#carentan

[janebcnnct]

this frame!!!! how the show characterizes doc roe even without him speaking!!!!

[sgtgrunt0331-3]

On June 12, 1944, members of the 101st Airborne Division walk through the streets of Carentan. Securing Carentan allowed American forces on Omaha and Utah Beaches to link up.

(Photo courtesy of the National Archives)

[theworldatwar]

US infantrymen advance through the streets of Carentan, France after its liberation- 12th June, 1944

[somuchastounderstand]

fuck it, everything i like about carentan:

the guys exchanging souvenirs as if nothing (lieb’s nasal voice, perconte’s “they're all ticking. unlike their previous owners”).

beautiful shot of welsh’s silhouette against colorful rural france

“no playing grab-fanny with the man in front of you, luz” + luz imitating general taylor with “another thing to remember, boys… flies spread disease. so, keep yours closed”.

george has NO IDEA!

shifty takes care of the sniper with only one shot! and his little thumbs up!

luz somehow knowing there’s a family hiding in there.

blithe sliding down the wall sort of paralyzed reminds me of upham from saving private ryan!

fucking gene right there working while ppl are throwing bombs at him.

lip gets hit and talbert helps him out (“you're okay, lip. everything's right where it should be. come on, upsy-daisy”).

liebgott hugging tipper and muttering “oh, jesus”. it’s amazing how he can be so gentle at times and behave like such a cunt some others… the duality of man.

“crazy fools, the irish” / “you should know!”

nixon and winters’ look™. they’re like married.

i’m crying, winters gets shot in a foot and acts as if he’s just stubbed his toe or something.

eugene roe my beloved! he refers to the bullet as a she (maybe because it’s a femenine noun in french??? it’s a bit of a reach). he looks so ethereal and calm in this scene, kill me now.

winter’s fatherly powers magically healing blithe’s blindness. so…. he’s like jesus.

rumors about spiers + blithe’s so softspoken… my sweet summer child.

jesus christ, frank, george doesn’t know. everybody stop asking him stuff.

when welsh comes down the foxhole smirking and says “thunder ;)”. dude.

i’m sorry, i just love harry’s gap between his teeth. sometimes you can’t even see his eyes, just the gap! silly.

“it's a game, blithe. that's all. hell, we're just moving the ball forward one yard at a time. nothing but a game” (harry welsh, the man that you are….)

“war is hell :)”

the night of the bayonets! okay, but why the hell does talbert wake up the kid like that. like what where you expecting + liebgott straddles him to take care of him! once again, he’s a sweety pie.

“they just don't see how simple it is” speech by empath king, lieutenant ron spiers (this fucking guy, seriously; all the while martin pretends to be asleep hasjsha): “we're all scared. you hid in that ditch because you think there's still hope. but, blithe, the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you're already dead. and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll function as a soldier's supposed to function. without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. all war depends upon it.” (it’s actually quite genius, in a homerian kind of way).

luz keeps his cig between his lips even though there’s a whole ass shelling going on.

that little bullet twirling in the air!

everyone laughing like kids when the shermans finally arrive.

i like the idea of soldiers (german or not) finding the time to pick up flowers during the war. beauty is hidden in the worst places fr.

welsh’ “hubba, hubba”. what the fuck, sure.

welsh keeping his reserve parachute made out of silk for kitty (!!!) + nixon laughing about his optimism (i love whatever’s wrong with him).

gene’s always quiet except for when he’s treating someone, then you can always hear him in the background muttering reassurances!

“that’s why i came to france. to please general taylor” (once more: welsh, i love you).

i also love whenever we see a bit of winter’s disapproval of generals and higher officer men who treat the troops as disposable and stuff.

malark and alton having fun!

the rhapsodic retelling of the night of the bayonets!

the number of times malarkey gets away with stealing skip’s cigs is genuinely admirable.

winters smiling and approving of his boys having fun + his smile immediately fading when nix tells him the news.

guarenere adopts babe just because he is from philly (he looks like he’s gonna kill him at first lol). it’s also so sweet how babe melts at the notion of someone else being from philly too; he looks like just some guy at the beginning of the scene, but the moment he smiles he’s our babe! you just gotta love him.

luz’ smile when bill sits babe down.

lieb’s little winking thing he does with his eyes as lip tells them they’re going back to france.

malarkey picks up all the laundry and tries not to curse in front of the nice english lady.

he’s just a great actor, like look at the way his eyes darken when the nice english lady says all their names (also: is he just paying for every’s dead guy’s laundry? duuuude).

