#andy ack ack haldane

[cinnamonrollsledge]

Band of Brothers/The Pacific + Headlines & Text Posts

[staud]

THE PACIFIC Rewatch | 7. Peleliu Hills

You can't dwell on it. You can't dwell on any of it.

[agir1ukn0w]

I've only had Hillbilly and Ack Ack for two and a half episodes. but if anything happened to them, I'd kill everyone in this room and then myself.

[coldarena]

flagrant violation of marine regulations

[rebeccapearson]

THE PACIFIC 1x07 peleliu hills

[blood-mocha-latte]

Drabble request: Hildane Greek AU (achilles*nudgenudgewinkwink*)

linh my darling i stared at this long and hard and nearly died writing it but it is here. it is rather ambivalent and could be paralleling greek mythology, or it could be greek mythology. it’s up to the reader to decide ;)

—

“Would you run now?”

Andy paused, his hands still warmed and oil-slick at Eddie's back, knotted from stress and ache. After a moment he continued on, digging the heels of his hands into muscle, gathering up a soft noise of relief in his palms.

“What do you mean?” He asked, straightening from where he sat, either knee bracketing Eddie’s hips, to find the bottle of oil once more. Eddie laid on his stomach, cheek pressed to his forearms, eyes closed. He hummed, soft and gentle, as Andy pressed into the divots of his shoulders.

“I mean,” He said, and his words curved kindly around his accent. “Would you try to run away from this, if you knew what it was?”

This and it, Andy knew, wasn’t him or Eddie. Or him and Eddie. This was the war. This was their dead boys, their broken boys, their rusting spears and swords against a stone fortress.

Andy dipped down and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Eddie’s neck, thinking.

“No.” He admitted, gentle. He never really tried to run, at all, when the war had started. But he supposed that the nature of both the separate entities of life and survival reared their own heads in the form of a beast. He swallowed, and his chest felt heavy with it. “No, I wouldn’t run.”

Eddie stretched out, lithe, against the sheet that he laid on. Nothing more than a scrappy bit of cut canvas, it provided the closest thing that either of them had to a bed and kept the dirt and sand and mud tamped down.

The tent was a luxury, an ingenious rarity afforded to them only by their boys as a gift, and accepted by Andy only because of Eddie.

He worried about Eddie, perhaps more than he had any right to. Eddie began to move to roll over, all gold and curls, and Andy got off of his back, leaning to sit back, legs crossed under him, resting on his palms.

He was helpless to do anything but watch as Eddie sat up with a hum, rolling his bare shoulders and letting his neck arc in a gentle circle. He was helpless to lean forward and press his lips to Eddie’s pulse point, his jugular, down to his collarbones.

Eddie huffed a gentle laugh at that, his hand rising to cradle the back of Andy’s head, a half-embrace as Andy kissed the hinge of his jaw.

“You sure you don’t belong to Aphrodite, Skip?” Eddie asked him, lips to Andy’s forehead and lightly amused, and Andy pressed a final kiss to the skin over his heart before pulling back, Eddie’s fingers laced together against the nape of his neck.

“I’m sure.” Andy murmured, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s and breathing around the gentle, overwhelming sense of wholeness that embraced him fully; embraced him whenever he looked at Eddie. Looked at him, thought of him, knew of him.

It hit him sometimes. All at once, like a spearhead against armor. What he was willing to do for this man. What he was willing to kill, to hurt, to maim. The fear of losing Eddie Jones was a heavy, bitter layer against his tongue and heart that was a thousand times deeper and more primal than the fear Andy held of dying himself.

(And Gods, if he must die, let him die after Andy so that he never has to live in a world where his love’s smile wasn’t the entire sun.)

It was a selfish thought, and one that brought him back to himself, as sober as a thousand branches, a billion oceans. Eddie noticed, of course, as his fingers moved to cradle Andy’s jaw, to tilt up his face and press a questioning kiss to the jut of his cheekbone.

Do you ache? It seemed to ask, and Andy caught Eddie’s fingers with his own hand, opening it from its half-curled fist like the petals of a flower to press a kiss to the center of his palm, an almost absent gesture that calmed him.

“I’m alright.” Andy said softly, and his admission seemed to curl at the edges, like the fine paper of a letter. It wasn’t a lie, truly, because Andy could not ache.

Never physically, and, when with Eddie, never in his chest. Metal shattered upon him, and it was the sword that was broken so long as what he loved and protected above all remained safe.

