#wbwnmh

[coco-bean-1218]

Chuck/Claire "why couldn't it have been us in the end?" For the five lines fic game??

Oh, my dear sweet anon, you are not prepared for the angst I have in mind.

This is wayyyyy more than 5 lines, but I couldn’t help myself!

So, here is a potential outcome in which Claire chooses someone else. You can insert whoever you want to be her fiancé.

Feel free to like, comment and reblog!

----

August, 1946

It was Easy Company's first annual reunion, and every member who could come was there. Claire was glad to see her fellow paratroopers again. It had been a little bit under a year since they had last been together. The party had been going on for a while, and Claire found herself in need of a moment of quiet reflection. She wandered through the venue, her eyes scanning the room in search of a place where she could gather her thoughts.

After a few moments, she saw Grant standing against the wall, drink in hand, and decided to walk over.

"I was wondering where you went," she said as she approached him.

"I was just trying to get a break from the noise," he replied with a weary smile. "You know how it is at reunions."

She offered him an inviting smile. "Care to join me outside?"

He shrugged, a sense of relief washing over him. "Sure, why not?"

As they stepped outside, Claire took a deep breath of fresh air. The noise of the venue seemed to fade away as they walked along the garden path.

"That's quite the ring you've got there," Grant commented on the ring that sparkled in the moonlight.

"Oh, this?" she held up her hand, examining the ring in the moonlight. "It's...uh...blue topaz, my birthstone."

Grant's eyes lingered on the ring for a moment. "I remember," he said softly.

You're coming to the wedding, right?" she asked eagerly.

Grant nodded. "Of course," he replied. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. Besides, what kind of best friend would I be if I didn't?" he added. 

Claire smiled at him, relieved by his response.

As they continued walking, Claire noticed a fountain that caught her interest. She walked up to it, captivated by the gentle splashing sound and the mesmerizing reflections of the moonlight in the water. Grant, sensing Claire's curiosity, joined her beside the fountain. They stood side by side, watching the reflections of the moon dance on the water's surface.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Claire said, her voice filled with wonder.

Grant nodded in agreement. "Yes, it is," he replied, but his eyes weren't fixed on the fountain. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Claire. She was the real beauty of the night, and he couldn't take his eyes off her. She was the one who captivated him, body and soul.

Without warning, Grant spoke up again, his voice filled with sadness and longing. "Why couldn't it have been us in the end?" his voice barely above a whisper.

The question shocked both himself and Claire. Grant hadn’t intended to speak his thoughts so openly, but the words had already left his lips, echoing in the silent night.

Grant's question had stunned them both. Why couldn't it have been them in the end? The words hung in the air, filled with regret and a sense of missed opportunity. Claire felt her heart shatter as tears welled up in Grant's eyes. She could see the pain etched on his face, and it made her own heart ache. She took a shaky breath and tried to find the words to answer him.

"Grant, I don't… I don't know," she said softly. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she could feel the tears threatening to spill over.

Grant shook his head, his voice filled with regret. "No, you don't."

---

HOLY SHIT THIS WAS WORSE THAN THE LAST POST-WAR CLAIRE AND GRANT 😭

#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #writing help #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

[panzershrike-pretz]

I don't usually post my drawings here but i just drew @coco-bean-1218 's amazing oc, Claire O'Connor, and wanted to share :D

Here she is! I'm so excited to read WBWNMH that I couldn't stop myself from drawing the mc lmao

#fanart #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers oc #wbwnmh #well-behaved women never make history #hbo war oc #original character

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Chapter One: Something In The Way

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire leaves her home and starts her journey to Camp Toccoa.

A/N: Hello, everyone!! Welcome to Chapter One of Well-Behaved Women Never Make History! I am very excited to finally start this story and share it with all of you! I hope you enjoy and feel free to like, comment, and reblog!

Warnings: Swearing, period-typical behavior

Taglist: @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike

Credits: Moodboard 1 made by @xxluckystrike Moodboard 2 made by @footprintsinthesxnd Thank you both so much!!!

June, 1942

Detroit, Michigan

10 a.m. Eastern Time

———

Detroit's Union Station was a bustling hub of wartime activity, its vast halls echoing with the hurried footsteps of soldiers and civilians alike. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the faces of families clustered around their loved ones. Amidst them stood Claire O'Connor, surrounded by an imposing fortress of luggage, her dark brown hair pulled back into victory rolls, dark red lipstick painted on her lips, her stoic expression betraying none of the apprehension swirling inside her. 

"Damn, Claire, are you planning to open a boutique down there?" Emma, her older sister, teased, one hand affectionately resting on her sister's shoulder while her eyes danced with mirth at the sight of the luggage.

Claire offered a wry smile, pushing up her glasses with a finger. "Hey, you know me, I'm always prepared," she quipped, the edge of her humor tinged with nerves. "You can never have too many pairs of underwear."

Their father, Mr. O'Connor, chuckled, adjusting his glasses with a patient smile. "War or no war, I don't think the enemy will care much for your matching luggage set."

"Ha-ha, very funny, Dad," Claire retorted, a tight smile betraying her simmering nerves. Peyton stood beside Claire, a single duffel bag slung over her shoulder, her posture composed—a sharp contrast to Claire's cluttered state.

Mrs. O'Connor, Claire and Emma's mother, clucked her tongue as she adjusted one of the smaller bags atop a mountainous suitcase. "You've got enough to last through the war and back, honey bee," she said, her voice equal parts exasperation and concern. "Remember, you're going to be a medic, not a debutante."

"I know, Mom. It's just—" Claire hesitated, biting her lip. "It feels like I'm packing up my entire world."

"Because you are," Peyton interjected softly, coming to stand beside Claire. Her own belongings were neatly consolidated into her single bag, the stark contrast between the friends' preparations mirroring their differing paths. Peyton's mom stood a few feet away, her pride battling the sorrow in her eyes.

"First time for everything, right?" Claire continued, her attempt at levity falling flat in her own ears. Her gaze shifted between the faces of her family and Peyton, trying to memorize them before the journey ahead.

"Exactly. It's an adventure, Claire," Peyton replied, reaching out to give Claire's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just think of the stories we'll have to share."

"Right," Claire forced a chuckle. "Yours will probably be publishable. Mine will be too bloody to print."

"Your sense of humor is as dark as ever," Peyton replied.

The arrival of Peyton's train sliced through the air, the shrill whistle echoing off the station walls. The machine billowed steam like a specter of change, heralding the imminent departure. Everyone's attention turned to the locomotive, its metallic body gleaming beneath the Michigan sun.

"Train for Des Moines now boarding!" the announcement cut through their conversation with the sharpness of a knife. 

"Guess that's my cue," Peyton said, her usual grace faltering just a bit. 

"Promise me you'll write?" Claire's voice was steady, but her brown eyes betrayed her anxiety. 

"Every chance I get," Peyton promised, pulling Claire into a fierce hug. "And don't go falling for any charming soldiers without telling me first."

"Who, me?" Claire managed a smirk. "Charm isn't exactly my Achilles' heel, you know that."

"I know, but stranger things have happened," Peyton said with a knowing look. "Just promise me you won't shut yourself off from the possibility of love."

"Oh, I'll keep an eye out for any dashing heroes trying to sweep me off my feet," Claire replied dryly. "But don't hold your breath."

With a final squeeze, Peyton released her friend and turned to her mother, enveloping her in a long hug before stepping back with a brave nod. 

"Go get 'em, journalist!" Claire called after her, her teasing tone belying the tightness in her chest.

Peyton turned at the steps of the train, grinning broadly. "Wait for my bylines, Claire! They'll be front page before you know it!"

As Peyton disappeared into the train, Claire watched the doors slide shut, her heart sinking with the finality of the moment. A lump formed in her throat as she waved goodbye to Peyton, her best friend whom she had known since childhood. The train let out a low rumble, lurching into motion, gradually picking up speed and pulling away from the platform.

"Godspeed, Peyton Nelson," Claire whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Nearly an hour later, the shrill whistle of Claire's train tore through the lingering silence, signaling the impending departure and severing the last tenuous threads tethering her to home. Her family clustered around her like a protective shroud, their faces etched with pride and worry.

"Here it is," her father said, his voice thick with unspoken emotions.

"Looks like it," Claire agreed, hoisting her suitcase with a grunt. Her hands trembled slightly, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders along with the overstuffed leather.

"Train for Atlanta now boarding," the conductor called out, his voice a steady beacon amidst the clamor.

"Remember to keep your head down and help others do the same," her father said, "And look out for yourself."

"Can't make any promises," Claire quipped, "But I'll do what I can."

"Let's just hope the Army's ready for you," Mrs. O'Connor added, a twinkle in her eye that mirrored Claire's own spark of defiance. "They won't know what hit 'em!" Her embrace was tight, a desperate attempt to imprint the feeling of her daughter onto her very soul. 

"I'll write every single day until you're sick of me!" Claire promised, offering a watery smile. "And when I come back, maybe I'll have a dashing paratrooper to introduce to you. Wouldn't that be something?"

Mrs. O'Connor winked at her daughter, “A fiery girl like you rarely returns with just tales of heroism and bravery. You're bound to turn a few heads, I'm sure of it!"

Laughter bubbled up from Emma, cutting through the tension like a lifeline thrown across turbulent waters. "Oh, brother, that poor man!" her sister said, hugging her tightly.

Her dad chuckled, the lines around his eyes deepening. "Just make sure he knows how to handle a fearless woman." 

"And don't let those men step all over you," her mother added in a firm tone, "You know what I say, 'Men ain't shit,' except for your father, of course."

"You know me, I don't like toxic masculinity," Claire replied with a smirk.

As the conductor's voice reverberated through the station once more, signaling the imminent departure of Claire's train, she picked up her mountain of baggage and stepped onto the platform. Claire climbed the steps of the train but paused at the top to cast a final glance at her loved ones. "Bye! Wish me luck!" she called out.

With a deep breath that did little to steady her heart, she entered the train. Claire made her way down the narrow aisle, finding a seat by the window in the last car, where the world could unfurl before her like a map of possibilities. As the vehicle jerked forward, she pressed her palm against the glass, maintaining eye contact with her parents and Peyton's mother until the station was nothing but a speck in the distance.

She settled into the rhythm of the rails, the clack-clack of wheels turning over tracks like a metronome counting down to her new reality. The heat was oppressive air thickening in the cramped space, sticking her blouse to her back and making her glasses slide down her nose. 

As the landscape outside blurred into a collage of greens and browns, Claire pulled out "The Great Gatsby" from her bag. She immersed herself in the opulent tragedy of Gatsby's world, finding a strange comfort in the characters' doomed pursuits. "I always thought of myself as Gatsby and Noah as Daisy." she thought to herself, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

Hours melded together, marked only by the rhythmic sway of the train and the occasional jostle of fellow passengers. When the heat became too oppressive, she switched to Freud, his theories a stark contrast to Gatsby's opulence and glittering disillusionment. "Id, ego, and superego," she mused aloud, her voice lost in the clatter of the train. "Which one got me into this mess? Freud would have a field day with me."

As dusk began to paint the sky with strokes of burnt orange and dusky violet, Claire pulled out a sheet of paper and began a letter to her mom. Her pen hovered above the page before it skated across, detailing the mundane aspects of her journey—never hinting at the undercurrent of fear that gnawed at her insides. "Dear Mom," she wrote, "the scenery is beautiful, although it's hard to appreciate fully when you're being slowly roasted."

Her hand hesitated, hovering above the paper as memories of Noah surfaced unbidden. Claire reached into her handbag and retrieved a photograph. It showed her and Noah, side by side, innocent smiles frozen in time under the banner of their high school graduation. Their graduation gowns billowed like hopeful sails, caps thrown mid-air, smiles wide and oblivious to the future. "Oh, Noah," she whispered, tracing the outline of his face. "Always fixing things, but never saw what was broken." 

