Hi! You can call me Bee. I'm just a lady in my 20s who likes to obsess over fictional characters and lovingly bother my favorite creatives about it.
For my own peace of mind this is a +18 blog. I re-blog a lot of stuff and don't want to worry about whether there are minors interacting with stuff they shouldn't. I will mostly be posting Call of Duty braintrot on this blog & I have a totally normal obsession with John Price, Simon Riley, Joseph Turner and William Pierson.
If you are also a fan of cod ww2 and looking for a place to hang out with likeminded people - join our community.
Call of Duty WWII missions [2/11] - Operation Cobra, 07.25.1944
“It’s seven weeks since D-Day. To break outta Normandy we’re pushin’ inland to secure Marigny. That’s how we’ll control the roadways and plow across France to Paris. Liberation’s comin’ soon.”
Woot woot! It is day 8 of Fluffy July, and we've got "blanket nest" and "Stay with me" for some prompts today!
Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC
Tags: Fluff, fluffy july 2026, Domestic Fluff, Post-War, Nightmares, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Canon-Typical Violence, In the Form of a Nightmare and Very Brief But Still, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Summary: A little known thing about blanket forts is they have the ability to keep nightmares away. Supposedly.
Tidbit below the cut, full prompt on ao3 and linked in title above!
For once, Robbie's nightmare isn't about Berga.
He sits up in bed, head in one hand as he steadies his breathing. His other hand rests on Eve's shoulder as she sleeps next to him. He didn't wake her up — that's good. He hates waking her up because of his nightmares. Maybe it's because it wasn't Berga. Was the nightmare still awful? Yes, of course.
Rain and mud. Bullets flying everywhere. Tanks, and explosions. Screaming. Eve. Eve's hurt, Eve needs help. Where is she, where is she? The trenches are an endless maze. There, a glimpse — Eve, half buried in the mud, a German soldier on top of her, hands wrapped around her throat. But Robbie can't get to her, there's too much, there's too many Nazis stopping him from helping her. No no no, he needs to get to her, now, NOW. He finally, FINALLY shoots the Nazi, rushes over to make sure he's dead and off her, pull her up and out of the mud, but she's not moving, not breathing. Trembling hands wipe across her face, try to clear the mud from her nose and mouth, and terrified pleas spill from his lips, begging for her to wake up, to breathe, to come back to him, but he's too late, he's too late—
But that's not what happened. Robbie wasn't too late. He got to her in time. She's sleeping right next to him, alive and safe, orange curls half covering her face where it's not buried into her pillow. They're both alive and safe.
A creak from the main room catches Robbie's attention. Curious, he slowly gets off the bed, stopping once to make sure that Eve remains asleep before quietly padding out of the bedroom. He stops in the doorway of the main room, eyes adjusting to the darkness and landing on a small figure by the sink.
Lee Junior freezes, a glass of water halfway to his mouth, wide eyes staring straight back at Robbie. Luna's stretched out on the floor in front of the old couch on the other side of the room, watching them both with her honey golden eyes.
"Hey, kiddo," Robbie whispers, stepping further into the room. "Can't sleep?"
Lee shakes his head, the stuffed bear in his arms swinging with how hard his movement is. Water nearly spills over the rim of his glass and he quickly stills, relaxing only when it's clear the water hasn't spilled.
"I had a bad dream," the little boy says, a loud whisper as he shuffles on his feet. "Did…did you have a bad dream, too?"
The denial is on the tip of his tongue, but what would be the point of lying?
"Yeah, bud," Robbie sighs, smiling as he joins the boy in the kitchen. "You gonna head back to bed?"
Lee's nose wrinkles as he frowns, finishing the rest of his water before placing the now empty glass on the counter.
"I don't think I can," he says, blue eyes flickering up to meet Robbie's mellow green. "Are…are you goin' back to bed?"
There's a hopeful lift to his little voice. He clearly doesn't want to be alone right now.
"Nah," Robbie answers with a shrug, eyes darting around the room. An idea sparks to life, and he looks back down at Eve's godson, a smile spreading across his face. "Hey. You know what my siblings and I used to do whenever we had nightmares?"
Summary: The best way to start the day is with a plate full of fluffy, delicious pancakes.
Tidbit under the cut, full prompt on ao3 and linked in title above!
A cold, wet nose pokes directly into Eve's cheek, startling her from sleep. She whines, burying her face into her pillow and away from the thing. Luna huffs, unhappy being ignored, but Eve's still far too sleepy and too comfortable to indulge the dog. It's so warm and cozy in the bed, and she's so content curled up in her blanket.
The mattress dips as Luna jumps onto the bed, undeterred by Eve avoiding her. This isn't fair. Why can't Luna go bother Robbie? He must be already up, his side of the bed empty. Eve lifts her pillow and puts it overtop of her head, trying in vain to get another few more minutes of peaceful sleep. Luna won't be stopped, though. She paws at the pillow first, and then her snout digs into the opening by Eve's neck. A tongue pokes out and licks Eve's cheek, catching some of her hair, and Eve shudders at the sensation.
"Alright, alright," Eve mumbles, trying to push Luna's face away. When Eve emerges from the pillow, Luna collapses onto her back against Eve's side, head flopping back onto Eve's chest and tongue lolling out happily. Eve grumbles some more but does start to rub the German Shepherd's belly and scratch behind her ears, softening at the satisfied groan that escapes from Luna's throat.
Blinking any lingering sleep away, Eve inhales deeply and looks around the room. The shades are still covering the windows, though yellow morning light lazily illuminates the room. Robbie definitely isn't in the room. When Eve inhales again, this time through her nose, she catches a whiff of freshly brewed coffee. Listening carefully, the sound of muffled music reaches her ears. Robbie must be making breakfast, the radio on in the kitchen.
Sighing, Eve pats Luna's stomach and then lightly shoves the dog away so she has room to fall out of the bed and onto her feet. With a yawn, Eve fumbles to tug on a spare pair of shorts before making her way out of the bedroom. Luna follows after her, down the stairs and to the first floor. The music is louder now, and Robbie's voice is faint as he sings along to Nat King Cole, bringing a smile to Eve's face as she enters the kitchen, pausing in the doorway and just watching Robbie for a moment.
The man is standing near the stove, trying to shimmy a few very chocolate-y pancakes onto an awaiting plate. There's already a plate on the counter full of pancakes — noticeably less chocolate-y — and a bottle of maple syrup on the table, along with two mugs of steaming coffee. As soon as Robbie sees her out of the corner of his eye, he straightens with a beaming smile and sets down the pan. The spatula clatters to the countertop and he's across the room in less than a second, scooping Eve up into a tight hug and lifting her off her feet.
Look I love unconditional devotion love stories as much as the next person, but there's really something so deliciously raw about conditional devotion.
I have served you and I have loved you for decades, but I will not give up my principles for you. You cut out part of my heart and took it with you down that path that you insist on walking, but you walk it alone. Even when the bleeding, gaping hole you left in my chest kills me, I will not follow you.
