#frank perconte i love you

[balladofthe101st]

perconte was so funny! and he did not give a shit!!

calling bill gonnorhea and a fake ass italian for not complaining about the spaghetti like he did

his tiny self always squaring up against johnny and calling him peewee

calling speirs out for trying to run off with his lighter

nabbing watches from d germans and setting the timezone to us time

reading a book for the sex

picking on o'keafe, calling him o'brien and o'flannery

he's f insane

[agir1ukn0w]

the only reason why men should wear dog tags is so I can pull on them with my finger

[kafka-ohdear]

so when will we be talking about frank perconte and william dukeman leaning on each other's shoulders while sleeping and smiling so softly in that one picture.

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

Time Enough

Warnings: Angst? Cursing & I didn’t proof read

Word Count: 1,779k

Description: Time. There would always be enough time to tell each other how you felt. At least you had hoped. Time, it seemed would not wait for either one of you.

I blame me listening to Beginning of the End Movement IV by The Newton Brothers for the angst.

Time, you had realized, had become your real enemy. You never seemed to have enough of it. Every moment that passed you by seemed to go by in blur. Each smile, every laugh and tear, just flowed into each other. It was never enough - any of it. You wanted desperately to hold onto it, clutch it with your bare hands and never let go. To freeze all the moments that you had. 

But you couldn’t. Time continues to flow, ebb and bend around you. Every moment felt like your last. And yet, even with that, you couldn’t find it within yourself to tell him. To tell him that he kept all the fear away, brought in the light. Joe Liebgott was your person. The one that through all of it, you could confide in - run to. He was the reason you wanted more time. To freeze it. To stay with until everything else faded into nothing. 

You loved him. You loved him more than you thought you could love anyone. But you could never tell him. Not now. You needed to focus on surviving, on finding some way to hold on. 

Maybe if you had more time…even then you weren’t sure. You closed your eyes and let time pass around you. The warmth leaving your body, and with it the pain. 

If you only had more time…

--------------------------------------------------------------

The sun shone brightly overhead. You closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun as it kissed your skin. You were laying down in a field, basking in the heat. You enjoyed the rare moments in time where it was calm, almost serene. These moments were few and far between - the chatter of the men around you made you smile. Faintly, you could hear Bull Randleman poking fun at Frank Perconte. A chorus of laughter soon followed. 

A smile tugged at your own lips, as the sound of bickering continued. The heat suddenly left you, it’s warmth replaced by a shadow. 

Opening one eye, you looked up to see Joe Liebgott grinning down at you. 

“Do you mind?” you asked, closing both your eyes once more, your smile never leaving your face. 

“No, not at all,” he teased. Joe didn’t move one inch, instead his stance relaxing as he stood over you. 

You let out a huff, sitting up. “Joe-”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed. Moving to sit next to you, he bumped your shoulder with his own. “What are ya doin’ out here anyways?” 

“Well, I was enjoying the sun and some peace and quiet.” You turned to look at him. He feigned shock. 

“Me? Ruin your peace and quiet? Never.”

You let out a laugh that only made to broaden his own. Joe Leibgott had wormed his way into your heart. Burrowing himself in there until he belonged to him and only him. It had taken him time, months, years of teasing, arguing, and talks. Talks like this, where everything else drifted away. It was just you and him. Nothing else mattered. 

“Joe?” 

“Mm?” He hummed, laying himself down on the grass beside you. He closed his eyes now, tucking an arm behind his head. He had a faint smile on his face, a gust of wind tousled his hair in a way that made you want to run your hands through it. 

“I got something for you,” you watched as his face lit up. He squinted up at you, the sun creating a glowing silhouette around you. Carefully, you pulled out your gift, enjoying the way his eyes widened. 

He sat up quickly, “No, shit,” he laughed gingerly, taking the chocolate candy bar into his hands. “How in the hell did you get this?” He paused, “No, wait, do I want to know?” 

You punched him in the arm, “Idiot, Euegene owed me favor. I can just take it back, you know. I’m sure Bill would be a whole lot more grateful for it.” 

You didn’t miss the way, Joe’s eyes darkened with annoyance. “You don’t have to be so dramatic,” he replied. 

Rolling your eyes, you turned forward. 

“Hey,” you turned back to look at him, a look on his face you couldn’t quite place. “Thank you.” 

You smiled back, laying back down. Joe followed after you. The both of you remained quiet, enjoying the silence and each others company. 

--------------------------------------------------------------

You were freezing, you had never known a cold like this in your life. Bastogne was its own hell. You were only stopping by to help restock supplies for the medics. Your help was needed at the aid station. 

Still, your presence did help to lighten the mood for most of the company. George Luz nearly jumped like a small child at the sight of you. 

“Finally,” he had said, “something beautiful, I was tired of looking at all these ugly mugs.” His comment, of course, was met by a chorus of groans. 

Your feet lead you eventually to Joe. He was huddled in his fox hole, grumbling to himself in annoyance. His eyes caught yours, the frustration leaving his expression, if only for a moment. 

“The hell are ya doin’ here?” He grumbled. 

“Restock,” you said simply. Shrugging your shoulders. You shifted your weight, Joe had been more short with you lately. You weren’t sure why, what you had done, but it was killing you. 

“None of the other nurses could do it?” 

You felt almost as if you had been slapped. You knew he was angry at you for some reason, but this? 

He must have seen your face. “I just mean that it’s dangerous here, you shouldn’t be here.” 

“Because my life matters more than any of the other nurses?” You bit back. 

Joe had a look of shock on his face, his jaw tensing as if trying to find the right words to say. “You know damn well you-”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out. Instead a loud crash and explosion rang out around you. You hadn’t realized you had been blown away a good few feet until your body collided with a tree. 

All the air in your lungs left you. You could hardly breathe, you weren’t sure if you could move. The only thing you could hear was ringing in your ears. 

You tried to blink back all the dirt and soot from your eyes. The trees swaying gently above you, you thought only of Joe - the look on his face. Was he angry with you? You wanted to tell him that the only reason you had come was so you could see for yourself he was okay - that he was alive. Because you loved him, you were in love with him. You just needed the time to say it. 

Now? Now you weren’t sure there was any time at all.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

No. 

No, this wasn’t happening. Not to you, God, not to you. 

Joe scrambled his way out of the fox hole, ignoring everyone who screamed at him not to. It was you. It was fucking you. 

His whole body went numb as he screamed your name. Shouting it over and over and his eyes scanned the horror around him. He was going to find you. He was going to find you and you were going to be just fine. 

You were going to scold him like you always do, give him that teasing look that you reserved only for him. He was going to tell you why he had been ignoring you these last few weeks. Because he couldn’t hide anymore just how in love with you he was. That every time you looked at him, it was like you uncovered a new part of his soul. He was a different person when he was with you, a whole happy schmuck that wanted to spend every waking moment he had with you. 

You and he were going to have all the time in the world. 

When he finally saw your body sprawled across the snow like a ragdoll, his knees buckled underneath him. With shaky hands he reached forward to touch you, you were like ice. 

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Joe whispered with a shaky voice. “Come on, Angel, look at me.” Trembling hands, pushed back the hair on your face. “Please, please look at me,” he choked out.

“Joe,” you gurgled out, coughing blood.

“Oh, fuck, okay, you’re gonna be fine,” he quickly assessed your body, you had a piece of metal in your side, and blood flowing freely from it. Cuts littered your body, but your limbs were intact. “You’re gonna be fine, you hear me?”

“Joe,” you coughed, “I-” 

“Save it, please, you can tell me later.” His tear filled eyes searched yours. You didn’t look worried or panicked and Joe was sure what scared him more. “Medic!I need a fucking medic over here!” 

“Joe, please,” you were straining, your breathing becoming more labored. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he cried out. 

“‘M not.” You smiled, “I - I-” 

“Medic!” He cried out once more. 

“I-” you swallowed, “love -” 

Joe kissed you, fuck the blood, fuck everything, he kissed you. He felt like a fool for not doing it sooner. He was so damn scared of losing you that he didn’t realize he could actually lose you. 

“Joe, Joe you gotta move-” 

Eugene Roe forcefully pushed him back. His hands quickly work over your body. He watched your eyes close as Roe pushed the morphine into you. 

You were going to be fine. You both had more time. You both would have all the time in the world. 

You had to. 

You had to. 

———————————————————————————

Joe walked along the pavement. The busy streets of San Francisco flowed around him. Time had kept moving around him, slowly and quickly all at once. He thought of easy, of clear blue water in Austria, but mostly he thought of you. He thought of your smile, your easy laughter, everything that made you, you. 

He thought of that quiet day you shared. When you had the sun glowing around you like a halo. The sweet chocolate bar you had given him, of the peace he felt when he was with you. 

Nothing had ever been the same since he had met you. Nothing would ever be the same after. 

After…

“Joe?”

He turned watching you carry a bouquet of flowers towards him. You limped slightly, your breath a bit shallow when you caught up to him. But you were there with him. 

“I got those,” he said simply, kissing you on the cheek. 

After, there would never be an after you. There was only you and him- and time. As much time as you could steal.

[softguarnere]

Hi, Dove!

I really love all your one-shots and headcanons! I haven’t read your OC work, but when I get the time, I’m super excited to start it.

Can I request a one-shot with Roe treating a soldier who he finds out is actually a girl disguised as a man, and her making him swear not to tell anyone? (Can be platonic or romantic). Possibly some little bits of conversation in French if it’s not too difficult? I won’t judge if you use Google translate😂French is hard.

No pressure, of course

Have a great day!

Where There is Injury

Eugene Roe x reader

A/N: (This is written for the fictional depiction from the show - no disrespect to the real veterans!) Hello friend! Thanks so much for sending in another request 🤗 I'm so glad you've enjoyed my other writing, so I hope you'll like this as well! I haven't spoken French in years, so this is most likely riddled with mistakes, but I tried haha. You have a great day as well! 💕 Warnings, PLEASE READ: this fic contains misgendering until the reader's secret is revealed, please do not read if that may be triggering for you! Also contains mentions of war, injury, and blood

“Medic!”

For what feels like the thousandth time, the word is screamed out into the woods, echoing off the charred stubs of trees as they attempt to reach the man who holds that job. One word, two syllables, yet so much responsibility tied to the title. So much pain on both the part of the person screaming and the person being screamed for.

It should be second nature by this point, with how often since arriving in Bastogne people have been wounded, been calling for help. There’s hardly ever a time when Eugene isn’t on the move, sprinting between foxholes and doing his best to dodge German artillery fire as he heads for whoever needs him – and all with little to no supplies.

Yet somehow, he finds that he has to urge and instruct himself on each next step. Vous vous levez, Eugene. Tu cours maintenant, Eugene. Tu aides les gens, Eugene.

And there he goes, boots crunching the snow underfoot as he runs toward the voice that calls for him. Pieces of the prayer that his mémère taught him as a child run through the back of his mind as he goes.

Seigneur, faites de moi un instrument de votre paix.

It’s Skinny Sisk. A piece of shrapnel has pierced his leg. Frank Perconte is trying to keep him still while he calls for a medic. Relief briefly flashes across his face when he sees Eugene appear.

“Save the morphine, Doc!” Sisk insists through gritted teeth. “I can make it.”

“You sure?”

Sisk hesitates. Then he nods, resolving himself to his fate as Eugene and Perconte raise him from the foxhole, adjusting their grip on him as they rush him towards the Jeep that’s arriving.

Là où il y a de la haine, que je mette l'amour.

Sisk screams in pain as Eugene and Perconte stumble forward. His wounded leg hits the ground first, even though they scramble to pick him up as quickly as they can.

“Aw, Jesus, Skinny, you got blood all over my trousers!” Perconte scolds.

“Gee, I’m real sorry, Frank!” Sisk hisses.

Là où il y a l'offense, que je mette le pardon.

They load Sisk onto the Jeep. Eugene starts to climb in after him. He hasn’t seen the town yet, but he needs whatever supplies they may be willing to spare, and he should make sure that Sisk gets there safely.

“Sorry,” the driver says, pressing a hand to Eugene’s chest to stop him from climbing in the vehicle.

Là où il y a la discorde, que je mette l'union.

He doesn’t argue. The company is desperate for supplies, but he’ll have to find some other way to get what they need. Instead he nods to the driver, stuffs his hands into his pockets to warm them, and starts back to his foxhole.

Là où il y a l'erreur, que je mette –

Gene stops in his tracks. In the snow at his feet there are spatters of blood staining the fresh white crystals that fell the night before. With the shellings that have happened this morning, it wouldn’t be so unusual, except that as far as he knows, no one out this way has been hit this morning. Even more curious is that when he stops walking, silencing the crunching of snow under his boots, he can hear fast breathing and the occasional groan coming from nearby.

His medic brain springs into action at once. Following the blood in the snow, Gene arrives at a foxhole that holds one person. The man sitting inside the earth is so preoccupied with trying to mop up the blood coming from his arm with a threadbare blanket that he doesn’t even notice Gene’s arrival until he drops down into the foxhole with him.