Her fingers traced the lines of his face, the awkward angle of his glasses—a mirror image of her own. She wondered where he was at this exact moment, if the sea was kind to him, or if the churn of the engine lulled him to sleep each night. "Be safe," she whispered into the fading light, her lips brushing against the cool surface of the picture. The train carried her onward, through the dusk and into a future as uncertain as the war itself.

The night stretched before her, each mile a note in a song of departure and anticipation. Claire leaned her head against the window, watching towns and fields blur by, while inside, her heart beat a staccato rhythm of longing and fear—an intricate dance of the times.

As the morning sun pierced through the curtains, bathing the train compartment in a soft golden glow, Claire stirred awake, her cheek imprinted with the pattern of the window's glass. She blinked groggily as she stood up and reached for her luggage to retrieve a fresh outfit from her suitcase. 

Stepping into the narrow hallway of the train car, Claire made her way towards the washroom at the end. The rocking motion of the train beneath her feet quickened her pace, her hand steadying on the metal railing that lined the corridor. 

She reached the washroom door and gave it a gentle push, stepping inside and locking it behind her. The tiny room was a welcome refuge from the constant movement of the train. Claire changed into her fresh clothes — a burnt orange and white striped blouse and matching orange skirt that billowed softly around her knees — and stuffed yesterday’s clothing into a laundry bag. 

As she adjusted the collar of her blouse, the train lurched unexpectedly, causing her to stumble mid-button. Catching herself on the sink, she cursed under her breath and quickly finished dressing. 

With her heart still hammering in her chest from the sudden movement, Claire took a moment to collect herself before unlocking the door and stepping back into the hallway. 

Upon reaching her seat, the conductor’s voice echoed through the car, announcing their arrival in Atlanta. Claire collected her books and the letter to her mother, tucking them into her bag next to Noah's photograph. With a hefty sigh, she hoisted her bags—one, two, three—onto her shoulders and hips, a cumbersome dance that drew snickers from a couple of soldiers nearby. Atlanta, the city humming with the war effort and Southern charm, sprawled out before her, daunting in its vastness.

The stifling heat of Georgia smothered Claire the moment she stepped off the train, a harsh welcome to the South. She maneuvered through the bustling station, dragging her excessive luggage behind her, the clicking of her heels lost in the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of countless conversations. 

The bus was already rumbling when Claire approached it, and as she climbed aboard, she felt every eye bore into her. She was a curiosity— a woman unaccompanied by a man among rows of young soldiers whose lives were set on a wartime metronome.

"Camp Toccoa," she said firmly to the bus driver, who raised an eyebrow but handed her the ticket without comment.

"Hey, doll, you boarding with all that?" one of the soldiers called out, nodding towards her luggage pile.

"Unless you see it sprouting legs and walking itself on, yes," Claire retorted, her voice edged with the wit she wielded like armor.

Another soldier piped up, "What's your story? Headed to entertain the troops?"

"Medic training," she clipped, pushing her glasses up her nose with a stubborn tilt of her chin. "I'll be patching up your sorry asses on the battlefield. Consider yourselves lucky."

Murmurs rippled through the bus as she maneuvered to an empty seat at the back, her bags wedged between her and the aisle. The curious glances didn't cease, though they became more surreptitious. Claire could feel the weight of their stares, the silent question marks punctuating the air around her. 

"Never seen a dame wanting to be in the thick of it," a soldier across the aisle muttered to his neighbor. "She's got guts, I'll give her that."

"Or she's crazy," the other replied, not unkindly.

"Both," Claire interjected before she could stop herself, eliciting a few chuckles. It was an odd sensation, this camaraderie laced with isolation. She hunkered down in her seat, pulling out her unfinished letter to her mom, and tried to resume writing, but the words seemed frivolous now, floating aimlessly on the page. Instead, she tucked the letter away, leaning her forehead against the cool window glass, allowing her thoughts to drift.

"Hey, combat medic," the same soldier ventured again after a few moments, "You got a fella waiting for you back home?"

Claire answered, staring blankly at the seat in front of her, "Nope."

The soldier whistled low. "Well, that's a damn shame. A pretty gal like you, brave enough to sign up for this mess," he said, gesturing to the bus full of soldiers. "There must be plenty of fellas fighting over you back there."

Claire chuckled bitterly. "Fighting over me? More like running in the opposite direction," she replied, a self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. 

The soldier's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Nah, I can't believe that. A dame like you? Trust me, there ain't a fella worth his salt who wouldn't be lining up for a chance with you."

Claire sighed, her eyes fixed on the soldier's earnest expression. "Well, I guess they must have missed the memo," she retorted with a forced chuckle.

"I'm Danny, by the way," the soldier said, extending his hand towards Claire.

"Claire," she replied, shaking his hand. 

Danny had thick, dark hair and eyebrows, deep brown eyes, and a slight stubble showing he had recently shaved. He was handsome, no doubt about it.

"You said you're gonna be a combat medic, right?" Danny asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes. "At Camp Toccoa, if I heard you correctly. Ain't that where the paratroopers train?"

Claire nodded, a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. "Yeah, that's right. We'll be jumping out of perfectly good planes."

Danny whistled, impressed. "Well, I'll be damned. I could never. I'd crash land, splattering my guts everywhere like a burst tomato."

Claire laughed, "Thanks for the visual. I'll think of that as I plummet to my death."

When the bus finally came to a halt, the driver's voice announced, "Camp Toccoa, final stop!"

Claire stood and wrestled with her suitcases once more. Danny offered to help, but she politely declined. With a determined stride, she walked down the narrow aisleway towards the steps. 

"Good luck, Miss Medic!" Danny called out.

"Yeah, you too, Dollface," she teased with a wink. With a final heave, she managed to walk down the steps of the bus into the sweltering heat. 

"Watcha thinkin', Danny?" his companion next to him asked.

Danny grinned, shaking his head, “Nothin’ much," he replied, his gaze set on Claire as she stood outside the entrance to the camp.

The camp sprawled before Claire, a collection of low-lying buildings nestled amidst the dense Georgia forest. Stepping onto the dirt road, she was greeted by the stark white letters on the wooden sign: 'Camp Toccoa.'

She stood there, alone now, the dust settling around her feet. Before her lay a path lined with uncertainty, with courage demanded and comfort stripped away. To enter meant embracing her choice fully, to become part of something far greater than herself. 

---

#yes I did use Stephen Sanchez as a face claim #and what about it? #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x ofc #my first oc story #my oc #easy company #hbo war #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

[coco-bean-1218]

Finally finished these! I was inspired by @softguarnere ‘s rendition of the social media au and decided to give it a go. We have aesthetics based on where the characters are from, lifestyle and monumental events (i.e., wedding, career, honeymoon)

*Keep in mind, Claire has more than one love interest in the story, so this is one possible outcome.

*All pictures are from Pinterest

#social media au #wbwnmh #well behaved women never make history #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fic #my first oc story #my oc #chuck grant x ofc #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant #floyd talbert #eugene roe

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Prologue: Part Three: "Brains, Bravery, and now... Wings."

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire breaks some important news to her family.

A/N: Hi, everyone! Welcome to Prologue: Part Three: of Well-Behaved Women Never Make History! This is the final prologue part before the actual story takes place! I'm very excited about this one, and I hope you are too! As always, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

Warnings: Swearing, Claire getting confrontational

Taglist: @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike

Monday, January 5, 1942

Downtown district of Detroit, MI, USA

---

The January chill nipped at Claire’s cheeks as she hesitated on the snow-dusted sidewalk outside the recruitment building in Downtown Detroit. A mosaic of colorful signs emblazoned with military insignias adorned the facade, each vying for the attention of potential recruits. She adjusted her glasses and tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear while absorbing the gravity of her surroundings.

"Army," "Navy," "Marines" – the words seemed to leap out from the posters, resonant with the call of duty and patriotism. Men, young and vibrant, streamed past her, their conversations a cacophony of hope and bravado. She drew in a deep breath, trying to still the fluttering in her chest.

With one last glance at the sky, now an expanse of solemn gray, she pushed open the door and stepped into the maw of the recruitment station.

Inside, the air buzzed with the energy of hundreds of young men, their voices merging into a symphony of determination. They clustered around tables where uniformed officers sat, clipboards at the ready. The clatter of typewriters punctuated the murmur of conversation, each keystroke a testament to the momentous decisions being made.

"Hey, watch it!" a recruit barked as Claire narrowly avoided bumping into him amidst the throng.

"Hey, I'm walking here!" she snapped back, her eyes darting around the vast room, "Fucking dumbass." Her heart hammered against her ribs; this was more overwhelming than any college exam hall.

Claire moved slowly through the space, her senses alert to every detail. She watched fingers grip pens with purpose, heard the scratch of signatures committing lives to service. Each step brought her deeper into the belly of the beast, the air thick with the scent of ink and anticipation.

She took another step, drawing closer to the heart of the station, to the precipice of her own journey. And somewhere amidst the clamor and the fervor, Claire began to find her footing, charting a course through the crowd toward the destiny of her choosing.

Claire's eyes swept over the sea of uniforms, her gaze landing on a poster that stood out from the rest, its bold letters calling to those brave enough to leap from the skies. "Join the Airborne," it beckoned, the image of a soldier descending from the heavens both terrifying and exhilarating.

"An additional fifty dollars in pay," she murmured to herself, fingertips grazing the edge of the poster. Her mind leapt to textbooks and lab fees; this could be the answer she'd been searching for—a way to fund her dream of medical school. The sum was significant, a beacon of hope amidst the turmoil of war.

With a determined step, Claire navigated through the throngs of eager recruits, each stride carrying her closer to the possibility of a future shaped by her own hands. As she sought the Army's station, a table draped in blue caught her eye, the acronym 'WACs' emblazoned across the banner.

"Women's Army Corps..." she read aloud, thumbing through a pamphlet that lay amongst a neat pile. The words within spoke of service and support, of roles unimagined by women just a generation prior. For a moment, her heart wavered, the path of a WAC presenting its own allure. 

"Could I really do this?" The thought hung heavy as she slipped the pamphlet into her pocket, a tangible reminder of choices yet to be made.

Her pursuit resumed, weaving between desks and dodging elbows until she found herself standing before a sign marked 'Army Enlistment.' She exhaled sharply, the weight of decision anchoring her to the spot, the pamphlet's presence in her coat a secret whisper of potential futures.

Each step was a silent conversation with herself, every heartbeat a question of courage, and with the pamphlet tucked close, Claire advanced toward her chosen battleground.

Claire's steps echoed against the marble floor, a cadence of resolve amidst the clamor. She halted at a long table adorned with crisp, official-looking documents and flags representing various military branches. Her gaze scanned the area, seeking the sign-up for the Airborne, when she was suddenly anchored by a familiar face.

"Peyton?" Claire's voice lifted in surprise, her eyes widened as they settled on her best friend standing behind the table.

"Claire!" Peyton squealed. The warmth in her brown eyes mirrored the joy dancing across her features. "What are you doing here?"

Claire leaned forward, palms pressing against the cool surface of the table. "I could ask you the same," she teased, but her laughter held an undercurrent of nerves. 

"Got myself a job," Peyton replied with a proud lift of her chin, "Helping Uncle Sam find his soldiers. And you? Don't tell me you came to wave the boys goodbye." The quirk of Peyton's eyebrow signaled she expected a more profound truth.

"I'm here to... I want to sign up for the Airborne," Claire said, her voice lower than she intended. She brushed a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear.

"Airborne?" Peyton's eyebrows shot up, a playful smirk teasing her lips. "My, aren't we the brave one?"

