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ferisfantom · 2 months

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street fighting years

🎧 ﹐ ♡﹒a curtis biddick oneshot ﹒ ᶻ ᶻ

𝐚/𝐧: in denial abt episode 3 so here we are. thinking of a harry crosby or a john egan one too? idk we’ll see. anyway enjoy lovelies xxx

requests are open ‼️

in which: curtis is a winner, every single time.

words: 0.65k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: brief mentions of blood and bruises, swearing

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: nothing matters - the last dinner party

the moon was the only source of light in the sky, and it shone across the houses, reflecting across the mostly empty road.

the base was holding another of their infamous parties, but tonight, the majority was gathered outside. they had formed a makeshift boxing ring, surrounding two soldiers. one of which was a british RAF soldier. the other, was a certain curtis biddick, the american lieutenant who had been flirting with you all evening.

with a wink, he tossed you his jacket.

“curtis, i don’t think—” you began, but he interrupted you immediately.

“don’t worry ‘bout me, darlin’.” he said simply, brushing off your concern with ease. “just sit back and enjoy the show.”

you frowned a little at his lack of self preservation, but you bit your tongue. for a second, anyway.

“curtis, you’re only going to come out of this injured and in pain, you know.”

“don’t be such a worrywart, its nothing.” he said as he dodged the british soldier’s first punch.

“i’m not a worrywart. i’m just trying to make sure you don’t knock yourself out. for no reason.” you said with a worried frown, crossing your arms, holding his jacket close to you. it smelt like him. like musk, smoke, and plane fuel.

“i think you just have a crush on me.” he giggled as he threw a punch at the british soldier, hitting him square in his chin. the soldier stumbled back with a groan, and in his brief moment of safety, he grinned at you, and sent you another wink.

“i don’t have a crush on— what are you, ten?” you sighed, clearly exasperated by his immature nature, if not a little charmed, although you were unlikely to admit it.

“a 10/10, yeah.” curtis said with a smug smile. only seconds after, the smirk is wiped off his face as the british soldier’s fist slammed straight into his nose.

curtis stumbled back, a slow stream of blood immediately trickled down his cupid’s bow. using all your self control, you didn’t move. he could handle this. hopefully, anyway.

he rebalanced himself, landing a punch on the british soldier’s right cheek, and sent you a wink with a cheeky smile.

“told you i could do this, darlin’.”

you don’t respond, ignoring the butterflies the nickname still gives you. he sensed your skepticism, so he smirked at you again.

“c’mon, there’s nothing to—shit!” just as he starts to reassure you, the british soldier punched him in the chin, busting his lip. curtis managed to keep his balance, as he ran a hand through his unkept hair.

a few more punches are thrown, and curtis hits the final blow to the brit’s stomach. he doubles over, signalling his defeat.

depsite curtis’ injuries, he grinned widely.

“i told ya i’d win!” he picked you up in his arms, spinning you around in celebration, as the rest of the american spectators cheered.

you rolled your eyes, but with a smile, as he placed you back down on the ground, but holding you close, clearly not planning to let go anytime soon.

“i could kiss you, you know.” he said, lowering his volume slightly.

“don’t.” you said, quietening to match his volume. “you’ve got blood all over your face.”

he frowned with a mock glare. “have you no romance?”

“just basic common sense.”

curtis rolled his eyes, but he loved it. he loved your smartass comments. he loved you.

slowly, the crowd dispersed, footsteps and exclamations echoing in the otherwise dull nighttime streets, money from bets changing hands, and men clapping curtis on the back with patriotic cheers.

despite the blood on his face, and your common sense, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. immediately, a blush spread across his face, contrast against his bright, shining eyes, and dark bruises already forming on his cheeks.

“c’mon dork, you’ve got some bruises just begging to be patched up.” you said with a little smile.

#curtis biddick #curtis biddick x reader #masters of the air

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ferisfantom · 3 months

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I just want to say to my fellow female Tolkien fans that we should not feel ashamed for loving these books that are admittedly male-centric.

