#soe agent

[annafromuni]

Pippa Latour is the Last Secret Agent

You all know I love a WWII novel recounting the hard work done by women in the name of freedom and peace. When I walked into the library one day to drop off some books, I saw this on the Bestie stand – a display currently housing many New Zealand reads – and immediately knew I had to read it. This is the memoir of Pippa Latour, an SOE agent who lived to the age of 102 before she ever told her…

[tenderjock]

like the moon moves the tides [agent carter werewolf au]

part 0. spirit broken

I had a brother, Peggy had said, faltering, hesitant. A brother named – named Michael.

(cw for nazism, non-graphic dramatization of real-life war crimes, mention of civilian deaths, mention of torture, violence)

: :

Distomo is a mess and a half.

Dixon was boated in a few weeks ago. He’s been on his own since he left Italy, with just the occasional encoded missives from the SOE and the Americans coordinating their efforts on nearby islands and waterways.

Schmedes, the German bastard in charge here, is a nasty sort of fellow, prone to underthinking and overreacting. He isn’t too keen on wolves, either, which was too bad. Dixon himself has a soft spot for wolves, although he hasn’t worked with any furry cousins since Carter got himself taken in France.

Hell, but that’s been years, now. He rather misses the poor fellow.

He’s holed up in a small, ricketed shack just outside Distomo proper, overlooking the village. It’s a place that could generously be called quaint; Dixon thinks of it more as a rat’s hole, well aware that there is a hungry cat waiting outside.

Or inside, as it were. The Nazis hadn’t been shy when they took over.

Dixon’s been waiting for his contact to drop a letter off, containing instructions for the continued information campaign that the Allies are pulling off in Greece. It is supposed to be done at noon on 10 June 1944.

That was two hours ago. Five minutes ago, the 2nd company of the 4th Waffen-SS Polizei Panzergrendier Division started going door to door, dragging villagers out into the town square. The massacre that Dixon has feared for since he got to this piece of shite country had begun.

The SS has trucks, and firepower, and young German boys eager to prove themselves. The people of Distomo have their hands and their teeth and every ounce of fury and fear they possess. Dixon watches through a pair of binoculars as a young farmer mother is hauled away from her children, screaming. The children are hauled up next.

Dixon hesitates, for the barest moment. He’s been specifically ordered not to engage with the local population. But – but –

He grabs his emergency bag, a rifle, and ammo, and hops on his motorbike.

When he gets to Distomo, the village is gore and smoke. The SS are dragging what looks like every civilian into the center of the village, killing or maiming the ones that struggle. As Dixon’s pulling up into an alley, two young Nazis who are dragging a teenage girl along see him. He cuts the engine on his motorbike, raises the rifle and swiftly guns them down. The girl screams.

He doesn’t speak a lick of Greek, but, through a bit of pantomime, manages to convince the girl and the young boy with her – a brother, perhaps – to take the motorbike and flee. Dixon shoulders his rifle and continues into the village.

They’ve corralled the villagers into a one-block square. A few dozen SS line the streets, faces stony, guns cocked. A large, covered truck slowly backs down the street to the captured crowd. There’s a bang. The back of the truck warps, dents, and shudders.

They’ve got something in the truck. It sounds big. It sounds angry.

Dixon has a bad feeling about this.

An SS officer walks over to the back of the truck and unlatches it. Dixon raises the rifle, peering through the sight, but before he can take the shot, the wolf bursts out.

It’s a big, well-proportioned fellow, over three meters tall, shaggy and dark grey. His eyes are yellow and slit-pupiled, his claws about six inches long. He’s collared; he comes to the end of his leash and skitters to a stop with a rattle and a clash, growling.

He’s familiar, the glossy texture of his fur, the shape of his muzzle, the burn scars on his back left leg from the time he accidentally set himself on fire making beans and toast as a child. Dixon has seen this wolf before. Dixon would know that wolf anywhere.

Once, Dixon had stumbled downstairs to the kitchen of their safehouse to find Carter just back from a run. He had been delicately licking his paws clean of mud, and had frozen, pink tongue halfway out, staring at Dixon.

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. Carter had grinned right back, a lolling, dog-like thing, had whuffed at Dixon and shifted back right there and then, without a stitch on him. Most of Dixon’s best memories do not involve naked fellows, but that particular moment was the exception.

Michael Carter was a monster, of course, but he was a thoughtful monster. A kind monster. A clever, witty, loyal monster. One of the good ones.

The wolf roars at the captive villagers with no intelligence in his eyes, snaps at his leash with nothing but the frantic pain of a beaten mutt. Dixon has heard of wolves being Broken, has heard rumors that the Nazis were trying to –

But it’s a different thing to see it. He doesn’t have silver bullets on him, but he has to do something, before they release the wolf on the sobbing, cowering civilians crowded into the town square. Dixon raises his rifle, lines up the shot, and fires.

In the end, he can’t even say whether it does any good.

[thisbluespirit]

The Outfit's newest recruits leave for France in Wish Me Luck 1.2 (LWT 1988).

[blurredcolour]

In My Blood

[Series | Complete]

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

You should not have been in England when Belgium fell to the Nazis. Finding your way back as an agent of the Special Operations Executive, you fight the occupation through subterfuge and sabotage. Curtis Biddick should not have survived that crash landing during the Schweinfurt-Regensburg mission, and yet he finds himself recovering in the cellar of a doctor aligned with the Belgian resistance. With both of you desperately needing to return to England, can you find the strength to resist one another in the process?

Series Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Canon typical violence, Weapons, Spy Craft, Death, Injuries, Gore, Angst, Suffering, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. No physical descriptions or Y/N are used. If you'd like to be tagged, just add a comment to this post!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Epilogue

Masters of the Air Masterlist

[thatscarletflycatcher]

I rewatched Agent Carter 2x04, and it was worse than I remembered!

No matter how high up Michael is, it is very difficult to believe that the SOE would recruit within Bletchley, because codebreaking work is a very specialized kind of work that requires a particular set of skills and interests that... do not seem to overlap at all with those of a field agent-spy. Besides that, it would duplicate the costs, as it would require covering the costs of SOE training for Peggy AND for her replacement at Bletchley. It's nonsense. Even if Peggy had been asked for for ciphering (which is clearly not the case because the series is trying to explain why and how she ended in the SSR), it doesn't fit because ciphering depended on its own special branch of the army and was, for obvious reasons, different to the one used by the Germans that Bletchley was trying to decipher.

Michael, Peggy, and her fiancé are freely chatting in a public place about government secrets. MICHAEL, PEGGY AND HER FIANCÉ ARE FREELY CHATTING IN A PUBLIC PLACE ABOUT GOVERNMENT SECRETS.

Last and least but still bothers me, unless they were lucky in the "recycling an old bridal dress" department, Peggy's wedding dress is nonsense. Yes, clothes weren't rationed until 1941, but that doesn't mean fabrics weren't much more scarce and expensive before that, because of... you know... sea warfare and Britain getting so much of its resources from overseas. Besides that, she's engaged to a soldier, meaning she is to get married whenever he gets leave. Ain't no time for making much of an elaborate dress, or leisurely try ons. Because besides that... SHE'S A GOVERNMENT EMPLOYEE IN ONE OF THE MOST INTENSIVE BRANCHES OF THE WAR EFFORT.

In a more realistic setting, Peggy would have probably been recruited directly into the SOE -where did Peggy ever show a knack for words and numbers and puzzle solving in the way codebreaking is?- and if you want to preserve more of what was written for s2, you can make it so that her recruitment has to do with something her mom thought was unfeminine in her, have Michael support her, and her breakup with her soldier fiancé being about... well, her joining the SOE, which would have been incompatible at that point with marriage.

[chubbypotatoepie]

Lily’s War (Chapter 4)

Summary: SOE Agent Lily Darlington is unexpectedly demoted from her position and offered a life changing opportunity to become the first female Paratrooper in US history?

Pairing: TBD - The suspense is part of the fun, no?

Warnings: Mentions of violence, language

A/N: Chapter 4 finally here. Please forgive my lateness, but say welcome back to Lily, hopefully with a bang!

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Chapter 4.

Camp Toccoa, 1942. 

It hadn’t been an unusual day by any means, nothing particularly out of pocket had occurred. Yet, as Lily sat hunched over on the cold shower tiles watching the crimson stream of blood circle the drain, she recounted how the day had turned out so very wrong. 

— -

The bunkhouse was filled with the chorus of snoring soldiers broken only by the occasional creek of an ever restless Joe Toye rolling in his cot. All were sleeping soundly, except for Private Lily Darlington who was curled into a ball at the very top of her bed. Gentlestreaks of moonlight had trickled their way through the windows, glinting off a pair of dog tags clasped between her hands partially hidden beneath the covers, her fingers glided over the raised letters as she accosted herself at her inability to control her emotions. She sucked in a silent breath and pulled the blanket over her mouth in attempt to stifle any noise as she endeavoured to catch her breath. It had been a week since she’d last slept through the night without being plagued by a nightmare. It wasn’t unusual for them to hit once a fortnight, even once a week at their worst. She was used to that, she expected that, however lately, she was lucky to go two to three days between them. She hadn’t had a full nights sleep for a week, and it was starting to show. It was causing her to lose her sturdy exterior, she had started to quip back whenever Liebgott made a joke at her expense, and she’d purposefully tripped up Guarnere on the obstacle course the previous day due to his somewhat degrading comments on her performance. 

Each time was the same. Waking up, drenched in her own sweat, a searing pain emanating from her old wound accompanied by the smell of blood still lingering in her nostrils. It was part of the gig, came with the job she had been warned. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she placed her head between them, letting her fingertips graze over the scar as she sat there listening to the cicadas chirping outside the barracks. Their true meaning escaped her, she understood that she would have to be void of all human emotions if she weren’t to let past experiences stay with her, but why they haunted her was a question she had little answers to. It was a miracle that she had kept it to herself this long, how she hadn’t woken any of the men with her gasps or thrashing about. Lily thanked her lucky stars as she ran her hands through her damp hair, the groans from the springs beneath her sending a gentle reminder to maintain the peace within the quiet cabin as she gently knotted up her boots and tied her PT sweater around her waist. 

As she quietly sneaked out of the bunkhouse for some desperately needed air she found herself so lost in her own head that she didn’t notice the pair of eyes on her from across the room watching with a curious intensity.