"Someone has to be," Claire retorted, though her heart thumped erratically at the reality of her words. Inside her coat, the WAC pamphlet felt like a secret confession of her hesitance.

Peyton reached beneath the table, sifting through papers with a purposeful intensity. "Well, if it's the sky you're aiming for, let me help you take flight." With a furtive glance around, she leaned closer, conspiratorially, "I'll snag you a form."

"Be careful," Claire warned softly as Peyton reached across the table, her fingers dancing swiftly over the stacked papers before procuring one of the coveted Airborne sign-up sheets.

"Come on," Peyton whispered, tucking the sheet under her arm. Together, they navigated through the swell of bodies, finding sanctuary in a quiet corner draped in shadows.

"Feels like plotting a secret mission," Claire joked, but her hands trembled slightly as she accepted the pen from Peyton. The weight of her decision pressed down upon her, each tick of the wall clock punctuating the urgency of the moment.

"Imagine, us girls changing the world," Peyton said, her voice a soft blend of wonder and conviction, "Seems like only yesterday we were both little girls wishing our fairy tale dreams."

"Changing our own worlds, at least," Claire replied, her smile tinged with the gravity of their unspoken dreams. She looked down at the form, each line a step closer to a future where fear mingled with hope, and the prospect of 50 extra dollars meant more than just money; it represented freedom, education, and a chance to make a difference.

"Are you ready for this?" Peyton asked, concern lacing her question.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Claire responded, her hand tightening around the pen. But in the sanctuary of her mind, she whispered a prayer for courage, for strength, and for the wisdom to choose the right path.

"Here, let's start with the easy stuff," Peyton said, pointing to the top of the form. "Name, date of birth, address..."

"Right." Claire filled in the blanks, her handwriting a neat script that belied the churn of her stomach. "I never pictured my twenties would look like this."

"Nobody did," Peyton agreed, leaning in to read over Claire's shoulder. "But we play the hand we're dealt. You've got a good one, Claire. Brains, bravery, and now... wings."

"Potentially," Claire mused, her gaze flitting to Peyton's own untouched sign-up sheet for the WACs. "It looks like we're both seeking some altitude."

"Seems so." Peyton's smile was a brief flash, her attention returning to Claire's form. "Next, they'll need your medical history. Any illnesses, surgeries..."

"Just wisdom teeth," Claire chuckled, checking the corresponding box. Her thoughts drifted again to the extra fifty dollars the poster promised, an amount that could put a dent in her medical school expenses—if the war didn't claim too much first.

"Emergency contact?" Peyton's voice cut through her reverie.

"Mom and Dad," Claire responded automatically, scribbling down her parents' details. Her heart clenched at the thought of their reaction; she hadn't even broached the subject with them yet.

"Alright, almost done," Peyton encouraged. "Just need your signature and—"

"Hope," Claire finished quietly, the pen hovering above the paper. She drew in a deep breath and signed her name with a flourish that felt more defiant than anything she'd ever done.

"Done." Claire set the pen down, her pulse racing as the realization of her commitment took hold.

"Then that's it," Peyton affirmed. "You're on your way, Claire."

"Thanks to you," Claire said, her gratitude genuine. She folded the form, the creases crisp under her fingers. "Now, let's get this turned in before I lose my nerve."

"Lead the way, soldier," Peyton said with a grin, and together, they stepped back into the fray, their bond a thread of certainty in an uncertain world.

Claire clutched the folded form in her hand as she glanced sideways at Peyton, who was busy scanning the room with an intensity that matched the gravity of their surroundings.

"Are you going to join the fight too?" Claire asked, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying a vulnerability she kept well-guarded.

Peyton turned toward her, her eyes holding a glint of resolve that seemed older than her eighteen years. "I’m considering the WACs," she admitted. "As a war journalist. Someone has to tell our stories, right?"

"Right." Claire nodded, pride swelling within her chest at the thought of her friend capturing the essence of these tumultuous times. "You'll be great at it."

"Thanks," Peyton said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "Now, let's get you officially signed up."

They approached the bustling table discreetly; Peyton’s movements were deft and quiet as she slid Claire's form amidst a stack of others. The act was so smooth it was as if the paper had sprouted wings and settled itself among its brethren. No one noticed, no heads turned—they were just two young women in a sea of anxious faces, all united by a common cause.

"Call me later?" Claire's heart thumped loudly, her mouth dry.

"Of course." Peyton's smile was a lifeline. "And Claire? Be safe."

"Always am," Claire replied with a wink she didn't quite feel. Then, with a quick, tight hug that carried the weight of unspoken fears and shared dreams, they parted.

Claire stepped outside into the brisk January air, pulling her coat tighter against the winter chill. She could still feel the echo of Peyton’s embrace as she hailed a cab. When the old yellow car pulled to the curb, she saw the driver through the rolled-down window, his cap slightly askew.

"Where to, miss?" he asked gruffly, the lines on his face deepened from years of squinting into the distance.

Claire told her address, her voice steady even as her hands trembled.

As the taxi lurched forward, Claire leaned back against the worn upholstery. The city passed by in a blur of gray and white, but all she could see was the future unfurling before her, uncertain yet fraught with possibility. She gripped the strap of her handbag, the texture suddenly grounding her racing thoughts. What would home look like when she returned? Would the familiar streets whisper tales of her courage or sing laments for her absence?

"Almost there," the driver announced, snapping Claire back to the present.

"Thank you," she murmured, her mind already drifting to the announcement she would soon make. The door to her life as she knew it was closing, and with every turn of the wheels, she felt a step closer to the woman she was destined to become.

The rhythmic clacking of the typewriter keys filled the kitchen, a syncopated counterpoint to the soft scratching of pen on paper. Claire stood in the doorway, her silhouette hesitating against the afternoon light that filtered through the lace curtains. She watched as her mother's fingers danced over the black and white keys, her concentration never wavering even as she reached for her coffee cup with her free hand. Her father, meanwhile, was hunched over a notebook, his furrowed brow casting shadows over the figures he diligently noted down.

"Mom, Dad," Claire's voice trembled slightly, betraying the nerves she fought so hard to conceal.

Her mother stopped typing mid-word, the carriage hanging in limbo. She looked up, "Claire, honey, you're back early. Is everything alright?" 

"Hey, kiddo." Her dad glanced up, a flicker of concern crossing his weathered face before he set his pen aside. "You look like you've got something on your mind."

In the brief pause that followed, Claire could hear her own heartbeat, a frantic drumline marching toward an inevitable revelation. She took a deep breath, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint trace of a candle, grounding her resolve.

"I ran into Peyton downtown," she began, the words spilling out more easily than she anticipated. The mention of her best friend always had a way of easing tension in the room. She moved closer, coming to rest against the edge of the kitchen table, her hands gripping the polished wood.

"Is that right?" her mom asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "And what's Miss Peyton up to these days?"

"She's working at the recruitment station," Claire said, watching as her parents exchanged a quick, unreadable glance. "Actually, I..." she paused, gathering the shards of courage that felt scattered within her chest.

"Actually, what, Claire?" her dad prompted, leaning back in his chair, his eyes kind and attentive.

Claire's glasses slipped slightly down her nose as she met their gazes, the world around her momentarily out of focus. She pushed them up with a resolute finger.

"I have an announcement to make," she stated, the words solidifying into reality the moment they passed her lips. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a caged bird yearning for the freedom of the skies, "I've decided to enlist. I joined the Airborne to be a combat medic."

Her father raised his eyebrows, "The Airborne?"

"You do know what that means, right?" her mother questioned in disbelief.

"Yes, I do," Claire said sternly, "And I also know that there's an additional 50 dollars in pay. That could go towards college and med school."

"Honey," her mother sighed, "Med school is expensive. That could cover a textbook, maybe two."

"Yes, I know," Claire kept her ground, "And you guys always say I need to be more mature and independent. Well, here's my chance, all while gaining medical experience. Imagine how that will look on med school applications."

Her mother crossed her arms, "Now, Claire, when we said more independent and more mature, we didn't mean jump out of a plane into a war zone."

"But, you guys have also told me to take risks, to stand up for myself and what I believe in, to not let people walk all over me. What is it that you always say, Mom? A well-behaved woman never makes history. That's what I'd be doing - making history!" 

Her father chuckled, "Man, when this one tries to make her case, she really makes it."

"And besides, I only applied. It doesn't mean they'll take me," Claire shrugged.

"How does it feel fighting with yourself," her father said to her mother, laughing.

Mrs. O'Connor glared at her husband, "Oh, hush."

Claire laughed at the teasing between her parents. They had said many times she was her mother's daughter.

"Can you imagine? She'll probably argue with her CO," her father said, shaking his head.

"Of course," Claire stated boldly, "You know me."

"Or argue with the enemy itself and they'd back down," her mother retorted.

Claire laughed, "That's the plan."

Her mother then leaned forward, her voice now gentle yet steady. "Claire, we've always encouraged you to follow your dreams, to forge your own path. And if this is what you truly want, then we support you wholeheartedly."

"You know we'll always have your back," her father chimed in.

The creak of the stairs announced Emma's arrival before she appeared, her eyes questioning as she took in the sight of their huddled assembly. She leaned against the doorway, her silhouette softened by the hall light spilling into the living room.

"Everything okay?" Emma asked, her gaze flicking between her parents' drawn faces and Claire's determined stance. 

"Yeah, I joined the Airborne to be a combat medic," Claire said nonchalantly.

Her sister stopped in her tracks, "Huh. Well, that's something you don't hear every day. Good for you." Emma smiled and patted Claire's shoulder. "If anyone can do it, it's you." She then shifted her gaze to their parents, who exchanged a glance and nodded in approval.

"Besides," Claire added with a mischievous grin, "Who knows? I might catch the eye of a handsome paratrooper who's just dying to break through these walls." She shot a knowing look at her mother, who laughed. 

Unbeknownst to Claire, a couple of thousand miles away, that young, handsome paratrooper was also breaking the news to his parents and siblings about his brave decision to join the Airborne.

#band of brothers #band of brothers oc #my first oc story #my ocs #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #easy company #hbo war #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x ofc #chuck grant x ofc #chuck grant #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #original female character #ofc

[coco-bean-1218]

hi claire!! for the holiday prompt game... 5. "cuddling in front of the fire on a cold night" with oc!claire and grant! super excited to read your amazing holiday stories 🎄✨

Hello!! Thank you for the ask!!

I am so sorry in advance, this is gonna break everyone's hearts.

Here’s a little song to make it worse!

---

December 18, 1945

Claire was seated comfortably in the plush armchair nestled in the corner of her parents' warm and cozy family room, right in front of the fireplace. She sat there, mesmerized by the breathtaking sapphire ring that adorned her finger. 

Tonight had been her twenty-third birthday party with family, friends, and her now-fiancé. All of the Easy Company boys were able to attend, and Claire wondered if there was any connection between them and the surprise proposal. 

As she twirled the ring around her finger, lost in thought, she didn't hear the sound of footsteps behind her.

"Good birthday?"

Startled, Claire looked up to see Grant smiling down at her.

"Of course, my darling, one of the best," she replied, a twinkle in her eye.

Taking a seat on the arm of the chair, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. She nestled into his side, savoring the warmth of his embrace and the fire that danced before them.

As she held him close, her mind started to drift. She could sense the weight of what they'd been through pressing down on her, threatening to engulf her in despair.

He noticed her sudden quietness and the blank stare she fixed on the fire. 

"Are you okay, my love?" he asked softly.

Was she okay? No, She wasn't. The darkness that had consumed her since they'd been at war was trying to swallow her once again. The war had left its mark on both of them, physically and mentally. Claire's mind was consumed by memories of the horrors she had witnessed and the lives that had been lost—especially that night in Austria. The images of the battlefields and the destruction they had caused haunted her every move. 