It’s (Y/L/N), one of the few Toccoa men that are left. His (Y/E/C) eyes go wide when Gene lands next to him, and he scrambles backwards, trying to get away, despite the fact that there’s nowhere for him to go.

“(Y/L/N), what happened?” Gene asks. He extends a hand. “Let me see.”

“No!” (Y/L/N) exclaims, trying in vain once again to push himself out of Gene’s reach. The word is harsh and said in a tone that Gene has never heard (Y/L/N) use before, but he ascribes all of that to the pain. (Y/L/N) must catch it too, though, because he clears his throat and says more calmly, “No, Doc, it’s nothing.”

Blood is seeping into the blanket he’s pressing to his arm. His eyes are wide and frantic. Gene supposes that he would most likely have a similar reaction if he found himself injured in this place. As much as he can empathize with (Y/L/N)’s reaction, he also needs to stand firm and help his fellow paratrooper.

“(Y/L/N), you gotta let me see,” Gene insists. He manages to remove the blanket from where it’s pressed against (Y/L/N)’s arm. Through the dark blood that stains the fabric of his sleeve, Gene can barely make out a horizontal gash along the other man’s arm. “I know it’s cold, but we need to take off your jacket so I can see your arm. Spina might – “

“No!” (Y/L/N)’s voice is low and harsh this time as he interrupts. “I don’t need Spina. I don’t need anything. It’s not that bad.”

“(Y/L/N), you’ve got blood everywhere! I can’t tell how bad it is unless you let me help you!”

“And then I’ll get sent to some aid station, and then they’ll send me home, or to jail, or worse.”

 Most of the men are willing to admit that they don’t like being sent to the aid station. (Y/L/N)’s reluctance to be sent there isn’t unusual. What is unusual are the other possibilities listed: jail or worse. Why would a wounded soldier be sent to jail? And what could be worse?

Eugene’s confusion must show on his face, because (Y/L/N) blinks, mouth falling shut, as if surprised by his own words. Whatever is happening here, it’s clearly much more than just a wounded arm.

“What do you mean by that?” Eugene ventures.

(Y/L/N) winces then, drawing a shaky breath, grip tightening on his arm. When he looks back up at Eugene, something has changed. His gaze softens, as does his voice, and his eyes are a little watery, though Eugene politely pretends not to notice the last part.

“I don’t want to come off the line,” (Y/L/N) says.

“That depends on how serious that is,” Eugene asserts, nodding to the wounded arm. “You gotta let me help you.”

They’re losing what might be precious time, yet (Y/L/N) still hesitates. Finally, he draws a deep breath and nods.

“Alright. Take off your jacket so that I can see how bad it is.”

Slowly, (Y/L/N) removes his jacket, wincing as he moves his injured arm. Jumping into action, Eugene helps him shrug out of it, not willing to lose more time or more blood because of a disagreement. They’ve just managed to remove the coat when Eugene feels (Y/L/N)’s gaze on him, heavy and challenging. What? he starts to ask when finally, he sees the reason for (Y/L/N) not wanting to remove his coat.

Or should he say, her coat.

“Oh.” He sits back on his heels, his brain rushing to connect all the information that’s just come at him in these past few minutes. (Y/L/N)’s insistence that Roe leave her alone, her assertion that something bad could happen to her, the bandages around her chest . . .

Il n'y a pas de temps pour ça, he reminds himself, once again instructing himself on what to do next. Réparer ce bras. Posez vos questions plus tard.

Luckily for the both of them, the wounds on (Y/L/N)’s arm aren’t that serious – a few gashes from shrapnel, but nothing that needs stitching up. For her sake, Eugene tries to keep the mood light when he finishes bandaging her up. “I’ll make sure you get a Purple Heart for it.”

Shrugging back into her coat, (Y/L/N) offers him a tight-lipped smile. Several times she draws a breath as if to speak, only to stop herself, allowing the foxhole to remain in its vacuum of silence.

“I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Eugene finally assures her. This must have been what she was worried about, because relief washes over her face, although its quickly replaced with a suspicious brow raise.

“Why not?”

“Well, why would I?” Really, why would he? It’s none of his business. Not really. Besides, if (Y/L/N) has made it all the way from Toccoa to Bastogne with this secret, then she’s pretty good at keeping it. It’s been years, after all, and Eugene never would have suspected. And, he reasons, to give up her life to disguise herself as a man and become a paratrooper – well, that’s definitely taken some guts, whatever her reasons. Reasons that he doesn’t know, but that he’s starting to wonder about.

Ce ne sont pas mes affaires, Eugene reminds himself. Still, though . . .

“Well, thank you,” (Y/L/N) says with a curt nod. Then she lets out a deep sigh, burying her head in her hands. When she emerges again, she has an air of resolve about her. “Would you . . . As long as you’re not going to tell anyone, that is, could you – could you help me keep this secret safe?” She won’t quite meet his gaze when she confesses, “It can get a little lonely.”

Whatever Eugene was expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. But he can understand what she’s talking about, the loneliness of this place. Especially as a medic. “Of course.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. Still a little bloody, she extends a hand to him. “(Y/N),” she says. “Nice to properly meet you.”

He shakes her hand in kind; she’s got a very confident handshake. “You as well.”

It really is, he must admit. Strange, how in just a few chance moments, some of the cold loneliness of Bastogne has begun to melt away.

[blueberry-ovaries]

EASY MEN AS QUOTES FROM MY FRIENDS

quotes taken straight from my quote book, except i assign the easy men as some of the quotes

Dick Winters: i like the thrill of premarital eye contact though

Lewis Nixon: you white mans whore

Carwood Lipton: macarena through the pain

Ronald Spiers: i love war crimes

Harry Welsh: someone messaged me and said “when i think about you i think about weasels”

Joe Liebgott: i love milfs, they have a special place in my heart

Joe Toye: i’m going to grind ur kneecaps into a powder and snort it of a homeless mans ass

Bill Guarnere: i would 100% throw hands with a toddler

George Luz: i don’t have a brain

Skip Muck: that’s not very fergalicious

Don Malarkey: bitch ass gangly ranga

Frank Perconte: yeah and what about it, i’ll bite you, chomp chomp bitch

Babe Heffron: do you guys ever look at rocks and think “i really wanna eat that” or is it just me, like some rocks just look good to eat

Bull Randleman: wait i thought south america was florida? what do you mean brazil is in south america isn’t it in like europe

Skinny Sisk: are ponies real?

David Webster: state of denial? i’ve never been to egypt though

Shifty Powers: when people talk about how they have a baby ,,they preach they’ve done the funky,,, congrats ur not a virgin

Johnny Martin: let me read your palm… yep it’s says you’re a dumb bitch

Chuck Grant: ur the pee to my pants

Floyd Talbert: like what DO you say after sex? do you just fall asleep NAKED?!

Eugene Roe: looks like a bitch is depressed, it’s me, im bitch

Pat Christensen: can’t believe i almost called Jesus a dilf

Buck Compton: ass so fat it cause mass genocide

[ithinkabouttzu]

Would they love you if you were a worm? (Easy co. addition)

genre: romance (i guess)

warnings: being a fucking worm

a/n: this is a very random idea and i’m kinda late to the trend but i thought it would be cute so here ya go 😭

Dick Winters: - Yes

- would probably be the best person to take care of you

- Would build you a little garden for you to live in probably

Lewis Nixon: - Doesn’t answer the question because “it would never happen”

- When he does give you an answer it’s a no.

- he would accidentally step on you

Carwood Lipton: - says yes

- but in reality he would probably forget to feed you or something 😭

- would definitely forget about you and then freak out when he can’t find you LOL

Joe Toye: - Tells you no

- but he would actually take care of you surprisingly

- He’d put you in a jar with some dirt and call it a day.

Joe Liebgott: - Tells you that he would love you no matter what

- but he would lose you so quick it’s not even funny

- And when he does find you he’d probably accidentally step on you 😭

Bill Guarnere: - He doesn’t understand the question at all

-“Why would you ever be a worm?” “What kind of stupid question is that?”

- Tells you that he would throw you out to the backyard if you became a worm.

George Luz: - “Probably?”

- He’d be the worst care taker ever

- a bird would probably swoop in and take you bc he wasn’t looking 😭

Bull Randleman: - Tells you no straight up

- “I’d feed you to the chickens” LOL

- Probably would use you as bait to go fishing or sum

Eugene Roe: - he has a hard time imagining you as a worm but when he gets the question he says he would love you either way.

- he’d do something cute like make a little terrarium for you

- If you died he would make you a miniature little grave and bury you ☹️

Floyd Talbert: - Tells you no, then proceeds to ask you the same question

- Then gets surprised when you say no

-“You wouldn’t love ME if i was a worm?” 😟

Skip Muck: - Tells you no, but in a super nice way LOL

- “I’m sorry babe, but I just couldn’t deal with you sliming up the place”

- Would probably still love you though in all honesty

Don Malarkey: -Tells you “sure why not”

- but if the chance came up, he’s using you as fish bait for sureee

- Or he’d accidentally step or sit on you 💀

Babe Heffron: - “i’d stomp on you if you were a worm”

- Has no chill about it, acts like he would hate you if you were a worm 😭

- But in all seriousness he would probably still love and take care of you

Shifty Powers: - Tells you that he’d still love you

- he’d try his best to take care of you

- but he’d probably end up taking you out to the forest and letting you live there instead :(

Frank Perconte: - “no. Immediately no”

- tells you to stop asking him weird questions.

- After some real convincing, he comes to the conclusion that he would put you in a jar with some holes at the top like you would for a firefly 😭

Again i’m sorry if this sucks but i thought it’d be cute 💀 if you liked this make sure to reblog or like! 🤍

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 2: Out of the Woods

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: here's chapter two, guys! thanks to everyone who responded to the first part! y'all made my day! without further ado, enjoy! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Summary: Operation Overlord is upon Easy Company, and the brave paratroopers get their first taste of war.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, blood

Hundreds of tents lined the muddy fields surrounding the Upottery Airfield in preparation for Operation Overlord. (Y/n) found a dry spot amongst 2nd platoon and laid out all of her supplies. Looking at the various grenades, mines, and other random items, she groaned. “How am I supposed to put all of this in a pack? It’s ridiculous!”

“Tell me about it! ”Joe Toye scoffed from her right, staring down at his pile. “I’ve got a three-day supply of ‘K’ rations, chocolate bars, charms, candy, powdered coffee, sugar, matches, compass, bayonet, entrenching tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, my webbing, my .45, canteen, two cartons of smokes, Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenades, Gammon grenade, TNT, this bull, and a pair of nasty skivvies!”

Perconte rolled his eyes, tired of Joe’s rant. “What’s your point?”

“Come on,” Toye fumed. “This stuff weighs as much as I do! Probably twice as much as (y/l/n).”

“Yeah, yeah,” she chuckled as Joe continued.

“I still got my chute, my reserve chute, my Mae West, and my M-1.”

Frank got up and walked past the group, calling over his shoulder with an amused expression. “Where are you keeping your brass knuckles?”

“I could use some brass knuckles,” Toye sighed, sitting back on his heels.

(Y/n) finished readying her pack and attempted to lift it over her shoulder with a grunt.

“You and me both, Joe,” she gritted, failing the first few tries.

The fourth time, it weighed considerably less, and she was able to wobbly sit it on her shoulder without tipping over. A proud smile grew on her face, but when she turned and saw who was there, her lips formed a fake pout.

“Nix, you know I could’ve done that by myself?”

The officer laughed, his bright smile making an appearance. “Sure, I thought watching you fail three times was enough.”

Realizing he just admitted to watching her, he shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “Two years. Two years of training led us here. Crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, looking around at all her fellow soldiers. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

“Well, time did seem to crawl by when we were with Sobel.”

“Absolutely. I still remember his dumbfounded face when Luz impersonated Major Horton. It was the best day of my life.”

Vest came by with pamphlets, handing them to every soldier, announcing they were from Colonel Sink.

“George,” (y/n) called. “Can you do Sink?”

“Does a wild bear crap in the woods, son? Uh, sweetheart?” He corrected, cringing. “Doll? Your majesty? Great and mighty (y/n)?”

(Y/n) raised her eyebrows at him, smirking. “Nice try.”

Cracking a smile, he held up the paper and began reading it as the Colonel. “Soldiers of the regiment, tonight is the night-,” his voice lowered, becoming serious as he continued. “-of nights. Today, as you read this, you are en route to the great adventure for which you have trained for over two years.”

The message hung in the air as each paratrooper took it in. They were going to war. The realization washed over (y/n) like a bucket of ice water, and her mind flashed with the faces of the men she’d come to call brothers. 

Don, George, Skip, Alex, Frank, Lip…

It could be the last time she saw some of them.

