#soldierau

[devillq]

[nightofnyx8]

As Time Goes By // Chapter Four

if kisses were stars, i'd give you the whole damn sky

read on ao3

[one-d-library]

another hazy may by deLILaH

another hazy may by deLILaH {mature, 41k, soldier!Harry, ot5 involvement}

louis is a terrible poet and harry lives in the now and they have six weeks to fall in love but, really, it only takes six seconds. bookshop meets military meets summer romance au ft. marlboros, the backstreet boys, and underrated literary devices.

not my moodboard. 

Can be found in: 

Soldier AU

Soldier!Harry

longer fics

[adonisstyles]

Love Letters Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Darling H,

We have news at home that the Germans have broken the Maginot line. You know this of course, I simply want to reassure you. We know some of the situation you face and we are praying fiercely for you and your company. I hope the parsnips got to you before the closing of the front. I’d hate for my veg to fall into enemy hands. I’m not sure when this will get to you but please write to me so I may sleep more soundly knowing you still live. I simply refuse to contemplate an end to this war where you do not come home to me.

Yours,

Rose

Shortly after this, May 24, 1940, Harry’s unit, along with other BEF units, a few French and Belgian units are cornered into the city and port of Dunkerque. The Germans fail to realize the ocean is an exit. They think they have the soldiers backed against a wall. Nearly all the 400,000 combined French, Belgian and British forces are able to evacuate between the 2 and 4 of June 1940. This is largely due to help from the “Dunkirk Little Ships” that ferried soldiers from the beach to further outlying military vessels or back to Britain entirely. 

After several failed attempts to get home on Navy vessels, Harry and his squad were pulled aboard a “little ship” and ferried back home. He couldn’t shake this profound sense of failure and wasn’t sure what reception awaited him at home.

Once the unit was back on British soil it was re-assigned to Manchester where they began training for assignment as a parachute brigade. Word of Harry’s arrival traveled quickly. Rosemary rented a room in Manchester so she could spend what little time they had, together. He was sent briefly to Italy, the front collapsed and Italy fell. He returned home only to find out he was headed back to the continent, this time to the Netherlands for Operation Market Garden.

Darling Rose,

I’ve been on British soil barely 4 months and we’re off again. This time we’re headed to the continent. The 1st BEF is being combined into the 1st Airborne. I always laughed at you wanting to fly. Now I’m laughing as they want me to jump out of a perfectly functioning aircraft and into a warzone. They say the German forces are not nearly as organized- that they’re scrambling. I can only hope this means my engagement at the front will be short-lived. Please send more parsnips when you’re able. The lads really appreciated the last batch. Along with this letter I’ve sent some pressed dog roses. The scent will be much diminished but I know how you enjoy their arrival back home. I saw them in the field here and plucked them before I knew what I was doing.

Love Always,

H xx

Operation Market Garden was not successful. Harry was not home for Christmas 1944.

[threegirlsandablog]

Selfless

Sugawara Koushi x Female!Reader [Soldier!AU] 

Sweat trickled down your forehead, stinging your eyes and pooling under the collar of your body armor, the thick black fabric unfit for the overbearing afternoon sun. Three pairs of boots echoed the beating of your adrenaline-injected heart, pumping the blood that was roaring in your ears and shutting out the sounds of gunshots at your back. 

Your head was spinning. 

What were you fighting for, again? Why were you running? Why were your footsteps so loud? 

Storms erupted at every footfall, lightning crackling under your boots and jolting up your legs and torso, out to your arms to reach your fingertips, and travelling up your spine even higher, up your neck, up and up to-- 

 "(Name)!" Your eyes snapped forward at the voice. 

The man in front of you skid to a halt, the sound of rubber soles on concrete grating to your ears. He called out something to the two other men, something that made them nod and send sympathetic glances your way before continuing ahead. 

Fingers ghosted over the bloody halo that lay tangled in your hair. Worry creased his brow. 

"Ah, you must have hit your head harder than I thought," Sugawara murmured, lips down-turned. The lightning reached your skull; electricity prodded behind your eyes as he lifted your chin to the sun. You blinked, turning back until the static faded. 

The thunder in the distance grew louder. 

Nostrils flared, he drew a deep breath, holding it for several seconds before it was released in a long sigh. A smile played on his chapped lips. "Just focus on me, okay? You'll be alright." 