It’s tempting to call Tolkien a sexist for including so few female characters in his legendarium, but we must remember that the women he did include are the epitome of girl power and some of the best role models we could ask for: strong and willful and noble and brave, without sacrificing their femininity to prove themselves.

It’s glorious to me how you can flip through the books and see page after page of men doing everything … and then suddenly:

There’s Varda creating the Stars, Sun, and Moon!!

There’s Yavanna saving her trees by inspiring the creation of the Ents!!

There’s Melian making an Elf king forget his own people and then shielding an entire kingdom!!

There’s Lúthien defeating Sauron himself AND Morgoth himself!!!

There’s Idril preventing the complete annihilation of her people by creating the secret path out of Gondolin!!

There’s Galadriel resisting the One Ring!!

There’s Éowyn killing the lord of the Nazg��l!!

There’s Ioreth saving the victims of the Black Breath through her knowledge that the king will be the healer!!

There’s Arwen bridging the gap between Elves and Men as Queen of Gondor!!

There’s 100-year-old Lobelia beating Ruffians with her umbrella and leaving money in her will to help homeless hobbits!!

There’s Rosie raising 13 kids while simultaneously serving the whole Shire as Mistress of Bag End!!

There’s Elanor guarding and preserving the Red Book so that we can read it now!!!

That’s why I just can’t hold too big of a grudge about this. Yes, Tolkien didn’t write female characters too often, and it would’ve been fantastic if there were more. But when he did write them, they were amazing.

And on top of that, his male characters display literally our dream level of healthy masculinity in a man. Frodo, Sam, Aragorn, Faramir, etc. are our wish fulfillment. We have every right to enjoy that.

#tolkien #lord of the rings #silmarillion

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ferisfantom · 3 months

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No ones written for Curtis yet !! (Masters of the air) if you wanted and didn’t have any ideas, what about they meet at a pub - he’s loud she’s quiet but he charms his way in ? Something sweet to take away episode threes pain

Thank you so much for requesting, I’ve been having so much fun with these Masters of the Air requests! Our boy Curt deserves some love, too! 🥺 And… what Episode Three? I have no memory of Episode Three, all that happened in Ep 3 was our boys had a big mission and then they all 👀👀👀 made it home safe 😇

(Reminder that requests are open! Feel free to check out some of my favorite prompt lists in my pinned post 😊)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

To the Rescue

You thank the bartender with a smile before turning towards your usual spot along the wall, martini safely clutched in your hands. The pub was positively crawling with soldiers— which was exactly the reason your friends had dragged you out of the apartment tonight.

“You need to get out more!” They insisted as they wrestled your hair into something slightly more stylish, Dot digging through her wardrobe for something suitable for you to wear.

“There’ll be plenty of very handsome soldiers there,” she had said, producing the soft blue dress you had subsequently been forced into, “It’ll be good for you to meet someone!”

You settle against the wall, resisting the urge to yank out the pins digging into your scalp, instead taking a sip of your martini as you scan the crowd.

Your friends had seemingly already chosen their targets for tonight— you spot Ruthie chatting to a blonde Brit over by the bar, and Dot had already managed to drag some poor soldier onto the dance floor with her and her two left feet.

Despite what your friends thought, you were perfectly happy being a wallflower. You enjoyed people watching— just as entertaining as normal conversation without the stress of having to contribute, you had once joked.

The theory was proven as you scanned over the crowd, picking up snippets of conversation, stories, jokes… usually coming from a particularly boisterous soldier speaking loud enough to be heard throughout the whole bar with a distinctive accent— New York or somewhere thereabouts, you guessed.

“Hey there, honey.”

Every part of you cringes inwardly at the voice interrupting your thoughts. British, you note immediately, with that hint of bravado that signaled he didn’t much care for your parts of the conversation— he was just looking to show off for his friends.

You couldn’t very well ignore him, though, and you try to hide your exasperation as best you can.

“Can I help you?”