“Hey,” Nix smirked and pointed at the various mohawks Lieb had given some men, oblivious to her anxiety-ridden mind. “I think you should try that hairstyle.”

She rolled her eyes and playfully smacked him on the chest. “Whatever.”

When he didn’t reply, she followed his line of sight to Lieutenant Meehan, who stood atop a jeep. ”Easy Company! Listen up! Gather around me.”

Once Easy was fully gathered, he continued. “Now, the Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog. High winds on the drop zone. No jump tonight!”

Grumbles broke out from the men as they looked at each other in disbelief.

“The invasion has been postponed. We’re on a 24-hour stand-down. Drill sergeants, take charge.”

(Y/n) looked up at Nix as he lit a cigarette, shaking her head with a groan. “Great.”

“What?” He shrugged. “Can’t put up with me for another 24 hours?”

“You know what? You’re insufferable, Nix.”

JUNE 6th, 1944: UPOTTERY AIRFIELD

The channel cleared the next day, and the jump was back on. (Y/n) removed her helmet and grabbed the grease paint from George’s outstretched hand. 

“I hate this stuff,” she grumbled, twisting off the cap.

She felt someone take the small can from her hand and recognized the culprit by their low chuckle. 

(Y/n) turned to face him with a playful scowl. “Why are you so immature, Lewis?”

“Lewis?” He gasped, a hand flying to his chest. “Oh, I’ve really done it now.”

Her scowl broke as she shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

“See, I think you’re overthinking this,” he stated, holding up the tin. “All you have to do is get a glob,” he scooped a few fingers into the can. “-And rub it on your face, like so.”

To (y/n)’s dismay, he quickly reached out and smeared the paint down her cheek with a proud smirk.

“See? Voilà.”

Mouth hanging open, she snatched the can from him, hardly concealing her newly formed amused smile. “I hate you,” she deadpanned as she started toward the rest of her platoon.

His hand reached out and grasped her wrist. “Hang on. Let me fix it.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

Lew knew her well enough to see that it was taking all her willpower to keep the corners of her lips from curling into a smile. He thought it was an admirable attempt, but he could see straight through her. 

What he didn’t expect was her glare to drop completely when he lightly tugged her closer by her wrist. An unreadable expression passed over her face, and Lew discovered he might not be able to read her as well as he thought. 

Peering down at her, he softly brushed her (y/h/c) flyaways from her face before leaning down to be at eye level with her. (Y/n)’s breath hitched slightly at the gentle touch, and she looked up to meet his eyes. 

“Don’t make me look like a raccoon, okay?” She whispered, nervousness flowing through her veins.

With a nod, he got some paint on a few fingers and cupped her jaw with his other hand before making lines across her forehead and cheeks. Tilting her face up softly, his touch trailed down her nose down to her lips. Nix’s gaze stayed there for a moment, swallowing thickly as he noticed their curve and the slight pout they were shaped in.

‘It would be so easy to lean in and…stop,’ he caught himself.

“Uh, all done,” he murmured, dropping his hands to his pockets.

(Y/n) blinked, coming down from the high of his touch. “Thank you,” she replied, her gaze locked with his. “Do you need any help with yours?”

Snapping out of his daze, he smiled bashfully. “I’ve got it.”

A few seconds later, Dick approached them, all geared up and ready to go. “It’s time.”

D-Day had begun.

Staring at the solemn faces of Skip and George across from her, the endless possibilities of what could go wrong flooded her mind as her stomach began to churn.

What if their stick blew up?

What if she was captured?

What if she was killed?

(Y/n) looked up at the sleeping man beside her, admiring his face in the dim light of the plane. Her eyes followed the curve of his nose down to his parted lips as soft breaths passed through them. Even covered in grease in a dark C-47, he was still breathtaking.

What if he was killed?

When they first met in that putrid-smelling mess hall in Toccoa, (y/n) never would have guessed what would become of the pair. The mysterious aura that first drew her to him was quickly wiped away after a few months, revealing a kind, but complicated, man who was sometimes too smart for his own good. 

He was there to vent to when Captain Sobel revoked her weekend pass because her hair was “too long,” and was simply always there to support her. Through the new COs, new bases, and even new countries, he’d been a constant. Over the last two years, he’d been there for her, and she realized that if anything happened to him, she wouldn’t know what to do.

Sure, she was close with the other men in Easy, especially 2nd platoon, but those relationships were… different. Her heart didn’t skip a beat when George Luz or Chuck Grant walked into a room. Their smile didn’t cause heat to rush to her cheeks. 

He was her best friend. There was no other way to describe it. 

But do best friends look at each other the way they do?

Her thoughts continued to run rampant for the next hour as the paratroopers got closer to their destination. To her left, Tab was deep in thought, as well, pulling at his bottom lip as he usually did when thinking. Pulling herself from her thoughts, (y/n) nudged him with her shoulder. 

“So, I heard you got a present from home.”

He dropped his hand to his lap and grinned as he fished something from his bag. “Yeah, courtesy of the Kokomo police department.”

Floyd showed her the revolver with a proud expression. “It feels good to have a little bit of home with me.”

“That’s great, Tab. I’m glad you’ve got support like that from home.”

“What did your folks have to say about you joining up?” He asked.

(Y/n) took a deep breath before answering, willing the memory from her mind. “They weren’t thrilled, that’s for sure.”

He elbowed her side gently with a chuckle. “Well, we’re all real glad you decided to join this mess. Who else is gonna keep all of us straight?”

Laughing to herself, (y/n) leaned her helmet back against the rumbling wall of the plane, wishing sleep would welcome her soon. Her eyes shot open after a few minutes when the aircraft shook with turbulence. Nausea crept up her throat at the movement, and she groaned at the realization she wasn’t going to get any rest.

Time seemed to stretch on forever sitting on the hard metal seat of the plane. Some of the other men started to rouse and have small conversations around her, but all she could think about was her parents. Could they stand to lose another child?

Tears burned her eyes as her mind replayed the moment they heard the news about Pearl Harbor and her brother’s fate. Her mother’s wails when she collapsed onto the floor beside the radio. The deep ache in her chest didn’t seem to go away with time, and she doubted it ever would.

(Y/n) was pulled from her thoughts by a gentle hand on her shaking knee.

“You’re gonna be okay, (y/n/n).”

Lew.

“Yeah,” she sighed, furiously blinking away her tears. “I’m not worried about myself, though.”

“Don’t worry about me, alright? Stay focused on yourself.”

(Y/n) smirked and raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I was worried about you, mister ‘yale know-it-all?’”

At that moment, Nixon was thankful for the dark plane, for she couldn’t see the flush that crept across his cheeks. “Only by the kind way you speak to me,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. 

Within seconds, his face became serious. “But I mean it, (y/n). Please be careful.”

“I will, Lew. You too, okay?” She replied, grasping his hand atop her knee.

Their conversation was cut short by the red light flashing on beside Dick. Nodding at each other, they prepared for what was about to happen.

“Get ready!” Lieutenant Winters yelled above the rumble of the plane. “Stand up! Hook Up! Equipment check!”

Following orders, they stood, hooked up, and started checking their helmets, followed by pulling on the harnesses of those in front of them. George stood between Nix and (y/n) in line, separating the pair.

“Don’t enjoy this too much,” George jeered back to her as she checked his equipment. 

Through his humor, she could see the fear that each of them felt. 

Dick’s voice filled the plane again. “Sound off for equipment check!”

“Ten okay!”

“Nine okay!”

“Eight okay!”

“Seven okay!”

Hearing her heartbeat in her ears, (y/n) attempted to push her fear deep down. 

“Six okay!” Chuck yelled, tapping her on the shoulder.

(Y/n) repeated the motion for George, shouting. “Five okay,”

“Four okay!”

“Three okay!”

“Two okay!”

“One okay!” Winters finished, looking out the jump door.

Within seconds, the cloud cover dissipated, and explosions filled the air, violently tilting the plane sideways. (Y/n) lost her balance and fell back onto her seat with a curse. Luckily, Chuck grabbed her harness and hoisted her back on her feet in front of him. 

As the plane continued to shake beneath their feet, she looked through the small window at the stick beside them just in time to see it get hit and go down in flames. Her mouth went dry at the sight, and she prayed that they wouldn’t share the same fate.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Someone yelled at the back of the plane.

Lip turned behind him. “Does that light look green to you?”

The man didn’t get to respond as gunfire ripped through the plane, peppering him with shrapnel.

“I’m hit!”

Among the chaos, the green light flicked on, and Winters called out to them. “Let’s go!”

Without hesitation, he jumped out the door, followed by Gene, Lew, and George. Following Luz, (y/n) didn’t even look before pushing herself out the door.

The first thing she felt was the wind whipping at her equipment as she fell through the air. Anti-aircraft shells exploded around her, adding to the deafening cacophony surrounding her. Explosions, screams, gunfire…it was a sound she’d never forget.

Even with her parachute deployed, the ground was fast approaching. To her panic, she couldn’t see her DZ anywhere. To make matters even worse, the wind guided her toward the dense forest instead of one of the many open fields surrounding her. She tried to pull up on the risers to change her direction, but it was too late. Within seconds, she flew into the tall European oak trees she tried so desperately to avoid.

All air left her lungs as she slammed into a tree, sending her falling through the branches. The sound of snapping wood filled her ears and she hissed at the sharp stings that covered her body as she fell. 

With a jolt, her descent was abruptly stopped, causing her to swing into a nearby trunk with a thwack. (Y/n) groaned at the impact, feeling pain seep into her already bruised and battered body. 

“Great,” she hissed, looking up at the tangled chute. “Of course, I landed in a freaking forest.”

Seeing she was only a few feet off the ground, (y/n) let out a sigh of relief and reached for her knife. When she looked down, she cursed at the missing bag that was supposed to be attached to her leg. 

‘At least I didn’t put anything important in there,’ she thought.

The (y/h/c) quickly cut herself free of the chute and fell through the air again, landing on her feet with a wince. Even though she couldn’t see herself, she knew she had to look rough. The stinging from various cuts and scratches torso, arms, and legs were a dead giveaway to her appearance. 

Pulling out her M1, she quietly made her way to a clearing better illuminated by the moon. She stayed near the edge, wary of being seen, and used her compass and map to try and figure out where she was. After a few minutes, she discovered she was a few miles west of the rally point. Just as she was about to move, a drip of red on her map stole her attention. (Y/n) took off her helmet and began to run a shaky hand through her grimy hair when a sharp pain flared from her temple, making her groan at the searing sensation. Pulling her hand away, she gasped to see it covered in dark red. 

The paratrooper quickly grabbed a bandage and gritted her teeth, tying it the best she could.

“Head wounds bleed the most,” Doc Roe had said in a medic seminar. “You’re gonna go through bandages quick.”

 She gently placed the helmet back on her head and took a deep breath. “You can do this, (y/n),” she muttered under her breath as she started moving east toward the rally point. “You can do it.”

She’d made it to the ground, but she wasn’t out of the woods, yet.

D-Day Plus Three: Sainte-Mère-Eglise, France

Since Nix finally made it to Sainte-Mère-Eglise on June 7th, his eyes searched the crowd for one face. Every day, he kept a constant check on who arrived and who they’d seen or heard from, and for two days, he couldn’t rest.

On the third day, he overheard some men from the 82nd.

“Did you see the broad?”

On instinct, he rushed out of the makeshift company CP onto the street filled with exhausted paratroopers, ignoring the concerned looks from the men as he quickly made his way to the front of the town. 

“Thank God,” he whispered, seeing her wobbly figure from a distance. 

Her downcast eyes didn’t see him approach as she dragged her feet in the mud, too tired to even pick them up.

“You’re late to the party,” Lew chuckled, trying to mask his relief.

Despite the ringing pain in her head, her eyes shot up to meet his. When their gazes met, she let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. He made it.

A tired smile grew on her blood and dirt-covered face. “Nice to see you, too, Lew.”

Extending his arm out to her, Nix pulled her into a tight embrace. It was like his mind needed physical reassurance she was there. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmured into her helmet.

Leaning into his chest, she let the rhythm of his heart calm her fear. Even in a warzone, she felt safe in his arms. “I was worried about you, too.”

A chuckle reverberated through his chest. “So you were worried about me, huh?”

Pulling back to look at him, (y/n) smirked. “I take it back.”

His playful expression changed to concern as he noticed her pale face and the blood beneath her helmet. “Hey, what happened? You’re bleeding.”

(Y/n) ducked her head to the side. “I’m fine, Lew. Really.”

“Come on, let me see,” he urged, gently unclasping her helmet. 

A hiss left him, seeing the blood-soaked cloth haphazardly tied around her head. 

“(Y/n),” he sighed, one hand tilting her jaw to see the wound while the other peeled back the bandage. The gash ran from her right temple to just above her ear. “This is deep. You’re gonna need stitches. Let’s go to the aid station.”

His tender touch left her speechless. “Ok-okay,” she whispered, following him to the medic tent.