You found yourself nodding, serenaded by the firmness in his tone, the certainty in his collected gaze as he leaned forward, and suddenly his brown irises are hooded. Temple pressed against your shoulder, lashes tickling the skin of your neck, a soft kiss is placed on your jugular. 

The words he wishes to speak are there yet not there: spilled from his lips, they diffuse past your skin, entering into your bloodstream and circulating with every pump of the heart that beat just for him. He doesn't need to say them aloud because he knows that they have already reached you. 

A tension is released at his placating touch. With that bright smile of his, he has collected your frayed nerves and tied them in loose knots. They would hold for now, you hoped. 

Sugawara pulls away as the storm draws near. With one last curl of the lips, his gloved hands nudge you in front of him, and the lingering of his fingers at the small of your back coax your legs into a steady jog. 

"Keep going," he whispers in a melancholy undertone. "I'll be right behind you." 

Another bolt of lightning strikes your aching head, and the orders given to the two young men rise to the front of your muddled mind just as unexpectedly. 

"Keep going," he had told them when he thought the throbbing of your skull had drowned out all sound. "Just don't go too far; I'll send (Name) ahead in a bit. I'm going to buy you some time, so please make sure she remains safe." 

You are suddenly so painfully aware of the emptiness beside you, and of the thunder clashing at your back. Your legs nearly give out as you turn around, wildly searching for a shock of silver hair. 

He stands a few dozen paces away, back turned to you. There are a handful of men approaching him, weapons drawn. You watch, immobile, as he lifts his own gun and fires. 

This is your fault, a voice in the corner of your mind taunts. It's all your fault that he's going to die! 

Somewhere in the distance, a voice calls your name. It is only when the man grabs your shoulder that his words can be heard above the storm raging in your skull. 

“He’ll be okay,” he tries to sound confident, but the lie catches in his throat. His eyes are pleading. “We need to keep going.” 

You stand still. His reasoning is blown away in the storm. 

His shaking hands take yours. He takes a step forward, trying to pull you along, but you plant your feet in the ground. You won’t go. 

“Leave her,” the man ahead speaks up. “If she’s being so stubborn, then she can stay for all I care.” 

The hands around yours tighten. “But Kageyama--!” 

“Hinata.” His voice is like steel. “You know she won’t come with us. Not now.”

The two lock gazes, eyes narrowed and sharp. Hinata lowers his gaze after a moment. 

“We won’t go too quickly,” he assures, more for his sake rather than yours. “You’ll catch up soon, right?” 

You nod. 

Hinata takes his time letting you go, lingering on your skin as if memorizing the warmth of your hands. Hesitation and conflict weighed at his ankles, slowing his gait as he backed away. Tears of frustration in his eyes, he looks to Kageyama, but he remains unyielding. He won’t lose another friend today. 

They turned and kept going. You turned and went back. 

A moment passes before you become aware of the silence. Sugawara lay on his side, unmoving; injured or dead, you didn't know. Two others lay beside him, chests pumped with lead. 

The sight penetrated your hazy mind. Your legs began a staggering gait, picking up speed until you were sprinting, shutting out the threading of lightning dancing along the back of your head. 

Of their own accord, your leather-bound palms slid across the pistols strapped to your thighs, lifting them parallel to your shoulders. The cold metal of the triggers seemed to burn through to your skin. The last two men fell in macabre harmony, bloody roses blooming in the centers of their chests. 

Your name was murmured in the airless quiet. The guns fell from your hands. 

You knelt at Sugawara's side. Knots unraveled, frayed nerves shake the tips of your fingers as they set him on his back. Reassurances fell from your trembling lips like rain, falling to shatter on his paling cheeks. His eyes opened at their cold touch. 

"You'll be okay," you whisper, voice buckling under the weight of the lie. But you continue, more for your own sake rather than his. "You're going to be fine." 

You connect your eyes to his, brushing the hair from his eyes to distract you from the red of his uniform. Guilt sits like a stone lodged in your throat. It fills your esophagus until no air can enter, and no words can escape. 

Your fault, the voice echoes. Your fault, your fault, your fault... 