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed a bit lonely over here, figured you could use some company. Maybe a drink, maybe a dance…” the Brit grins, and you take notice of the pins decorating both his and his friends’ jackets— RAF boys. Ugh.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” you assure them with the politest smile you can muster.

“Aw, come on,” one of his buddies speaks up, “Just one dance?”

At the clear refusal of that request, the other man that was with them chimes in.

“Or how about I buy you a drink? Seems like you could use a fresh one,” he says, nodding towards the martini glass in your hand— the one that was still nearly full.

“Thank you, but I’m alright, really…”

You attempt to edge away from them, mind racing for a way to politely let them down so they’d leave you alone.

Just then, a thick New York drawl breaks through the unsuccessful attempts at flirting, a welcome relief from the unfamiliar English accents.

“There you are, sweetheart,” the soldier says loudly, leading you away from the RAF boys, “Been lookin’ for you everywhere!”

One arm slung over your shoulder, he leans down to whisper in your ear “Trust me, okay?”

Speaking loudly enough to be heard by the other soldiers, he began leading you to a secluded booth in the corner, “I got us a table over here…”

As you slide into the booth, he turns to the RAF boys with a fierce warning glare and a subtle cracking of his knuckles, unseen by you.

The Brits scramble to find other targets, and the soldier — you still haven’t gotten his name — returns his attention to you.

“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t overstep,” he says, “You just, uh… seemed like you weren’t havin’ too good of a time over there.”

“No, it’s fine,” you assure him softly, shaking your head, “Thank you, um…”

He seems to realize what you’re waiting for, and sweeps into a bow as he introduces himself.

“Lieutenant Curtis Biddick, at your service,” he says, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. “But everyone calls me Curt,” he adds, straightening up.

There’s a moment of awkward silence as you smile and nod in acknowledgement, and then realize that you have absolutely no idea what to say now.

“…Well,” the soldier— Curt— says, once it becomes clear you’re not going to say anything, “I’ll leave you be, but if those guys bother you again just gimme a holler, yeah? I’ll sort ‘em out.”

“Wait!” You say as he turns to go, the loudest you’ve spoken all evening.

You pray the flush in your cheeks isn’t too visible in the dim light of the pub as he turns back and you say hesitantly, “You can… stay, if you like.”

You gesture to the empty space of the booth, but add hurriedly, “Or if you don’t want to— I’m sure you’d rather—”

“I’d like that very much,” he says with a smile, cutting off your nervous rambling.

He slides into the booth across from you rather than next to you, to your surprise, giving you enough space to feel comfortable.

“So, are you ever gonna tell me your name, or am I just gonna keep calling you sweetheart all night?” He asks, adding a wink to make sure you know he’s teasing.

You tell him, just barely loud enough to be heard over the band, and he grins, testing out the pronunciation. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Like with most compliments, you’re not sure how to respond until—

“I don’t normally look like this,” you find yourself saying and oh of all the times you had to actually start talking, why did it have to be now? “I mean— my friends decided to doll me up for tonight, but I’m not normally—” You trail off as your mouth finally takes the hint to stop talking now and silently pray for the ground to swallow you.

“Hey, I should ask them for some tips,” is all Curt says, though, and you find yourself fighting off a smile as he rambles on about “wanting to find something for myself, it feels like everyone’s doin’ the same thing these days…”

The way he sighs forlornly, staring out at the sea of uniforms identical to his, is what breaks you, and the two of you collapse into peals of laughter.

You hear your name being called, and turn to see Ruthie — apparently having abandoned the blonde Brit— flagging you down, until she realizes you have company.

“Oh— sorry!” She says, before gesturing to where your other friend seems to have gotten a bit too deep in her cups, “I’m gonna take Dot home. You take your time, though!” She adds, nodding towards Curt encouragingly in her usual unsubtle manner.

You wave her off and tell her to be safe, blushing furiously at the expression on Curt’s face— he looks entirely too amused by Ruthie’s reaction.

“She gonna be okay?” He asks first, though, nodding towards where Ruthie’s leading Dot out the door.