The coppery smell of blood hit her like a ton of bricks the second she entered the tent. Men were lying on cots, missing limbs, and crying in agony. (Y/n) froze, unable to tear her gaze from the carnage before her. A guiding hand on the small of her back urged her to keep walking. 

“Come on, (y/n/n). This way,” Lew muttered.

He led her into another tent that was less crowded and sat her down on a nearby cot. “I’ll go find Doc. Stay here.”

Laying back on the cot, (y/n) allowed her body to fully relax for the first time in almost three days. Soreness gnawed at her muscles, leaving behind a dull ache that drained all of her energy. Within a few minutes, her eyes began to droop, and sleep finally welcomed her.

“She’s in here,” Lew said, Doc Roe in tow. “She’s got a nasty cut on her head.”

The cajun nodded. “Alright, I’ll take a look. You know head wounds bleed a lot.”

Walking into the room, their expressions softened at her curled-up form on the cot. “Is it okay if she sleeps,” Nix asked, crouching next to her.

Grimacing, Roe shook his head. “I really should check her head, sir.”

With a nod, Lew gently shook her shoulder. “Hey, (y/n/n). Doc’s here to check your head.”

She weakly groaned and sat up slowly. “I think I could sleep for a week.”

Chuckling, Gene held his index finger up in front of her face. “Follow my finger.”

After a few seconds, he sighed, grabbing a suture kit from his satchel. “Doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but that cut’ll need stitches.”

Roe carefully cleaned the wound as (y/n)’s eyes screwed shut. “You ready?” He asked.

Keeping her eyes closed, her hand shot out beside her, grasping onto Nixon’s hand tightly. “Lew, please talk to me. Say anything, I don’t care, just talk.”

He squeezed her hand in response as she let out a hiss when the first suture pulled through her split skin.

“When I was in college…” 

With Lewis Nixon’s warm and reassuring hand in hers, along with his distracting words, the pain became bearable. In the small medic tent in Sainte-Mère-Eglise, Eugene smiled to himself, witnessing the intimate moment between the two.

“Ce sont des idiots.” He muttered to himself. “Des idiots en mal d’amour.”

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[magnoliasforyourmedic]

You could totally write a Band of Brothers-Masters of the Air AU where Easy Company is in the USAAF flying B-17s over Europe. Our Toccoa boys would be our “Original” crews of the 100th who flew over from the states in 1943 like we see in the Masters of the Air show.

Another thing to know is that if you weren't a pilot, you were a gunner. You might be a radio operator or a navigator or bombardier, but you were also a gunner during dog fights. I chose mostly based off of what I think fits them best with their personality but also somewhat with their roles in the company.

Here’s what I think some of the boys roles would be on a bomber crew (it’s kind long so see under the cut):

Eugene Roe would be a Flight Surgeon, without a doubt. Despite their title, Flight Surgeons don't typically fly becuase they can do a lot more good taking care of the wounded in the base hospital than they would be able to for a single crew of 10 men on an insanely dangerous mission (who could just as easily bleed out on the long flight home despite any medical attention they receive). The flight surgeons were never required to fly missions, and very few every did given the risk, but there were a handful that would so that they could get a better understanding of what the flyboys were going through in the air. Doc Roe would definitely be a Flight Surgeon who flies far more than he needs to.

Dick Winters would obviously be a pilot and I think he'd be a Squadron Commander who's promoted to Group Executive Officer. As the Air Exec he'd technically be third in command and he's in charge of organizing the bombing missions, briefing each mission, oversee group air training, navigation, bombing and to serve as command pilot leading bombing missions. He doesn't fly as often after he's promoted but will fly whenever the 100th leads which I think fits perfect with how we see Winters wanting to be in the battle with his men but can't always because of his new rank.

Lewis Nixon would probably be Group Intelligence Officer. As Group Intelligence Officer he was in charge of briefing flight crews before missions along with some of the other officers as well as in charge of interrogating the crews when they came back. I'm thinking he'd be a Marvin "Red" Bowman type if you know him from Masters of the Air, who was a much-loved member of the 100th BG known for “his sense of the dramatic” in that he would turn the morning debriefs into “real productions.”

Carwood Lipton would be a pilot. I think he’d be promoted to be the leader of one of the four squadrons of the 100th. He'd be telling Gene to stay back on a mission because they're flying in Coffin's Corner and don't want to lose their best Doc.

Buck Compton would be a pilot

Harry Welsh would also be a pilot or copilot

Frank Perconte would be a Ball Turret Gunner. Thank you, Perconte

Guarnere would probably be a Waist Gunner, but I can totally see him as a Bombardier. Also fits as a Top Turret Gunner/Flight Engineer but I really think he’d be a solid Bombardier. He reminds a lot of Bombardier James Douglass from MOTA in terms of personality

My first thought was that Bull Randleman would be a waist gunner because he definitely wouldn't fit in the spot for the tail gunner or ball turret gunner, but I actually think he might make a real good copilot with his leadership skills. Another thing that makes this a good fit is that when a Group Air Exec (think Major Kidd) flies on mission, they go in the place of the copilot in the lead crew when their BG is leading formation. The copilot then typically becomes a gunner for the mission or may assume the role of formation officer overseeing all of the aircraft behind them when they’re leading formation.

George Luz would be Radio Operator, duh

I'm honestly not quite sure where I think Liebgott would be. I can see him as a navigator or bombardier, or even a copilot. I’m leaning navigator, but I’d love to hear your thoughts

I feel like Skip and Muck could be a waist gunner duo on the same crew with Malarkey as the tail gunner on that same crew.

When replacements are brought in on masters of the air, we see brand new entire crews aircraft and all being brought in. I imagine this being the case for the replacements in this AU but I think Babe Heffron would fill in a spot on one of the “original” crews to mirror how close he becomes with the Toccoa men, or the “original” crews.

Ron Spiers would be a pilot who got transferred in from a different bomb group to replace Dike as a squadron leader maybe? There would definitely be rumors around him, if you’ve read Harry Crosby’s book, A Wing and a Prayer, you may recall the story of Leafy Hill. Leafy Hill was a navigator everyone despised and no one wanted to fly with due to his incompetence and insanity, but was set to be promoted up to Group Navigator. A crew decided to take things into their own hands and came up with a plan to ring the bailout bell when they got hit with the smallest amount of flak but make sure only Leafy would bail out over enemy territory. Im also think of Buck’s “we’re going to sit here and take it” line from Part 3, total Spiers vibes.

[danopdf]

band of brothers as musical love songs

any of them x medic reader: heavens light - The Hunchback of Notre Dame

dick winters: learn to do it (waltz reprise) - Anastasia, something good - the sound of music

lewis nixon: take me or leave me - RENT, something to believe in - newsies

ron speirs: bad idea - waitress, alone together - Bridgerton the Musical, burn for you - Bridgerton the musical

carwood lipton: when he sees me - waitress

george luz: I never planned on someone - newsies

joe liebgott: what do you know about love? - Frozen the musical

joe toye: won’t say I’m in love - Hercules

eugene roe: wait for me - Hadestown, Your Song - Moulin Rouge (ewan mcgregor version)

david webster: elephant love medley - moulin rouge

donald malarkey: I’ll cover you (and the reprise) RENT, i could have danced all night - my fair lady

babe heffron: you were meant for me - singing in the rain

skip muck: without love - hairspray

frank perconte: falling for ya - teen beach movie

[malarkgirlypop]

Warriors (Edward Tipper x F!Reader) Part 1

Hey hey! This is requested by @lenabob, thank you so much for letting me write this for you. I hope you enjoy it. This is the first part and there will be a second part coming. It was interesting to do Tipper he isn't a big character in the show but re-watching it he does pop up a fews more times than I expected, and now I love him as well. He's a cutie. I like his nose, idk why but I do. This is based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters no hate to any of the men who served.

***

“Who is she?” The men whisper about Y/N like she’s not even there. She fidgets under their watchful gaze. She’s never been one to stand out in the crowd. Growing up with three other older sisters who were always told they were beautiful and perfect. She couldn’t quite fit into the mould that her sister left for her though. Y/N never stuck around inside too long, finding activities like playing with babies and dolls boring. Y/N enjoyed running around pretending she was a warrior in a magical land. She was a knight sworn to protect the kingdom, and she would do just that. Her Mother did not see it fit for a young girl to be playing in the dirt outside pretending to sword fight imaginary creatures, always trying to put her in pretty dresses. The dresses never lasted long though, it was hard work defending the kingdom and a dress was not best suited for the vigorous activities. Her Father on the other hand enjoyed the more tom-boyish daughter, as he always had wanted a son. Her Father decided that she would be the son he never had. Being a veteran himself he would take Y/N out to the shooting range, teaching her how to shoot with all different types of guns. When Pearl Harbour was bombed Y/N knew that this was her chance to defend her kingdom in real life. She had signed up for the Army immediately, to her Father’s delight and her Mother’s disgust. However the Army did not see her fit to be a soldier and passed on her admission to a different branch. This kept happening to Y/N, after receiving so many letters rejecting her, she had become disheartened. Then one afternoon as she laid on her bed imagining being able to serve her country like she had always dreamed, her Father burst through her door waving a letter in the air. She had made it. The acceptance had come from the Paratrooper branch of the army, it was new, never been done before. Now here she was unpacking her bags in Camp Toccoa. She was ecstatic when she had arrived but her excitement was slowly eaten away by nerves. She didn’t see any other female recruits, the men as she walked through the campground had all stared and pointed as she made her way to the barracks. She had to brush them off though, she was here for herself and her dream, these men would not stand in her way. So that was her goal to be the best of the best and prove to these men she was not some meek woman. She was assigned to Easy company, and goddammit how the odds were not in her favour. Easy company was under the direction of Captain Sobel, a hard headed asshole, who had no problem working them to the bone. Easy company had become notorious for having no weekend passes due to the lovely Captain Sobel. He would make them stand in the hot Georgia sun in full gear sweating their asses off. His loud voice travelled through the Camp and could be heard from the other side.

“You people are at the position of attention.” Sobel boomed as he marched down the line of soldier’s. Eyes forward, chin up. Thought Y/N, don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself. Y/N grew more nervous as Sobel walked down the line closer to where she was standing. 

“Private Perconte, have you been blousing your trousers over your boots like a Paratrooper?” Sobel asks Frank Perconte as he presents his gun for inspection. 

“No, sir.” Frank answers, as Sobel towers over the short man. 

“Then explain the creases at the bottom.” Sobel retorted. Frank's face remained neutral. 

“No excuse, sir.” He replied. Sobel takes Frank’s mistake to lecture him. 

“Volunteering for the parachute infantry is one thing, Perconte, but you’ve got a long way to prove that you belong here. Your weekend pass is revoked.” The silent groan can be felt from the other men. Y/N bites her lip, sighing internally, Sobel seems to be in the best mood ever yay, sarcasm dripping off of her thoughts. Sobel trails down the line, picking out the men and revoking their passes. Sobel stops in front of Liebgott who stands in front of Y/N. She holds her breath pretending to be a statue so that Sobel won’t notice her. Sobel enjoys one thing punishing Easy company, but one thing he enjoys even more is picking on Y/N. Being the only female in the whole camp, Sobel seems to see her as an achilles heel. He thinks that the higher up’s were out to get him, by giving him the only female private. After Sobel finishes yelling at Liebgott his eyes lock onto Y/N. 

“Name?” Sobel asks like he isn't familiar with the female private.

“Y/L/N, Y/N, sir.” She says as she presents her gun to the Captain. He looks her up and down trying to find an imperfection to pick out. But she ensured that everything was polished perfectly before leaving the barrack. Ha! Nothing to find there Sobel. Y/N smirked internally. 

“That top looks too big for you, private.” Sobel yells in her face. 

“It’s the smallest size they offer, sir.” She says back calmly, looking over his shoulder, not making eye contact with the man. 

“Well you're a girl, why don’t you sew it and make it smaller.” Her jaw ticks, he always makes comments like this, little digs to get under her skin. The first day he had met her he asked her if she was lost and that girlfriends weren’t allowed to come on camp to visit. Even though she was in full uniform. 

“Sorry, sir.” She replied. 

“Pass revoked, Y/N.” He hissed in her ear. Sobel yells at the men that they aren’t fit for war. Then in good old Sobel fashion revokes everyone's weekend passes. 

“Get into your PT gear, we’re running Currahee.” Screams the man as he marches away. Leaving Winters to direct us, giving us two minutes to get ready for the run.

Y/N’s lungs scream and legs ache as she ascends Currahee. She enjoys the burn, the climb is tiring but she is one of the fitter privates in the infantry. 3 miles up and 3 miles down. Y/N runs next to Liebgott, they don’t speak as they run, but knowing another person is also in the same boat physically gives them a boost of energy. As she makes the top she spots Sobel standing there with his timer glaring at the men. She scrambles up the last bit putting her hand on the sundial, as she turns to go back down the hill she just ran. She collides with another human, sending her on her ass. The man helps her up to her feet. 