— - 

“Yeah well I bet you’re regretting it now.” The irritating register of Perconte’s voice filled the latrine as he leant on the wall, half in and half out in the open door way, puffing his way through a lucky strike and scraping at a dirt stain on his shirt. 

“How was I supposed to know he’d hear me.” Luz looked up at his friend with a less than amused look on his face as he sat, back to the wall, tapping the excess ash from his cigarette into the bucket by his feet. 

“Ahh he’s got it out for all of us, yesterday was just your lucky turn.” Perconte answered.

“Last week was my lucky turn too, first time in my life I hope I run out of luck.” Luz said, his forearms on his knees as he took a deep breath of his cigarette. 

“You should be grateful, ain’t nobody been as lucky as Redcoat here, every goddamn day Sobel sees fit to reward her.” Perconte looked towards the girl scrubbing away in the corner, rolling his eyes to her seemingly obliviousness to the two men’s conversation. 

“Ain’t that right Redcoat? Hmmmmm?” Perconte clicked at the girl, trying to pull her attention from the floor. “Ears like a hawk that one” he mock whispered to Luz.

“I bet he can hear me in his sleep.” Luz replied, ignoring the short man’s half hearted attempt to irritate his punishment companion. 

“I bet he can hear you smoking and not scrubbing.” Perconte taunted tipping the sud bucket with his boot. 

Luz replied by flicking his half finished cigarette at the man, grabbing the brush from the wobbly bucket and began to scrub the tiled floor again, a little harder than necessary, his eyes conveying a less than amused look. 

“Well I’m off to enjoy this sunny afternoon, a free pass afternoon, do whatever the hell I feel like.” Perconte taunted.

Luz reached for the nearby bucket in retaliation, “you’re gonna be doing it soaking wet if you don’t get outta here” grinning to himself as Perconte made his way back out into the glorious sunshine, leaving Luz and Lily to scrub their afternoon away in the musty latrine. 

“Enjoy.” He spoke, his palms raised in defence, stepping out of the door way and cocking his head towards the girl in the corner with an eye roll.

Back in the corner, Lily knelt by the shower drain up to her elbows in suds from scrubbing the filthy floor, amazed by how the dark speckled tile was actually a light brown, hidden by a thick layer of dirt, grime, and God knows what else. She had been so graciously gifted the afternoon of latrine duty for an unknown infraction that Sobel had concocted the day prior during the afternoon obstacle course exercise after she had displeased him for the thousandth time that day, probably simply from existing. She wasn’t in the know as to Luz’s infraction, but she guessed that it was most likely due to his inability to keep his colorful thoughts to himself during the exercise, although, some of his impressions of Lieutenant ‘stick up his arse’ did make the time pass quicker. So now, they had the pleasure of each others company whilst they spent their first free afternoon in forever scrubbing the dirtiest part of the barracks as the rest of the men lamented in the summer sunshine. 

Without Perconte’s commentary echoing around the building the only sounds were that of the two scrubbing brushes rhythmically sanding away at the grimy floor. The silence was palpable. Lily didn’t mind the cleaning duty as much as Sobel probably hoped she would, she much preferred it to running a couple of miles in the humid sun with a full pack, and whilst she didn’t know Private Luz all that well, he’d been sticking to his end of the latrine, and wasn’t causing her any trouble thus far, so it came as a surprise to her when he broke the silence. 

“You know, if they’d mentioned in that damn Life article that being a paratrooper meant spending two sorry years of my life stuck with Sobel I might not have signed up so fast.” Luz stood up from his bent over scrubbing position, groaning as he clicked his body back into shape and wandered over to find where he’d left his water canteen, leaning back against the sinks, mulling over the absurdity of his situation. He looked over at the girl, scrubbing away at the endless grime that covered the floor, continuing to ignore him.

Lily had been part of Easy Company for some time now, that part being ignored, unwanted, forcing her to the back or just pretending she didn’t exist, the men always attempting to keep her an arms length away from the action. Luz wouldn’t have known she was still there if it weren’t for Sobel’s incessant barking at her. She didn’t speak up much in the classroom, never sat with the men at chow - never invited to sit with the men either he noted, even during the evenings before lights out she was either nowhere to be seen or already in bed turned away from whatever group conversation was taking place. 

“You don’t talk much do you?.” He peered over at her hunched figure as she continued scrubbing, when she didn’t answer he cleared his throat a little louder than necessary. 

“Hey Luz, how are you today? Well Redcoat, I was doing just fine until I had to come here and scrub! I love scrubbing, I’m so thankful that Lieutenant Sobel gifts it to me so often, it keeps my arms strong and my spirits high.” He chuckled to himself, tilting his head slightly in the hopes that she saw the peace offering he was attempting. 

She glanced behind herself, irritated at Luz’s attempt at humour, raising a singular eyebrow as she made eye contact with the sniggering man. 

“Oh thank god, it worked! You aren’t deaf! Had me worried for a minute there.” A ridiculous smile plastered across his face as he stared at Lily, waiting for an answer. She remained on the ground, one hand on her brush, one of the floor, her eyes attempting to bore a hole through his head. Her stare was beginning to make him think that they may have been better off in silence, his heart rate only slowing as he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding in as she broke eye contact and slumped herself into a seated position, grabbing her canteen and taking a long, slow drink. 

Lily’s body ached from being bent over too long and her hands were raw from scrubbing, she had blisters on her palms from days of climbing ropes and scaling beams, she wasn’t in the mood for jibes or jabs. Her gaze remained off in the distance until she noticed Luz still looking at her, waiting on a reply, she was too tired for this, but she was too tired to continuously ignore him for the remaining hours of scrubbing they still had left.

“I’m touched?” her voice monotonous, her face unimpressed. 

The pair stared across the latrine at each other in their respective corners, an awkward silence dragging between them as neither knew what to say next. George realised that it might be the first time he’d actually properly talked to her, actually talking to her, rather than the odd nod when they came in contact during exercises. He couldn’t help but feel that part of her hesitation in talking is his own fault. By no means has he been the worst, but he hasn’t been all that forthcoming in welcoming their latest addition to the Company. He’s seen how she sits alone reading on her bunk at night, whilst the rest of the men play cards and enjoy themselves, how any conversation dies down if she merely walks past a group. A strong feeling of guilt washed over him as he racked his brain for what to say next.

“George Luz.” He wiped his hand on his pant leg before extending it towards her.

“I know who you are.” She looked towards his hand but made no move to accept the gesture.

“I know you do, and I know who you are too. Ain’t this how you do it in England? Introductions and shit?” He pushed himself off the sinks as she continued to just stare back at him, motionless. 

“Christ Redcoat, shake my damn hand, I ain't got cooties.” He stood there for a moment, his mind dancing between pride and patience before taking a few steps towards the girl, sitting himself down opposite her and extending his hand again. The lump in his chest evaporated as she waited a few moments, before placing her canteen back on the ground and with a firm shake she replied. 

“Lily Darlington.”

“And here I was thinking all this time that your name was Redcoat.” He mocked.

“I can see how you would think that.” She replied, her eyes rolled as she slumped her back against the cool wall.

“Sobel seems to really have it out for you.” He said, dancing on the edge of conversation.

“I’m starting to get the notion that he doesn’t quite like me.” She said in jest, it wasn’t enough to form a laugh, but she let out a huff of air.

“You ain’t wrong there.” He replied, stretching his legs out across the half scrubbed tile floor. 

“Well, perhaps my day just wouldn’t shine the same if Sobel didn’t remind me how worthless I am to the Company. Keeps me eager.” She turned and winked at him as she took another sip from her canteen, the suds from her elbows dripping onto her pant leg. She’d almost forgotten how it felt to have an actual conversation with someone, she felt as if she hadn’t said anything of substance in weeks. 

“You’re funny when you actually talk you know.” Chuckling when he receives a sarcastic seeming eyebrow raise and hint of a smile out of her.  “I don’t know how you do it,  I got six sisters and they cry if I so much as comment on anything they do, I hate the guy and he ain’t half as bad on me” Luz’s expression crinkled. 

“Its manageable.” She spoke as she scraped the sudds off her arms and shook them back into the bucket. 

Manageable, it was just about manageable, however it was teetering close to unbearable. She had a stern spirit, and a stiff upper lip, but not even she was unbreakable. They had so much more training to go, and then goodness knows how many years actually in the thick of it. If she couldn’t break the seal on the men’s freeze out then she had no hope of survival.

“Manageable, hmmm. Your Lieutenant hates you, your Company ain’t so keen on you either. Either you’re one determined son of a bitch, or you’re crazy.” He replied with a single eyebrow raise. 

“I’m not entirely sure I want to be friends with people who spit in my food.” She replied.  

“That’s Liebgott, he’s a jackass. And we don’t all hate you, we just don’t know you. You’re the only broad outta nine companies. You gotta see how weird that is.” 

“I see that it’s different, I don’t necessarily see it as the disadvantage that your lot do. I don’t even think they realise to know me they’d actually have to talk to me first, their friendship hasn’t exactly been forthcoming.”

“That’s fair.” He replied, his hands raised in defence. “We ain’t exactly been forthcoming, maybe it don’t come easy talking to a broad if it ain't at a bar for my lot?” He winked at her, met by a disapproving look. 

“I know you and I don’t think you’re all that bad. ” He smiled at her.

“You’ve known me, all of, two minutes?” Her sarcastic tone coming out again as she glanced down at her watch ticking away on her wrist. 

“I only let the very best of people be my friends.” He said mockingly.

“You’re friends with Liebgott…” She replied looking through her eyebrows.

“I am friendly with Liebgott, there’s a difference.” He smiled back. “Two long minutes, give it six months, we’re gonna be best friends.” His face turned to her with a childish grin plastered across it. 

“Is that so?” Her pitch raised as she suppressed a laugh at the mans premonition. 

“I know these things, feel it in my bones.” He winked before standing up and ‘wiggling his bones’ as he made his way back over to his own bucket, laughing to himself as left.

The pair fell back into their quiet rhythmic scrubbing, broken every so often by Luz trying to make conversation, and to his surprise, Lily trying to reply in a way that showed him she wasn’t entirely disinterested by his peace making attempts. After the lack lustre interactions she was used to she didn’t want to get too optimistic over a single conversation, but she couldn’t help feeling that it might be a tiny step in the right direction. 