But she couldn't bring herself to break down in front of Grant, not this time. She had to be strong for him, at least on the surface. After all, he had been through far worse than she had.

"I'm fine," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. She kept her gaze averted, unwilling to meet the intensity in his eyes.

"I don't think you are."

"War is hell," she said flatly, never taking her eyes off the flames. 

----

HOLY SHIT 😭

#wbwnmh #well behaved women never make history #band of brothers #ask game #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

[coco-bean-1218]

I’m writing different ideas for chapters of wbwnmh and a lot are Eugene focused and I’m like “omg Claire and Eugene are the cutest they are too pure” but then I’m like “wait but so are her and Grant” 😫

#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #my oc #chuck grant #eugene roe

[coco-bean-1218]

OMFG CLAIRE THE "LYING ON A HIGHWAY" PROMPTS HAVE ME LYING ON A HIGHWAY

CAN I PLEASE GET "SMILING DURING A KISS >>>>" WITH LITERALLY ANYONE I JUST ABOUT FAINTED READING IT!!!

WE NEED FLUFF IN THIS HOUSEHOLD

1947

Claire was standing at the nurses’ station talking to Antonia while filling out her charts. She had been on her feet all morning, in various surgeries, and she realized that maybe wearing heels was a bad idea. Suddenly, a voice cut off their conversation.

"Excuse me, Doctor, I was hoping you could point me in the direction of the most beautiful surgeon in the world?"

Claire turned around to see Grant standing there, smiling, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, looks like I found her!" he chuckled.

Claire laughed, a slight blush on her cheeks forming. "Hello, handsome. What are you doing here?"

Grant stepped closer to Claire, wrapping his arms around her waist, their bodies pressed together. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice soft and seductive. "I missed you," he cooed.

"I missed you too, my darling. So much," Claire said as she looked into her husband's beautiful blue eyes.

She cupped his face with her hands and kissed him, a smile creeping up on both their faces as their lips met.

As they broke the kiss, Grant leaned his forehead against Claire's, his eyes filled with love and affection. He gazed at her, drinking in her beauty, and took in a deep breath.

"I just couldn't resist coming in to see you," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes never leaving hers.

Claire leaned into Grant, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against hers. She caressed his cheek, her fingers tracing the outline of his jawline. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his.

"Thank you for coming," she smiled. "Even though we just saw each other this morning."

Grant laughed, his eyes shining brightly. "I couldn't stay away from you, my love."

"Poor Toni," Claire sighed, "She's probably thinking, 'What the hell?'"

Grant shrugged, a playful grin on his face. "It's okay, she's got Liebgott."

---

AHJHDAGDHDGHJQGDJHGDHASGAHDGHADGAHSDGHJASDGHAJSDGHASDGJAHDGAHJSGDAJHSDGHJASDGHJASDGHAJSGD

FUCK 🥹😍🥵😩🥰😘

#ask game #writing help #band of brothers #wbwnmh #well behaved women never make history #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

[coco-bean-1218]

claireeeeeeeeee hi love! could i request "heartbeat" for claire/grant? <3

BLU!!!!! I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!! GET COMFY, THIS IS A LONG ONE!!!

Here is 'lucky' for you per your request! Thank you for being flexible!

May, 1944

Upottery, England

The bar was a cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses, a hazy smoke swirling around the yellowed lightbulbs that dangled from the ceiling. The men of Easy Company were scattered throughout the room, savoring the freedom of a weekend pass before jumping into Normandy. The air was thick with the scent of beer and sweat, a tangy reminder that outside these walls, the world was at war. Claire sat at a corner table, illuminated by the soft glow of a hanging lamp. The smoky haze of the bar couldn't obscure her radiant presence.

"Would you look at that hair, Doc?" Eugene's voice was soft, tinged with his Cajun drawl, as he nudged Claire gently with his elbow. Her dark brown locks were pinned up in victory rolls, a style befitting her striking presence.

Claire blushed, a faint color rising on her cheeks, which were otherwise perfectly contoured. "Oh, stop it, Eugene," she replied, her tone playful yet sincere. "You know I can't do anything fancy with these hands unless it's stitching a wound." 

"Which you do exceptionally well," James "Moe" Alley chimed in, his admiration poorly veiled behind a thin veneer of joviality. "But tonight, Claire, you're outdoing yourself."

"Indeed," Shifty added, his gentle demeanor shining through his soft-spoken words. "It's not every day we get to see our combat medic turned into a dame straight out of those Hollywood pictures."

"You'd think the war was already won with how you're lookin' tonight," Eugene said, his dark blue eyes twinkling with the same mirth that always seemed to dance at the edges of their conversations.

"Oh, stop it, you three. You flatter me too much," Claire replied, her voice a melodious blend of gratitude and modesty.

Eugene leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Claire's face. "I wouldn't dare to flatter you, Claire," he said, his voice laced with sincerity. "You deserve nothing less than the truth."

She took a sip of her cocktail, the fruity sweetness offsetting the bitter taste of war that lingered in the air. Her arm linked comfortably around Eugene's shoulders. They were almost mirror images—both in uniform, both combat medics, both fiercely protective of each other.

"I bet a lot of hearts are breaking across the bar seeing you all dolled up with your arm around Doc Roe," Alley interjected, raising an eyebrow in a playful gesture.

Across the room, Grant stood like a Californian Apollo, his golden complexion catching the dim light as he threw darts with his friends. His light blue eyes occasionally flickered towards Claire, a mixture of admiration and something deeper etching his features into a portrait of bashful longing. He grappled with the courage to cross the bar and step into the orbit of the woman who unknowingly held his heart.

"Go on, Chuck. Show us that California aim!" Skinny rallied, pulling Grant back from his reverie.

"Sure thing," he replied, but his voice lacked conviction. He threw the dart, landing dead center, yet Grant barely noticed, his gaze drifting once more to Claire.

Eugene laughed at something she said, his head thrown back in genuine amusement. It was clear to anyone watching that they shared a bond, a connection forged in the fires of shared experience and trust. Yet, as Claire tossed her head back, her eyes sparkling beneath the bar's muted lights, Grant felt an undeniable pull, a desire to be part of that inner circle, to be the one who could make her laugh like that.

The flickering candlelight danced across the polished mahogany, casting an amber glow over the crowded bar. Laughter and the clink of glass punctuated the smoky air as Claire leaned in closer to Eugene. Her fingers, tipped with nails painted like tiny cherries, brushed against his sleeve, a silent testament to their camaraderie.

Liebgott's eyes gleamed mischievously as he scanned the room and spotted Claire. A subtle smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Hey, O'Connor!" he called out, his voice slicing through the din of the bar. "Why don't you come over and show us how it's done? You've got the steady hands, after all!"

Claire looked up, brown eyes meeting his challenge with a playful spark. "I've never played," she called back, her red lips curving into a half-smile and her fingers tightening involuntarily around Eugene's shoulders. 

"No worries, gorgeous." Talbert chimed in, exchanging a sly glance with Liebgott. "Grant here will teach you. Won't you, Chuck?"

Grant nearly choked on his beer, at the sound of his name coupled with Claire's. He coughed into his sleeve, as he stammered out a protest, "Now, Tab, I'm not sure—"

Liebgott walked up behind Grant and smacked him on the back of his neck. "Ow! What was that for?" Grant winced, rubbing the spot where Liebgott's hand had landed. "—I mean, sure, if—if Claire wants to..."

"See? It's your lucky day," Talbert teased, nudging Grant with an elbow while eyeing Claire with an expression that suggested he knew exactly what he was stirring up.

Eugene's eyes met Grant's, dark blue and impenetrable; a silent message passed between them. The unspoken words hung heavily in the air: 'Be careful with her. If you hurt her, I'll hurt you.'

Claire leaned closer to Eugene, putting her hand over her mouth as she whispered something that only he could hear. He laughed with a mischievous grin on his face. "Go ahead, chérie. Let's see what you've got." he gave Claire's hand a gentle squeeze before releasing her. 

"Alright, then," Claire said, stepping forward with more bravery than she felt. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. "Let's see if I'm any good at this."

As she crossed the room, she felt Eugene’s gaze on her like a silent plea, asking her to stay or perhaps to tread carefully. "Alright, Claire," she thought to herself, "This is your reputation on the line. It took you a long time for them to take you seriously."

Claire took a deep breath as she picked up a dart, steadying her nerves as she stood next to Grant at the dartboard. She looked over at Eugene, giving him a playful wink. "I mean, it can't be that hard, right? All you do is throw it like this-" Claire said as she lazily threw the dart in one swift motion, not looking at the board. 

The dart sailed through the air, spinning aimlessly. Thunk. Bullseye. Dead center.

The room fell into stunned silence as everyone turned their attention to the dartboard. Even Claire couldn't believe her eyes. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a mixture of egotism and disbelief, "Nice one, O'Connor. That'll show them." she thought. 

The hush of the bar seemed to stretch for an eternity, the only sound being the soft scratch of vinyl from the jukebox in the corner. Then, slicing through the quiet like a bayonet through fabric, came Liebgott's incredulous exclamation. "Oh, shit," he wheezed, his brown eyes wide with astonishment as he leaned back against the worn wooden paneling of the bar.

Claire could barely process the absurdity of what had just happened; her dart nestled in the bullseye as if it had been guided by unseen hands. The room remained frozen, patrons' conversations cut off mid-sentence, heads turned in disbelief toward the impossible shot.

Grant, standing a few paces away, was a statue carved in shock. His eyes were fixed on the dartboard and his mouth hung open, the beginnings of a stuttered word dying on his lips. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed, nor could she.

She glanced at Grant, watching as he blinked rapidly, as if trying to reset his perception of reality. The clamor swelled like a wave, crashing against the walls of the bar and washing over Claire in a dizzying rush. The cacophony was strangely harmonious, a symphony of disbelief and admiration that reverberated within her. Her hand trembled slightly, the dart an unlikely extension of her own surprise.

Amid the commotion, Grant finally found his footing. "I...uh...wow," he stammered, clearly struggling to string together a coherent sentence. His gentle nature battled against his awe, wanting to say more but not knowing how.

"Doc, I think you just broke Grant," Liebgott quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips as he nudged his friend whose gaze hadn't left the board.

"Chuck, close your mouth before you catch flies," Talbert called out, snapping him out of his stupor.

"Wow," Grant managed, finally tearing his eyes away to meet Claire's gaze. "That was... incredible." His voice was a soft echo amid the raucous cheers, yet it reached her clearly, wrapping around her with the warmth of an unexpected embrace. "I've never seen anyone throw a dart that way and get a bullseye."

"Thanks, Grant," she murmured, the words spilling out before a shy laugh could follow. She felt the blush rise in her cheeks, a delicate heat that mirrored the buzz of the crowd. Reaching out, she wrapped an arm around him, her fingers grazing the fabric of his uniform as she pulled him into a fleeting side hug. She caught the scent of his cologne, a mix of clean linen and something uniquely him—calming yet exhilarating. "I guess I surprised myself, too."

He seemed to lean into her embrace, if only for a second, but it was enough—a tacit agreement of shared wonderment. Their connection, usually so fraught with tension and unspoken words, felt natural and uncontrived in that instance.

The applause around them began to ebb, but the ringing in Claire's ears persisted, a reminder of what had just transpired. She let her arm fall away from Grant, stepping back into her own space. The sudden clatter of palms against fabric jolted Grant from his reverie, his smile still lingering as Talbert and Liebgott crashed into the moment like a pair of exuberant tornadoes. 

"Chuck, you sly dog!" Talbert bellowed, his voice ricocheting off the bar walls as he slapped Grant's back with a force that made the latter stagger forward. "Look at you, bringing out the hidden talent in our little O'Connor!"

Liebgott chimed in with a grin so wide it threatened to split his face in two. "I didn't think she had it in her," he admitted, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "But I guess there's more to Doc than meets the eye, huh?"