“Sorry.” She pants. 

“No you’re fine it was my fault.” The man also smiles, as he puffs. 

“WHY ARE YOU TWO CHIT-CHATTING, GET A MOVE ON!” Sobel yells, sending them back down the mountain. The down hill, harder on the knees, is less tiring. 

“I don’t think we have met?” The man says as they run. 

“I’m Y/N, and no we probably haven’t met.” She says wondering why the man is talking to her. The rest of the guys just ignore her, leaving her to her own devices. 

“Nice to meet you Y/N, I’m Edward, but everyone just calls me Tip, or Tipper.” He says sending her a smile. Not looking where he is going the man stumbles, Y/N is quick to grab him by the arm to stop him from tumbling down the hill. 

“Thanks, I should probably be looking where I am going huh?” He chuckles, she sends him a small smile, increasing her pace to get away from the man. He keeps up with her though. The rest of the run she makes it her mission to leave him behind, but he keeps pace. Sending her smiles as they go. 

They make it back to base, Y/N looks to go have a shower. 

“If I knew any better I would think you were trying to get away from me?” Tipper says as he looks up at her with his hands on his knees.

“Get away from you?” She chuckles awkwardly, “What? No.” she says sarcastically. Y/N takes her chance while the man is recovering to dart away to hop into one of the showers. 

Y/N gets to use the Captain’s showers due to the rest of them being communal. She was glad when they made that decision. On her first day she didn’t realise it was communal, and walked in to find many, many bits and pieces that were unfamiliar to her. She had stifled her scream and snuck out before the men noticed her arrival. She had spoken to Winters about the situation, not finding the most comfort in confiding in Captain Sobel. Winters had sorted it out for her in a discreet way which she was very thankful for. 

Y/N slipped under the warm stream of water, letting it ease the tension in her muscles. She washed and stood for longer than she knew she should’ve enjoying the water running over her skin. She grabbed her towel drying herself down, she opened the door to grab her clean uniform to put on. Her hand searched outside of the door, finding just the metal wall. Wrapping the towel around her she poked her head out of the door. The hook that was holding her uniform was now empty. Y/N looked around flustered, did they fall off the hook? Did they get blown away? She had to get into her uniform quickly because she had to be in the mess hall in 30 minutes for dinner and if she was late she would definitely be punished. These thoughts swirled in her mind. FUCK. She cursed. She had another uniform in her barrack that she could get into and then get to dinner in time. But that would mean that she would have to walk to her barracks that was a fair distance away, in her towel! A groan left her lips and she banged her hand against the door. She poked her head out further, it seemed that there weren't too many people around, maybe she could sneak to the barracks and no one would notice. She would have to be strategic. Y/N wrapped her towel around her tightly, ensuring everything was covered. She stepped out of the shower, sneaking down the stairs. Ok, she thought, I am an undercover spy, who is on a mission to get to HQ (the barracks) without being spotted. Y/N pushed herself against the wall, looking from left to right to ensure the coast was clear. Coming out of her hiding spot she darted from tent to tent. Being able to stay out of sight. A few close calls but no one had seen her. Her barracks were in sight, but she had become cocky. I could just make a b-line for it and no one would see me. Y/N started hastily walking to the barracks, almost there, almost there. 

“Y/N?” She heard from behind her. She stopped dead in her tracks not daring to turn around and see who had spotted her. The sound of footsteps approached her, she willed her legs to move and hide but she was frozen. A jacket was thrown around her shoulders. She peered over her shoulder. Tipper stood beside her looking concerned. 

“Y/N what are you doing out here in a towel? You do know you’re in a camp full of men?” He asks, keeping his eyes on hers. 

“I went for a shower and my uniform went missing.” She explained. The sound of a group of men came from behind them. They were still listening, as the men grew closer.

“Quick!” Tipper said in a hushed voice, he put his arm around Y/N dragging her to the tent she was aiming for. They burst into the room before anyone could see them. They looked at each other, cracking up in laughter. Tipper waited outside for her as she quickly dressed. They made it to the mess hall on time. Y/N grabbed her food and looked to go sit at her table, where no one else sat with her. Tipper grabbed her arm. 

“Hey come sit with me.” He said pulling her in the direction of the table where other men called for him. 

“I’m not sure, I don’t think they would want me there.” She motioned her head in the direction of his friends waiting for him. 

“If they say anything, I will make sure to kick them in the shins.” He says wiggling his eyebrows, making her giggle. She sighs, nodding her head. Tipper and Y/N sit down together and the table is quiet. Y/N clears her throat and looks down at her plate of food pushing it around. 

“Guys this is Y/N.” Tipper introduces her to the table, they watch her unsure. She gives them a tight lip smile in greeting. 

“Sorry for my friends, they must’ve forgotten how to talk to a woman since we don’t get out on the weekends. Sobel huh?” Tipper nudges her with his elbow. 

“Hey, I know how to talk to ladies.” Liebgott protests from beside her as he sits down, squashing her between the men. 

“Your Y/N right?” Liebgott asks with his mouth full of food. She nods her head. 

“You know I have never heard you talk.” Frank says from across the table. 

“Well you’ve never talked to me so…” She trails off. The other men laugh, giving Frank a hard time.

“I think Sobel picks on you the most.” Lieb says to her. 

“Well it’s hard being the favourite.” The men chuckle at her joke. The men are funny as she sits there and listens to their silly banter. After the meal ends she feels a little less alone than she normally did. Tipper walks her back to her barrack. 

“I didn’t get to thank you earlier, for saving my ass, literally.” They chuckle at her joke. 

“No thanks necessary ma’am.” He pretends to tip his fake hat. She giggles, butterflies float around her stomach. She straightens, no she can’t have feelings, this is not the time. She clears her throat, sobering herself. 

“Goodnight.” She says hurrying into the barrack, he stands outside smiling at her.

After months of basic training Y/N finally got to do her first practice jump. It was thrilling to say the least. All of her hard work finally felt like it was paying off. Standing in the line getting ready to jump from the plane, her heart was in her throat. She went through all of the motions she was taught, clipping herself to the line, checking the man in front of her, waiting for the green light. She was fifth back, watching her fellow soldiers making their leap, she couldn’t wait till it was her turn. Tipper was in front of her, he had given her a cheeky wink before his jump. She couldn’t remember if she had smiled back at him, so focussed on her own turn. She stood in the doorway, waiting for her cue to leave. The light turned green as the instructor gave a loud GO. Y/N had jumped, going into autopilot she followed the instructions ensuring she had the right form. The shoot deployed as she floated down. In that moment she was allowed a second to herself. Taking in the view of the rolling fields, the feeling of the wind on her face and the sweet smell of fresh air. She was so proud of herself. After the jump the men and her had gathered in the bar to celebrate. She drank with Tipper and the other men. Over the past couple of months she had grown closer to Tipper, her crush getting bigger as she did so. She played it well, just being his friend. But sometimes she wished she had the courage to lean over and kiss him. However she didn’t want to ruin the great friendship she had with him, and she didn’t know how he would react to such a confession from her. So she let it be, keeping her feelings locked up and enjoying the little moments they had together. He was so funny, always had a witty line to say, and then other times he was so sweet she could melt. He would do little things for her. One time when she was having a hard day he picked her some wildflowers from the meadow nearby to cheer her up. There were also the little touches they shared, he would lean into her as he spoke, hold her by her hips as he moved past her. This confused her more, but seeing that there were no other female recruits, she couldn’t figure out if that's how he was as a person or if he had feelings for her as well. They cheered as Bill chugged his beer, flashing his new jump wings badge in his teeth after doing so. They had all got their wings after their jump. Showing that they were real paratroopers now. 

Soon they were being shipped off again, literally. This time to England. The ship was hot and stuffy, as the men were crowded into the hold. The journey was long, they did anything to pass the time. Gossip, smoke, cards and fights. 

Tipper and Y/N lounge on the lower bunks playing cards as a fight breaks out behind them. Y/N glances over to see who is involved, Lieb and Bill and being pulled away from each other. Y/N only heard parts of the conversation, mostly paying attention to trying to beat Tip in their game.

“What’s all that about?” Tipper asks, looking over at her.

“Bill called Sobel a Jew. Liebgott took offence cause he’s a Jew too.” She reports what she had heard to Tip, as she plays her card. 

“Pfft, fighting over Sobel that’s smart.” Tip replied sarcastically.  

Easy company goes through more rigorous training in Aldbourne England. Doing more practical training rather than physical fitness. Learning battle strategies, weapon handling, digging trenches and doing practice assaults. 

Y/N is in the group led by Sobel for the assault. Y/N checks her watch, they are late. They were supposed to be at the rendezvous point by this time, but are currently running in a field nowhere near it. They ran beside a field of cows, hi cows. Luz halts to group as Sobel tries to find his bearings. Y/N makes eye contact with Tip who is Sobel’s runner, poor guy. Where are we? Y/N mouths to Tipper who shakes his head at the very lost Sobel. 

“Tipper.” Yells Sobel turning away from Tip who is standing right next to him. Y/N groans internally, how do you not know who your runner is? 

“Yes, sir.” Tipper says pulling out the map so they can figure out where we are. Sobel double takes over his shoulder realising that Tip is right behind him. 

“Give me the m….” Sobel starts to command but Tipper beats him to it, already handing him the map.   

“Perconte, Luz. Get the men, get ‘em ba-, take cover behind those trees.” The man fumbles. George and Frank start moving out the men to behind the trees Sobel pointed at. Y/N follows the men as they make their way over.

“Perconte, Sobel’s lost again right?” Y/N asks Frank as they gather behind the shrubs, crouching down, keeping quiet. 

“Yeah he’s lost.” Frank replies annoyed at the incompetent Captain. 

“Fucking Christ.” Y/N mutters to herself. 

“Luz, Luz.” Franks calls the man. “Can you do Major Horton?” he asks as Luz comes to stand by him. 

“Does a wild bear crap in the woods, son?” Luz says mimicking Horton. The men laugh at his impression. 

“Shh shh shh,” Frank shushes their giggles, “Maybe the good major can goose this schmuck. Get us moving?” Frank tells Luz his idea. 

“No way.” Luz starts to try and get out of doing the impression. The other men egg him on. George gives into the peer pressure, agreeing. Y/N and the rest of the men whisper excitedly as Luz shushes them.  

“Is there a problem Captain Sobel?” Luz imitates the Major’s voice. Everybody giggles, covering their mouths to keep quiet. 

“Who said that? Who broke silence?” Sobel screams across the field. 

Tipper grins, holding in his laugh. Knowing Luz as a close friend he recognised the impersonation. Holding it together he informs Sobel, “I think it’s Major Horton, sir.” Putting on a straight face. 

Sobel is stumped, “Major Horton? What is he-, did he join us?” He stutters. 

“I think maybe he is moving between the platoons, sir.” Tipper carries on with the ruse. 

“What is the goddamn hold up Mr. Sobel?” Luz yells again after a period of silence. Y/N trying her best to contain her fits of giggles, pressing her face into her hands. 

“A fence, sir. Sir, um. God. A barbed wire fence.” Sobel shouts back. Tipper looks down at the ground trying to cover his grin. 

“Oh, that dog just ain’t gonna hunt.” Luz says again in his amazing impression of Horton. Stifled laughter can be heard amongst the men. 

“Shut up, shut up.” Luz tells them when the laughing is getting too loud. “Now you cut that fence and get this goddamn platoon on the move!” Luz screams in his Horton voice. 

“Yes, sir.” Sobel follows the man’s command, Tipper still trying to contain his own laughter. 

“Where are my goddamn wire cutters?” Sobel was frustrated at being caught by the “Major”. 

[balladofthe101st]

that scene where frank chews out o'keefe always gets me because that's someone who's fucking tired of war. tired of seeing his friends wounded and die. tired of jumping out of planes. tired of hearing frightened screams for a medic. tried of not having fresh food, hot showers, and a warm bed. it breaks me every time hearing frank say, "it's been two years since i seen home. two years. this fucking war" because that's someone who's tired of the war. someone who misses home, his family, his friends, his life before the horrors of war

[wwhatev3r]

Easy Company reaction: You ask them if they love you

Notes: Prepare yourself to read the phrase “I love you” as you never did before.

– Dick Winters - He looks at you for a second; still processing what you just asked him, then comes closer to you, holds your hands and looks you right in the eyes. “There isn't a person in this world that I love more, and the fact that you asked me that just proves that I’m not doing a good job on showing you.”

– Lewis Nixon - (This man is straight on point.) “What? Are you serious? I would never let you sleep in my bed if I didn't. Believe me.” He gives a playful grin and pulls you closer to him, “Of course I love you.”

– Carwood Lipton - He freezes in time for a second and then walks over you to grab both your hands and even takes a little bit to look you in the eyes, “I-i… I want to apologize for not saying it as often as I wish I did, but hum… I love you with all my heart y/n.”