— -

A hint of a smile crept across Lily’s face as she hung the buckets back up in the supplies closet. The pair had finally finished their punishment and Luz had rushed off to enjoy the rest of the afternoon with the men, something about Bull Randleman owning him a pack of smokes from their poker game the previous night. Lily had offered to finish up the job, and afterwards planned to find a quiet corner and watch the world go by, she had been looking forward to doing nothing for so long and her body was begging for a break. 

With her smile still lingering and her heart a little lighter she made her way along the barracks towards the quieter end of the camp, turning the corner without noticing the large figure coming straight towards her until it was too late, smacking head on, and sending both parties stumbling back, the ground littered with papers that Lily could only assume the other party had been rushing somewhere.

“I’m so sorry!” Lily exclaimed, gathering up all the lose sheets around her before looking up to see exactly who she had run into. Her heart dropped in her chest when her eyes raised to meet those of Lewis Nixon’s, Lieutenant Lewis Nixon’s, “Sir.” She tried to add quickly, however in her shocked state, it came out more like a whisper, much to her embarrassment. 

His eyes lowered for a split second before he also reached for the loose sheets, shoving them haphazardly into the file tightly grasped in his hands, almost in an attempt to by himself some time to think of something logical to say. Before it could conjure anything Lily’s hand thrust out towards him as she offered his remaining papers, his eyes met hers once again, and he drew in a sharp breath as he took them from her grasp. They both stood there awkwardly, waiting for the other to speak first. 

It hadn’t really sunk in for him yet. He still didn’t truly believe she was here. That it was actually her. Yes he’d sat through the meeting with her and Winters, however, most of it was a blur to him, he was certain he was being pranked and any moment now his sister Blanche would pop out from behind a tree, grab Lily and run off giggling. He felt as if he had been shot upon seeing her unannounced all these years later. She had been here for weeks now, yet he found himself avoiding her, filling every available hour with extra tasks just to minimise the amount of time in which he’d actually have to face her. He just couldn’t understand what the hell she was doing here - the Lily he knew would not be here. 

Lily could feel a flush of embarrassment rise to her cheeks, she had been wanting to speak to Lewis privately ever since she arrived, yet could never seem to find an appropriate moment, now she had one she couldn’t even seem to form a single word out of her mouth, it didn’t help that he was staring at her in an unnerving manner. Before either of them could say anything Lieutenant Winters called out for him. His eyes rose to the source of the voice across the far side of the opposite field before dropping back to meet hers with a regretful expression. 

“I have to go.” Was all he could bring himself to say before pushing past her small frame and dashing off to the very meeting he had just made himself late for, grimacing at the way he had just handled the situation, knowing full well he was just making everything more complicated for his future self and somewhat guilty for not even saying hello to the girl he was once so very close to. 

— -

If persistence was a person it would be George Bloody Luz. It was evident that he been steadfast in his intentions in becoming best friends, but to be fair, Lily hadn’t been stopping him. She was right about the step, which had actually turned out to be more of a leap, George Luz didn’t seem to do anything halfheartedly. She had begun to enjoy having a someone to shoot the shit with as they scaled Currahee, someone to compare notes with after a classroom exercise, to stand in line with at the mess hall as they awaited that evenings sloppy serving of grub. Luz had even been trying to get her to sit alongside the men at meals, to which she complied, but somehow always found herself perched half on half off the bench, too far away to be able to be involved in any discussion. One step forward, one step back. Lately they’d even found themselves sat out the back of the Barracks late in the evenings before curfew, sharing a laugh, going over the best and the worst parts of that day, occasionally joined by Floyd Talbert or another one of Luz’s friends, which only seemed to make her situation feel even more isolating, ironic really. Lily craved the dynamic that George had with the rest of the chaps, the camaraderie and the comfort it seemed to bring him at the end of a long day when he could truly be himself. It was a harsh reality, not one that she was expecting either, that to let herself be open to any form of friendship, she had to be able put her guard down, not to mention swallowing her pride. 

In a surprise turn of events, the men seemed to take the lead from Luz, she was far from getting into conversation with anyone new, however when she sat next to Luz at chow the previous evening, she received head nods from some of the others at the bench, and Randalman had even saved her a seat. It was an improvement, a very small improvement, but one she so desperately needed. 

— -

"You know Nix, I think if you stare any harder you might just fall through that window.” Winters noted from beneath his stack of papers. 

“I am not staring, I am observing.” He replied, eyes fixated on the field before him.

“That her?” Spiers motioned to the short figure at the back of the group.

“Sure is” Winters replied, placing his papers down and joining the men congregated around the window. 

The trio stood side by side behind the window, watching the line of Privates as they stood in formation, being barked at by their beloved Lieutenant Sobel. Nixon’s eyes fixed on the form of Private Lily Darlington at the end of the line, a full head and shoulders below her fellow men, the longer he stared the less he began to recognise the girl he once new. 

— -

“Easy Company, each of you will select a strip of paper! On that paper will be a name, that name will be your partner for the rest of the day, there will be no trading partners, no exceptions!” Sobel’s voice cried as he thrust the helmet forcefully into Lily’s hands.

She groaned as she grabbed a strip from the pile, she had gotten away with mostly pairing Luz for the week. Sparing wasn’t anything new to her, in all actuality she excelled at it, but there in lay her problem. Her position within the Company already ruffled feathers and had the men asking all sorts of questions that she had little interest or ability to answer. If she had gone from quiet girl at the back of the group, to launching grown men over her shoulder within a day she doubted that she’d be able to escape without explaining herself. Luz was her scapegoat, not that he knew it. She had let him lead the training, she tried to spar with her non dominate hand to lessen the blows, heck he’d even commended her on her improvements the day before. As she passed the helmet towards George she said a silent prayer that the name on her slip was an easy opponent, whilst she knew she was going to have to suppress herself, she wasn’t exactly hoping to have to take a punch from the likes of Bull or even Guarnere, she was hoping to remain under the radar, not in the medical bay. 

“Who’d you get?” George whispered across to her, passing the helmet to its next victim. 

Lily felt her prayer fall from the sky and slap her as she opened the strip of paper between her fingers. Inked across in a barely legible scrawl was the one name she’d have paid good money to not see.

Liebgott. 

She tilted the paper towards him and rolled her eyes as an amused grin swept across his face.

“Weren’t you saying yesterday how much he deserves a ‘kick up the arse’” Luz replied, mocking her accent rather crassly, his eyebrows wiggling in jest.

With a look of distain she nodded towards his paper, the corners of her mouth turning up as she read ‘Randalman’, looks like Luz will have a tussle of his own. 

“Find your partner and pair up!” Sobel yelled from the other side of the field. 

“Have fun!” Luz mocked as Lily dragged herself towards the other end of the field to find her unlucky partner. She was barely 10 steps towards where he was stood before she could feel his eyes beginning to glare a hole through her.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me, boys, this is gonna be fun.” He spat, looking her up and down before shoulder passing her and strutting away from the group of men towards his spot on the field.  

“Listen up Easy Company! The man on the far side of the field will make the starting move, last man standing wins!” Lieutenant Sobel’s whistle rang through the air as Lily centred her weight and dug deep deep down within herself to find an ounce of self control to not smash his face in. Defence, defence, Now wasn’t the time to be putting anyone in the medical bay.

“Afraid of messing up your hair sweetheart?” His childish voice rang in her ears as he stood on the far side of the field rolling his sleeves up. 

“You’d have to make contact with me to be able to do that, Liebgott.” She smiled back at him with a shit eating grin, spitting his name as if it were a slur.

“Yeah?” He said, slowly squaring up towards her. He was a good head and shoulders taller than her, and he was using every ounce of his stature to try to intimidate her. It was pretty easy to pinpoint exactly how Liebgott managed to get under her skin so easily, he was impulsive, rude, he knew how to push all her buttons, but mostly it was that he seemed to wake up every day with the innate desire to do anything, say anything to tick her off. It was killing her to find an ounce of strength not to retaliate. She had learnt the hard way that it mostly makes situations worse.

The duo stood steadfast, each not willing to back down from their ridiculous stare off, completely oblivious to the approaching footsteps of the Lieutenant Winters as he made his way over towards them. 

“Do we have a problem here?” His deep voice broke their trance, his eyes shifting between the pair. 

Liebgott’s head swung from between the Winters and the girl, “Afraid of getting her hands dirty I’d say, Sir.”

Winters let out a huff of aggravation, “Private Darlington, do you have a problem sparring with Private Liebgott?” His face displayed a look of curiosity as he peered down at the girl. “From what I’ve seen I’d say quite the opposite. Perhaps you can teach Private Liebgott here a thing or two.” He said with a wink. 

“Yes Sir” Lily happily replied, a hint of a smile edging on her lips, I’d happy slap the shit out of him, Sir. 

Lieutenant Winters smiled as he backed away, he couldn’t help but admit that he did hold a slight interest in watching her take down the loudmouthed Liebgott. He’d been an onlooker a few of their interactions, and whilst he wouldn’t feel inclined to step in between them; he knew that they needed to learn how to live amongst each other, and sometimes that required an ego takedown, he was comforted in the knowledge that his meddling would only produce what Liebgott had been fuelling with his behaviour.

Lily didn’t know the last time she had free rein to pummel someone, and she adored it. A rush of adrenaline overcame her as she waited, her weight spread, knees slightly bent. Joseph Liebgott you are so bloody predictable. During the drills prior shed had time to observe almost every man, assessing their strengths and taking note of their weaknesses. Liebgott was a classic, he favoured his left leg for balance, he always threw his first punch with his right arm. He was always telling the other men about fights he had gotten into back home, he was experienced, but impulsive. His aim was always to throw as many punches as he could before his opponent got a look in. Always so quick to attack that he never assessed the situation, his anger and his ‘better than thou’ attitude clouded his judgment. 

Lily dug her foot further into the dirt for leverage as she looked across at her partner, taunting her with a confident smirk and accompanying wink. Her eyes didn’t move from his as she waited for him to make the first move, she remained still, waiting on each footstep as he moved closer towards her. 

She barely had a second to breathe before Liebgott launched himself at her, throwing a punch that narrowly missed her eye. She ducked to dodge its trajectory, having to stop herself from sinking her fist into his crown jewels as she came back up, although she’d be lying if watching Liebgott rolling around on the ground like a worm cradling his crotch wouldn’t amuse her. 