"Beginner's luck, I suppose," she said, her voice light as air, betraying none of the whirlwind tumbling inside her. Her words were a well-practiced shrug, a way to deflect from the fact that her heart was performing an erratic tap dance against her ribs. Her coy smile remained plastered on her lips as she pivoted gracefully. Each step back toward her friends felt like walking through honey, thick with the buzz of her victory and Grant's lingering gaze.

The clamor of the crowd dwindled to a gentle murmur as Claire navigated through the throng of soldiers and locals, their faces a blur of smiles and astonishment. As she approached her own little nook of the world within the bustling bar, she spotted him—Eugene, his fair skin a stark canvas for the soft glow of pride that seemed to radiate from his dark blue eyes.

His strong hands reached out, ensnaring her in a warm embrace that lifted her from the ground as if she weighed nothing. Her feet dangled for a brief moment in a childlike suspension, a thrill akin to soaring over the hedges of childhood memories. "You did it!" he exclaimed, "You showed them all what you're capable of!"

"Did you see that, Gene? I can't believe I actually did that?" Claire's voice was a mix of giddy disbelief and pride. She could feel her own heart pounding against her chest, a wild drumbeat that matched the rhythm of the evening's excitement.

As Eugene carefully set her down, her heels clicked against the wooden floor, grounding her once more. "Of course, I saw," he replied, his grip on her shoulders loosening but not letting go entirely. "Couldn't miss it."

Alley, then, also picked up Claire and spun her around, her laughter rising above the din, her glasses slightly askew from the force of the twirl. "Unbelievable, Claire! You never cease to amaze me," he exclaimed.

As she regained her footing, the room settled back into its familiar rhythm, the jukebox playing a tune that had everyone tapping their feet. Thanks, guys," she said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose,

'What does this mean?' she wondered. 'For Eugene, for Grant, for me?'

Tonight, she was no longer just the awkward girl with a penchant for solitude; tonight, she was Claire "Doc" O'Connor, the woman who'd thrown a dart straight into the heart of possibility.

#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers x ofc #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers ofc #ask game #my oc #chuck grant #eugene roe #moe alley #chuck grant x ofc #eugene roe x ofc

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Prologue: Part One: “A Date Which Shall Live In Infamy”

Chapter Soundtrack https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLizoOuqex7dKa_E3lICq4Rs0MrLoPcAHo&si=n8hgCN8T81xPMCpn

Summary: After the Attack of Pearl Harbor, almost nineteen-year-old Claire O'Connor begins to wonder what's in store for her future.

A/N: Hi everyone! and welcome to my first-ever fanfic. I've had this idea for about two years now and decided to take the risk and put it out there. Please be gentle with me, this is my first ever chapter. I hope everyone enjoys and please feel free to like, comment, and reblog, but do not repost!

Warnings: The Attack on Pearl Harbor, period typical behavior, anxiety

Taglist: Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

Sunday, December 7, 1941 Metropolitan Detroit, Michigan, USA 2:30 PM Eastern Time 9:00 AM Hawaiian Time ---

"We interrupt this program with an important announcement."

Claire was sitting on her bed, studying biology for her upcoming final exam when the Christmas music playing on the small radio in her room was abruptly interrupted by the announcement.

"The Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor from the air and all naval and military activities on the island of Oahu, the principal American base in the Hawaiian islands."

Claire's eyebrows furrowed as she listened to the news. The weight of the reporter's words hung heavy in the air, and Claire felt a knot form in her stomach.

"It is no joke, it is a real war," the reporter said, his voice filled with a mix of urgency and somberness

"Mom?" she called out of her room, hoping for some reassurance

When there was no response, Claire quickly made her way down the stairs.

"Mom?" she called again.

"In the kitchen," her mother replied calmly.

Claire entered the kitchen and found her mother standing near the sink. She looked composed, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes. "Turn on the radio," Claire pleaded, her voice trembling slightly.

"Alright, take it easy," Mrs. O'Connor raised her hands in defense, understanding the urgency in her daughter's tone. She went into the living room and switched on the big radio, anticipation filling the room.

"-Again, the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor. We are at war," the voice on the radio croaked, the words sinking into the depths of their souls.

"Oh my God!" Her mother exclaimed.

The two women looked at each other stunned, realizing the gravity of the situation.

"I'm going to call your dad," Mrs. O'Connor declared.

It was just Claire and her mother at home. Her father was at work, and her older sister was attending a school event on starting her Master’s degree.

Mrs. O'Connor walked to the phone and dialed her husband's work number. Meanwhile, Claire made her way back up the stairs. As she reached the landing, her gaze was drawn irresistibly to the large window in the front room. The world outside was transformed, covered in a pristine blanket of snow. The flakes fell gracefully from the sky, swirling and twirling in the gentle breeze. The entire landscape was bathed in a soft, ethereal glow.

Despite the chaos that Claire knew was unfolding beyond the confines of her home, there was an undeniable sense of tranquility in that moment. Snow had a way of hushing the world and creating a peaceful sanctuary. It was as if time had momentarily stood still, allowing Claire to find solace in the beauty of the scene before her.

Upon returning to her room, Claire slumped onto her bed and spaced out, losing all motivation to study. Biology was the last thing on her mind.

---

About an hour had passed when Claire walked down the stairs and headed straight for the phone. She dialed a number and tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for someone to answer. As she waited, her mother appeared holding a basket of laundry. 

"Who are you calling?" Her mother inquired. 

Claire lowered the phone from her ear and replied, "Peyton." 

Mrs. O'Connor smiled knowingly, "Ah."

Since fourth grade, Peyton has been Claire's best friend. When they were younger, they used to spend most of their time together and were inseparable. As they grew older, it became increasingly difficult to stay in touch. Currently, both girls are in college pursuing different fields of study. While Claire is interested in the sciences, Peyton has a passion for the arts. Despite their differences, they still hold a deep affection for each other. At least Claire hopes so.

But there was no answer.

Claire let out a deep sigh, "Figures."

"No response?" Her mother asked.

"Nope."

"Well, try later," Her mother assured her

Claire shrugged and walked into the living room. She sat on the sofa, staring out the window, her gaze fixed on the snow outside. As she sat there, she absentmindedly started picking at her nails, a long-time nervous habit.

Claire has always been a worrier since early childhood. Usually, she was not one to listen to the news. However, like most people, she was aware of the tensions in the Pacific and Europe. Today was different. Today, the world had an effect on her.

#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fanfic #easy company #my first oc story #my oc #hbo war #band of brothers x ofc #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant x ofc #ofc #original female character #chuck grant #eugene roe

[coco-bean-1218]

okay okay request for claire/noah with "i cannot change my feelings for you, believe me i've tried"! preferable when they're in high school or pre-war for a fun change of pace

Hello!!! I hope you don’t mind it being when Easy first arrives in Aldbourne, way before combat. That’s when she and Noah are reunited!

Again, this is just an idea I'm tossing around.

---

Autumn, 1943

Aldbourne, England

Claire didn't know how she got here, but somehow, she was face-to-face with Noah. She hadn't seen him since the day they graduated high school. And, yet, here he was, the same brown hair, the same brown eyes, the same glasses; nothing had changed. Now, he was adorned in a Navy Sailor's uniform. 

Both members of his unit and hers were watching the events unfold in the middle of the dirt road. Noah's piercing gaze met Claire's eyes, a flicker of recognition passing between them. Memories flooded her mind, transporting her back to their high school days when they would steal secret glances at each other in crowded hallways. But this moment was different. It was heavy with unspoken words and the weight of time lost.

Claire's heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to find the right words. She had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in her mind, imagining everything she would say if she ever saw Noah again. But now that he was standing right before her, all those carefully constructed sentences vanished into thin air.

"Um...," he managed to finally force out.

"Noah...," she breathed out, "What...What are you doing here?"

"They, uh, shipped us here for a few days to, you know, take a break," he explained.

"You're in the Pacific, I'm assuming?" she asked.

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the ground. "Yeah," he confirmed.

"It's been a while," she murmured.

Noah nodded, his eyes still fixed on the ground. The tension between them was palpable, and Claire couldn't help but feel a knot forming in her stomach. She had yearned for this moment, for the chance to see him again and let him know how much she still cared. But now that it was here, she realized just how difficult it would be to confront all the emotions that had been buried for so long.

She erupted, the words gushing out like vomit before she could stop them. "I never forgot about you. Not for a second."

Noah's head jerked up, "I wish I could say the same."

Claire felt as though she had been stabbed in the stomach, the air knocked out of her. The weight of his words crushed her heart into a million pieces, each one piercing her with agonizing pain. It was a familiar feeling, one that had become all too common since she fell in love with him. She had hoped that after all these years, he would finally confess his love for her. But instead, his words only confirmed what she had feared all along - that their love was one-sided.

He let out a heavy breath, his fingers raking through his tousled hair in a familiar gesture that sent shivers down her spine. "Claire, it's been years. We've both moved on."

But she couldn't let go. Every stolen glance, every nervous fidget, every flushed cheek was etched into her memory, a constant reminder of the love she still held for him.

"I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me, I've tried!" she spat, tears welling up in her eyes. Her words echoed throughout the sky, and her fellow paratroopers, who were onlookers of the event, all stood silent.

His voice wavered as he spoke, "Claire... I didn't know..."

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Of course, you didn't know," she choked out. "I never had the courage to tell you!" 

Noah's eyes darted between her and his fellow sailors.

"I...I'm sorry, Claire." he mustered out.

"You're sorry?" she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice dripping with bitterness. "Sorry for leading me on? Sorry for playing with my feelings?"

"Claire, I never meant to hurt you. I never realized how deeply you felt," he said.

"How could you not see it? How could you not feel it?" she screamed.

"I don't know, Claire," he admitted in a hushed voice.

Claire slowly walked away, her gaze fixed on whatever was in front of her. She shoved her way through the crowd of sailors, who looked at her with deep sympathy. 

As Claire's trembling figure approached her group, their faces softened with concern and pity. They had witnessed the entire heartbreaking altercation between her and Noah, and they knew how much it had devastated her. Without a word, they formed a protective circle around her, shielding her from prying eyes and offering their unwavering support.

Without hesitation, Luz stepped forward and enveloped Claire in a tight hug. She collapsed into his embrace, her sobs turning into painful screams as she buried her face into his shoulder.

"It's alright, kid," Luz murmured as he rubbed her back soothingly. "We've got you."

"I'll go fetch Doc," Perconte declared urgently, already turning to leave.

"Yeah, and somebody go find Grant while you're at it," Luz added in a knowing tone, "He'll want to know about this."

#wbwnmh #well behaved women never make history #band of brothers #ask game #writing help #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

[coco-bean-1218]

CLAIREEEEEEEE I AM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES BEGGING FOR ANGSTY CHUCK/CLAIRE CONTENT 🙏🙏

could i do "You’ll be fine.” silence “You’ll be fine. Hey! Wake up! Please. Please wake up…" from the injury prompts?? it doesn't matter who's injured, i'm sure it'll be great either way!!

love you!! have an amazing day!

BLU!!!!! I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!! THIS IS GONNA BREAK SO MANY HEARTS!!!! GRAB THE TISSUES; YOU'LL NEED THEM!!!! LOVE YOU TOO!!!!

WARNING: SPOILER ALERT

December, 1944

Ardennes Forest, Bastogne, Belgium

The world erupted in a cacophony of thunder, the ground shivering beneath Claire's feet. December's chill had seeped into the bones of Easy Company as they huddled in their foxholes in Bastogne, but nothing could have prepared them for the sudden inferno that rained from the sky.

"Get down!" someone screamed, barely audible over the roar.

