, but you also have to consider that romance just comes second on principle - at least to Levi whose top priority is always his duty.

his most selfish act after joining, this also being a show of affection, was letting Erwin rest (from his perspective), instead of forcing him back into hell.

so i mean - REALISTICALLY, IMO - for Levi it’s really not as simple as candlelit dinners and long walks on the beach ykwim?? there would be no love confession, only his actions which communicate his devotion or saying “”simple”” terms like “I trust you” or “I need for you not to die on me.”

sorry i’m getting so off topic.

ANYWAY. in my opinion, based on what info is allotted in canon, to me he is a virgin : )

#fanfiction aside #levi ackerman #levi aot #snk levi #snk levi ackerman #levi ackerman aot #snk hc #levi ackerman hc #aot meta

[softguarnere]

*slides a crisp $20 bill across the table* being an intelligence officer working with Nixon and having a thing for each other because I’m in love with how you write him 🫶🏽

Hold Me Close While I Think This Through

Lewis Nixon x reader

A/N: "I'm in love with how you write him" when I tell you I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes 🥹 I've literally had the worst writer's block this past week, so I hope this came out okay! (As always, this is written for the fictional depiction from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) 💕🕊️

Warnings: language, drinking, this isn't proof read - we die like men 🫡

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting through Regimental HQ somehow makes the morning seem a little more crisp, new, and exciting. A few people spare glances in your direction as you pass. None of them matter, though. Not when you’ve got your eyes set on the two men sitting at a table straight ahead – one of which the sight of makes your heart run wild like a race horse, the only thing containing it the bars of your rib cage . . . and the knowledge that he’s married.

“Well good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Nixon chirps as you approach. Leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on the desk and sipping a cup of coffee, he looks like he owns the place. No other person in the Army has looked quite so relaxed this whole war. He looks like a spectator, not someone who’s always in the midst of danger, gathering intel and navigating the chess board that is military politics. It's a stark juxtaposition to the man beside him, who’s flipping through some papers and scribbling notes on them every now and then, looking serious.

Winters offers you a small smile. “Morning, (Y/N).”

“Morning, gents.” Playfully, you push Nixon’s feet off the desk before taking a seat next to Winters. “We all know that if you had your way, no one would be sleeping later than you.”

“Oh har har.”

“She’s got a point, Nix,” Winters says with a smirk. “You wouldn’t be at half of our meetings if I weren’t forcing you up.”

“Not you too.”

“Honesty is a virtue.”

Before any more digs can be made at his expense, Nixon grabs a file from a stack on the desk and tosses it in your direction. It lands beside you with a weak thwack! on top of some other papers that he’s left laying about.

“New assignment,” he says by way of explanation.

Flipping it open sends waves of excitement flooding over you. Your eyes keep skipping ahead, trying to take in all the information at once. Can this be true? You have to reread the carefully printed lines several times to make sure that you’re not imagining things.

“Oh my God.”

Winters pauses mid-scribble, glancing up at you. “Well that’s more than the usual exasperated sigh.”

Nixon smiles around his coffee cup. “Let me guess: they want another map?”

“No.” You read the lines one last time – just in case. Carefully, you close the file and run a hand over the cover with the same reverence that a priest might a Bible. “They want to send me behind enemy lines.”

Nixon chokes on his drink. “They what?!” He splutters.

You’re too proud to notice the way that your fellow intelligence officer’s face goes pale, or the way that Winters sends him a worried glance. All you know is that this is your chance. To get out from behind the desk and into the field. To do something that will make a real difference in the war.

This is your time to shine.

--

God, he hasn’t been this uncomfortable since he was eighteen and standing in the living room at his graduation party while extended family milled about, pumping his hand with congratulatory handshakes and then wandering off to judge the furniture placement and snicker over hors d’oeuvres. He had spent half the evening sneaking pulls from a flask to loosen up, and besides the incident in which one of his mother’s cousins had shoved a piece of cake into the face of an uncle from his dad’s side, the only thing he can really recall from that evening is the stifling feeling that accompanies dressing up and rubbing elbows with society’s upper crust.

Ironic, that going off to war and hoping it would get him away from all that somehow managed to throw him right back into the remnants of that suffocating existence. He needs a drink.

Snatching a tall glass from a waiter that’s passing by, he downs it in one long gulp before giving the sprawling ballroom another once over as he tries to get his bearings. There’s really nothing to see except a bunch of rich German officers strutting around, puffing out their chests while women who gleam under the heavy armor of precious stones that they wear trapse after them, clinging to their arms and occasionally managing to drag one to the dance floor.

Something catches his eye. Along the far wall, one woman shines brighter than the rest, despite the fact that she wears nowhere near as much jewelry. She doesn’t need it; she sparkles all on her own – she is her own precious gemstone. With her simple gown and demure demeanor, she looks like a modern day Cinderella observing the party, not sure if she should join in or not.

You play your part well. Nixon knows better; you are not nearly so shy and reserved. It’s all an act to attract young officers in the hopes that they’ll dance with you and let some key bit of intel slip in an attempt to impress you. None of this is real – not really, Nixon knows that.

So they why do his hands automatically clench into fists at his side at the thought of a Kraut officer flirting with you – dancing with you – even looking at you?

He knows the answer. He has known it for a long time, even if it took Dick – of all people – pointing it out to him to make him confront his truth. The honest fact of the matter is that Lewis Nixon has fallen for you – hard. But there’s a war on. And the fact that he’s married. Not to mention that you obviously only think of him as a friend.  