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part VIII/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, blood & gore, warfare

A/N: a bit shorter than the last one but I might have some little treat ready to post in a few days. Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist through the askbox or the comments. Enjoy<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The squelch of my boots stepping on the mud alerted the three soldiers huddled in the hedgerow, trying with nearly no fruition to get some rest. Whether it was due to the constant drizzle or the German division waiting for dawn on the higher side of the french field, I didn't know.

"Flash!"

"Thunder." My voice was flat as I slid down by Luz's side, careful to keep my rifle away from the damp hole turned trench. "McGrath," I motioned vaguely behind me, gaze fixed on the man who sat in front of me. "you're up."

"Already?" I nodded, already making myself as comfortable as possible. McGrath mumbled a complaint and climbed out, shoving his helmet back on.

Luz, who I had most likely been shaken out of a light sleep with my irruption, gave me a wary up-and-down. "What the hell are you doing here?"

That made my brows draw. "What?"

"She probably got stitched up and busted out the aid station." Joe replied, as if I was not sitting right across from him.

"I didn't bust out." My tone, although low, denoted irritation, which was what Joe was aiming for by the satisfied smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "I just left. Doc gave me the green light."

George's eyes squinted in the dark, searching my profile. "I was half-expecting them to pull you back after that stunt in Carentan."

"Why would they?" sigh. "I can shoot, I can fight, I can run. They're not gonna pull me back for a little shrapnel on my face." I tugged off my own helmet and let it drop with a dull thud before running a hand through my wet hair, slicking it back. "This damn rain."

Joe turned his head to watch me, his tone sarcastic when he quipped, "Thought you liked the rain."

I huffed, locating my rifle strategically for it not to get soaked. "I also like sleeping in a bed, but here we are."

The soil had turned to slush, the rain making sure we felt every inch of our fatigues sticking to our bodies like a second skin. By how unbothered the two men seemed despite the droplets plastering their hair to their skulls, I figured they had given up on caring.

"Ah, fuck." Luz grimaced, staring at his wristwatch.

"What now?" Joe's annoyance was a telltale sign that George had done his fair share of complaining already.

"My watch starts in three hours." The Portuguese clicked his tongue. "Can't a guy get some sleep without a pretty girl dropping beside him?"

"Oh, God." Joe groaned, tilting his head back against the compacted dirt.

George's cheeky grin earned him a light smack on the back of his neck from me. "Go to sleep then."

"Yes, ma'am."

Joe shook his head at our friend's demeanor but refrained himself from speaking up.

George, to his credit, did as he was told and soon enough, he was out cold, his head slumped over my shoulder as his breathing evened out.

Joe and I sat in the quiet, only filled by the soft ricocheting of the water. It was almost eery —the lack of gunfire, mortars and tracers.

"Anything happen while I was on watch?" I whispered in an attempt to break through the unusual silence.

Joe exhaled. "Talbert got stabbed."

"What?"

"Smith got spooked. Talbert was wearing that Kraut poncho—" he rubbed a hand over his face. That damn poncho. "guess it looked wrong in the dark. Smith panicked and stuck him with his bayonet."

My fingers tapped on my thigh in a quick, anxious rhythm. "Is he—?"

"Doc got to him." He waved his hand as a dismissal. "He'll be alright."

I let out a slow breath. We sat with that for a second before I glanced at him again. "You hear anything about Tipper?"

Joe shrugged, jaw tight. "Nothing."

I swallowed. My throat felt dry despite the humidity. "He'll be okay." The words left my mouth without permission.

Joe nodded, his attention fixed on his restless hands. I didn't mention I hadn't seen Tipper at the aid station. Joe didn't ask, either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A deafening whistle, a white-hot flash, a crack of thunder that didn't come from the sky breaking through the roof. The blast swallowed the world whole.

Look away. An instinct-driven thought.

The pressure slammed into me nonetheless, flinging me back, out the door I had barely set a foot across, dragging something sharp across my skin.

I made a sound—something strangled that didn't reach anyone's ears over the constant gunfire. Not mine, not Tipper's. My hands were on my face before I even thought to move them, warm and slick.

Blood.

My blood.

My fingertips trembled against my cheek, my jaw, my throat.

Not fatal. It couldn't be. Yet the word medic teared harshly at my throat.

I barely had time to register the pain; the sensation of hot shrapnel gnawing through my profile, digging deeper into the flesh with every move of my jaw, before the ringing in my ears cleared just enough to hear it.

"TIP?!"

Joe's voice, sharp and loud. They must have seen the shell diving into the building Tipper had cleared. They must have heard me yelling for medical aid.