– Ronald Speirs - (Alexa, play crazy in love by Sofia Karlberg.) He gives you those intense gazes that always leaves you longing for him. He didn’t have to touch you, he stayed in front of you and with his rough voice he simply said: “I love you. Save these words as a promise.”

– George Luz - “I mean, we sleep in the same bed, kiss each other and see each other naked but I’m sure is only because I consider you as my roommate.” he says sarcastically, right before pulling you in his arms with his typical smile that can light a room. “Of course I love you idiot.”

– Joe Liebgott - “What?” he looks at you with a confused expression. You repeated the question for him to give you one of his cunning grins “It was a rhetorical question but yes, I love you so goddamn much that I hate me for it.”

– William “Bill” Guarnere - “Sure thing, I really do love you.” He pulls you to his chest and gives you a warm kiss that makes your heart skip a bit. “You are my girl/boy, you know that right?”

– Joe Toye - You melted as his eyes met you when you asked the question, and Joe stood frozen, his mouth hung slightly open. “What type of question is that? I love you.” His eyes traveled through your features. “I love your nose, your eyes, your smile. Everything.”

– Donald Malarkey - He gives you a playful smile, the kind that makes you smile back instantly. “Of course I do, a little too much even.” He holds you by the waist and kisses your nose. “Dummy.” (This man worships you.)

– Warren “Skip” Muck - Skip’s eyes widened and he stopped whatever he was doing to look at you. “Say that again.” He runs to you to grab your face, “Honey, sweetheart, love of my life, of course I do!”

– Darrel “Shifty” Powers - “Oh, my love, I do. I really do.” He holds both your cheeks and you can’t stop to notice how red he is. “I love you so much.” You notice his eyes glint, “I should tell how much every day, I’m sorry.”

– Eugene Roe - His eyes gleamed at you, and his ears turned red. He takes a second to answer, only because he was caught off-guard. He walks slowly towards you to hold your hands. “I do.” he says almost in a whisper, “You have no idea how much, do you?”

– Edward “Babe” Heffron - He frees a joyous laugh and his cheeks turn red in an instant, “Wait, is this a serious question?” He walked over you and moved your hair so that he could see your face better. “Hell yeah, I love you so goddamn much.”

– David Webster - He gave you a simple smile, “‘I love you, and that’s the beginning and the end of everything’, don’t you doubt it a second.” he says before kissing you in the temple. (Yes, this mf quote Fitzgerald.)

– Frank Perconte - “Well, of course!” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “You love me back, right?” he asked with a childlike expression before pulling you to a kiss.

– Denver “Bull” Randleman - He stared at the floor and smiled to himself and met your eyes again when he got closer to you. He tucked your hair behind your ear and said: “Of course, what’s there not to love?”

– Johnny Martin - “I mean, sometimes you’re a pain in the ass so...” He pulled you towards him with a grin and blinked at you, “I’m kidding, I love you very much.”

– Floyd Talbert - His eyes traveled from your body to your eyes, “Don’t doubt it a bit, doll.” He grabbed you by the waist and said: “But I would love you more if those pretty lips of yours were on mine.”

[luzlylovely]

Thanks For Coming, I'll Be Here All Week

Rating: T (modern au, referenced alcohol abuse, angst with a happy ending, pre-relationship)

Joe watched him without saying anything and George fought to keep still under his gaze. It was heavy, calculating; like he could see right through George’s skin and into his threadbare soul. It was uncomfortable, and George didn’t do well with uncomfortable. Usually, he’d crack a joke to break the tension, but he just didn’t have it in him. And something was telling him that Joe didn’t need or want that.

Hello! I love Band of Brothers so much and I've been so excited and nervous to write for these characters. I haven't written any fanfic in over two years but these fellas consume my thoughts, so here we are.

This was definitely not intended to be as angsty as it became, but I cannot get over Luz using his humor to cope and this just happened.

I hope you enjoy it! Thank you kindly!

Read it on ao3

By design, George Luz could not, under any circumstances, keep his goddamn mouth shut. The words on this particular night in question hadn’t even been some of his better work, which was the real crime. But the universe was a fickle bitch, and tonight she’d decided that George would end it with his ass firmly planted outside the bar on the wet curb and not even close to the level of drunk he’d been aiming for.

“What’d you say this time?” Frank Perconte asked, silhouetted against the lights of The 101 ’s partially burnt out sign.

George shrugged, pulling out his last cigarette and patting his pockets for a lighter he knew wasn’t there, “I’m embarrassed to say.”

“C’mon, don’t leave me hangin’ here.” Frank handed him a sleek silver zippo, “I’m on the edge of my goddamn seat.”

“‘Your mother’.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Frank hummed, “Not your best work.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” George shrugged again, leaning forward on his knees and taking a drag on his cigarette.

“That’s really all you said to get kicked out?”

“That’s really all I said to get kicked out. Some random, drunk asshole was being a drunk asshole, I said ‘your mother’, Dick didn’t want anything to kick off, so here we are.” George pitched his voice to mimic that of 1970’s television host, “Tune in next time to see what happens to our contestant on ‘Unlucky In Luz’ .”

“‘ Unlucky in Luz’ , huh? That’s actually not bad.”

George responded with a noncommittal grunt, attention focused on the pavement between his feet. Stared at his hands and the bruises and scratches that hadn’t healed from a few days ago, scattered over the knuckles of his right hand. What a way to end a week, huh? George’s recent string of bad luck just wouldn’t seem to run out.

“Well,” Frank turned towards the door. “They can’t keep you out forever.”

George chuckled ruefully, “Yeah, especially since Lew asked me to cover two shifts this week.” He got up, brushing off the seat of his jeans, “Shit, I guess I’ll catch you later, Perc. Keep out of trouble, yeah?”

“Not a problem when you’re taking it all with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” George waved him off as he turned up his collar. He took one last look at the entrance to The 101 as Frank went inside then put his cigarette to his lips and ducked his head down against the cold to trudge home. He had about a third of the cigarette left, just enough to last him on his short walk to his shitty studio apartment if he hurried. An easy-peasy end to an otherwise stupid fucking night.

Or, it would’ve been, had it not been for the absolute bulldozer of a man George ran into at full speed.

His cigarette flew out of his mouth and onto the damp pavement, “Oh, Jesus Christ!”

“Oh, fuck!” The other guy huffed out, stumbling back. “The fuck are you doing?”

George was hunched over, scrabbling for the cigarette before the damp cement killed it, “It’s my last one, man.”

“That’s disgusting.”

He brought it to his lips and puffed quickly, watching the cherry glow with relief, “Yeah, well, desperate times.” As George straightened, he wiped his hands on his pants, “And if you were watching where you were going, I wouldn’t have to be smoking a dirt cigarette right now anyway so–”

Shit .

Well, if tall, dark, and glare-y wasn’t the best looking guy George had ever seen, he probably would have finished that sentence with some sort of scathing quip. One for the books, really. But as it happened, tall, dark, and glare-y was the best looking guy George had ever seen so George just stood there staring at his stupidly gorgeous face with his slightly damp smoke drooping between his lips wishing he’d be struck by lightning or hit by a rogue hot air balloon or something.

“Right, well maybe take your own advice and watch where you’re going next time you’re traveling with precious cargo.” His tone was vicious and his voice was oh, so rough. If the guy didn’t look so ready to fight and coiled up like a spring, George would probably turn into a jelly mold of himself at that voice.

But, given the circumstance, George just blinked. He’d been in his share of brawls sure, but, for one, he didn’t want to fight this guy because, second, he was sure he’d lose.

George noted the squared stance, the flexing hands, and the fire behind the stranger’s challenging stare. Jesus, I thought I was having a bad night .

“Look, man. Whatever, alright? I’m sorry I crashed into you, it’s not been my best day, it’s my last cigarette, I’m grouchy, I’m backing off, how about you back off, huh?” George almost closed his eyes as he waited for the punch to land, but he leveled his gaze instead. Patiently– though it had never been one of his strong suits.

“Have a nice night, asshole,” the guy huffed, and he turned and walked away.

Nasally laughter rang out, and for the first time, George noticed that the guy wasn’t alone. He watched as the two of them continued down the sidewalk before entering The 101 .

He took a drag of his cigarette and was granted nothing for his efforts. Burnt down to the filter.

Fuck.

He tossed the yellow butt to the ground and made the rest of his journey home, committing to memory every detail he could remember about the surly stranger.

Rich, brown eyes rimmed with dark, dark lashes. Strong nose and jaw. A furrowed, expressive brow. Kiss-me mouth. Christ , a face like that oughta be criminal. George also distinctly remembered the feeling of being bulldozed by the built-like-a-brick-shithouse body. He might actually wake up with bruises. He hoped he woke up with bruises.

How long had it been since he’d gotten laid?

George made it to his building; a squat row of a couple vacant spaces, cheap restaurants, one florist, two laundromats that somehow stayed in business– though he never saw anyone enter the premises– and a few studio apartments on the second floor. He walked around back and trekked up the rusted steps to his landing to fumble with his keys before making his way inside. He had to shove the deadbolt into place, because it didn’t really sit right in its place and wouldn’t likely do much against an intruder. Like most of the apartment, it was, in truth, falling apart. The radiator didn’t work quite right. The AC also didn’t really do its job. The refrigerator didn’t stay closed unless you shut it at the right angle (a lesson learned thrice too many times), and the shower head made a high pitched squealing noise that sounded like an amateur mosquito mariachi band. But George was handy when he needed to be, and at the lack of a landlord that gave a shit, he was at least better off than he had been at the start of renting this place. And, well, it was home.

Shuffling off his coat and kicking away his shoes, he called out, “Honey, I’m home!” to John Wayne, his cat.

She glanced at him primly from her perch on the windowsill by the bed as he set about refilling her food and water before getting ready to turn in for the night. Many had asked how he’d named the snow white, demure little puff ball after the legendary cinematic cowboy, but George vowed to never tell.

“You would not believe the night I had, little lady,” George began, before regaling her with the night’s adventures.

He settled into bed, scratching gently behind John Wayne’s ears and she nuzzled into his palm with a purr as he finished his tale that included far more details and half-truths than were probably necessary.

“Me and my big mouth, huh? Can’t be too mad at it this time, though,” George booped her nose. “Not the worst kind of trouble it ever got me into before. Not by a long shot” He settled back against his pillows, arms behind his head, thinking of rich, brown eyes rimmed with dark, dark lashes, “Better than I deserve, at least.”

*****

“Would you look at what the cat dragged in,” Harry drawled as George shouldered his way into The 101 .

“Hold the applause, please,” George deadpanned as he stowed his jacket and keys away beneath the bar and rolled up his sleeves.

Harry leaned against the bar, shit-eating grin smeared across his face, “Lew tells me Dick kicked you out on Friday.” George lifted a shoulder in confirmation, pouring himself a pint that Harry benevolently ignored. “He also told me you missed all the fun.

“Oh yeah? What fun was that?”

“Couple friends of Babe’s came in after you got booted and one of them ended up knocking the lights outta the guy you mouthed off to. All of Dick’s hard work towards keeping the peace with you out the window within an hour, how about that, huh?”

George took a beat for a few swallows of beer, “What did this guy look like? Tall, dark, and grumpy? Did his friend sound like he’d been battling a cold for the better part of a decade?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Harry shrugged, “I didn’t come in after you’d gone. I heard this all second-hand. Why, you know these guys?”

George shrugged, “Maybe. I ran headfirst into a couple of guys on my way home and one of them looked like he was ready to hit someone, I was just glad it wasn’t me.” I might’ve been glad if it had been me . “We didn’t really get to chatting.”

“Well, Babe’s planning to show up tonight, and I’m sure he did some damage control with Dick so who knows? Maybe his violent buddies will be back to give our good Captain another heart attack.”

George nodded noncommittally as he finished his beer and got ready for his shift. He wasn’t surprised to hear that Babe was expected to be at The 101 tonight. There was a solid group of regulars that showed up most days, and when he wasn’t working, George was usually among them. He wasn’t sure how they’d all come together over the years, but the bar had molded them into a rather tight knit group and George considered them his good friends.

The first to make an appearance that night was Joe Liebgott, and George chucked an ice cube at him when he sat down.

“Hey! What gives, Luz?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Liebgott reached over the bar to pour himself a beer, “Grabbing a drink, what else would I be doing?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” George glared, “literally anything else considering this is your shift that I’m covering right now.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks for that, buddy. I owe you one,” He said with a smirk and a wink that George responded to with another handful of ice cubes. “Be careful where you’re throwing those things, alright? I’ll pull you from the magazine if you’re not careful.”

George offered his own hidden beer from behind the bar– was that his third of the night so far? Got to keep better track of that, George – to clink together in truce, “Your empty threats fall on deaf ears, Lieb. You might be able to find a better designer, but no one would put up with you.”

“Yeah, I’ll drink to that,” they toasted their respective drinks and settled into casual conversation.