Her weeks of silence in the evenings had been beneficial, it seemed Liebgott’s favourite pastime to recount the street brawl fights he’d gotten himself wrapped up in back home in California. She needed to prepare for a dirty fight. He retreated for a short moment before he lunged at her again, his movements brash and wild, he aimed for her blind spots, however, Lily anticipated it this time, and blocked and you countered, clipping his ankle as he came past, his impulsiveness made for a simple fight, however she kept her fists tight to her body, defence Lily, she reminded herself, scraping every ounce of self control she had left.

Winter’s attention was pulled from the scene as Nixon and Spiers made they way over the field to where he stood. 

“Battle to the death?.” Spiers said as he looked out onto the scene before them. 

Nixon stood between them, his arms tightly folded watching the ebb and flow of the drill intensify, his brow knitted tightly. “She’s reading him like a book.” He said, with more concern than he intended.

Thwack! 

She blocked his expected right hook, and countered with an elbow to his face, it wasn’t hard enough to break anything, but just about enough to knock his balance off. Swinging around she met his eyes as he recoiled back, his dark eyes glared at her, a mixture of shock and fury. This time Lily moved without hesitation, rushing forward she ducked down and grabbed Liebgott below the waist, using her entire body weight to throw him to the ground, the loud thunk of his head colliding with the mud drew inquisitive eyes from them other sparring pairs. A quiet murmur started to form amongst the onlookers who didn’t know wether to stop or watch what was going on. The force of the impact sent ringing through Liebgott’s ears, his eyes felt heavy in his head as if he was being pulled into the earth itself.

A quiet suppressed chuckle escaped from Spiers as Sobel shoved past the onlookers him yanked Liebgott back to his feet by his shirt collar.  “Easy Company is better than this Private, are you going to let a girl beat you?!” He bellowed into Liebgott’s ringing ears as he shoved him back into the fight. 

Liebgott stood for a few seconds catching his breath, before swinging his arm again and unleashing a series of rapid strikes. Lily moved and countered, her blocks almost poetic in their efficiency. 

Sobel’s voice called out once more, “Private Liebgott this isn’t a street fight, you are to take down your opponent!” His cowl voice broke Lily’s concentration, and in the split second she had stopped to turn her attention towards Sobel Joe had moved to throw a wild punch. Lily failed to block him as his fist collided with the side of her face. He was overjoyed, a slinky grin crept onto his face as his eyes scanned the red mark quickly rising across her left cheek. 

A few men down, Luz and Randleman had paused mid takedown as they saw Liebgott’s fist meet Lily’s face, they anxiously watched, unaware how they each still had their fists curled into each others uniform. 

Lily swallowed hard as she re-entered herself, she was prepared for a few bruises, she had settled on a few bruises, a few stumbles and she’d fall, faking defeat. She’d be able to sit the rest out and no one would remotely pay any attention to her, she had had her fun with him. That was until Liebgott decided to open his mouth and drain every inch of her self control.

“Gonna cry Red? I’ve seen you cry in your sleep, ain’t gonna be nothing new, you just can’t hack it.” He scoffed in her direction as she wiped a loose tendril of sweat covered hair out of her eyes.

His words seared into her skin and a switch flipped inside of her. She let him move first, her eyes shooting daggers into his. She watched as he moved slowly towards her, before shifting his weight and throwing a punch that she dogged with ease, he was playing into her hands. Then, with a sudden sprint Lily moved towards Liebgott.

Crunch!

With a sudden jab to the face Liebgott stumbled backwards, his nose bloodied and his fists tightened. He moved to wipe the blood away, however Lily didn’t give him a moment’s rest. 

“What in the Sam Hell…” Escaped from Randleman’s mouth as he stood, still connected to Luz, his breath caught in his throat as he watched the tiny girl, his eyes wide with shock.

With Liebgott’s hands up to his face, he left himself open, and Lily rushed forwards again. She explored his opening and with a shark kick has landed a blow to his ribs, a jarring move that stole the air from his lungs. Liebgott doubled over as the onlookers winced, barely sparring themselves anymore, too interested in the action. 

“She’s got bite, I’ll give her that.” Spiers spoke

“You can thank the SOE for that.” Nixon replied, his eyes completely fixated on the girl.

Liebgott, with more fury in his eyes than before attempted a desperate counter attack, Lily, however, moved in with ruthlessness, blocking each strike, and retaliating with a relentless barrage. Her fist collided with the Californian’s nose for the second time, forcing Liebgott to stagger backward as he let out a gasp of pain. As the confrontation reached its climax, Lily delivered a final, devastating series of blows, landing a final kick to his abdomen, followed by an elbow to the face in order to distract him, seizing the opportunity she grabbed him by the arm and flipped him over her shoulder. The onlookers shuddered as a sickening crunch sounded when Liebgott hit the ground, his shoulder dislocating the impact. Lily stood over him, her hands on her thighs as she panted, catching her breath as he lay there, defeated, bloody, and breathless. 

“Jesus Christ” Nixon breathed out as stood with the other Officers, their faces a mixture of curiosity and shock. He was finding it difficult to put into words what he had just seen, who was this Lily?

Tag list:

@shakespear-picaso-lovechild @icantdecideofthename @this-harl0t-shant-be-unalive @weird-obsessed-girl

Next part sooooo much sooner than you think!

[mlmxreader]

Handsome G.I. | Robert Zussman x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ “i’ve been thinking lately..” “oh no.” zussman x gn!reader 👁️👅👁️?? ❞

: ̗̀➛ Zussman isn't too happy when he notices that his favourite corporal has been spending time with the British officers.

: ̗̀➛ jealousy, smoking, swearing

•──────────────────★•♛•★─────────────────•

Crouched down in the bushes, you could feel the fine hairs at the back of your neck standing on edge; you and Zussman had been paired together for the latest patrol, as you always were.

You worked well together, the perfect dynamic duo; even Pierson couldn't deny it, and knew all too well that if he wanted results, it was you and Zussman who would get them. Zussman was the brains between you, more thoughtful in his decisions, but you were hot headed and took actions over plans every time.

The perfect opposites.

Your temper's fire burned brightly and harshly, and his cool demeanour and relaxed nature was as soft as the kiss of the year's first snow. You were a great match. Red, especially, liked the fact that you and Zussman were a great match together.

It suited you both, you balanced each other out. But even then, you and Zussman were not without your own interpersonal issues; when the battalion teamed up with the British SOE, something changed between you and Zussman.

The two agents who had been assigned - Vivian and Arthur - were… getting in the way. It started out just fine, but the more time that the British agents pulled you away from Zussman, the more he didn’t like it one bit; there seemed to be something going on, something that he absolutely despised but couldn’t be sure why.

Whenever Red pulled you away from him, Zussman didn’t mind whatsoever. After all, you were good friends with Red, and Red had his beloved Hazel waiting for him back home; in fact, Zussman liked the fact that you and Red were so close - his best friend and his favourite corporal getting along was like the perfect dream.

There just happened to be something about the British agents that rubbed Zussman the wrong way.

Maybe it was the way that Arthur smiled at you so sweetly and how he often complimented your looks; maybe it was the way that Vivian always blushed when she laughed at your jokes and how she often made you coffee in the mornings.

Zussman didn’t like it, he felt replaced, like you no longer wanted to be around him and you would have preferred to spend time with others instead of him. Like you no longer wanted to be around him, wanted nothing to do with him.

It was upsetting, really, and he wasn’t really sure how to go about it in all honesty. It was a harsh and cold day, the snow had been falling even harder than it had been the last few days, and the ice on the roads made the asphalt slick and unsteady; the winds had been blowing harshly, howling and screaming constantly.

Zussman had given you his coat a few hours ago, insisting on keeping you warm while he waited in the foxhole with you; it was impossible to go back to camp, the snow was falling thickly and heavily, blowing in your faces the very moment you tried to get out.

You were forced to hide out until the snow storm passed, until it all blew over for good. Zussman looked at you, clearing his throat as he moved a little closer, chewing the inside of his lip.

“I’ve been thinking lately…”

“Oh, no.” You eyed him suspiciously. “That’s never good.”

Zussman rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he glared at you. “No, I mean it, I just… what’s the deal with you and those British agents?”

You scoffed as you lit up a cigarette, handing it over to him before lighting another for yourself. “What’d you mean, Rob?”’

Sighing heavily, he took a drag from the cigarette and shrugged, pouting slightly. “Just… you seem to really like ‘em, y’know, and they really like you.”

You shrugged, rubbing the back of your neck for a moment, the cigarette dangling from your lips. “Yeah, I mean, they’re nice, and they’re both really smart.”

He hummed, frowning a little as he hung his head and licked his lips. “So, uh, you’re gonna get pretty close to them?”

“I mean, I doubt it,” you laughed softly. “They’re only helping us out for a little while, and… well, I ain’t gonna see the end of the war, so I can’t, y’know, see being friends with them for… y’know.”

“Right,” Zussman said quietly. “But, uhm… do you, y’know, do you see yourself being friends with them while they’re here?”

“You’re acting weird,” you told him with a shrug. “You sure you’re alright?”

He shook his head, grumbling softly. “I just… y’know, I don’t… I feel replaced, for fuck’s sake. Like you’d rather spend time with them.”

You moved a little closer to him, resting your head against his shoulder as you hummed quietly; your hand resting on his thigh as you smiled softly at him. “Oh, Robbie.”

“What?”

“It’s alright to get jealous,” you told him gently. “I just wish you would’ve said sooner.”

“Why?”

“Because then I could’ve done this,” you chuckled, leaning over and softly kissing him. 

Zussman grinned, putting his hand at the back of your neck so he could deepen the kiss, groaning softly when you moved to sit on his lap, your hands on his shoulders; he eventually broke the kiss, smiling up at you as he raised his brows, licking his lips.

“Well, hi, Corporal,” he breathed out.

“Good afternoon, Private,” you hummed softly, letting your hands rest on his chest. “Say, you wouldn’t think there’s anything going on between me and the British officers, would you?”

Zussman shook his head. “No… not at all. I just want you to admit one thing for me.”

“Oh?”

“Admit that you really did fall for the handsome, American G.I.” He grinned, letting his hands drift down to your thighs and grabbing them tightly. “Think you can do that?”

You grinned back as you adjusted yourself on his lap, humming softly as you cleared your throat and tried not to laugh. “Alright, maybe I did fall for the handsome, American G.I., a lot more than what I could’ve guessed.”