As you assure him your friends will be perfectly fine, he nods, seeming to consider you for a moment.

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

You nearly choke mid-sip of your martini, surprised at his bluntness.

“What gave it away?” You manage to quip once you’ve recovered, waving off his concern.

“Your friend there,” he nods to the door, “I’ve seen my fair share of girls excited that their friend snagged a soldier, but… never that excited.” He concludes with a laugh.

“I guess I’ve always found all this,” you gesture to the room around you: the dancing, the laughter and occasional shouts from the soldiers, the music, “a bit much? I’ve never really been one for parties or bars or… any kind of socializing, really. Ruthie and Dot were plenty eager to get me out of the apartment for once, though.”

“Well I, for one,” Curt says with a crooked grin, “am very glad they did.”

You meet his gaze for a moment before smiling down at your lap, “So am I.”

The two of you continue talking through the night— Curt dominates the conversation, but in a way that you don’t mind; he fills what would normally be an awkward silence for you with jokes and stories, all the while leaving enough space for you to chime in when you feel like it.

The pub empties as the night goes on, and before too long it’s only the two of you and a handful of other people remaining.

You glance at your watch, wincing as you realize how late it’s gotten.

Curt takes note, already moving to stand as if he had meant to be heading back at this hour and asking with a smile:

“Can I walk you home?”

The easy conversation continues on the short walk to your building, and you find yourself on the front walk with Curt, dreading the moment he walks away.

“Wait— I—” you interrupt as he opens his mouth to bid you goodnight, digging in your small clutch for any scrap of paper you can find.

Producing a torn piece of what apparently used to be a grocery list and a small pen, you scribble down your address, holding it out to him.

“Write to me?”

A bright grin transforms his face as he tucks it away in his breast pocket, next to his heart, “I’d love to.”

The two of you simply… stand there in the moonlight, grinning at each other.

Your gaze scans over him, taking in the hat sitting at a jaunty angle on his head, his slightly crooked tie, the equally crooked grin of this boy who took you under his wing for the night.

Summoning all your courage, you rock up onto your toes to press a quick kiss on his cheek.

As your turn to sprint into your building, though, something stops you.

Or more specifically, someone.

Curt reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you back towards him. You’re the closest you’ve been to him all night, barely a breath in between the two of you.

He scans your face, gaze dipping down to your lips then back up, searching for permission.

At your almost imperceptible nod, he dips down and captures your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss.

Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading through you down to your toes in the brief eternity his lips are on yours.

He pulls away, remaining close enough that your noses brush as his thumb caresses your cheek.

“Sweetheart, when I get back to base,” he begins softly, “I am writing you the cheesiest, corniest love letter you’ve ever seen.”

His laughter is infectious, and you hope your giggles hide the flush on your face at the mention of love.

“I look forward to it,” you simply say, barely able to speak around the grin on your face.

With one last gentle kiss planted on your cheek, he bids you goodnight, and you float into your apartment, waiting impatiently for a love letter from Curtis Biddick.

#masters of the air x reader #curtis biddick x reader #curtis biddick #masters of the air #fanfic

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ferisfantom · 5 months

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Warmth | Eugene Roe

When the curtains were no longer able to block out the sun, there was a shift beside Roe, which caused him to stir. There was a moment where he found himself struggling to orient himself to the room. It had been all too easy to forget he was in a bedroom, under warm linens, and not in the snow-dusted forest of Bastogne. A warmth he never would quite be able to replicate radiated from beside him, something he had an even harder time orienting himself to. Even more recent than their arrival at the Eagle’s Nest, was the bedfellow he had found once they got there.

Gene turned, inhaling her scent. The soap had found in that bathroom was lovely, of course, but he found himself dizzy with desire when he leaned closer, his head tilted to inhale the spot where her hair lingered on her neck. He took a deep breath in, taking in the soft, sweet natural scent, the depth of the warmth that grew in his belly was new. Would he ever get used to being this close? The smokey bite from the fireplace that lingered in her hair felt familiar. He had recalled it from close, accidental brushes when he worked beside her on the battlefield.