George knew there wouldn’t be an explanation from Liebgott about why he’d needed coverage for his shift and why he’d shown up anyway, and George knew he wouldn’t pitch in to help out, so George let the subject drop and shot the shit as more customers trickled in. Mondays weren’t usually busy, and he could take the time to talk to a friend in between pouring a pint. They talked about the magazine Joe owned, an underground punk publication that George did the graphic design elements for. It wasn’t very big, but they sold a decent amount of online subscriptions and had started to sell physical copies in a few record stores around town in the past months. It had also introduced George to Liebgott and The 101 , so he supposed he could deal with covering a shift that didn’t really need to be covered.

Eventually, Skip Muck and Don Malarkey came in, and sometime after that, Frank, too. A handful of others that George vaguely recognized were scattered around, playing darts and shooting pool while his friends were laughing at the bar. But, each time the door opened, he couldn’t help but hope to see those brown eyes rimmed with dark, dark lashes.

He looked to the door again as it swung open, and felt guilty for being disappointed at seeing the tall and pale Buck Compton.

“George Luz! We missed you on Friday, could’ve used your commentary.”

He quirked a grin and poured a scotch, “I heard it was a real knock-down-drag-out affair. How’s it going, Buck?”

“Same as it always goes, can’t complain, anyway.” Buck paused, seeming to mull over what he was going to say next, “What about you?”

George didn’t have to ask what he was referring to. Everyone knew about his big blow up last week, even if they’d hadn’t been present, he didn’t doubt that word had traveled fast. You hear about Luz? Yeah, didn’t he punch a wall or some shit? That’s what I heard. What happened? I don’t know, apparently he didn’t say anything about it and just left. Showed back up the next day like nothing happened.

Everyone knew about it, and everyone had the good sense to let it lie. Everyone, that is, but Buck Compton.

George pressed a smile into his lips, the lopsided one he knew told people that he was a fun guy to have around, a real laugh, the life of the party, “I’m swell, Buck. No complaints here, either.”

He watched as Buck’s eyes flickered down to the knuckles on his right hand, now yellowed and still scabbed over in a couple places where George hadn’t been able to stop from picking.

“Glad to hear it, Luz. Glad to hear it.”

Buck started a game of darts with Muck and Malarkey, so George was left to go about his business. He should’ve felt relieved, but it opened a pit in his stomach the size of Texas.

That night last week had been his worst in a long, long while. He’d been able to push away the shame and guilt of knowing his friends had seen him like that, his coworkers– shit– his fucking bosses, had seen him like that because everyone else had been as ready to sweep it under the rug as he had been.

It wasn’t Buck’s fault that he wanted to check in on George, he couldn’t be mad about that. It’s what friends did. It’s what George would do if the roles were reversed, he told himself. But, Christ, if it didn’t just remind him that all these people in his life knew what a fuck-up he was. He just had to get his shit together.

George suddenly felt the weight of someone’s attention upon him and he looked up to see the pale face, brown eyes, and red, red hair of Babe Heffron across the bar leveling him with a look of concern, “Hey, George, you good? Haven’t been taking too much advantage of those complimentary employee drinks, have you?”

“Who, me?” George was quick to turn on the charm, lopsided grin in place, “No, just thinking about how much I was missing you, Babe. And look! Here you are, returned to me at last.”

Babe appeared to be convinced at that, and George relaxed enough to notice that he wasn’t alone. Slightly behind him was a shorter man with a steely glint in his eye and a hard-set jaw, but the kind of lines around his eyes that told George he liked to laugh a lot. And next to him was George’s stranger.

He felt his eyes widen as he recognized the good-looking man, now confirmed to be one of Babe’s friends from Friday, and the object of all of George’s daydreams since then. He didn’t seem to recognize George, which stung a bit, but that might be for the best.

“Usual for you, Babe? What can I get your friends here?”

The shorter man ordered in a slightly nasally voice George recognized, and then tall, dark and handsome got the same with that gravelly timbre that had George’s toes curling.

“Yeah, George, these are my buddies from work Bill Guarnere,” the shorter, “and Joe Toye.”

Finally the stranger had a name! Joe fucking Toye! George was ready to put on his best West Side Story performance. Joe Toye.

Babe was still talking, “I brought ‘em here Friday to introduce to everyone, but, uh, you’d already left, so I was told.”

George snorted as he finished pouring the beers, “And it was quite the evening, so I was told.”

He glanced towards Joe to see his jaw twitch and Bill laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, “Oh yeah, our buddy Joe here made a real good first impression. We’re lucky to have our sweet angelic baby-faced Babe here to smooth everything over for us, or I don’t think there’d be a bar in the county we wouldn’t be banned from.”

Joe remained stoic and Babe and Bill continued their ribbing, glancing over at George who averted his gaze.

“Why weren’t you there, anyway? I’d heard you’d been kicked out for the night, but no details.”

George rolled his eyes, “Jesus, you guys gossip more than my mother. I was running my mouth and Dick didn’t want anything to start up so our kind and amenable George Luz volunteered to vacate the premises.”

“Yeah,” Babe scoffed, “I’m sure that’s exactly how it went down.”

Bill’s eyes narrowed and he smacked a hand against Joe, “Hey, didn’t we run into you? Yeah, yeah, you were the guy who barreled into Joe and dropped his cigarette.”

Joe really looked at George then.

“Yeah. That would be me.”

Joe just lifted the corner of his mouth in a phantom of a smirk, “You were a real sorry sack of shit. I would’ve felt sorry for you if you hadn’t headbutted me.”

George froze, caught right in Joe’s gaze. The heat of embarrassment rose over his collar and he saw amusement dance behind the brown of Joe’s eyes. Well, at least the guy still isn’t mad.

Bill laughed again, and some of the other guys came over to say their hellos to Babe and reintroduce themselves to Bill and Joe, so the conversation ended there.

The rest of his shift was spent in a whirlwind of pouring beers and half finished conversations, and George didn’t really get to talk to Joe again. But, he looked whenever he could spare the glance. And if he caught Joe looking back, the bar was just dim enough he could convince himself it was just a trick of the light.

As the bar closed down and he and Harry got everything set up for the next day, Dick called his attention.

“George, can I borrow you for a second?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

He finished wiping down the table he was at, casting a last look towards where Joe was walking out of the bar with Babe and Bill and the rest of the guys, and walked out back to where he knew Dick and his auburn hair were waiting. He probably wanted to talk to him about Friday. Anytime George had to be sent home for his mouth, they had a “conversation” about it later in which Dick would very sternly tell him to be more courteous, George would say ‘sir, yes sir’, and they’d both walk away knowing they’d have the same conversation in the near future. Dick knew George was mostly harmless, and George knew that Dick just really cared about his people and his business, so it worked out.

“What can I do you for, Dick?” George leaned against the wall and lit up a cigarette, offering one knowing that Dick would refuse.

As expected, the bossman declined. Instead, he heaved a sigh, “Buck’s worried about you.” George started to respond, but Dick stopped him, “I am too, so is Lew and Harry. Everyone is. What happened last week, George?”

“I’ve become a gym rat. Pre-workout got the best of me.”

“George.”

Jesus, tough crowd. “Look, Dick, I’m really sorry about last week. I know it was stupid and you have every right to fire me. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I’m not firing you,” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth before crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m just trying to get you to talk to me, here. You keep a tight lid on things, I know you know that you do, but I don’t think you’re doing well. Besides hitting a wall, I’ve seen you drinking more. Do you think it’s good for you to be working at a bar right now with whatever’s going on?”

“I’m not an alcoholic.”

“I’m not saying you are. But, you’re clearly not talking to anyone about this, so maybe drinking is an easier way to get through it?”

George sagged against the wall, “You’re real perceptive, you know that?”

“I try to look after my people,” Dick gave him a small smile.

George could open up to Dick. He was a good man with an open heart and the kind of loyalty that was hard to come by. George could tell him about the constant feeling of inadequacy and being a disappointment. The need to perform, to constantly earn his place in each and every relationship he has for fear of losing it. He could tell Dick all these things, and Dick would listen and reassure him and would never breathe a word of it to anyone else. It would probably lift that sisyphean burden that pressed upon his shoulders some.

But, no. George couldn’t do that. Speaking any of his shit out loud made it too real to bear, and he was only just holding on as it was.

“I’m just going through a rough patch right now. The wall thing was a one-off, I swear to you. And I know about the drinking, I see it, too, and I’ll cut back.” Dick didn’t look convinced, so George pressed on, “I’m doing better, I’ll do better. This really helped, actually. It’s good to know I’ve got people in my corner, you know?”

Dick sighed, “I’m not the only one, either. Just, let someone know if you need a hand, George. And I’m limiting you to two drinks per shift.”

“Yeah, man. Thanks.”

*****

George worked three more nights at The 101 that week, each one much the same as the last. He limited his drinking, even if he did sneak a shot or two when he knew neither Dick nor Lew was looking, and kept a tight leash on his growing sense of anxiety. A smile was always in place, a joke was always at the ready, and a pep was always in his step.

For the most part George was pretty sure it was working. Dick kept giving him the kind of looks that reminded George of his mother, but Buck seemed placated, and no one else appeared concerned, so George was taking his wins where he could.

He even saw Joe again, on Wednesday, when Babe and Bill returned. Like Monday, they had a brief conversation, and then spent the rest of the night playing darts or talking with other patrons, but George was happy to just look at the guy.

He started to notice things about Joe.

Joe was pretty quiet, usually taking the backseat to Bill and Babe’s raucous laughter, but George always noticed the hint of a smile that peaked through at their joking. George’s ears also seemed particularly attuned to his deep voice and how it rolled over the room whenever he made a rare quip. Always wicked sharp and cool without being cruel, humor in the driest sense that had George hiding a smile every time.

George liked those moments, when he could be a part of the audience and not the entertainment.

He tried not to be too disappointed when Joe didn’t show up on Thursday.

When Friday dawned, George rolled out of bed already exhausted. He had some work to do for Liebgott’s magazine and the stupid radiator was acting up again, so he already knew it was going to be a long, cold day.

John Wayne meowed at him, a not-so-gentle reminder that it was well past her breakfast time. “Deepest apologies, my love,” he yawned, trudging to the kitchen to fill her bowls.

Soon enough, his coffee was ready, too, and a bagel was toasted. But, George had forgotten to buy more oat milk and cream cheese, so breakfast sucked. Then, he couldn’t get the layout to look right for the spread he was working on for the newest issue of the magazine, which also sucked. And to top off the day, by the time he got around to trying to fix the radiator, he realized he didn’t have the right part– more than two hours into the project, by the way– and the hardware store down the road had already closed. Premium suckage.

George was cold and crabby, but at least John Wayne didn’t seem bothered in the least. She, in all her fluff, was curled up contently next to the internet router that he knew was steadily radiating warmth. Unlike the actual radiator.

“Must be nice,” he grumbled.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, George stood up from where he knelt by the useless appliance, considered giving it a good kick, and checked his phone instead. There was a text from Frank asking if he was going to The 101 and George flopped onto his bed with a sigh. He hadn’t planned on it, knowing that Dick was still keeping an eye on his drinking, and given the day he’d had, hell, the past couple of weeks he’d had, the idea was just to stay home and plow through a six pack on his own while watching The X-Files and fantasizing about Fox Mulder.

I don’t know, probably not, he sent back.

Frank’s reply came quickly, Cmon, man. Everyone’s coming out tonight, I’ll make sure you don’t get yourself into any trouble.

George didn’t think that was particularly likely, he and trouble were two peas in a pod. But, if everyone was going to be there, that meant Babe. And if Babe was going to be there, maybe Joe would, too.

Alright, fine.

He tossed his phone to the side and stared at the ceiling.

This was probably a bad idea, going to a bar in the hopes of bumping into a guy he was lusting after when he felt so fucked up inside. Then again, isn’t that what most of the single population of the world did every Friday night?

“John Wayne, you’ll pick me up if I fall apart completely, right?” He looked over at the pristine white cat to see her lift an eyelid before settling back into her nap. “Thanks, love.”

By the time George had eaten dinner, showered, gotten dressed, and changed his mind more than a few times about going out, it was already past ten-o-clock. The walk to The 101 was cold, and he pulled his coat around him tightly, cursing Frank for inviting him out and cursing himself for accepting. He pulled out a cigarette right as it began to rain, cold and biting.

“Fucking fantastic.”

He opened the door to the bar, damp and barely suppressing a shiver. His signature grin was nowhere near it’s usual brightness, even he could feel it, but at least he could blame it on the rain.

Only a few heartbeats passed before he heard a chorus of voices calling out his name. George found the source toward the back corner of the room near some of the dart boards and sent a wave before heading to the bar. Liebgott was working tonight along with Lew, who was at the other end.

“Hey, Lieb, how’s it going?”

A pint of George’s preferred beer was already being poured, “Nothing but the same, yourself?”

“Yeah.” George hesitated before asking, “Can you do me a favor?”