Claire’s instincts as a combat medic kicked in—she was already moving, crouched low, ready to throw herself towards the wounded. But fate had a cruel twist; a shell burst mere feet away, its shockwave hurling her through the air like a ragdoll caught in a gust of wind. Time seemed to slow as Claire soared through the air, her body twisting and contorting in unnatural ways. 

"CLAIRE!" The cry cut through the chaos, agonized and sharp.

Grant's voice, unmistakable even amidst the pandemonium, was laced with raw terror. His long strides ate up the distance between them as he bolted from his cover, the golden-haired paratrooper from California who'd never quite mastered the art of concealing his heart on his sleeve.

Claire hit the frozen earth hard, her vision exploding into a swirling mass of grey and crimson. Sounds dulled, as if she were underwater, her ears ringing with an eerie high-pitched whine that drowned out the battle cries and explosions.

"Cl-Claire?" Grant’s anxious face swam into view above her, his blue eyes wide with fear. His lips moved, forming words she couldn't hear.

She tried to respond, to tell him she was alright, but her voice was lost, a silent scream in her throat. Panic clawed at her insides, a relentless beast that wouldn't be soothed. She couldn't move, couldn't feel anything below the sharp pain that sliced through her chest just below her collarbone.

Blood—her blood—stained the snow around her, a vivid red against pure white. Claire's mind reeled; this wasn't how it was supposed to end, not here, not now. She had always been the one patching others up, not the other way around. 

Her breaths came in shallow gasps, each one an icy dagger in her lungs. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all—the girl who joked in the face of death now stared it down, and the humor was lost on her.

"Please," she heard Grant whisper through the veil of disorientation that clouded her consciousness, his plea a fragile thread in the tapestry of war that unraveled around them.

Claire's thoughts swirled, conflicting emotions battling within her. There was Eugene, her best friend, whose steady presence had always anchored her, and then there was Grant, the embodiment of awkward affection and earnest blue-eyed concern. She had never intended to weave such a complicated web of feelings between them, especially not here, in the midst of a world torn apart by conflict.

Was this what dying felt like? The cold seeping into her bones, the world fading at the edges, leaving behind only the echo of unrequited love and the faces of those she cared about?

"Grant," she tried to say, but the name dissolved into the frigid air, unheard. Her body was betraying her, refusing to cooperate, to fight, to cling to the life she'd always gripped with stubborn tenacity.

Through the haze of pain and fear, Claire held onto one thought: she wasn't ready to let go. Not yet.

"Roe!" Grant's voice tore through the biting cold, a desperate plea against the deafening blasts that continued to punctuate the frozen landscape. His hands, already numb from the chill, shook as he assessed Claire's injuries—a graphic contrast of crimson against the pristine white snow.

"It's okay, Claire," he reassured her, his gaze between duty and decorum. The fabric of her coat was shredded, and beneath it, a darker stain spread, threatening to consume her vitality. He knew he needed to act, but propriety held him back. How could he, a man raised on respect and decency, expose Claire in such a way? Yet, as her shallow breaths fogged the icy air, he realized that hesitation could cost her life.

"Please, Eugene!" he called again, his voice cracking with the strain of both fear and cold. He tentatively reached for the edge of her coat, hesitating, "Sorry, Claire," he whispered, as he carefully started to remove the layers, his fingers working with urgency yet light and respectful. His hands trembled, not just from the cold, but also from the fear of further injuring her or crossing an unseen line even in this dire situation.

Claire's breath came in shallow gasps, fogging the air briefly before dissipating into nothingness. She lay there, a delicate figure etched against the harshness of war, her life slipping away with each labored breath. 

"You’ll be fine." The words felt hollow even as they left his lips, a mantra against the overwhelming helplessness. Silence swallowed his assurance whole, leaving him stranded amidst the chaos of his own emotions.

Grant looked down into the wound, the blood seeping out onto the snow, painting a harsh picture of mortality. His mind raced, every second without Eugene an eternity, every drop of her blood a testament to his own inadequacy. His hands, though gentle, were clumsy with urgency as he worked to stem the flow, his movements mindful not to cause further harm.

"You’ll be fine." He repeated, more to himself now, a feeble attempt to will the universe into compliance. "Hey! Wake up! Please. Please wake up…" The tremor in his voice betrayed the panic that clawed its way through his composure.

In his mind, he saw her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the spirited debates they’d shared, the tender moments that had unfolded so naturally between them. Those memories clashed with the present—her face losing color, her body growing still. The thought of a future without her was unacceptable, unthinkable.

"Come on, Claire," he murmured, his hands slick with her blood. Each heartbeat that throbbed under his fingertips was a reminder that she was still here, still fighting. And as long as she fought, he would fight with her. In the battlefield of love and war, surrender wasn't an option. Not for Claire. Not while he still drew breath.

"Doc, hurry," Grant whispered into the void, as if the words could summon Eugene faster. His gaze never left Claire's face, willing her to return to him, to return to the world that was cruel and beautiful and theirs for the taking—if only she would wake up.

Claire's eyelids snapped open with a jolt, revealing a world that spun and shimmered in a haze of blurred shapes and muted sounds. Her breaths came in ragged gulps, stirring the frigid air into tiny clouds that dissipated as quickly as they formed. The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth, mingling with the sting of gunpowder and earth.

"You're okay," Grant's voice reached her, distant and distorted, like an echo in a deep cavern. His hands were gentle yet urgent on her skin, pressing down to stem the flow of warmth that seeped from her chest.

But Claire's attention was pulled away, drawn to the spectral figure emerging from the chaos—a boy, no, a young man with familiar brown hair and eyes that mirrored her own in-depth and sorrow. Noah stood before her, his navy uniform impeccable, untouched by the grime of war. He seemed out of place amidst the snow and blood, an apparition from another time, another life.

"Hi, Claire," he said, his voice clear and soothing, a balm to the agony that wracked her body, "I've missed you."

"Noah...?" she whispered,

"It doesn't have to hurt anymore, the heartache or the pain," Noah replied, offering a half-smile that twisted Claire's heart with nostalgia, "The sorrow, the guilt, the longing."

"Can't feel anything... should be nice..." she muttered, her voice barely a thread, as her hand quivered, reaching toward Noah's inviting grasp.

"It is," Noah whispered, his voice like an ethereal gust of wind. "Peaceful. No pain. No fear. No war."

Her hand twitched, instinctively reaching for him, but a sharp pain lanced through her body, drawing a gasp that fogged the lenses of her glasses. She could see Grant's silhouette hovering over her, the intensity of his gaze burning even through the blurriness.

Noah's hand stretched out towards her, fingers almost translucent against the backdrop of the winter sky. "Come with me, Claire. We can be together—like we always should've been."

"Grant will understand," Noah continued, his gaze holding hers, unyielding yet full of compassion as he placed his phantasmal hand on Grant's shoulder. "He's a good man. He knows about loss, about love. He knows how much you loved me, how much I meant to you. He'll let you go."

Claire's mind reeled, torn between the beckoning peace Noah offered and the raw, desperate need to cling to life—to Grant. Her thoughts became a tangle of memories and wishes, each one pulling her in opposite directions. Could she leave Grant and Eugene behind? Abandon the future they might have shared?

"Please, Claire, fight this," Grant urged, his voice breaking through her indecision. "You're strong. You’ve always been the bravest person I know."

Tears blurred her vision further, mixing with the blood and dirt on her face. Noah's presence was comforting, promising an end to pain, to fear. But it was Grant's touch, warm and alive, that anchored her to the here and now.

"Grant...Eugene," Her voice was a wind-whispered echo, her hand lifting with the tremulous fragility of a leaf in a storm.

"Hey, hey, I'm right here," Grant said, his voice thick with panic as he pressed down on the wound with more force, crimson overflowing onto the white snow beneath them. His heart pounded against his ribcage, each beat a hammer blow against the walls of his composure.

"Noah...?" Claire murmured again, reaching out to the spectral vision only she could see. A soft smile curved her lips, a stark contrast to the chaotic tumult around them. Her fingers brushed through the apparition's offering, finding nothing but the chill of winter air.

"God, no," Grant whispered, hot tears carving tracks through the grime on his face. He watched her eyes fixate on an unseen horizon, her gaze filled with longing and love for a ghost from her past. The ghost of Noah Walters—the man he could never be, the first to claim her heart.

"Stay with me, Claire," he pleaded, feeling the tremble of her body like a sparrow in his hands. "Don't go to him."

But how could he compete with eternity? How could he chain her to a world of pain when the one she loved offered her solace in the beyond?

"Grant...will understand," she spoke aloud, her voice a fading ember as the hallucination of Noah coaxed her further. Her fingers twitched in the empty air, seeking a hand that wasn't there.

"Understand what? That I'm losing you? That I can't save you?" Grant's whisper broke into a ragged sob. A sob born from the deepest well of fear and loss, a sound that mingled with the distant thunder of war.

"Please, don't leave me," he begged, pressing his forehead to hers, his tears warm against her cold skin. "I can't—I won't let you go."

Claire's breath hitched, a silent struggle raging within her. Noah's presence was soothing, a balm to her shattered soul, yet Grant's touch, his earnest plea, was a lifeline thrown in a roiling sea.

"Damn it, Claire! Fight! Don't let him take you away from me!" Grant's voice was a desperate incantation, willing her spirit back from the precipice.

In her delirium, the pull of Noah's ghostly allure was strong, like a siren's call tugging at her very essence. It whispered promises of peace and reunion, of a love that transcended time and death itself. All the pain and suffering that had marred her existence would be washed away in the tender embrace of Noah's phantom arms. In a veil of mist, she saw Grant's tear-streaked face, his blue eyes searching hers for any sign of sanity, of recognition. He begged her with silent tears, his breath catching in his throat as he reached out for her one last time.

"We can be together, just like you always wanted," echoed Noah's voice in her mind, a haunting symphony of memories and dreams.

"God, no...not her...not my Claire," Grant repeated, his voice a raw edge of hope. He took hold of her hand, still reaching out into the open air, and pressed it tightly against his chest, over the frantic thump of his heart. His grip was fierce, unwilling to let her slip away. "Don't go. Please, don't go," he pleaded, his voice hoarse with desperation. "I can't imagine my life without you."

"Stay or go," she heard her own heart echo, as she slipped back into unconsciousness. A heart that beat not just for the lost love of her youth, but for the man who held her now, who wept for her life amidst the snow and blood, whose tears fell onto her cheeks.

"I LOVE YOU!"

---

#uh oh poor Claire #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers ofc #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x ofc #my oc #ask game #chuck grant #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant x ofc

[coco-bean-1218]

And then maybe 👄 from the emoji prompts to soothe the pain! Please and thank you!

Hello! Thank you for the ask!

I know that it's supposed to be headcanons, but I think it would make more sense in writing format.

WARNING: This is a "what if" idea. It may or may not make the cut into the actual story. I'm just tossing around ideas.

This was so fun to write!

---

1943

It was another weekend for Easy Company, and fortunately for them, they had weekend passes. Aldbourne was a charming town, and the locals were warm and welcoming to the Americans. The pubs in the area were a cozy and intimate setting that Easy Company enjoyed visiting in their spare time.

Claire was sitting on a stool at the bar, talking with Eugene and observing her fellow paratroopers. The atmosphere in the pub was lively, with the sounds of laughter and conversation filling the air.

Most men sat at tables or booths, talking and joking with their friends. Some of the bolder ones even started mingling with the local ladies in an attempt to impress their buddies.

As she sat there, Claire couldn't help but eavesdrop on the conversations closest to her. Her curious nature and enigmatic personality made it hard to resist the urge to listen in. Claire observed her fellow soldiers with a mischievous glint in her eye. She knew she had the power to make them question their own assumptions and desires. It was part of her charm, this ability to hold her cards close to her chest and leave them wanting more. Yet, she remained quiet and introverted. And she liked it.