The joke, of course, being that Eddie would need his protection at all.

A boy brighter than the sun, a boy that’s the child of it.

“Do you feel better?” He asked, careful and warm, and Eddie just hummed, pressed parted lips to Andy’s own before pulling away entirely, rising to his feet with a soft exhale.

“You could be a healer.” He said, arching his arms above his head in a lodge stretch, curls falling away from his face as his eyes seemed to glow in the light of a hidden moon. It made Andy almost smile, a graceless curve of his lips.

“To you, maybe.” He said, and hoped almost desperately for it to be true. That he could hold the man in front of him together with bloody hands so that he’d never break, so that he’d be as impervious as Andy himself.

The tent was small, and Eddie rose only to put away the oil, to check the security of the blessed tent, hiding them, protecting them in the most simple way it could from others eyes, from the war that saved and for no true cause that deserved the life that moved around him, within him.

“You’re thinking so loudly, a deaf man could hear you.” Eddie said softly, padding the short distance back to Andy and kneeling, arms wrapping around Andy’s chest, face going to the crux of his neck. Andy leaned back into him, let himself close his eyes.

“Only ever of you.” He promised, a gentle breath. Eddie hummed, and it felt like a laugh where his lips pressed to the skin of Andy’s shoulder. He smelled of oil, of sweat and dirt. Andy almost wished to fall back into him entirely.

“The boy of war belongs to the goddess Aphrodite.” Eddie teased him, a murmur against the shell of his ear. Andy huffed, almost a laugh, turning his head to kiss Eddie once more.

“Don’t tell war that.” He said lightly, as Eddie traced soft shapes along his bare skin. “That’s how it will fell me.”

[lucky-bastards]

Andrew “Ack-Ack” Haldane / Eddie “Hillbilly” Jones - Part I

[skiesofrosie]

the mornings with you

pairing: andrew "ack-ack" haldane x ofc

genre: angst

warnings: spoiler-ish, for the pacific

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸

Charlotte always liked the silence of the morning while they prepared breakfast together. Andy is no short of an early riser, the one to slip out of bed first. He brews their coffees, sets the ingredients on the counter, then heads back into their room to kiss her bare shoulder awake. It takes him about five kisses and gentle shakes until she blinks her eyes open. The second they lock on him, her lips stretch wide and her eyes gleam into his. He told her once that her smile in those moments were his favorite. Before the reconciliation with reality, when she smiles for him alone.

Pancakes are their go-to, the constant within the scene. Some days, they whip the batter with light chatter in the background. Most days, they prefer to focus on their rhythm, and let movement take the lead. The way he pokes her waist when she’s laser-focused on the mixing bowl, dusts the flour off her nose with his thumb, before giving it a light peck. Even when the kitchen remains absent of words, laughter persists to float in the air. He writes about these pieces when fighting away, halfway across the world–that he misses her laugh, her touch, and the smell of warm pancakes.

She tells him that home awaits. Even if the town is changing, their love will remain.

She can only believe that love precedes death.

The first two weeks, she sleeps through the morning sun. There is no part of her body that aches to wake up to a world where he no longer is. She tries, that first day, to make some dinner for herself. But the scent of him lingers through the kitchen, and Charlotte decides she’s not hungry anyway. Promptly turns around, buries herself under the covers, and weeps.

That weekend is his funeral; marks Andy's return, but in a closed casket. He looks beautiful, she thinks, but distressed all the same. His mother trembles her way through the ceremony, so she decides to be strong for her, saves her tears for the bathroom stall. She does not remember much of what happens, but one thing. The world is at its lowest when heaven sees itself a better fit for a man so good.

The third week, her sisters burst through the front door. Caroline lives in London with her husband, and Cecelia in California with hers–both officers across the pond, and here. It takes a great deal of money and time to see each other, so Charlotte bears little resentment when they miss the service.

“Oh, sweet Charlie,” Caroline breathes, when she steps into the living room.

The dishes crowd the sink, though it is not many ‘cause she barely eats. The curtains drawn, like the house is in mourning. Cecelia follows behind her, lifting up the frame of her and Andy at their college graduation. Charlotte kept it down because it felt like a taunt to her sorrow, a photo of the days they dreamed of forever with each other, now promises that are fruitless. In the worst of her demons, she blames him for leaving her. But then she cries in guilt, because he is not the one who should pay for the lack of kindness in humanity.