"Tipper!! Answer me, Tip!"

I caught a glimpse of Joe and Strohl rounding the corner, feet scraping the gravel in the streets. They both stood frozen in front of the doorway, too shocked pay any attention to me.

I saw why.

Tipper dragged himself out the dim ruin of the building, silhouetted against dust and rubble. His leg —or what was left of it— was soaked through with red, his foot unrecognizable despite him still planting it. One side of his face was a nasty mix of blood and debris, his eye —Jesus Christ, his eye—

I stopped breathing, the crimson dripping down my face momentarily forgotten.

Joe was the first to move. He dropped his rifle against better judgement and stepped forward. Slow. Careful. Bullets were still cutting through the air all around us, but at Tipper's broken mumble calling Joe's name, his voice slipped into something soft. Too soft for a battlefield.

"Lookin' real good, Tip," he murmured. "Alright, you gotta sit down, c'mon."

Tipper barely reacted, too dazed, too wrecked. Too scared. Joe caught him anyway, guiding him down like he was handling fine porcelain. He forced his hands to be steady, to be gentle, trying not to hurt the battered man further.

"Y/l/n— Jesus..." It took Strohl's panicked grip on my shoulders for me to snap out of it. "Where—" His digits, hasty, pressed on my cheek first, then my forehead; they stayed on neck, drawing a pained breath out of me. They were cold compared to the liquid soaking my face.

Soaking Tipper's uniform.

God.

"We gotta move 'em, Lieb!"

For a brief second, Joe looked at me. Just a flicker of movement darting to my face, now smeared in hot blood.

I wouldn't have known the sight he met with, but he looked away just as quickly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

More silence.

A part of me wondered if it was just the battlefield's call for sound discipline, or if our dynamic had somehow shifted irreversibly after landing in Normandy.

An exhausted puff of air. My palm rubbing the water off my eyes. Joe's knife tracing pattern into the dirt.

I glanced over my shoulder at the treeline. Just dark shapes against darker shadows; nothing moving, nothing out of place.

When I turned back, Joe was staring. His eyes dragged over my face, lingering too long at my cheek, my jaw, my neck. My skin prickled.

I didn't have the chance to call him out on it. "It's not that bad."

He got a huff as a response. My mind fished for a smart remark, but I wasn't able to find anything that matched his comment.

Joe tilted his chin up. "Does it hurt?"

"The stitches pull when I laugh."

He snorted, just barely audible over the steady drum of rain. "Then it's a good thing I ain't funny."

My lips parted, but no quips came out, just a careful half smile. Joe didn't mirror the gesture, his narrowed stare tracing the small ridges of stitches. My fingers twitched around my rifle.

"Not that bad." He muttered again, more to himself.

"Not that bad." I echoed even quieter. There wasn't much more to say on my part, yet the silence was begging to be broken.

"I thought you got your face blown off."

I blinked, thrown off by his frankness.

Say something.

"Disappointed?"

Wrong something.

"It's not fucking funny." Joe hissed, shoulders squared up. "You didn't see it. It looked..."

His face subconsciously pulled into a grimace at the mere memory of it, bringing back to my mind the way he had averted his eyes.

I didn't even try to stop myself, the words spilling bitter, pointed and accusatory. "Is that why you wouldn't look at me?"

"What?"

"'Cause you were disgusted?"

Joe's expression twitched, caught between irritation and offense. "Jesus, give me a fuckin' break, alright?"

"No, you give me a break."

"I was busy." The phrase cut its way out like it was meant to be shouted instead of hushed. "Kinda had a guy missing half his goddamn leg in front of me." He leaned forward, forearms draped on his knees. "So excuse me if I didn't have time to worry about your" His wrist flicked, vaguely gesturing at me. "little scratches."

"Don't make it sound like—"

"Like what?"

I narrowed my eyes, mentally taking a step back. We can't do this here. "Tell you what, you're so full of shit."

His mouth twitched like he wanted to argue; instead, he just turned his head away with a moue. The conversation had hit a dead end, but I didn't miss the way his fingers tapped rapidly against his knee.

Maybe that was his way of restraining the verbal retaliation which had become second nature between us at that point in time.

I shifted against the damp earth ever so slightly.

Luz mumbled something in his sleep, head heavy against my shoulder.

Joe didn't look at me again.

[trekkiehood]

Dick Winters comforting someone to the point of curing them of their blindness is hysterical to me. Truly a superhero

[chocolatpourvous]

Carentan

[une-valse-pour-rien]