[historicalfictionsims]

Steggy Week 2024 - Day 4 (Outsider POV)

If I'm ever going to get around to Steve and Peggy's wedding, I'm going to need Peggy's parents, Harrison and Amanda Carter. For Amanda I was inspired by the episode of Agent Carter that flashes back to the events leading up to Peggy joining the SOE. For Harrison I just used Peggy's genetics.

(I felt like today’s entry warranted a fleshed-out story. It’s been a while since I’ve written a narrative, and I do feel out of practice!)

Peggy had some time on leave in London in late 1944, so Amanda insisted she come home for Tea. She was surprised when Peggy mentioned that she would be bringing a guest, as she hadn’t heard much about her daughter’s social life ever since her departure in 1940, following Michael’s death. Amanda asked if this guest happened to be a gentleman, to which Peggy audibly sighed on the other end of the line. Oh well, Amanda would find out soon enough.

Indeed a man stood at Peggy’s side as Amanda opened the front door the next day. Not just any man, either. Amanda could not help but piece together the American dress uniform on the tall, well-built body, topped with a crown of golden hair. Everyone in London knew of Captain America, but Amanda hadn’t realized that her daughter knew him. A glance at Peggy’s face flashed the message “this visit is highly classified.”

After Peggy had cut off her engagement to Fred Wells, Amanda had hoped (and occasionally dropped hints) that she should resume dating again. However, she hadn’t counted on her daughter’s suitor being an American, much less the most high-profile American on the Western Front, second perhaps only to Howard Stark.

Amanda led the couple to the parlor, where the tea set waited. “How do you take your tea, Captain Rogers? She asked the young man, who was trying (not entirely successfully) to mask his nervousness. Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, Steve stammered “I’ll take it as Peggy takes it.” Harrison made a funny little noise, which Amanda took to be a masked chuckle.

Despite her initial reservations about Captain Rogers, Amanda found herself warming up to the man. He was ernest and respectful, and it was plain to see the affection he felt for Peggy. Her daughter clearly returned his affection with equal intensity. Harrison seemed to approve as well, as he shared his own war stories with their guest.

As the evening wore on, Amanda observed that the Captain and her daughter felt more at ease, and that while no mention was made of an engagement, it wouldn’t be a surprise if one was forthcoming. Maybe she and Harrison would have grandchildren after all. ‘Too bad they would most likely live on another continent,’ Amanda thought ruefully, waving goodbye as the couple headed back to their base, arms entwined.

@steggyfanevents

[wexhappyxfew]

AND THEN THE DAWN CAME

OC masterlist for the band of brothers fic

tags to look at: #attdc #and then the dawn came #esther armstrong #mercy codona, etc….

ESTHER ‘ESSIE’, ‘FUBAR’, ARMSTRONG

-> war correspondent for the us airborne (101st, company E), trying to make a name for herself in this world by telling the stories that no one wants to tell

MERCY ‘HALF-PINT’ CODONA

-> war photographer for the us airborne (101st, company E), esther armstrong’s most trusted companion, running from her past into a future that’s nothing more than a blur. at least a camera can keep her in the present

MARGARETA ‘MARGOT’ GERINGHER

-> double agent for the SIS in britain, proclaimed legally dead by the world it seems, but is doing everything she can to get back at the germans, even pushing herself to the breaking point to get revenge on her mother

LUCY GARDNER

-> rogue SOE agent with a foggy past, previously having graduated from oxford, having been stranded in both the desert in north africa and the bavarian alps, now running with the red devils to invade normandy

ROLANDE PELLETIER

-> member of the maquis with ties to a few prison cycles in marseilles, partaking in the normandy operations, paired with a stubborn oss agent who does nothing more than sit quietly

MILDRED ‘ MILLIE’ CARTER

-> oss agent with a traumatizing history in berlin, now freed and escaped, but with a heavy burden on her shoulders, trying to make up for something or other without getting too close to the sun

YVETTE ST. CLAIR

-> ex maquis member, previously on the run, who lost everything but a wrist watch through the war, and is doing nothing more than trying to save the lives of people she can still save, having found herself in normandy

JEANNIE DESCHAMPS

-> maquis member, who works covertly as a translator, knowing 5 languages, trying to save the life of a russian sniper after a freak break-out from a prison cycle in marseilles, who says knew her missing brother

MIRIAM ‘MITZI’ ZAKHAROVA KASATKINA

-> russian sniper who found herself tangled in the lives of vichy, france, and was tried for far too many counts alongside the brother of a maquis member who helped to get her out

PADMAVATI ‘PUJA’ SOLANKI

-> member of the british 8th army, working as a translator of 5 languages, who has a chance run-in with a few people from her past and a fellow oxford graduate

[spineless-lobster]

Alright so I was reading the wikipedia article for the limpet mine because I am Very Normal™ about the antics my favourite characters get up to, and I went down a rabbit hole about this guy who I believe to have somewhat inspired the character of the Captain. (long post warning, TL;DR at the end)

I present to you, Cecil Vandepeer Clarke, the man who helped develop the limpet mine. (the last name Clarke might ring a bell to those who have read There’s A War Going On by Glowinggreeneyes)

Born in 1897, (which could’ve been the Captain’s birth year) he first served in WWI as a second lieutenant. He did quite a few things but the main thing that I want to focus on was his achievements. He was rewarded the Military Cross medal for his part in the battle of Vittorio Veneto in Italy in 1918. If you’ve seen my other infodump post you know that in the Captain’s pilot design, he had the Military Cross (underlined in red) and the Italy Star (underlined in blue) as medals (which later changed). Now, the Italy Star was specifically for WWII but I feel like we can excuse that because of creative licensing and all that. I just think the link between Italy is interesting. The France and Germany Star and the War Medal are part of his canon design, so which ever part of his story that relates to that must’ve made it through the cut which is 👀

Clarke married Dorothy Aileen Kendrick and had three children, which isn’t that important but my brain won’t let go of “a friend of Dorothy” so there’s that.

Clarke developed the limpet mine during WWII with his friend Stuart Macrae. They had to think of a detonation technique (remember, they had to attach the mine to the hull of the ship. You can’t have your frogmen blowing up) they found that an aniseed ball (a type of candy that resembles a gobstopper, only smaller) left by Clarke’s children in his office disintegrated at the perfect rate in water in order to detonate the mine.

While they were testing the limpet mine, they had to make sure it didn’t get damp in any way lest the aniseed ball starts dissolving. So naturally they wrapped it in a condom while not in use.

I initially made this post because the thought of the Captain being all flustered next to Havers while handling a detonator wrapped in a condom was sending me into hysterics but uhhh I got a bit carried away.

The Captain mentions that the limpet mine used suckers to attach to the side of the hull. But in reality they used magnets to attach them to the ship, which was the idea from the start. So tbh I have no idea what he’s going on about.

Now here’s something interesting; Clarke worked on improvements with the limpet mine in a country house called Aston House, which was acquired by the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) in 1939. The mine was being manufactured by the Special Operations Executive (SOE) and the house was handed over to them by the SIS where it was known as Station XII (hm, oddly close to Button House XI don’t you think?) Clarke also developed many other weapons at the house. Aston House is in Stevenage, Hertfordshire which means literally nothing to me but it might mean something to someone else.

While developing the limpet mine Clarke had come up with the idea of an underground tank (which sounds cool as hell) and proposed his idea twice, the first time to the Ministry of Supply (which was rejected) and the second time directly to Churchill himself (who essentially said “that’s great, but we’re making one of those already”). Although he was put in charge of the “trenching machine” as he was made assistant director in the Naval Land Section, he grew to hate his job and was called for military service shortly after he left. (Hm, who else absolutely despises the navy? Perhaps our favourite little army man?)

Clarke was later promoted to captain (but acted as a major) and was stationed at Brickendonbury Manor (Station XVII) where he trained SOE agents. There he suffered a bone fracture due to a rough landing during parachute training. The wiki article doesn’t mention where the fracture was but if it was in his knees I might punch a wall.

Clarke was released from the army in November of 1945. He returned to Bedford where he joined the Territorial Army as a captain and served there for six years before being transferred to the Intelligence Corps. Later he ran as like a counsellor or something and was part of the Labour/Liberal Party, but I don’t think that’s very relevant. He retired as a major at the age of 60 and died in 1961. The wiki article doesn’t mention a cause of death (which is just poetic irony at this point) but it does mention that he had a non fatal heart attack. But non fatal means he didn’t die from it so ?????

TL;DR:

- Possibly same birth year?

- Similar(ish) medals

- Developed the limpet mine with a close friend

- Stationed at a country house (twice in the case of Clarke) during WWII

- Hate the navy (though that seems to be common amongst soldiers)

- Fucked up bones

- Worked in intelligence and weapons development

- Prominently known as a captain

- Died under mysterious circumstances apparently

I am leaving out A LOT of other information so there might be more connections that I’m missing. If you wanna learn more about Clarke and the limpet mine I found this article which delves further into the development and it was a very fun read.

I… I need to lie down

[ofcompasses]

I keep seeing the same silly rhetoric that Peggy Carter wasn't interested in Steve until he physically changed and I just want to clarify that if the woman was only obsessed with his body alone then the following doesn't add up to this narrative:

She's smitten when he wins the flag to get a ride back to base with her. (CA: TFA)

She is attentive, gives attention and leans in when he's speaking in a room. She genuinely cares about what he has to say. (CA: TFA)

When undergoing his transformation she's the only one in the room who screamed for the experiment to be shut down when she heard him yell. To hell with the transformation, she only cared he was safe and well. (CA: TFA)

She continuously addresses him as Steve or Captain Rogers -- 'Captain America' isn't something she acknowledges when it comes to him. She calls him by his name. Because he matters. Not the world's persona. (Throughout the MCU works)

She left the SSR to start S.H.I.E.L.D. with nothing but a picture of skinny Steve. Of all her belongings she saw that being the only thing of importance to keep. (Marvel one shot)

She keeps a picture of skinny Steve on her dresser. She's literally starting her day with him and ending it with him. (Agent Carter)

We know she keeps skinny Steve on her desk as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve even finds it. (Endgame)

It's clear that Skinny Steve is to Peggy what Steve's Compass with Peggy in is to him. A direction. A reminder. A moral compass.

What I particularly hate about this blatant lie is that it paints Peggy to be this shallow superficial woman when it's the farthest narrative from her actual character both in the comics and in the MCU. It's incredibly clear that certain fandom members love to conjure up lies in an attempt to make their character assassination attempts sound like they hold more validity than they do.