He rests a red-stained hand over yours until your desperate grip relaxes. He can almost see his reflection in the film of tears welling over your eyes. A contagious smile fights its way onto his lips, mirroring onto yours. A choked laugh escapes you, bordering hysterical as rivers of tears ran down your cheeks, eroding the skin and leaving raw red tracks in their wake. 

"Please don't leave me," the words leave with your breath, collapsing your lungs and filling them with the salty water leaking from your eyes. "Don't do this to me..." 

"All my life, I have been selfless." Voice coarse and tight, he pauses to take a shaking breath. He’s still smiling, but there are tears in his eyes. "I'm glad I was able to be selfish for once."

[adonisstyles]

Love Letters- Chapter 1

A/N: This is written more about Harry as a soldier versus Harry as Alex… So I simply changed the name for Harry’s solider persona?! I just don’t like the idea of selfish Harry ok?!?! Who could blame me?

Harry and Rosemary had grown up in Manchester together. Their parents had bathed them together as infants. They’d swam in the creek in their skivvies together. They'd gone to school together. They’d gotten in trouble wandering the fallow fields outside town together. Although they'd never shared it aloud with the other, they secretly knew they'd marry each other.

Rosemary had quite a hard time convincing Harry to attend university. He was a natural writer, she could see it but he was too humble to admit any superior skill. She finally convinced by telling him she was going with or without and that it would be a shame for her to be all alone without him. He agreed. The spring of 1939 he enlisted, never expecting to actually get called up. He spent that summer loving Rosemary.

Loving Harry consisted of warm summer days spent walking the fallow fields. It meant lazy days sat on the elm tree swing reading poetry to each other. Harry carded his fingers through her hair as she read Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon a loud. Loving Harry meant knowing he loved her without having to say it. She watched him lovingly over a meal as he returned her stare intently. No words exchanged, no words did them justice. It meant that when he left, part of Rosemary left as well.

Harry was despatched in September of 1939. He left Rosemary with promises of a ring, a home and growing old together. She wrote him every single chance she got. Between her studies and work for the Women’s Land Army she had little daylight to devote to her letters but she always made time. Christmas was meager that year. Everyone gave up what they could, eating only what they had produced- all the tin from canning being saved for the war effort. No nylons, no ham on Christmas day, no unnecessary car rides- all these materials were necessary to beat back the Germans.

Dearest H,

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. My parsnips are coming up nicely and the lettuce and cabbage in the greenhouse are coming along splendidly. My work with the WLA keeps me busy and I suppose that’s for the best. I still somehow have time to worry about you. Particularly with all the secrecy surrounding troop movements. I know you won’t be able to tell me much but do your best to have a happy Christmas. Christmas here will not be the same without you. I hope we’ll be celebrating the next one together.

Yours,

Rosemary

He had finished training and was sent overseas to France. They weren’t meant to be there very long. Surely Germany would give up soon. They were meant to be a deterrent, they weren’t even supposed to be fighting. Yet, Harry found himself holed up in a trench watching German Panzers advance on their line.

My dearest Rose,

Your latest letter cheered me immensely. The lads are glad to hear about your parsnips, we’d love to have some if you can manage it. Christmas here was a dismal affair. I, of course, can’t say where exactly but know that I will never bring you here. It is far too dismal, wet and depressing for your cheery face. We had no ham or tree. We did play some footie but mostly just to keep warm. We had extra rations to celebrate the day but were otherwise tucked into our trenches waiting for action. I suspect something will happen come springtime. I’ll be home soon, I promise.

Yours,

Hazza

Harry’s unit is stationed along the Maginot Line. An area on the border of France and Germany that France had heavily fortified after World War I. France hoped the Maginot Line would hold off future German advances. German forces took advantage of thinly spread French forces along the Line while only British Expeditionary Forces lay between the Germans and the sea. British officials immediately began planning an evacuation (circa May 19, 1940). Those at home would hear nothing until June.

What do you think?

[hxdaleksakomtrigedakru-blog]

Letters

@bybxbble based on x

Hey Beautiful. 

We just arrived in Afghanistan. I finally got a moment to sit down and write this letter to you. I already miss you. I know we promised not to say too much, for it would make things only seem that much harder, but I miss you. A lot. I thought before I left it would be easier, but I know I will be counting off the days till I can finally return to you and wrap my arms around you. 

Until we meet again

Yours,            Lexa