Liebgott frowned slightly before nodding.

“Cut me off at four tonight, would you?”

“Sure, George. You got it.” He didn’t ask why and George wasn’t going to tell him, so they left it at that.

He turned away from the bar, about to join the others when he almost ran face first into the broad torso of Joe Toye.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Joe grumbled in that low, toe-curling voice, mouth quirking up at one side in the ghost of a smirk.

George swallowed before chuckling, “Well, everyone’s always telling me I’ve got no sense. Maybe if I run into you a couple more times it’ll knock some into me.” Yeesh, couldn’t come up with anything better than that?

Joe at least had the grace to lift his shoulders in the semblance of a laugh before saying, “So, you trying to cut back?”

“What?”

He nodded to George’s drink, “Limiting yourself. Do you tend to go overboard?”

“Oh,” George felt his neck get hot, “it’s just been a weird couple of weeks, you know? And, well, I work here and I don’t want the bossman to see me making a fool of myself or anything.” Again. “So, just, playing it safe, I guess.”

Joe nodded, looking hard at George for long enough that he felt like fidgeting. “Well,” Joe finally said, “good luck. I’ll see you around. We’re playing darts.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you later.”

Leaving Joe at the bar, George joined the rest of his friends. The night went as they usually went; bets on dart games, half true stories told to get laughs, and drinks all around. Buck occasionally slid him sidelong glances, but when George helped him hustle Joe and Bill out of a couple cartons of cigarettes, the looks stopped. Muck, Malarkey, and Alex Penkala had control of the jukebox and were playing nothing but Cher songs before Johnny Martin and Bull Randleman shouldered them out of the way, but then those two were stuck arguing over classic rock or classic country, so the Cher played on. Through it all, George was laughing and putting on the Luz show, belting out showtunes when appropriate and providing impressions when asked.

And, Jesus Christ, was he getting tired.

Not even two hours in, and he could already see the bottom of his fourth drink.

“Luz!” Frank shouted from three whole feet away, “Do that one guy who would come in and always clog the toilet!” Muck and Penkala egged him on.

George sighed inwardly, downing the rest of his beer before altering his voice into a stilted cadence, “Excuse me, but, uh, I think that, uh, someone may have clogged… the toilet!”

The trio laughed and George joined in, if halfheartedly. He stared at his empty glass and considered ordering another, but knew it wasn’t of any use. Liebgott could be a real prick when he wanted to be, but he’d hold George to his request and cap him at four, and he knew that Lieb had been keeping track.

“Heading out soon?”

George looked up into brown eyes rimmed with dark, dark lashes and raised a brow.

Joe waved a hand towards the empty glass, “That’s your fourth, right?”

“You been counting?”

He shrugged, “I might’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need it,” George felt blood creep up his neck and he lifted his shoulders in an attempt to hide it.

Joe watched him without saying anything and George fought to keep still under his gaze. It was heavy, calculating; like he could see right through George’s skin and into his threadbare soul. It was uncomfortable, and George didn’t do well with uncomfortable. Usually, he’d crack a joke to break the tension, but he just didn’t have it in him. And something was telling him that Joe didn’t need or want that.

“You got a smoke?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, sure?” George almost tripped over his own feet as he made his way towards the back door the employees used for their smoke breaks. Neither Lew nor Lieb would stop him from bringing a friend around back for a cigarette, if he could call Joe a friend.

George opened the door and held it for Joe who walked out and waited for George to lead him on. George directed them towards the back wall, opposite the dumpsters where there was a curb, and promptly sat down. Joe quirked a brow, to which George merely shrugged as he fished out his pack, and joined him.

As George passed him a cigarette, Joe asked, “Do you always get that tired of it?”

“Jesus Christ,” George groaned, “you’ve got a real habit of asking me questions that I don’t know what the hell you’re even talking about.”

Chuckling, he took the offered lighter, “The only time you’re not putting on a big act is when you’re surprised, so I’m trying my best to keep you on your toes.”

“Well, yeah, okay. You’re doing a bang up job.” George was certainly surprised, “You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe not the stuff like what you like to eat or if you have any pets. But, I’ve noticed you, and how you change when you think no one’s looking at you. You’re always putting on a show for people, why is that?”

“You know, I thought you were the quiet type.”

Joe laughed at that, “Maybe I’m not trying to always impress everyone all the time. I don’t feel the need to always run my mouth,” he shot George a pointed look.

“Okay then,” George’s stomach twisted at the sound of Joe’s laugh, but it didn’t override the fact that Joe was seeing too much, saying too much. “Why’d you hit that guy last week, huh? You weren’t trying to impress anyone then?”

He stretched out his long legs and leaned back on the elbow closest to George so he faced him, offering the cigarette because George still hadn’t lit one of his own, “I’d had a shitty day and sometimes my anger gets the best of me. He was being an asshole. Why’d you mouth off to him before we got there?”

George took the cigarette and brought it to his lips, “He was being an asshole.”

“There you go,” Joe nodded, sagely. “So, you going to answer the actual question, now?”

It wasn’t raining anymore, George realized, but the pavement was still wet, and he could feel it soaking through the seat of his jeans. He looked at the knuckles of his right hand. The bruises were completely gone and the scabs had all but healed, there were only a couple thin white lines over the knuckle of his middle finger that had scarred. They’d probably disappear with time.

“Do you ever feel like you’re going to be left behind?”

Joe inhaled, “Sure.”

“I feel like that all the time, like every moment’s a test of whether I’m worthy of keeping around. Like If I don’t keep convincing everyone around me that I’m a swell fucking guy, that I’m funny, or a good time, then they’ll just forget all about little old me and I’ll be eating their dust.” George took a drag of the cigarette and watched the smoke drift away as it left his lungs, then another, and another, “So I put on the show. I do the song and dance because if I don’t, what’s the point of keeping me around, huh?” He supposed that, maybe, if he were someone else he might cry having spilled his guts like that, but he was just so damn tired.

Joe took the cigarette from his fingers, and George finally looked at him, expecting the worst. Maybe he’d have pity in his eyes, maybe he’d look disgusted, or maybe– God forbid– he’d be crying.

No, Joe looked at him as hard and as cool as George had ever seen.

“That sounds exhausting.”

George barked out a laugh, “Yeah, it fucking is.”

“Is that why you punched that wall?”

He glanced at Joe out of the corner of his eye, “You heard about that?”

“I might’ve heard something,”

George put his head in his hands, “Yeah, yeah that’s why I punched that stupid wall. I was just so tired and overwhelmed and I had nowhere to put all of the… everything.” He scrubbed his face, “I’d never done anything like that before, it just exploded out of me. Hurt like a bitch, too.”

“You should get yourself a pair of brass knuckles, I know I could use a pair,” he held out his own hand for George to see the faintest of yellowing around his knuckles from where he had his own fight last week. They sat in silence for a while, sharing the cigarette back and forth before Joe asked, “Those guys in there, are they your friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” Joe nodded, turning his face to look up at the clouds, “and if they were going through some tough shit and were being moody as all hell, would you drop them just because they weren’t as happy and up as usual?”

George groaned, “Alright, I see where you’re going with this. And no, I wouldn’t, but it’s not the same–”

“Sure it is! You’re just thinking about it as cutting yourself some slack, which you won’t allow yourself, right? You can’t let yourself be the one that’s bringing everyone else down? How about you put some faith in your friends in there and trust them to stick around. They trust you to stick around, don’t they?”

George nodded.

“And you do– stick around?”

“Of course I do!”

Joe exhaled a laugh and turned to look George in the eye, “Then allow them to do the same for you once in a while, why don’t you?”

“It’s not that easy,” it came out closer to a whisper than George was willing to admit.

“Yeah, I know, but it gives you a good place to start. And it gets easier, I promise you that.”

George swallowed and took the cigarette back from Joe’s grasp, finishing it off, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

They sat that way for a while in companionable silence, watching each other and watching the clouds. And for the first time in a long while, George felt the weight on his shoulders lessen. For once it seemed like not being able to keep his goddamn mouth shut might’ve gotten him out of trouble.

“By the way,” George turned to Joe with a smile, “I have a cat. Her name is John Wayne.”

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it <3

[suugrbunz]

꒰ Band of Brother Characters Taste in Music ꒱

Dick Winters— Jazz music is his jam... I could see him enjoying Laufey or Nat King Cole

Lewis Nixon— Either has a similar taste to Winters or he's listening to alternative. Might listen to Lana Del Rey.

Ronald Speirs— Folk Rock... Think of Sedona by Houndmouth or maybe Not Dead Yet by Lord Huron.

Harry Welsh— Probably loves music from the 70s... You could catch him singing to Fleetwood mac or Carly Simon.

Carwood Lipton— he listens to all kinds of music... Old, new, um classical. if he likes it, he will listen to it.

Edward Shames— Klezmer or nigun; He's a mensch.

John Martin—Whatever the radio plays, he isn't picky. He just doesn't enjoy hard rock or certain country music(that's about beer & girls).

Floyd Talbert— It's giving Mac Demarco, TV Girl, Backseat Lovers, maybe Gorillaz.. I don't know if he's a red flag or not.

Bill Guarnere— Alternative Rock; I'm leaning towards Punk by Gorillaz. Though, if he were to have a guilty pleasure song it'd be Mamma Mia by Abba.

Joe Toye— I'm thinking Metal or heavier rock in general though he definitely has guilty pleasure songs. His favourite metal song is Dragula by Rob Zombie. The guilty pleasure song is definitely Brutal by Olivia Rodrigo. He also listens to Lana del Rey, Marina, and Paramore.

Don Malarkey— His favourite band is the strokes, trust me. He also enjoys The Libertines and Franz Ferdinand. Just trust me on this, okay?

Lynn Compton— Wasn't he kind of athletic? If so he definitely has a workout playlist that's full of either really hyper-feminine music or 90s rock.

Ralph Spina— He loves music from the 60s-70s... Southern Nights by Glen Campbell is one of his favourite songs.

Eugene Roe— @chaosklutz helped with this one; Jazz. I could imagine him listening to Let's call the whole thing off by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong.

Babe Heffron—Indie pop or Indie rock... Hes an avid listener of lovejoy. He also listens to Hozier from time to time.

Shifty Powers— Folk... He's from Virginia but if I remember correctly it's a rural area. He definitely likes John Denver and The Oh Hellos.

Joseph Liebgott— Klezmer the folk music of Ashki Jews!! Example; Dona Dona by Nikitov. On the other hand, I could see him listening to alternative/indie like Blur or haim.

George Luz— Classic Rock or Indie Pop— Think talking heads or wallows. However, he definitely loves some cher songs and donna summers.

Bull Randleman— It's giving rock but not heavy... He's not like Toye or Guarnere. I'm thinking of Cheaptrick or maybe Aerosmith.

Skinny Sisk—Probably listens to a playlist that's a mixture of pop, rock, and rap. It's giving red flag.

Frank Perconte— He definitely listens to the fratellis and the maccabees... I mean they have a song called Toothpaste Kisses...

Warren Muck— he listens to anything but he tends to favour the 80s. He loves Come On Eileen but also 500 miles? He'd play that whilst in the car with Penkala and Malarkey.

Alex Penkala— Don't ask me why but I think he'd listen to new wave. Think Duran Duran, Blondie, or B-52s. He might listen to the ramones from time to time.

David Webster— Whilst studying Webster has definitely chosen classical as his go to. He's a big fan of Saint-Saens and Tchaikovsky. However, when listening to music on the radio he prefers something a bit more quiet... His taste clashes with Toye and Guarnere. Though, I could see him trying to act as if listening to the smiths is really underrated. As if they're some underground band.

Edward Tipper— I think he likes 60s pink Floyd... Like See Emily Play Pink Floyd. He might also enjoy The Beatles or The Stone Roses. Like Rock that borders being pop.

[pfenniged]

Band of Brothers Characters as 1980s Anthem Vibes:

Babe Heffron: Take On Me by Aha! George Luz: Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler (Are you telling me George Luz wouldn't sneak up being someone with the "TURNNNN AROUND"). Lewis Nixon: Rich Girl by Hall and Oates. Richard Winters: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds. Shifty Powers: We Got the Beat by The Go-Gos. Carwood Lipton: I Wanna Dance with Somebody by Whitney Houston. Doc Roe: Like a Prayer by Madonna. Bill Guarnere: Straight Outta Compton by N.W.A. Joe Toye: Dancing in the Dark by Bruce Springsteen. Ronald Spiers: Modern Love by David Bowie. Floyd Talbert: Come on Eileen by Dexys Midnight Runners. Joseph Liebgott: Should I Stay or Should I Go? by The Clash. Bull Randleman: It's the End of the World As We Know It by R.E.M. Donald Malarkey: Free Fallin' by Tom Petty. Frank Perconte: Karma Chameleon by Culture Club. Buck Compton: In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins. David Webster: You Can Call Me Al by Paul Simon.