She stirred again, humming as she readjusted herself into the pillow, the mattress, into him. He felt a hum of appreciation rumble deep in his chest. He pressed his lips gently to the back of her shoulder, taking his time to feel the warmth of her skin. Wordlessly, she reached over, taking his hand in hers. He grinned against her skin when she held his hand in hers, lining the length of her fingers up with his. Their two hands became one shadow, blocking the direct light of the sun shining in on the pair. She tipped her fingers between his and pulled it down across her body. His fingers still flexed, hers gripping at his hand, she brought each of the tips of his fingers to her mouth. A kiss was placed on the pad of each finger slowly. Taking her time to recall memories of watching them work tirelessly to keep the Company alive.

Roe chuckled, the muscles in his cheeks ached from smiling. She felt it against her skin, thanking God for the smile. Few and far between had he shared it with her as they navigated their way across Europe, attempting to keep the Easy Company in one piece. Since finding a place away from mortar rounds and gunfire, both seemed to share those far more freely. And they were not the only two that noticed.

“Do you think they’ll notice if we both come down to get something to eat at the same time?” She whispered against the back of his hand as she kissed it. He chuckled and moved closer.

“I don’t think so,” He responded, kissing the back of her neck in kind. “But again, mon cher, it’s not me who is worried about getting caught.”

She rolled her eyes. She was certainly not going to have this argument on an empty stomach. It had nothing to do with him, of course. Any woman would have tripped over themselves to have a chance to be so adored by a man like Eugene Roe. But it was not something she wanted to be decided until they knew whether or not they would be sent to the Pacific.

“Gene,” she sighed, turning to face him. He had spent 28 days across from her in Bastogne. They had locked eyes hundreds, if not thousands of times. But each time she focused those large blue eyes on his, he felt a tension in his stomach that no woman had ever caused before.

“I know,” he nodded. He felt goosebumps raise on his skin as her hand rested on his chest. A soft smile played at his lips in contrast to the pout that had pulled at hers. He kissed her forehead softly, inhaling deeply at the crown of her head. “You stay here. I’ll go get you something to eat.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, “you go down first. Get yourself something. I’ve got to wash up first anyhow.”

Eugene nodded. He brushed his lips over hers in a whisper of a movement. He swallowed his words. She smiled, pressed a more forceful kiss to his mouth, and rolled out of bed. Again, he thought, he would never be able to replicate that warmth anywhere else in the world.

#band of brothers #fan fiction #eugene roe

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ferisfantom · 11 months

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bobweek2023 -> day 7 - free choice

#bobweek2023 #band of brothers

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ferisfantom · 11 months

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Band of brothers appreciation week: ↳ Day 1 - favorite enlisted soldier - Eugene Roe

#band of brothers #bobweek2023 #eugene roe

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ferisfantom · 1 year

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Eugene Roe in Band of Brothers

something wild by lindsey stirling

#eugene roe #band of brothers

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ferisfantom · 1 year

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Band of Brothers - Eugene Roe ❤️

Taglist: @wecomrades @thoughpoppiesblow @vintagelavenderskies @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @50svibes @wexhappyxfew @fluffpuppy @victoryrollsandredlips @drinkwhiskeyandsmile @alienoresimagines @neverendingstories00 @i-dont-like-bullies @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @whovian45810 @mads-weasley @pipster4107 @ask-you-what-sir @martinsrestingbitchface @labarboteuse @this-dog-just-aint-gonna-hunt @nixoninc @embersjanuary @onlyyouexisthere @mystilcaldeanvoidhorse @multifandomlover01 @msmercury84 @berkshire94 @sparkyluz @dropyourammo @mrsalwayswrite

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed to the taglist 😊

#band of brothers #eugene roe

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ferisfantom · 1 year

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#band of brothers

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ferisfantom · 1 year

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Masterlist

[Info: ]