Sometimes fiction can be a veil behind which the truth hides itself. And undercover, what are the two of you tonight if not a piece of fiction? he reasons.

If you’re surprised to see him, your face betrays nothing when he joins you along the wall. Your smile is pleasant, your shy demeanor unchanged as you pretend to introduce yourself to him in flawless German.

Then, quietly, “What are you doing here? Where’s Lieutenant – “

“His orders were changed,” he says quickly. There’s no need to mention the fact that the intelligence officer you were supposed to be meeting was put on a different assignment at Nixon’s request. It didn’t take much convincing to make the upper brass see that his upper class background enables him to better navigate parties such as this one. And only Dick seems to realize why he was so adamant about being the one to accompany you behind enemy lines.

You give him a sideways glance. You’re too smart not to have questions about the sudden change of plans, but there’s no time for any of that when you’re surrounded by people who would gladly kill you both in a heartbeat if they were to find out who you really were and what you were doing.

“Danced with anyone interesting tonight?”

“Only him.” You risk a subtle nod in the direction of a young officer who stands among much older men, all of them covered in ribbons and awards. “Some sort of protégé who can’t hold his liquor and was a little too eager to tell me all about his most important assignments the second that I gave him a shy smile and the honor of a dance.”

That idiot? Dancing with you? A chill runs down his spin at the thought of that Nazi bastard with his hands on your waist.

“I’ve been trying to slip away for the last half hour, but every time that I start for the door, he comes back around to offer me another dance.”

Nixon offers a woman passing by a pleasing smile, and laughs like you’ve just said something funny before whispering, “Do you think you’ve been compromised?”

“No. I just think that the slimy little lizard isn’t too eager to let a real life woman who laughed at his jokes slip away.”

“Well, we’ll see how confident he is when he realizes that there are other men here who are far better dancers.” He offers you a bow and then extends his hand to you. “Shall we, Fräulein?”

In all the time that he’s known you, and after all your training, he’s never seen you break character before. But something about the way that your smile spreads across your face tells him that there’s a first time for everything.

You fit your gloved hand into his. “Wir sollten.”

The image of the young German officer’s face falling, looking completely crushed as he sees Nixon leading you onto the dance floor, will forever bring him a sense of satisfaction – especially when he storms out of the ballroom, followed by confused looks from all the older officers and party goers. Good, let him throw a tantrum over not getting his way. He wouldn’t deserve you in a hundred different lifetimes.

The music is just loud enough that no one can overhear you when you whisper your question from earlier as you dance, guarded by your close proximity. “What are you really doing here, Lewis?”

Lewis. Not Nixon. Not Nix. Lewis.

His name, yes, but you’ve only ever called him that a handful of times. Something about the way you say it stirs the feelings that took him so long to name.

“I couldn’t let you come here by yourself,” he whispers back. In any other situation, a look of annoyance at what that might imply would have crossed your face, but you don’t break character because of the people watching. “Not that you aren’t capable! Of course you are. You’re the most capable.”

“But you didn’t trust me enough?”

Fuck, he’s already made a mess of this whole thing. That’s what he gets for acknowledging his feelings instead of numbing them with Vat 69. He was never taught to articulate his emotions; Dick made it sound way too easy.

He fumbles for an explanation. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you coming into this alone. I mean, you wouldn’t have been alone, but without me, I mean.”

Smooth.

You raise an eyebrow. “But why?”

Is it his imagination, or standing so close, is your heartbeat stuttering the way that his is?

“Because I never want to leave your side,” he admits. “And I couldn’t handle it if something happened to you and I wasn’t here.”

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers. He’s sure that he’s said the wrong thing. Leave it to him to dig the hole even deeper.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

His face feels hot. Was the ballroom this warm when he arrived, or is the building suddenly on fire?

“I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m trying to make a confession.”

“But . . . you’re married.” Unfortunately, you’re right. “And there’s the war and the non-fraternization policy.” Double whammy. Still –

“I don’t care about any of that. I care about you.”

You hesitate, maybe for the first time in your entire life. There’s no denying that there’s something between the two of you. Acknowledging those feelings and acting on them though . . . that could be a bad idea. Because just like there’s no denying the mutual feelings you share, there’s also no ignoring the harsh facts that you’ve just pointed out.

“Dick is gonna kill us.”

Nixon laughs. “If Sink doesn’t beat him to it.”

Another mutual feeling bursts into bloom: anything could happen in this war, and it’s already taken so much from everyone – why not enjoy what you can while you can?

“People are watching us.” Around you, couples are beginning to pull apart as the song comes to a close. You and Nixon are still fit together, your right hand clasped in his left, his right hand on your waist.

“Someone is always watching us. Occupational hazard.” He smiles, half because he’s right – your job means that you’re always either watching someone or being watched – and half because you’re so beautiful and he’s so lucky to be dancing with you that he wonders who wouldn’t be watching. He’s so nervous that he wonders if he actually speaks aloud when he asks, “Do you want to give them a show?”

The words must make their way out, because he can hear your breath hitch in your throat. Then you smirk, just like you usually would at one of his ideas.

“Shut up and kiss me so that we can make a grand exit.”

He may outrank you, but he’s all too happy to comply with your order.

#take a drink (of water) any time you spot a musical reference in this #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon #writing this may have single handedly cured the writer's block I contracted on my vacation <3 #my writing #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #dick winters #hbo war #hbo war fanfic