As the night went on, Claire continued to converse with Eugene and her other close friends. However, she felt a weariness growing within her. She had been up early and would be required to rise at the same hour the following morning. Although she had indulged in a single drink, she rarely, if ever, drank, preferring to maintain a clear and focused mind, and she had her reasons to. But that didn't stop her from going out and having a good time. Claire lived life on her own terms. She didn't conform to societal norms or expectations and valued her privacy and independence.

"Alright, I'm heading back to my billet. 'Night Alley," she said as she hopped down from her seat, knowing that Eugene would accompany her. They were practically inseparable.

"'Night Claire," he replied.

As she made her way towards the door, following Eugene, she heard a commotion that piqued her interest.

She turned her head towards the noise and soon found its source - Liebgott, Talbert, and Grant.

Knowing Talbert and Liebgott, she knew it was most likely about her.

Determined to uncover the truth, she stood there silently with her back towards them, absorbing every word they spoke. 

"I'm tellin' you, Grant, you just gotta do it," Talbert shouted, "Before someone else swoops in and takes her out from under you."

Grant chuckled nervously and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Tab. I can't figure her out. She's elusive and mysterious, yet I can't help but feel drawn to her. 

Liebgott smirked, leaning on the table. "That's what makes her so damn intriguing, ya know? It's like she's got this magnetic pull on all of us."

"Yeah, but you see how she is; she doesn't give any of the guys the time of day," Grant murmured, leaning in closer. "She keeps everyone, except Doc, at arm's length. Maybe I'd just end up embarrassing myself."

Talbert threw his arm around Grant's shoulder and grinned mischievously. "Look, buddy, you never know until you try. Besides, what's life without a little risk?"

"Exactly, Grant, she keeps everyone away EXCEPT Doc," Liebgott pointed out, taking a sip of his beer. "You've been dancing around her for over a year now. It's time to make a move before another fella steals her heart. And by fella, I mean Doc. Claire isn't gonna wait around forever.

Claire felt her heart start to race. Staying true to her character, a slight grin crept up on her lips as she suddenly came up with an impulsive idea that would turn heads and keep people wanting more.

She turned to Eugene, "Gene, I need to do something. Frankly, I'm tired of those three, and I think they need to be taught a little lesson. You might wanna look away for this."

Claire walked over to the trio, her head held high. As she approached them, she stared straight at Grant, cupped his face with her hands, and kissed him right there in front of everybody.

The room went silent. Talbert, who was taking a sip of his beer, sprayed it all over Malarkey, who was standing next to him at a different table. Liebgott started choking on the cigarette smoke he accidentally inhaled out of shock.

Claire looked around the room, satisfied, and tipped her head to the men, "Boys."

She turned on her heel and walked away and out of the bar arm-in-arm with Eugene, leaving everyone in a state of shock.

Grant stood there still as a statue, eyes wide, his gaze fixed on the spot where she once stood. His cheeks were bright red, his eyes glazed over, and dark red lipstick smeared across his lips.

Talbert started waving his hand in front of Grant's face, "Grant? You okay there, buddy?"

"I think he's in shock," Liebgott stated as he, too, started waving his hand in front of Grant's face.

"Hey, Tab, next time, say it, don't spray it," Malarkey grumbled, wiping the beer off his face.

---

I'M LAUGHING SO HARD RIGHT NOW

#ask game #writing help #band of brothers #wbwnmh #well behaved women never make history #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

[coco-bean-1218]

hi claire!!! okay i need to know everything that was going through your mind when you wrote the "why couldn't it have been us in the end?" fic!! hidden details, behind the scenes of this ending... maybe even what led up to this moment? whatever you're interested in sharing i will just DEVOUR!!

EVERBODY FASTEN YOUR SEATBELTS IT'S GONNA BE A BUMPY RIDE!!!!!!!!! DHFHDSFHSAGFJHSGDJHG

So, when I write, I like to listen to music and I just kept replaying songs on the Claire/Grant playlist to really get me in the mood.

You are correct; the "I remember" comment is one of those hidden messages. I wanted to show that Grant will never forget Claire. Even after everything he's been through, Claire is always on his mind. He pays attention to everything she says and remembers those tiny, intricate details about her.

But the biggest one was what Claire said about the ring when asked about it, "Oh, this?" she held up her hand, examining the ring in the moonlight. "It's...uh...blue topaz, my birthstone.", that comment. With this, it's subtle, but I wanted to show that in that intimate moment with Grant, she, in a way, almost forgets that she is engaged and that she's wearing a ring. In a way, she's transported back in time to when she and Grant would have moments like this. It's not that she doesn't love her fiancé Eugene. She does very much. But it's a surreal moment, and she can't help where her mind takes her.

Then there are smaller ones that, depending on how you read the story, could be interpreted as hidden details.

The fact that she wanders off from the party and immediately goes to stand by Grant when she finds him. It could be interpreted as a level of comfort for her.

Her eagerly asking if he will be at the wedding and being relieved when he says yes.

The "It's beautiful, isn't it?" part is one too! It could be interpreted as her asking not only about the reflections on the water but also about her relationship with Grant.

His response, "Yes, it is," is also one. It's more evident than the rest, but no matter what he does or what he's thinking about, his thoughts will always go back to Claire. The more obvious reason is, of course, that when he answered her, he was not talking about the fountain but rather about her and played it off as the latter.

And finally, her answer to "Why couldn't it have been us in the end?". Claire could've easily given the response she was supposed to, but to be quite honest, she doesn't know why it couldn't have been them in the end.

Let me know what you think and if there's any you thought of and want to chat about!! Or if you need a part 2 to this drabble.

#wbwnmh #well behaved women never make history #band of brothers #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Prologue: Part Two: "A State of War"

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire realizes her future is about to change.

A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to Prologue: Part Two of Well-Behaved Women Never Make History. Just one more part after this one, and we get to the main story!!!! Just a reminder, Claire and her family are ahead of their time, so her mom is kinda like Polly Shelby, personality-wise if you've ever seen Peaky Blinders. I hope everyone enjoys and please feel free to like, comment, and reblog, but do not repost!

Warnings: Claire's parents being done with the world's shit, swearing, mentions of Nazi Germany, the aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor,

Taglist: Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

Monday, December 8, 1941

———

The following day, newspapers were filled with headlines about Pearl Harbor. The attack had captured the attention of the entire nation, with local, national, and world news sections all dedicating significant coverage to the event. The newspapers were filled with vivid images and descriptions that left readers feeling a mix of shock and sadness.

Pictures on the front pages and throughout the news sections depicted the aftermath of the attack. There were images of casualties, both military and civilian, lying lifeless on the ground. The smoke from the explosions billowed into the sky, casting an eerie pallor over the scene. The papers showed the destruction caused by the attack, with planes and ships lying in ruins after being struck by bombs and torpedoes.

Claire and her parents all sat at the kitchen table, engrossed in the newspaper articles and pictures spread before them. They shook their heads in disbelief, unable to comprehend the sheer horror of what lay before them. Periodically, they would mutter comments under their breaths, expressing their shock and dismay.

It was all too familiar for Claire's parents. They had lived through a similar experience once before, during The Great War. And now, here they were again, 23 years after its end, facing another conflict that seemed to be just as devastating.

"This is...Oh my God..." Mrs. O'Connor finally spoke up.

"Unbelievable," Claire echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Makes you really think about what will happen next, doesn't it?" her father commented, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room.

"Yeah, that's for sure," her mother agreed, "23 years later, and here we are again. Jesus."

It was as if history was repeating itself, but this time, the consequences were even more dire.

"I just hope they take out that damn nutcase in Germany. He's got to go," Mr. O'Connor remarked.

Mrs. O'Connor shook her head, her voice filled with exasperation. "Oh, don't even get me fucking started on that one," she said, her eyes rolling with a mixture of amusement and frustration.

"Happy freakin' Holidays...," Claire uttered.

---

In the early part of the afternoon, the O'Connors sat in their family room with the radio on. The room was cozy, with a roaring fireplace and adorned with Christmas decorations. According to the paper, President Roosevelt would address the nation that afternoon.

At precisely 12:30 p.m., the radio crackled with static, followed by President Roosevelt's familiar voice. The O'Connors fell silent, listening intently to his words.

"Yesterday, December 7, 1941, a date which will live in infamy the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan. 

The United States was at peace with that Nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its Government and its Emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific. Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in the American Island of Oahu, the Japanese Ambassador to the United States and his colleague delivered to our Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. And while this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or of armedattack. 

It will be recorded that the distance of Hawaii from Japan makes it obvious that the attack was deliberately planned many days or even weeks ago. During the intervening time, the Japanese Government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace. 

The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost. In addition, American ships have been reported torpedoed on the high seas between San Francisco and Honolulu."

Claire exchanged glances with her older sister. They shared a look that seemed to convey a shared understanding. As they gazed at their parents, the President continued talking, his voice carrying through the room. 

"Yesterday, the Japanese Government also launched an attack against Malaya. Last night, Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong, Guam, the Philippine Islands, and Wake Island. And this morning, the Japanese attacked Midway Island.

Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday and today speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our Nation. 

As Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense. 

But always will our whole Nation remember the character of the onslaught against us. 

No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might, will win through to absolute victory. 

I believe that I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost but will make it very certain that this form of treachery shall never again endanger us. 

Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory, and our interests are in grave danger. 

With confidence in our armed forces with the unbounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph, so help us, God. 

I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire."

The President's speech concluded with a resounding round of applause that echoed through the room.

As the noise dissipated, Claire found herself in a state of contemplation. There was something nagging at her thoughts. It was as if she knew there was something she needed to do, but she wasn't quite sure what that something was. The President's words resonated with her on a deep level, leaving an indelible mark on her soul. She knew that she had to take those words and do something with them.

In addition to encouraging independence and intellectual growth, the O'Connors also emphasized to their daughters the importance of standing up for themselves and never allowing anyone to walk all over them. They taught them to recognize and challenge any form of mistreatment or injustice. By instilling this sense of self-worth, they hoped that their daughters would become assertive and resilient individuals.

Claire, of course, took emphasis on the assertive part. She knew what she needed to do.

#band of brothers #wbwnmh #well behaved women never make history #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fic #band of brothers oc #band of brothers ofc #easy company #hbo war #my first oc story #my oc #band of brothers x ofc #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant x ofc #eugene roe #chuck grant

[coco-bean-1218]

It was requested that I make a part 2 for this post

Here is the chaotic ending me and @xxluckystrike have been talking about. I can also make the wholesome ending if anyone wants that instead!!

The inspiration

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The September sun poured through the stained glass windows of the quaint Louisiana church, bathing the aisle in a kaleidoscope of colors. Arm in arm with her father, Claire glided between the pews like a vision from an old Hollywood film. Her brown hair, set in soft waves, framed her face—a visage of quiet strength honed from her time as a combat medic with Easy Company. Her glasses caught a glint of sunlight as she took each step with poise, her tall figure draped in ivory lace.

"Look at her, Grant. Ain't she something?" Talbert whispered, his dark blue eyes focusing on Claire's graceful advance toward Eugene, who stood at the altar with an air of dignified anticipation.

Grant felt the words catch in his throat, unable to tear his gaze away from Claire. His best friend was right; she was a sight to behold. But it wasn't just her outward appearance that captivated him—it was the way her brow would furrow in concentration or the slight crinkle by her eyes when she laughed.

"Beautiful," Grant finally managed to say, but the word seemed insufficient to describe the torrent of emotions he felt. His blue eyes, usually so calm and serene, blazed with an intensity that betrayed his stoic exterior.

"Easy there, Romeo," Liebgott chided softly from Grant's other side. "You're gonna burn a hole through the bride with that stare."