* - NSFW Warning

[Band of Brothers]

Easy Company Fan Cast

Easy Company Favorite Female Artists

Easy Company Reading Thirst Tweets

Easy Company having a Summer Day

Easy Company Going on a Road Trip

Easy Company Going to the Zoo

Easy Company Helping S/O With Insomnia

Easy Company Reaction: You Ask Them If They Love You

Easy Company Reaction: Telling Them You’re Pregnant

Easy Company Reaction: Blurting Out You Love Them For the First Time

Easy Company Reaction: You Ask Them To Help You In a Fight

Easy Company Falling in Love With Their Lady Lieutenant

Easy Company Modern Outfits

Band of Brothers Random Headcanons

Band of Brothers as things Trixie Mattel and Katya said

BoB - Couple Song Requests Info

Individual Characters

Reaction: Their Combat Companion Takes a Bullet for Them

Poly Relationship with Joe Liebgott & Bill Guarnere

Love Triangle With Floyd Talbert and Chuck Grant

Band of Brothers: Falling In Love With a Combat Medic

Relashionship Headcanons | SFW and NSFW*

Joe Toye

Donald Malarkey

Shifty Powers

Bill Guarnere

Johnny Martin

George Luz

Spotify Playlists

You’re the only girl in Easy Company

You’re in Camp Toccoa with Easy Company

You’re in the battlefield with Easy Company

George Luz

Shifty Powers

Joe Liebgott

Eugene Roe

Carwood Lipton

Donald Malarkey

Floyd Talbert

Ronald Speirs

Dick Winters

Lewis Nixon

Bill Guarnere

Joe Toye

David Webster

Warren Muck

Bull Randleman

Babe Heffron

Frank Perconte

Pat Christenson

Johnny Martin

Imagines

Eugene Roe - In Your Arms

Moodboards

George Luz

Eugene Roe

[Generation Kill]

How does Nate Fick act when he’s in love

Spotify Playlists

Ray Person

Nate Fick

Doc Ryan

#band of brothers

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ferisfantom · 1 year

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A World Without Color Is A World Without You

Eugene Roe x reader

A/N: What's up y'all?! @brassknucklespeirs and I have been talking about soulmate aus, and now they're living rent free in my brain. I had a wild day at school, and using those feeling to create angst was strangely therapeutic, I won't lie. I hope you enjoy this, and my requests are always open if you have something specific you would like to see! (As always, this is written for the fictional depictions from the show -- absolutely no disrespect to the real-life veterans!) 💕🕊️

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST! The usual HBOwar stuff: war, guns, injury, blood, language. I also didn't really proof read this, so take that for what it's worth.

"So is it like, a cultural thing?" George asks. In between his shivering, he gives you a sideways glance, watching you tense up as you continue staring straight ahead through the darkness, watching the line. He shrugs. "I've just always wondered."

"About what?"

He shrugs again. "Well, back in Toccoa, I kinda thought maybe you were just shy. But I know that's not true; you're pretty chatty after a few drinks. I remember reading somewhere once, before the war, maybe back in school, that in some cultures it's rude, or even taboo."

On your other side, Joe huffs. The cool air in front of him clouds up with what little warmth he can muster. "George, I'm sure if she wanted to talk about it, she woulda told ya by now."

"Yeah, Luz," you agree. "If I knew what the hell you were talking about, I probably could have answered you twelve different times."

The radioman knocks his shoulder against your own. "Awe, come on (Y/N). My brain is frozen -- gimme a break."

"Okay. I'll answer if you actually ask the question."

"Okay." Luz nods. For someone who was so eager to find answers a moment before, he seems unsure of himself when you give him permission to ask. He stops looking at you and trains his own eyes on the line, voice softening when he asks, "Why do you never look anyone in the eye?"

There it is.

Toye reaches behind you to smack Luz on the back of his helmet.

"Ow!"

"You can't just ask that!" Joe reprimands. "Besides, you could probably just figure it out from context."