Cecelia pats her shoulder lightly while she lies still, and for a second she thinks it’s him.

“Charlotte,” she says gently, “do you think you can get up, honey? Car’s making breakfast.”

She bursts into tears when her sister speaks, slowly shrinks into the covers, and clutches tightly at his pillow. Cecelia understands this, stroking her hair.

“Take as long as you need,” she says, “cry as much as you need to.”

That Friday, in their safety, she finally crawls out of bed.

“You need sunshine,” Caroline nags, dragging her out for a walk. “Pale as a goddamn ghost.”

If not for her sisters, Charlotte thinks she may have let herself rot away in bed. They cook her breakfast, run her baths to keep her hygiene, and let her quietly listen to their bickering. They don’t push her to join in on board games, but welcome her when she does, like no time at all has passed. 

It feels like home from long ago, a childhood let go. And it is with that in mind, that she squeezes them in tight hugs, and bids them goodbye after two weeks. Caroline sails away, and Cece by the trains. “Don’t go quiet on us,” Cece warns.

Over a month after him, Charlotte is left to build herself again. Picks up the cracks in their home, even if she knows her resolve will break. To relearn the motions never has been so difficult, and some days, she can’t be bothered to even try. But she tries, all the same. 

She nearly burns the pancakes, the first time she cooks them alone. The sugar is sitting too high in the cabinets, a morning task left for Andy, so out of sheer laziness, she downs the bitter coffee. If she can muster it, she will brew a mug for him too. When her lone presence feels deafening, she turns the radio on, and learns to laugh when the host takes his jab at a joke. Not the genuine kind like when he tries to tickle her, but it’s a start.

Soon, she picks up on the chores. Gets the dishes running again, dusts the shelves, and takes out the trash. She throws the rotten food in her fridge, and brings herself to the market, feeling proud when she gains the courage to say more than a sentence to actual people. But she falters once again, when she piles laundry into the hamper back at home. When she grabs her slips off the floor, it sinks in the way his socks will never scatter, the way they used to. That she can never taste his coffee, or see the amused grin on his face each time he kisses her nose. The skeleton of their home, a hollow place left in his wake.

So once more, she breaks, in the middle of their bedroom.

“I will love you, as long as I breathe,” she whispers, “and I will find you in my next lifetime.”

But the week after that, Charlotte rings her boss to tell him she’ll be back in the newsroom. To be frank, it’s hard to tell if she can make it past the office doors, but once again, it’s a start. 

The world never prepared her for a life without Andy, so to live without him is most unsettling. There are days where she steps forward, and others where she falls back.

But that’s okay. Charlotte knows it takes time to heal. 

And for him, she will at least try.

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸

i have a college romance - popular guy, quiet girl - with them constantly playing out in my mind. don't mind my chaotic brain.

[cinnamonrollsledge]

Track List:

What is Life - George Harrison

Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) - Kate Bush

Wagon Wheel - Old Crow Medicine Show

Sea of Love - Cat Power

Mystery of Love - Sufjan Stevens

Cruel World - Active Child

Jesse Got Trapped in a Coal Mine - Goodnight, Texas

Work Song - Hozier

I Will Follow You Into the Dark - Death Cab for Cutie

(P.S. Check out this playlist by @theweirdgoodbyes for more Hilldane vibes)

[agir1ukn0w]

it kinda kills me that the "we were all scared" speech in band of brothers (the more heartwarming show) is about being a perfect killing machine and accepting the fact that you're already dead, while the "we're all afraid" speech in the pacific (the more brutal show) is about being there for your fellow soldiers and believing in the goodness of what you fight for.

[neptunes-blue]

Is anyone aware of what honours/medals/pins Ack Ack and Hillbilly were awarded? I can’t find a solid answer for the life of me n need the information for a drawing

[sleepy-hyperfixations]

no bcs eddie died AND THEN ANDY FOLLOWED

[blood-mocha-latte]

maya angelou // jeff monford // thai proverb // laozi // anthony doer

jewel, treatment, diligent, few, alive || for an incredible ask from @lamialamia || request an edit/drabble :)

[lucky-bastards]

Andrew “Ack-Ack” Haldane / Eddie “Hillbilly” Jones - Part II

[luluxa]

Commission art for @aloraundomiel  <3

[john-cleven]

The soft, "Eddie?" that Ack Ack mutters when he lays eyes on Hillbilly's body tears my fucking heart out every time.