Grant offered a weak smile, trying to mask the inner turmoil that was threatening to spill over. He could feel the heat of the Louisiana afternoon seeping into the church, or perhaps it was the heat of his own inner conflict.

"Can't help it," Grant muttered, almost to himself. "She was always..."

"Meant for Eugene," Talbert finished the sentence with a knowing look. He placed a hand on Grant's shoulder, grounding him. "You know that, right?"

"Right," Grant said, but his voice lacked conviction. He watched as Claire reached the altar, her father lifting her veil before placing her hand in Eugene's. The two exchanged a look that spoke volumes—their shared history, their bond forged in the crucible of war, their future laid out before them.

"Should've been me," Grant breathed, so faintly that only Talbert, leaning in close, could hear.

"Hey," Talbert said, squeezing Grant's shoulder a bit tighter. "We all have our paths. Yours is still unwinding."

Grant nodded, knowing his friend was right, but feeling the weight of what could have been pressing down on him. He forced his attention back to the ceremony, to the moment unfolding before him, but the image of Claire walking down the aisle was etched into his memory, as indelible as the scars they all carried from the war.

The organ's solemn hum filled the small church, casting an almost ethereal veil over the congregation. Grant's hands were clasped tightly in his lap, knuckles whitening as he fought a tumultuous battle within himself. The scent of lavender and old hymnals mingled with the whispers of fabric as people shifted in their seats, all eyes forward on the bride and groom standing before the altar.

"Dearly beloved," the reverend's voice resonated through the silence, "We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."

Grant's throat tightened at the words. He could feel Claire's presence, an invisible force that seemed to draw him in, even as she stood at the altar ready to pledge her life to another man. His jaw clenched, blue eyes flickering with emotions he was struggling to contain.

"Love is patient, love is kind," the reverend continued, unaware of the storm brewing within one of the guests. 

"Damn it," Grant muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the wooden pattern of the pew in front of him, as if it held the answers to the turmoil inside him.

"Easy, buddy," Talbert whispered from beside him, sensing the struggle within his friend.

"Feels like I'm being torn apart," Grant confessed softly, just as the reverend's voice reached the pivotal moment.

"If there is anyone present who has cause to believe this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."

A palpable stillness descended upon the room, every heart seemingly pausing mid-beat. Liebgott turned his dark eyes towards Grant, an unspoken question lingering between them. Talbert's gaze followed, both men holding their breath, waiting for what might come next.

"Grant..." Liebgott began, but his voice trailed off as they watched, knowing the weight of the moment rested heavily upon their friend's shoulders.

Grant's chest rose and fell with a deep breath that he didn't remember taking. His palms were damp, his heart pounding so loudly he was certain the entire church could hear it. He gripped the edge of the pew, feeling splinters threatening to pierce his skin—a sharp contrast to the softness he associated with Claire.

"Stay put," Grant commanded himself silently, every muscle tensed against the urge to rise, to speak, to shatter the silence into a thousand pieces with the truth.

But the moment passed, the reverend nodding slowly, satisfied with the quiet assent of the assembly. The ceremony proceeded, yet Grant remained locked in his internal struggle, a silent war raging as fierce as any battlefield he'd known, his love for Claire, the opponent he wasn't sure he could defeat.

The quiet murmur of the congregation served as a backdrop to the roaring in Grant's ears. His fingers tensed, nails digging into the polished wood of the pew as he rose abruptly to his feet, a statue breaking free from its pedestal.

"Grant, sit down, you're embarrassing us!" Talbert hissed through clenched teeth, his words a sharp whisper meant only for his friend's ears. The dark blue of his eyes flashed with alarm as they darted from one strained face to another, gauging their reactions.

Liebgott, ever the stoic, shook his head slowly, an imperceptible movement to all but those who knew him best. He brought a hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose—a silent testament to the pressure building behind his brow.

"Can't," Grant barely uttered, his voice a ragged thread of sound, barely audible over the rustle of satin and the soft clink of jewelry as people shifted in their seats, sensing the disruption.

"Grant..." Talbert implored again, reaching out to grip his friend's arm, trying to physically anchor him to the reality they were living—a reality where Claire was moments away from belonging to someone else.

But Grant stood there, immovable, his gaze fixed on the aisle, on the woman with flowers in her hair and promises on her lips—his own promise, unspoken, clawing at his throat.

"Sit down, or I'll drag your ass out of here!" Liebgott muttered, more to himself than anyone else, releasing a long breath that did nothing to ease the tension coiled within him.

"Can't," Grant repeated, the word slipping out like a prayer, or perhaps a curse. His heart was a wild thing, pounding against the confines of his chest, threatening to leap out and land at Claire's feet. His mind spun with images of her smile, the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she was truly happy.

"Jesus, Grant," Talbert groaned under his breath, a mix of frustration and concern etching lines into his youthful face, the church suddenly feeling too small, the air too thick.

"God help me," Grant whispered, not to Talbert, not to Liebgott, but to the part of himself he was about to leave behind. He swallowed hard, tasting the bittersweet tang of regret and longing intertwined.

"Here we go," Liebgott said quietly, giving up the fight to control what wasn't his to command. His hand fell away from his face, and he leaned back, resigned to witness the unfolding drama, the script of which had been written in the hidden chambers of Grant's heart.

In the stillness, the reverend cleared his throat, ready to continue, but the words hung suspended, incomplete. Grant's eyes, bright and fierce, were oceans storm-tossed by love and desperation—a beacon calling out to the shore he could never reach.

The reverend's voice quivered like a leaf in the breeze, words stumbling over themselves as he tried to navigate the sudden tension that had woven itself into the fabric of the ceremony. 

Grant sank into the wooden pew, the aged oak groaning under the weight of his decision. Around him, the congregation was a sea of expectancy, the air thick with unspoken questions. Eugene turned to look at Claire, his eyes the color of a stormy sky. Their glance was a silent conversation, a momentary connection that only deepened Grant's resolve.

His heart hammered against his ribcage, a frantic rhythm that threatened to break him. "Claire," her name, was a mantra in his mind, a prayer for courage. He watched her, the brown waves of her hair framing the glasses perched on her nose, a testament to the sharpness and clarity she brought to every battlefield, every challenge, including the one he was about to present.

"My mother's gonna kill me," he murmured. And then, like a man possessed, Grant rose again. The reverend’s mouth snapped shut, his awkwardness transforming into surprise as Grant stepped into the aisleway, his shadow falling across the petals strewn along the path.

"I love you, Claire," he said, his voice steady, cutting through the silence like a knife. The congregation held its breath. "I always have." His eyes locked with hers, willing her to understand the depth of his truth. "I love everything about you. And I want you with me."

The world seemed to stand still, the church’s stained glass windows casting a kaleidoscope of colors over them, blessing or condemning, he wasn't sure which.

"I love you," he repeated, each word a declaration, a vow. "And I think that you love me too. Do you?"

Claire’s brown eyes, wide behind her glasses, were oceans of emotion, a tide of conflict rising within them. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged, the answer hanging between them, unspoken yet deafening. The guests shifted uncomfortably, caught between scandal and storybook, their expressions a mosaic of shock and anticipation.

Grant's plea hung in the air, tangible and raw, a confession carved into the very walls of the church, inscribed in the hearts of all who witnessed it.

The moment stretched, a single heartbeat echoing through the hallowed space of the church. Liebgott's groan was audible, a sound of exasperation that sliced through the tension. He rolled his eyes heavenward in a silent prayer for patience—or perhaps salvation from this social disaster.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he muttered under his breath, barely moving his lips. His dark hair seemed to absorb the light filtering through the windows, his brown eyes reflecting none of the colors that played upon the faces around him.

"Grant, what are you doing?" hissed Talbert from beside him, elbowing Liebgott as if to jolt him back to reality.

"Wouldn't you like to know," retorted Liebgott, his whisper laced with sarcasm, "Golden Boy, here..."

Meanwhile, Grant remained oblivious, his entire being focused on Claire. The rest of Easy Company, scattered throughout the church, exchanged bewildered glances, their camaraderie fraying at the edges as they tried to make sense of the unfolding scene. Some eyebrows shot up; others' mouths hung agape. They were soldiers who had faced the unimaginable together, but nothing had prepared them for this.

"Can you believe this?" Luz whispered to Perconte. His voice was low, but the incredulity rang clear.

"Never saw it coming," came the equally stunned reply.

"Should we do something?" Webster asked, his hand awkwardly patting the leg of his uniform, searching for an absent rifle out of habit.

"Like what? He's made his bed," Martin quipped, though his tone carried an undertone of concern.

Inside Grant's chest, his heart pounded, each throb a drumbeat calling him to battle. The scent of polished wood and floral arrangements filled his nostrils, but he could only taste the bittersweet tang of vulnerability. He couldn’t look away from her, couldn't break the connection that had suddenly become the axis upon which his world spun. 

"Damn fool," Liebgott murmured again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're gonna regret this."

But Grant heard none of it. All that existed for him was Claire—the way her dress hugged her figure, the slight tremble in her hands that betrayed her turmoil. She was the question and the answer, the beginning and the end of every path he’d ever trodden or wished to tread.

He took a step closer to her, the distance between them closing like a gravitational pull. The sound of his own breathing filled his ears, deafening in the silence of the church. The weight of his words hung in the air, waiting for her response.

Claire's eyes searched his face, searching for something, anything that would give her the courage to speak. Her voice had abandoned her, lost amidst the chaos of emotions swirling within her. She had never expected this moment, never anticipated the unexpected turn her wedding day would take.

The congregation held its breath, suspended in time, as Claire's gaze flickered with uncertainty before settling on Grant's unwavering stare. A flicker of recognition passed between them, a shared memory of battles fought and victories won.

Her heart pounded in her chest, competing with Grant's own wild rhythm. It was as if the universe held its breath alongside them, waiting for Claire's response to unravel the tangled threads of fate.

---

Sunlight broke through the stained glass windows, scattering colors across the aisle as the church doors swung open with an urgent creak. The sudden burst of light seemed to ignite a fire in Claire's eyes, and for a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the world, standing on the precipice of forever.

"Grant, what are we doing?" Claire's voice was a mix of fear and excitement as they stumbled down the steps, her gown billowing behind her like a white sail caught in a tempest.

"Living," Grant said, his words punctuated by their hurried breaths and the rapid drumming of their joined hands swinging between them. "We’re living, Claire."

The outside air hit them, humid and heavy, but it felt like a crisp autumn breeze compared to the stifling atmosphere they had left inside. The old oak trees stood as silent witnesses, their leaves whispering secrets that only the wind could understand.

"Are we crazy?" she laughed, the sound dancing through the air and mingling with the rustling leaves around them.

"Absolutely," he replied, grinning wide enough to feel the stretch in his cheeks. His heart was a tumultuous sea within his chest, waves of elation crashing against the shores of reality.

They reached the bottom step, and Grant paused, looking back at the church. Through the open door, he saw the shadows of figures moving, the murmurs of confusion and disbelief spilling out into the daylight.

"Grant..." Claire's grip tightened, a silent plea for assurance.

He turned his gaze to hers, locking onto the deep brown whirlpools that promised adventure and the unknown. "I've never been more certain about anything in my life," he confessed, and he meant it. Every cell in his body vibrated with the truth of his words.

They ran past the rows of parked cars, past the faces peering out from behind curtains, past the boundaries that society had laid out for them. At this moment, there was no war, no duty, no past or future—only the present, only the wild rush of freedom and the heady intoxication of love unrestrained. Their laughter echoed in the warm Louisiana air as they disappeared around the corner, leaving the church and its stunned congregation far behind.

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WHAT HAVE I DONE??????

#yes i did base this off a grey's anatomy episode #writing help #wbwnmh #well behaved women never make history #band of brothers #chuck grant #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant x ofc