If the above wasn't proof enough I'm going to provide further evidence both from the comics and the Agent Carter TV Series (which half of you clearly haven't watched or else this wouldn't even be a thing to question) that further supports the consistency of Peggy not caring about aesthetics when it comes to who she chooses as a love interest.

Fred Wells: Clearly unequally yoked for Peggy, given Peggy's heart for adventure. When her brother (Michael) tries to dissuade her from going through with marrying him (at their engagement party mind you) Peggy gets confrontational and basically tells Michael to stay out of her business (even though she knew he was right). One thing about Peggy Carter? If she loves you she will defend and stick beside you regardless of the logistics. The only time she then ends things with Fred is after Michael, her brother, dies in service. To honour him she leaves Fred and pursues a career with the SOE (That Michael put her forward for before he passed) that then sets her on the trajectory to work for the SSR and later S.H.I.E.L.D. Peggy, protecting legacies and using her life to honour those gone before her? Sound familiar? Because it didn't start with Steve. It started with Michael Carter, her brother.

Gabe Jones (Comics): Peggy has never cared about physical aesthetics nor has she ever been concerned with how other people perceive her with the partners she chooses for herself. She is one of the first white female characters in the comics to have an interracial romance (Gabe Jones) despite the racist hostility from others. Red Skull quite literally attacks her and Gabe for it (being together). Did Peggy run? No. Because her feelings for the person mattered most.

Jason Wilkes: Seeing this was a beautiful parallel to Peggy in the comics. A black scientist in the '40s who Peggy is BESOTTED with. This woman was risking everything for this man despite the time being rampant with blatant racism. After a comment made by a shop owner, you see Peggy visibly and audibly distressed by Jason's mistreatment. And yes, she defends him.

Daniel Sousa: A disabled veteran. There's a line in Agent Carter where Agent Thompson tells Daniel something along the lines of 'She (Peggy) won't trade in Red, White and Blue (Steve) for an Aluminum crutch'. Alluding that even after Steve's 'death' Peggy wouldn't go for someone perceived as 'less than'. It's a disgusting comment to make. It's incredibly ableist. The joke is on Thompson though because Daniel, Aluminum crutch and all, is who she ultimately chooses.

All this to say, Peggy Carter has many flaws. Her ability to see value in others despite their physicality has never been one of them. She is consistent in her approach to people. She consistently treats them fair, just and with respect across the broad variety of the work she has been featured in.

And yes, it has everything to do with her upbringing and coming of age in an era that didn't value women. Especially considering she was in a male-dominated field where they constantly reminded her of where her place should be and belittled and underestimated her expertise.

Peggy treats people the way she does because she knows how it feels to be on the butt end of people being awful to her. She actively moves throughout the world and considers everyone with kindness because she knows she hasn't always been awarded the same by others.

Circling that back to Steve Rogers. Is it a surprise that she took extra care with him? Especially when he in turn took extra care with her? Paid attention to what she had to say? Valued her opinions and her counsel? The math, maths perfect here. It had nothing to do with what the man looked like.

The better question to those spewing this rhetoric would be why they're so hellbent on making this a thing? Is it because they themselves would be shallow enough to have physicality be a decider on whether they pursued someone or not? Or is it just that they're running with this narrative to try and boost their own problematic faves? Who knows.

Either way, consider this:

If this is your first time learning that Peggy was engaged before CA:TFA, your first time learning she's been in interracial relationships, the first time learning she's been with a disabled veteran, the first time knowing her brother died (or that she even had one at all in the MCU) should tell you, you don't know enough about her character to be blindly forming opinions of her or agreeing with a majority of the fandom who have made it their mission to make her seem awful and evil. Steve wasn't the start of Peggy's character, she has her own history and life before and after him.

Watch the source material. Form your own opinions. Get off the bloody internet.

[radykalny-feminizm]

Elżbieta Zawacka (19 March 1909 – 10 January 2009), known also by her war-time nom de guerre Zo, was a Polish university professor, scouting instructor, SOE agent and a freedom fighter during World War II. She was also a Brigadier General of the Polish Army (the second and last woman in the history of the Polish Army to hold this rank), promoted by President Lech Kaczyński on May 3, 2006. The only woman among the Cichociemni, she served as a courier for the Home Army, carrying letters and other documents from Nazi-occupied Poland to the Polish government in exile and back. Her regular route ran from Warsaw through Berlin and Sweden to London. She was also responsible for organizing routes for other couriers of the Home Army. Not very liked by her conservative colleagues, she was described as "unconscious feminist and pioneer of the women's liberation and equality movement".

[kckramer]

Writeblr Introduction

Hello! It's time to properly introduce myself to the writeblr community. You can call me KC if you want. I am a full time specialist as my local library system and I have a Master of Letters in Fantasy Literature from the University of Glasgow. For now, this is my writing website, until an agent/editor tells me to build a WordPress or something. (I honestly hate traditional blogs. Weird quirk, don't know why. Also, links are underlined). If I get tagged in things, I will do my best to respond to them and share it forward.

Published Works- This includes my self-published 5e adventure and the two anthologies that include my stories. It will be updated and kept current as this develops.

Works in Progress- The main projects that I've been bouncing back and forth between. Most are world-oriented, meaning they have numerous interconnected stories within a single world.

Where to Find Me: Some of my other internet homes, including World Anvil, Pinterest, Twitter, and Facebook.

More Details Below...

Here are some more details on the different things I linked above:

Published Works

"Sofia Serrento's Flying Circus and the Sky Pirates of Shanghai" is published in the anthology Hell Hath No Fury: New Pulp Heroines. It's a New Pulp story set in 1930s Shanghai, featuring Sofia Serrento and her all-women aero-circus/spy ring.

"The God-Kings' Tomb" is published in the anthology Futures That Never Were, an anthology of original sword & planet short stories. This one is in the same universe as Sofia Serrento, so the two stories are... technically connected. This one involves an SOE advisor specializing in the occult and arcane who finds herself transported to a different planet in the solar system.

Siege at Oasis Butte is a standalone 5e adventure published through the DM's Guild featuring a desert town under siege by mercenaries with mysterious motivations.

Works In Progress

Iron Horizons/The Pilgrim's War: This was a NaNoWriMo novel from a few years ago that has since... grown. I've been calling it a Dieselpunk space opera, but alternate history/retrofuturism is also apt. Basically, humanity rapidly developed space flight in the 1920s based on some MacGuffin physics nonsense leading to the second world war happening on a solar system level using extensions of 30s aesthetics. Pilgrim's War is set roughly 400 years after that war ended, with the extensive resources from space maintaining the colonialist expansion into the stars and focuses primarily on a sort of... War of 1812 situation between a well-established independent government and their recently independent colonies.

The Centurion Club: My published short stories are set in this universe. Ironically, this is also an alternate history. It's the primary setting for my "New Pulp" fiction. It's mostly short fiction, with some longer projects in the brainstorming phase, and it focuses on the fictionalized city of Weymouth in New England and the members of the illustrious Centurion Club, a scientific society for explorers, scientists, freedom fighters, reformers, and others who push the boundaries of human society. Beyond that, a sword and sorcery setting in Mesolithic Doggerland, some privateers/mercenaries in the 17th/18th centuries, and a contemporary CGIS special agent in a Clive Cussler vein, plus a great many vigilantes and adventurers in the 1930s.

Sigil of the Sea King: A heroic fantasy which, also a NaNoWriMo project, is self-indulgence, where I throw together everything I've really enjoyed but could never fit in elsewhere. So there's an island kingdom ruled by merchant sea princes, flying air whales, nomads whose wagons are pulled by sails, cozy Forest Folk, a lone surviving heir to a crumbled kingdom, and lots of influence from Georgian/Armenian/Caucasian culture, mythology, and history.

Flintlock Fantasy: This is just the earliest stages of development, mostly just simmering, but somewhat Napoleonic secondary fantasy world. The main character is an elf named Lark, and I think she's sort of a janissary-type sent to work covertly in a border region between two empires. Random, Personal Information

You may have once known me as NovelistSpaceRanger, but that was like 8 years ago.

I'm a certified open-water diver and I'm working on my advanced open-water diver later this summer.

Also a whitewater rafter, backpacker, mediocre yogi, and rock climber.

I've been to 14 countries and spent a year and a half living in Europe.

[ask-the-becile-boys]

Story. Guess Who

Previous | Next

[ID: 7 digitally sketched panels in greyscale.]

[Panel 1: In the still dark dawn outside of Becile Manor, Locksmith and Agent Ester walk away from the car they left The Jack in. Both of their eyes are glowing, and Agest Ester is talking into a walkie-talkie. She says, "Operative, you are clear to enter the premises." Someone on the other end responds, "Finally."]

[Panel 2: Another car, parked and empty, in the foreground. Behind it, a Becile Industries van has its back open and several large, bipedal robots with single eyes, digitigrade legs, and fins on their heads like elephant ears are getting out. The most visible one is wearing a large backpack. On the ground there are several of the previously seen eye drones skittering along the ground, carrying rectangular packages on their tops. The mystery speak says, "Looks like your drones and RO-bots are deploying themselves."]

[Panel 3: A walking boot. The mystery speaker asks, "Stairs to the workshop are in the right-hand wing, right?" Locksmith responds over the walkie-talkie, "Correct." The mystery speaker says, "Good. This won't take long."]

[Panel 4: The boots descending a staircase into the Becile Manor basement. From below come lyrics from Creedance Clearwater Revival's 'Bad Moon Rising:' "♪ Hope you got your things together ♪, ♪ Hope you are quite prepared to die ♪"]

[Panel 5: A hand wearing a fingerless glove pushes open the door to the workshop where The Skull is laid out and Riker is working. Riker has his back turned to the viewer and is looking at soe blueprints. An old radio on the bench near him continues to play the song, "♪ Looks like we're in for nasty weather ♪, ♪ One eye is taken for an eye ♪"]

[Panel 6: Riker in profile, smoking a cigarette and oblivious to the pair of hands reaching for him from behind. The song continues, "♪ Well, don't go around tonight ♪, ♪ Well, it's bound to take your life ♪"]

[Panel 7: Jaime Huron covers Riker's eyes with his hands, leaning forward toward his ear and saying, "Guess who." The cigarette falls from Riker's mouth, and the song finishes, "♪ There's a bad moon on the rise." End ID]

[blurredcolour]

In My Blood | Part One

In My Blood Masterlist

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

The aftermath of the Schweinfurt-Regensburg mission floods the Belgian countryside with American fliers, including one very injured Curtis Biddick. On a regular supply run to a Resistance contact, you suddenly find him sharing your regular place of shelter for the night, a simple coincidence that very well may change the course of the rest of your life.

Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Language, Violence, Weapons, Spy Craft, Death, Injuries, Angst, Suffering, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. While they have been given the codename of "Marie," no physical descriptions or Y/N are used.

Italics used for non-English words and to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

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

Word Count: 4200

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

August 17, 1943

Pouring from the sky like a summer rain…you had never seen so many downed airmen in one day. It seemed the American Air Force had mounted some great attack. An attack that was met with what must have been every single Luftwaffe fighter plane that now infected your native Belgian soil. The majority were captured by Nazi soldiers, Gestapo, or collaborators the moment their boots hit the ground, keen eyes following the tracks of parachutes as they floated to the ground. But the lucky ones got away, stayed hidden, or were greeted by more friendly faces.

The efforts you had been putting in over the past three months on the exfiltration routes for downed airmen in Western Europe – helping to rebuild and reshape the Pat O’Leary Line into the Françoise Line after the arrest of its former chief, connecting the Belgian-run Comet Line with monetary and equipment-based support from MI9’s agent Jerome in Paris – the timing could not have been better for the sheer demand that the events of the day would put upon them. They were as strong as they could be and yet undoubtedly these numbers would overwhelm them.

Born the only child of a Belgian Jonkheer and the second daughter of the Marquess of Abergavenny, that you would end up as an agent of the Special Operations Executive had been as foreseeable as the Nazi invasion of Belgium. Unexpected and yet altogether unsurprising given circumstance and history.

Entirely too fond of fast cars, cigarettes, gin, and learning the fascinating operations of your father’s iron factories in Wallonia for your mother’s taste, you had been forced off to England in the spring of 1939 to support your cousin Philomena Nevill during her debut. It had been hoped, you supposed, that under the watchful eye of your grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness, that your ‘good breeding’ might suddenly become apparent. That the tomboy whom her father adoringly called mon petit monstre might be transformed into a lady under the onslaught of balls, polo matches, regattas, and horse races all whilst trussed up like some prized pony at a meat market. Never mind that you were three years older than the fresh flesh of the debutantes on display.

All that had been achieved was to put you in the same rooms as the likes of Lord Halifax, Prime Minister Chamberlain, and First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill. The only topic of discussion you had been interested in was the growing threat posed by Hitler with his growing Nazi empire and the fact that your parents remained in your home country right on his doorstep had weighed heavily upon you. There had been a tremendous argument in September, following the invasion of Poland and declaration of war by Britain and her allies. Your father had insisted he must remain to care for his business, his workers, his property. Your mother had insisted that she would remain to care for him. As one united front, all your relatives, including your uncle, the current Marquess, had insisted you remain in England where it was safe.

And so you had found yourself marooned on that unfamiliar island through the fall and winter of the phony war, dread heavy and sour in your stomach as military preparation took precedence over everything. With naught much else to do, you had volunteered with the Red Cross, fundraising as a member of the upper class, outspoken in your distaste for fascism. The watchful waiting came to an abrupt end on May 10, 1940, when the world awoke to the news that the Nazis had invaded the Netherlands, Luxembourg, France, and Belgium in one fell swoop.

Within eighteen days, Luxembourg, the Netherlands and Belgium had surrendered, France was on the verge, and you were orphaned. The hollow, inherited title of Jonkvrouw was all that remained of your parents after an unfortunate run in with a Stuka dive bomber on a bridge out of Brussels, so the letter from your father’s personal secretary read. The post-mark was from Marseilles, confirming that your father had sent everyone else to safety before trying to obtain the very same for himself. It had simply been too late.

Lest you fall to pieces over the loss of your home and family in such quick succession, to be caught grieving in unfamiliar formal homes amongst people you barely knew, you had sought refuge in purpose. Volunteering for the Auxiliary Territorial Service, you put your skills as a motorist to good use. Yet it never felt like enough. Driving lorries full of supplies across the English countryside while sailors and airmen risked their lives made you feel utterly impotent, particularly as the horrific bombing campaigns wore on. Mercifully, more meaningful opportunities found their way to you in the form of Vera Atkins and the SOE. Your social circles overlapped, on occasion, and she had proposed an altogether different use of your unique upbringing, for the four languages you spoke simply by virtue of traipsing across Belgium on your father’s coattails – for the country consisted of French, Dutch, and German speaking peoples and he had insisted you learn them all. While your mother had insisted you spoke only the King’s English with her.

The preliminary school had been difficult, filled with unexpected challenges and daring tasks such as crossing a rope strung between two trees high above the ground. Pure fury at the invasion of your homeland and murder of your parents had carried you through onto the paramilitary school, where you had learned how to master weapons, and hand-to-hand combat. It was then onto parachuting school, as the only way to return to now fully occupied Europe was by low-flying aircraft in the dead of night, and finally finishing school to hone your spy craft.

It was early 1943 by the time you were ready to be dropped into occupied territory, all under the auspices of a deployment to Scotland with the ATS, your extended family none the wiser as you plummeted into an empty field in Northern France to begin your work. By the time the heat of August came around you were proficient at cycling long distances with burdens of weapons and cash, sneaking across the border, making connections on both the French and Belgian side. Making one such delivery of fresh funds for the Françoise line contact brought you to the Flanders village of Beverst that warm summer day.

The small clinic of Doctor Legot, with his flat above, boasted a sizeable cellar, perfect for hosting resistance meetings or the occasional guest such as yourself. He was also a natural community figure for those from all walks of life to visit, obtaining more than just medical advice, though thus far the Gestapo had not caught wise. Letting yourself through the gate into the back garden, you concealed your bicycle amidst some conveniently overgrown shrubbery and slung your handbag over your shoulder before carrying your worn suitcase into the clinic which seemed rather empty for a Tuesday afternoon.

Greeting his receptionist Edda in Dutch, she gestured you down the hall to Dr. Legot’s office. Proceeding with a nod of thanks, you knocked on the door, quietly stepping in as he called out casually in Dutch.

 “Enter!”

As you swung the door open, his head, covered in the thin remainder of caramel hair, shorn close to control its obvious curl, lifted to regard you warmly before falling serious.

“You could not have come on a better day, Marie.” He spoke solemnly, addressing you by the cover name bestowed upon you by the SOE, snapping the patient file he had been reviewing shut.

Stepping fully into the office, you quietly shut the door behind you, setting the suitcase on his desk to deliver the promised funds.

“Indeed, it seems you have been blessed with quite a few visitors today, Doctor.”

You watched silently as he carefully took stack after stack of Belgian francs, tucking them into his safe under his desk.

“More than we have places for, honestly. If you are looking for a place for the night you will have to share accommodations.”

Tight as your grip was on your facial expressions, you still felt your eyebrows twitch in surprise as Dr. Legot rarely housed downed airmen as he himself was not able to speak English and found their behaviour wildly unpredictable, at best. He was a man who preferred things neat and orderly. It was only by respecting his preferences that you had earned repeated shelter under his roof.

“I know, Marie,” he continued, obviously having caught your micro expression, “but the man is in a bad way. Brought his plane down in Maes’ orchard – a feat the boys could not stop commenting upon as they carried him in, even as the pilot was bleeding all over my floor. No one has even asked him if he wants to surrender or explained what trying to evade capture entails.”

“Hm.” You intoned thoughtfully. “Does he need a hospital?”

The middle-aged man settled his broad frame into his worn wooden desk chair with a pronounced ‘creak,’ exhaling heavily in contemplation. “Not need, no. If he chooses to run, he will need maybe two months recovery, but I can manage I suppose.”

The furrow of his brow and the pinched lines around his mouth spoke to his distinct lack of enthusiasm at the prospect, but like so many involved in resistance, his hatred for the Nazis greatly outweighed any other personal preferences after three years of occupation.

“I will give him the speech then, he ought to make an informed decision. Would you mind covering his eyes for me in case his choice is surrender?”

Relief washed across the man’s features, and he nodded quickly, grabbing a roll of bandages.

“Come down in five minutes.”

You nodded in agreement, allowing yourself those five minutes of rest in the safety of Legot’s office, a place you could let your guard down for a little while, until the minute hand of your watch completed its fifth trip around the face. Making your way to the back of the clinic, you stepped into the storage room to the open trap door leading down to the cellar, descending the worn ladder carefully.

Turning in the space lit only by candles, you frowned slightly to see the wounded man, one leg protruding from beneath the sheets swathed in bandages – most likely covered in burns. Stepping closer to the cot that you realized had been carried down especially for this patient, your small twin bed untouched in its usual corner, you swallowed tightly to see more bandages wrapped around the man’s neck, his right arm in a plaster cast and sling. That truly must have been some landing.

“You are certain he does not need a hospital?” You were not usually one to question a doctor’s opinion, but the look of this man left you full of doubt.

Would you not be risking his life hiding him in this cellar in this condition?

You watched a smile tug at his chapped, pink lips.

“You brought a dame, doc?”

Despite the fact that his eyes were covered in bandages, for the sake of protecting your identity, you could definitely read the mischief in his expression.

“Quite certain.” Doctor Legot bristled and gestured sharply for you to get on with it.

Clearing your throat, you summoned all the authority of your grandmother, as well as her haughty vowels, as you spoke. “Airman, listen carefully.”

The pilot’s head snapped slightly in your direction. “Hey there, gorgeous.” He grinned broadly.

The unexpected statement stole the wind from your sails, drawing an incredulous laugh from your throat. “You cannot even see me.”

“Can hear it in your voice.” He insisted smugly and you shook your head sharply – in part to clear it.

“Regardless, I am here you to offer you a choice. We can take you now to the local authorities for surrender, you will become a prisoner of war under the protection of the Geneva Convention and receive further medical care in a hospital. You will remain a prisoner for the rest of the war in relative safety. Or, you can remain here, rest and heal, and when you are ready, we will try and get you back to England. You would be dressed as a civilian and if caught, treated as a spy and shot without trial. Knowing all this, what is your choice? Turn yourself in or try and escape?”

“I will never turn myself into those Nazi fucks…pardon my French ma’am.” He smirked and you bit back another laugh at the preposterous expression.

