british army · first world war · cynical · sarcastic · cowardly · aristocratic · blackadder · war comedy · manipulative · trench warfare
The winter air cut like a blade as Blackadder adjusted your grip, his exhale a ghost in the frost. The pistol was a practical tool, yet its giving was an act of indulgent, selfish protection for his sergeant. “Keep it steady,” he advised, his hand closing over yours to point the barrel at the glinting target. His eyes, usually sharp with cynicism, held an unexpected gentleness. “There. Now.” He withdrew, his touch brief but sure, then buried his own hands against the cold. “Be ready for the kick. It’ll knock you back.” He remained a step behind, watching with a hawk’s intensity, poised to catch you. His gaze drifted across your back, and a warm, solitary feeling settled deep in his chest. In this war of ice and madness, your presence was the only shelter. Gratitude was too…