Joe is right. It seems like most people should have figured it out by now. Maybe then you wouldn't have so many sweet-talking replacements sauntering up to you with calls of, "Hey, Shy Girl, you found your man yet, or are you playin' hard to get?" or "Baby, I bet I could be the one to make you see color."

Because that's the thing: your world has always been shades of black and white, and it will remain that way until you look into the eyes of your soulmate. The first color you ever see will be the color of their eyes, and then -- according to everything you've heard your friends and family describe -- the rest of the world will follow as a whole universe of color is revealed to you. But therein lies several problems for you.

Problem one: you didn't find your soulmate back at home before the war. Which, you initially thought, might be okay. Maybe you would meet them after. Or during, some of your more romantic-minded friends told you dreamily before you shipped out.

Which made problem two all too real to you: if you meet your soulmate and then they die, the world will go back to being black and white.

The realization had hit you like a punch in the gut. Everyone else seemed to think it was tragically romantic, but not you. You had always known the world as shades of plainness and shadow. How could you stand it, if you discovered the beauty of the world, only to then have it stripped away from you? And worse, how could you stand to lose the person that you loved -- that you were destined to be with? Something that was all too possible in the middle of a war.

So you made a decision. A hard one, but one that seemed necessary -- you wouldn't look a stranger in the eye again until after the war.

Under the blanket of night, huddled together with your friends for warmth, you tell them exactly that. No one can tell if the slight shake in your voice is from emotion or from the cold, and no one calls it into question. You've never told anyone before. You're not sure how they might react.

Joe pats your knee. He's not a man of words, but his action says it all.

"I'm sorry," Luz whispers. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's okay," you reassure him, trying to smile, more for yourself than for him. To lighten the mood, you decide to do what he would do if he weren't in an awkward position -- you crack a joke. "Why does it matter, Luz? You worried we might be soulmates?"

Taken off guard, he laughs. "I won't lie, (Y/N), the thought has occurred to me."

It had taken a lot of strength to tell them your secret. Now though, they know -- secrets rarely feel so heavy when there's someone who can help you carry them. Your burden reduced, you turn towards him in the darkness. "Well, let's find out."

"What?" Out of reflex, he turns to you.

Your eyes meet and . . .

Nothing. The world is still black and white.

"That answers that question," Luz says.

"Toye, you wanna find out if we're destined to be together?" You tease.

"Eh, why not." You blink owlishly at each other in the darkness, searching each others eyes for something that might not have been there before. Nothing happens, but neither of you breaks eye contact.

A smile pulls at the corner of Joe's mouth, and before you know it, the two of you are giggling at the idea of finding out that one of your oldest war-buddies might have been your soulmate all along without you realizing it. Who knows if it would have been funny anywhere but Bastogne -- the environmental pressures are starting to get to everyone -- but in that moment, it's the most hilarious thing in the world. Even George is shaking with laughter.

"Shhhh!" Only the sound of crunching snow rushing towards your fox hole can stop the joke. Compton leans down, his eyes never leaving the line in front of him as he hisses, "Keep it down! You wanna give away our position?"

"Sorry, Lieutenant," you giggle.

For all your trying, it's not until he's long gone that the three of you manage to catch your breath. Somehow, it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, however slightly. You can look your best friends in the eye. That's something.

You fall asleep between them, the world still black and white, but not quite so dismal as you once imagined your dull color scheme to be.

"I've been workin' on the railroad, all the livelong day," you sing along with the other men, your grin the widest it's been in a while. Finally out of the fox holes, finally haven taken Foy, finally moving on.

"I've been working on the railroad, just to pass the time away --"

You're just beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, things will start to look up for Easy Company when something zings by your ear. One of the men beside you falls to the ground, and suddenly, the world around you descends into chaos.

A few more men drop like flies. Others tumblr over each other like dominos, some of them trying to flatten themselves to the ground for cover while others trip over each other to duck behind one of the nearby buildings.

