mrs saxobeat

juli / 18 / @/snoopyhomeboy123 on ao3

[hinkel-im-home]

A Georgian emigrée with dangerous ties, a knack for languages and a fiery longing to run far, far away from home. A French-American resistance fighter, the unfortunate bastard daughter of a socialite, who seems to always be pushed into the spotlight. A Swiss orphan who is just trying to stay alive, away from the danger that tainted her childhood and that she can't seem to shake.

-> Chapter Menu

Prologue

Duties

Bets

Playgrounds

Inquiries

Rules

Failures

Ties

Questions

[hinkel-im-home]

[hinkel-im-home]

nothing worse than having your favourite movie be a ridiculous stupid ww2 comedy movie that only exists in french because its so obscure that it only ever gained traction in france meaning that i’ll never have the pleasure of showing my boyfriend the unhinged humor of this masterpiece

[hinkel-im-home]

Chapter Nine

December 18th, 1942

The rough paper of the letter rubbed against Diane’s skin as she huffed her way up Currahee. Without the time to return to the barracks and barely half an apple in her stomach, she’d had to make due, but was quickly learning that she would pay the price for her poor time management. The skin which met the waistband of her shorts would likely be red and raw by the time she’d finished, but despite the discomfort, it served as a welcome distraction from her dry throat and burning lungs. She’d enjoyed running back in school, and had found she was quite good at it, too. The memory was faded and blurry now, but she remembered the orange and purple of the Emma Willard Academy running kit she wore with pride. Diane had never been the strongest or the most flexible, but her naturally long and thin legs gave her an advantage not many teenage girls shared, boosting her to the front of the varsity track team. But four years later, she was terribly out of practice, and it showed.

Beside her, Astrid was redder than she’d ever seen her, but seemed to fare much better than the week before. Her breath wasn’t so shallow and the usual pained expression she had on her face when she strained too hard was replaced by one that seemed somewhat relaxed. On her left, Malarkey jogged at the same pace, just as red as the two girls but significantly less out of breath. He didn’t speak—they hadn’t since the Med-Bay—but he’d taken to quietly accompanying them on their runs, and though she couldn’t say he was being friendly, the other men had stopped trying to trip them, and that was enough for Diane. If there was anything at all she’d learned on the field, it was how to read people. When you encounter the grimiest of souls, the most evil of all consciousness, it becomes clear at a glance who is truly, wholly good. While Malarkey kept his distance socially and rarely ever spoke, he lacked that glaze of corrupt thought that often hid in certain men’s eyes. That alone was a relief.

The repetition of their morning runs, though sometimes irritating, offered Diane the chance to think and reflect with a certain peace of mind she had trouble finding at any other time. The Washington records were not her only concern. There was also a sentence, one she’d come across only two days prior on a telegraph she’d come across, that had echoed in her mind since they’d left the barracks. Playing field not yet leveled. Opponant may find the players in their locker room. Beware. She hadn’t yet decided whether to tell the other two agents about the telegram, partially because she didn’t want them to worry any more than they already did, partially because she was having trouble understanding what exactly Martel meant. Who were the players? The Executive, or the girls? What locker room? Did he mean base? Camp? And when did Martel start using sport as code? It certainly wasn’t SOE norm, and in any case, the last they’d spoken, he was just as clueless about that kind of thing as he’d always been. The ambiguity of it all confused Diane to such an extent, she almost wished he’d never sent anything at all. She knew that the best way to decipher it would be to discuss it, but for some bizarre reason, the thought of it unsettled her.

-> Read more: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54271477/chapters/173076712

guys UPDATE??????

who is sheee? she's scarred and traumatised from her first year of university, mainly. please accept this update as an apology. it's a bit rushed but better things are coming, just wanted to put something out.

enjoy!

xoxo

[hinkel-im-home]

yall i swear updates are coming i just wasnt expecting college to beat me to death with the same fervor as a neanderthal clubbing a mammoth xx

[runnerleckie]

worst part of writing ww2 rpf is that i can never spell lieutenant correctly the first time

[hinkel-im-home]

even worse is sargeant

[rockpaperscissuhs]

[cock-guillotine]

[privatewebster]

why are these dorks the only ones wearing life jackets on the ship? 😭

[barbeygirl]

me looking at Richard Winters:

they curled his lashes. I know they did. They curled them. Let me see.

[banding-those-brothers]

OKAY BUT YEAH!!

Like what mascara babe?

[hinkel-im-home]

bro got a lash lift 💅

[itsacanofpeachesir]

I know this is shit but i wanted to share it anyway lmao 🤧 anyways here’s an edit idea i had in mind for a while and i finally did it!

Why are subtitles so difficult ugh 🙄

BAND OF BROTHERS & We Both Reached For The Gun by Christine Baranski

[bakugeorge]

band of brothers + text posts 6/?

including special yaoi request by @pegasusdrawnchariots

[hinkel-im-home]

eva gelashvili ☆ a moodboard

"So, you let yourself be defined by your past?"

There was that glint in his eye, that strange glint which still brought an unsettling wave of discomfort to the surface. Eva tilted her head back, the damp soil tickling the skin on her neck as her helmet met the wall of the foxhole. "I don't. I'm trying to do the very opposite of that."

He readjusted the strap of his M-1 on his shoulder, the darkened metal reflecting bright white in the moonlight. "Then do that. Don't let everyone else choose who they want you to be." And he threw his half-smoked cigarette onto the dirt, turning to leave as quickly as he came.

last one promise 🙈

[hinkel-im-home]

diane desroches ☆ a moodboard

"But you have been lucky, and you have been privileged, surely you can see that." His tone wasn't aggressive or provoking, but Diane still huffed, taking another long drag from her cigarette before pointing at him in accusation.

"Maybe. But I earned my spot in the Executive, hell, in the company, too. And I didn't get here unscathed, either."

The cuts on her hairline seemed to glare at him in the moonlight, barely only scabbed over. She looked away, back at the silver-tinted river. "They know that." He replied quietly, watching the lulling waves as well, "I know that."

these are acc so much fun to make. i love being vague abt the ships because 1. i can hear your speculations and 2. i can change my mind halfway thru. disclaimer this fic is 86% pantsing.

xoxo my babies

[bleedingcoffee42]

Anyhow Speirs in this scene had some thoughts I wish he would have shared.

[hinkel-im-home]

[ww2yaoi]