“Very well. You will stay here and do everything Doctor Legot says. No argument, no trouble.”

“Whatever you say, gorgeous.”

Sighing at his incorrigible nature, you turned to the doctor and nodded.

“He will stay and try to escape.”

“Very well, I have one more appointment today and then I will bring you both some dinner later. Thank you, Marie.” He made his way up the ladder stiffly before securing the trapdoor shut, closing you both into your hiding place.

Reaching forward you gently began to unwind the bandages from his eyes, breath hitching in your throat at the brilliant blue that squinted back up at you.

“Knew you were gorgeous. Marie? I’m Curt.”

“Pleased to meet you.” You replied, doing your best to maintain some professional sense of formality. “You should rest.” Moving to the opposite side of the cellar, you sat onto the mattress that was about as exhausted as you, the springs groaning in protest.

“Yeah, probably right…hey did, did the Doc say if they pulled anyone else from the plane?” His expression was filled with a boyish hopefulness that made you long for a better answer.

“He didn’t, no, but I will ask around tomorrow.”

A soft smile graced his features. “Thanks gorgeous, you’re a gem.” He sighed drowsily and you watched as he was quickly pulled into sleep, so very fragile draped across the cot, swaddled in all those bandages.

In just eight weeks would he truly be ready to face tense train rides and a hike across the Pyrenees?

Your doubts were greatly eased the next time you laid your eyes upon him five weeks later, returning from a guiding run to Toulouse with several airmen who had been downed that day in August including a man named Claytor with a rather remarkable twang to his speech. You bore candles, medical supplies, and extra rations for Doctor Legot, knowing he was undoubtedly going through all at a prodigious rate with his unexpected long-term guest in the cellar. Your trusty suitcase also held an Agatha Christie murder mystery, an English book procured at great difficulty, and a selection of French comic books – while he may not speak the language, you were hoping the pictures would be sufficient entertainment in his subterranean dwelling.

As you climbed down the familiar ladder in the candlelit cellar, handbag swinging on your shoulder, you were startled to find Curt on his feet, looking prepared to try and catch you if you should fall, even with one arm still in a cast. Reaching for your suitcase as the doctor lowered it down for you, he cried your name in greeting.

“Marie! Thought you got lost or something up there.” His grin could only be described as cheeky, his charmingly blunt features only growing more handsome under the display of his playful side. He was dressed in clothes that had no doubt been obtained from a sympathetic local; brown woollen trousers held up by suspenders over a blue flannel shirt, a pair of worn leather boots on his feet.

“Curt.” You nodded politely, setting your case on the foot of your bed. “You are looking well.”

“Doc has performed a miracle, just waiting on this bone to finish healing, then I’ll be right as rain.” He nodded firmly, bandages replaced by a network of fresh red scars creeping up the left side of his neck into his dark brown hair.

Unlocking the latches on your luggage, you opened it carefully, retrieving the assortment of reading material you had collected. “Well, I thought since you might no longer be sleeping so much you might…appreciate something to read.”

Curt’s eyes, clearer than your last encounter, dropped to the comic books and novel you held out to him, eyes widening before he took them with a slow grin. “Been thinking about me out there on your travels?”

“Ensuring your stay with the good doctor remains without incident.” You replied nonchalantly, turning back to organizing your belongings before tucking the suitcase beneath the bed.

When you turned back to him, sinking down onto the mattress to rest your sore legs after your long cycle from Antwerp, he was watching you with a bemused expression.

“Appreciated all the same, Marie. Maybe I’ll learn a little French or something.”

“I thought…maybe the pictures?” You tilted your head and he nodded quickly.

“Definitely.” His grin was all too warm, showing his perfect American teeth and made you turn your attention to the small date book you kept in your shoulder bag, quickly looking over your coded appointments for the next few days.

There were several drops arranged for the area – weapons and radios directly flown from England, set to arrive over the next few nights. Most for the Belgian resistance, though two radios were earmarked for the Comet Line. Night drops were some of the most dangerous things you attempted, but when they were successful, the supplies, otherwise impossible to obtain under Nazi occupation, were invaluable.

“Sure look serious over there, gorgeous. Furrow those brows any harder and they’ll get stuck like that.” Curt’s voice cut through your concentration, your head jerking up to blink up at him as though you were startled he was still there.

The sound of the trap door scraping open saved you from trying to produce some reply. “That’ll be dinner.” You murmured, walking to the bottom of the ladder to accept one bowl and then another of thin vegetable soup followed by half a loaf of bread.

You nodded gratefully to Curt as he stepped forward to take one of the bowls with his good hand.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“See you in a few hours, Marie.”

Carefully setting your bowl on dusty brick floor, you tore the bread roughly in half, offering him the larger portion before retrieving your soup and retreating to your bed.

“He doesn’t cook too bad for a doctor.” Curt commented after swallowing a large sip of soup, taking from the rim of his bowl, and you could not help your small smile.

“I think he enjoys it? Talks about ingredients a lot – how hard some of them are to come by lately.” You shrugged and ate more slowly, savouring every bite as it had been a few days since you had been able to enjoy a warm meal, and Legot was indeed a skilled cook.

“How ‘bout you? You cook?”

You barely contained your wry laugh, shaking your head. Even if you’d had access to a kitchen these days, you certainly had not been raised anywhere near a stove. “My lifestyle isn’t really conducive to cooking, unfortunately.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “My Ma would probably skin me alive if I tried to get in her way in the kitchen. Sisters, too. My Pa and I knew better than to get involved in things we’re hopeless at.”

Licking your spoon clean of every last morsel of soup before moving to swipe a piece of bread through the bowl, you could not help your curiosity. “How many sisters do you have?”

“Two. The apartment back home isn’t big, but the five of us got along alright.” His smile was broad as he leaned back against the cinderblock wall, food long ingested. “What about you? Your family? Where are you from?”

His questions were numerous, bubbling out of him rapidly and making you swallow the half-chewed chunk of bread in your mouth roughly. “Belgium. Do not have one.” You replied evasively before taking another rough bite.

“Just fell out of the sky then? Like some kind of angel?” He teased and you choked a little on your next swallow before managing to get it down.

It would not do for him to know how oddly accurate his jest had been.

“I have to run an errand later tonight, so I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep.” You stood to dust the crumbs from your skirt, setting your empty bowl on the floor.

“An errand in the middle of the night…?”

“Mn.” You grunted in agreement as you toed off your shoes, pulling back the covers before sliding in between the sheets, laying with your back to him.

“Say, Marie?” He asked quietly and you slid your eyes back open.

“Yes?”

“Did you manage to ask around ‘bout…my crew?” There was a soft vulnerability to his tone, his playful bravado seeming to melt away, that made your heart drop.

You honestly had not been sure if he would have remembered that conversation weeks ago, barely conscious and in so much pain. You had of course done as promised, swinging by the Maes farm only to be told that he had was the sole survivor, the rest of the crew set to be buried in the local cemetery by the Nazis – with military honours. What an oddly cruel irony that seemed, to only afford your enemy honour in death.

“I’m sorry, Curt.” You shifted onto your side to face him. “There was no one else who survived.”

An impassive mask fell over his face, his animated expression going blank as he nodded before shifting to lay back on his cot, tucking his hands behind his head. “Thanks for checking.” He mumbled quietly.

“Of course.” You replied softly watching him turn his back to you before doing the same with a soft sigh, duty reminding you that you needed to sleep while you could, a long night ahead of you.

It felt as though you had barely fallen asleep when the scraping of the trap door woke you abruptly. Tossing the covers from your body, you grabbed your handbag, feeling the reassuring weight of your .25 calibre Wembley semi-automatic pistol and F-S knife contained within. Curt glanced back over his shoulder as you slid into your shoes, and you nodded to him.

“Go back to sleep, errand time.” You whispered, collecting both of your supper dishes to pass up to Doctor Legot before ascending the ladder yourself.

Cycling out to the appointed field, you waited hidden amongst the trees with several members of the resistance, the silence of the night unsettling. You knew the plane would fly in low to avoid radar, would cut the engine close to the target to throw off nearby soldiers, but it was a long way from the coast to here. The distant drone of a plane engine reaching your ears made your pulse jump and you forced your breathing to remain even and quiet, every muscle tensing as even the sound of the plane fell silent. Squinting through the trees into the night sky, you licked your lips in anticipation as you spotted the first of several crates falling towards the ground, suspended below parachutes to slow their descent.

Clutching your small spade tightly, you waited until the supplies began landing on the ground before the entire group emerged from the foliage to begin disconnecting the parachutes. Working in concert with others you dug a hole and quickly tossed the telltale silk in before covering it up with earth and tamping it down. Securing the two radios for the Comet Line, cleverly disguised as suitcases, you helped load the rest of the crates and spades into the waiting truck before everyone quickly dispersed into the night.

While your inclination was the cycle headlong towards the safety of the clinic, you forced yourself to maintain a reasonable speed, one that would not attract attention, while taking a rather circuitous route. The eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten as you returned to your hiding place, using the spare key to sneak in the back. Taking a moment to wash your hands in the small washroom for patients, you then carefully descended with the radios and closed the trapdoor. It made quite a racket as it slid home when pulled from the inside, startling Curt from his rest and you frowned apologetically.

“Sorry, everything is fine, go back to sleep.” You murmured, setting the newly procured radios off to the side.

“You’re just getting back now?” He scrubbed a hand down his face tiredly, glancing at his watching blearily.

“Don’t fret about me, rest up, regain your strength.” You smiled wearily and slid back into your bed gratefully.

“There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Marie…” A jaw-cracking yawn overtook his statement before he shimmied down beneath his blankets and succumb to sleep once more.

“You have no idea.” You whispered under your breath, settling in for a few hours more sleep before you had to begin your journey to deliver the newly acquired radios to the Comet Line before moving onto the next drop destination.

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

Read Part Two

In My Blood Masterlist

Tag list: @precious-little-scoundrel, @luminouslywriting, @polikabra

[thatscarletflycatcher]

From time to time I'm reminded of how S2 of Agent Carter wrote the most insulting backstory possible for Peggy. "She was a shy, submissive creature" sir, have you met this woman. "His brother tells her that she was born for adventure so she must join the SOE" sir, you are setting this in the middle of the battle of Britain. No one is thinking adventure here. The country is getting blitzed and on high invasion alert.