"Sniper!" someone calls out. A body slams into yours as you try to scramble away from the tank you had been sitting on. The force of their body against yours sends you stumbling. It's just enough to hold you back from safety, and you feel the hot metal rip through your thigh.

You cry out as you hit the ground. Around you, bullets still race to find new marks as the sniper's rifle peppers the air with the sound of rounds being fired. You're face down on the dirty snow. It's harder than it should be not to roll over and call out for help, but the image of Julian back in Bastogne enters your mind and you settle for clenching your right hand into a fist and shoving it over your mouth to muffle your cries as you wait for it to be over.

More gunshots. Some cheers. How long have you been on the ground? A few minutes? Hours?

Someone grabs you by the shoulder and flips you over. Only then do you gasp out in pain.

"(Y/L/N)! Where are you hit?" Sergeant Lipton demands.

"Thigh." You try to sit up, but the Sergeant holds you down as he calls out for a medic. "Are the others okay?"

"Shifty got the sniper," Lipton assures you with a weak smile.

"But what about the others who got hit?"

"Alright, where'd they get her?" Spina asks as he appears beside you. From your awkward angle on your back, you can see him grimace as he looks at your thigh, which is pulsing with white hot pain.

"Is it bad? Is it --" you have to stop and swallow before you can continue. "Did they get an artery?"

"Roe's got the morphine," Spina says, looking over his shoulder and calling for the Louisiana boy before glancing back down at you. "Just take it easy, (Y/N)."

You grit your teeth through a spark of pain. It's hot and bright -- probably what stars feel like as they burn out.

"Hey --" Lipton pats your cheek with his hand, trying to keep you grounded. "Stay with me, (Y/N). Roe's comin', okay? Hey, at least you didn't get shot in the ass like Perco, huh?"

"Mighta hurt less," you hiss.

"She got morphine?" A thick accent asks as Doc Roe appears above you. He glances down at your thigh and then at you. And then --

Something happens.

Roe must sense it too, because just as his eyes start to move back to your injury, he stops short. Something about his eyes . . . it's hard to describe. It's unlike anything you've ever seen before.

They're not black and white, you realize with a start. You gasp sharply, not sure if it's from pain or from the shock. Then, slowly, the world around you draws into focus in a way it never has before. The blacks and whites you've become so accustomed to fade away as color seeps in, like water paints bleeding onto a fresh sheet of paper, filling in the world in ways that you didn't even know was possible.

"Doc, are you gonna help her?!" Lipton asks as Roe falls to his knees beside you, still staring straight into your eyes. Neither of you take note of Spina cursing in confusion, grabbing Doc's bag and tearing through it for morphine and bandages.

"It's you," you gasp at the same time that Roe whispers, "I found you."

Lipton looks between the two of you in confusion. The minute it clicks, his jaw drops into a capital O. "Oh shit."

"Right --" Spina pats your leg and stands up as more people approach. " -- Didn't hit an artery, but she'll need to visit an aide station to get this cleaned up. I've done what I can."

Aide station?

"Wait, no!" You try to push yourself up, try to prove that you're fine. If you get taken to a hospital, it might take forever for them to let you out. And then how will you get back to Easy? Something could happen to Roe before you return.

You grasp the Cajun boy's hand as you're lifted onto the piece of wood that's serving as a crude stretcher. Over the rumbling of the approaching Jeep engine, you plead with him. "Don't let them take me, Doc. I'll be fine. I'm fine! I don't wanna go."

"You gotta," he says sadly. "Your leg . . ."

"I want to stay here," you insist. "Please. Please, Gene."

"I'll find you." He presses a kiss to the back of your hand as they load you into the Jeep. "I promise, we'll find each other again, okay? But you gotta go now, (Y/N)."

Your tightly knitted fingers unravel as the vehicle starts to move, unnoticing and uncaring of your feelings on the matter. For the first time since you got hit, you feel your eyes grow hot and watery. There's no use trying to hold back the tears that slip out as you're driven away from the boy who colored in your world.

From the boy who's your soulmate.

#band of brothers #eugene roe

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