#well behaved women

[harleycao]

Infamous.

I'd rather the world remember me as a villain,

than forget me as a faceless follower

who was the same as everyone else.

#harleyspoems #life #poem #poetry #original poetry #short poem #feminism #real life #well behaved women #rarely make history

[lacymoonchild]

(via Well behaved women rarely make history shot glass | Zazzle)

#feminist #shot glass #feminism #well behaved women #women

[goddessesgemstemufinds]

Well Behaved Women Tumbler

Well Behaved Women Tumbler

This is a 20 ounce stainless steel sublimated skinny tumbler with a wrap around design, clear plastic lid and straw.

$25.00

#well behaved women #tumbler #skinny tumbler #fyp #sassnfrass

[michaelbaileywriter]

Station Identification Time

Who Am I? I’m a writer originally from Falmouth, MA who now lives in Oxford, MA with my awesome wife Veronica and four cats who don’t like to let us sleep in. After 15 years with the Falmouth Enterprise, where I worked as a general and political reporter, blogger, and editor, I left the news industry to focus on my creative writing. In addition to my novels (more on that in a minute) I’m a…

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#Action Figures #Audible #audiobook #Awakening #BellaOnline Literary Review #Cheap Thrills Digest #Endgame #fantasy #fiction #Freedom Winds #New England Speculative Writers #novel #Scratching a Lich #Secret Origins #stage combat #Storied Threads #Strongarm and Lightfoot #superhero #superheroes #The Final Summons #Transition #Underdog Comics #Well Behaved Women #YA #YA novel #young adult #young adult fiction #Young adult novel

[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

[sorryiwasasleep]

No… no… hang on, because I’ve cried multiple times listening to this song because of the themes and the vocals, but like… just had a Lightbulb moment 💡… was listening rn and I just gotta talk about this bit in Urania Propitia from Pulp Musicals Episode 2: The Brick Satellite

MARGARET: To the women of the galaxy/Who never got the fame

ROSE: You’ve given me the courage not to write/Under my brothers name

ANNA: You’ve given me the blueprint/And you’ve given me the tools

ANNA, MARGARET, ROSE: History is rarely made/By those who write the rules

Because this line ALWAYS ALWAYS makes me think about the ‘Well-behaved women seldom make history’ quote and that phrase and how it’s so often used to be about women needing to MAKE NOISE rather than in a somber remembrance of all those who DID what they were told, who FOLLOWED the rules because… that was what was expected of them, or even women who didn’t follow the rules and protested and fought back, but weren’t the ones leading the charge, and they were left behind by history because of it. And while there’s much more nuance there that I don’t have the brain power for rn, I tend to sort of… despair sometimes for these women because it doesn’t even TAKE long for this happen even NOW, just a few generations before their names are GONE.

And I LOVE this bit in Pulp for this very reason, which I only literally JUST pieced together in my mind. (Like ofc i knew this line and loved it too, but I didn’t connect it my thoughts about that quote before just now)

The women of Pulp point this out. They toast to them, these women that ‘never got the fame’, never got to be able to do what they wanted, what they could’ve excelled at had they been given the opportunity. And more than that, they THANK them.

Margaret, Rose and Anna are saying: I’ll never know you, but I see you anyway, and I thank you because you’re why I’m able to be here. You are the reason I know things need to change and it’s scary but you’ve inspired me to try my damn best to do that in the ways I can.

And I just… 🥹

#pulp musicals: the brick satellite #pulp musicals #pulp musicals 2 #pulp musicals episode 2 #the brick satellite #Urania propitia #rose stratford #margaret cavendish #Anna Hanover #Matt Dahan #Matt Dahan i love you and your brain and thank you for this wonderful content #feminism #women in history #well behaved women seldom make history #Mariah rose faith #mariah rose faith casillas

[dragonanne]

Tagged by @secretwriterstudentjaune

1) Three non-romantic duos: Hmmm...brotps I adore would be Jack and Daniel (SG-1), Sam and Daniel (SG-1), and Lune and Matsen (Jade Torch -- is it cheating to use my own book??? xD) If that's cheating, then Sam and Frodo (LotR).

2) A ship that might surprise others: I kinda ship Link x Mipha from BOTW. I like Zelda x Link too, but something about Link x Mipha is just so sweet and tragic. I like that they knew each other for a lot longer than Zelda and Link knew each other.

Let's be real. I don't have a lot of crazy ships. Although, in SG-1, I do ship Vala x Tomin (but I also like Vala x Daniel).

3) Last Song: Shackleton by Adam Young

4) Last Film: My parents and I watched Hitched for the Holidays last night. Very funny romcom with Joey Lawrence. It's a Hallmark movie from 2012, so just before they all got so unbelievably cookie cutter/copy+paste with their plots.

5) Currently reading: Operation Grendel by Daniel Schwabauer

6) Currently watching: The X-Files. I'm nearing the end of season 1. I've never seen it before, and I'm loving it!

7) Currently consuming: Coffee

8) currently craving: idk. I don't have a strong craving for anything right now.

Tagging @aceofstars16 @quiescentdragon @ryeillustrates @accidental-spice @jenniferbrincho (if any of y'all have already done it or already been tagged, my bad--my memory stinks 😅)

#i am in a massive stargate phase right now #i almost put john and rodney as the third brotp but i wanted to include something non stargate #and seriously. i am enjoying the x-files SO MUCH!!!!!!!! #the alien episodes are my favorite and i wish there were more of those and fewer of the ghost/spirit ones #but oh well #and can i say? mulder and scully's dynamic is perfection #not just how they trust each other or tease each other but how they physically behave with one another #the acting choices seem very deliberate #mulder wears his heart on his sleeve and i am living for that #and he's big on touch. not in a creepy way at all #but he's constantly putting his hand on her shoulder or gently placing his hand on her back to steer her #so much of it is 100% unnecessary for the scene so it feels like very deliberate acting choice regarding the character #and it doesn't phase scully a bit #even in the first few episodes when they've only known each other a few months or less she has no issue with how familiar mulder acts #again. i need to emphasize---it never comes across as creepy just really cute and tender #i really really like how she is SO TINY compared to him and i think his physicality and protectiveness is emphasized by that #but at the same time he knows she's fully capable #he seems protective of her but not in a demeaning way. not overprotective. just lots of chivalry and honor #that's something that seems totally lost in media today: men who want to protect women just because that's what they should be doing #and women who let them #too many women get bent out of shape when men try to be gentlemen #women have tried to wipe out chivalry and then they turn around and complain about toxic masculinity 🙄 #but mulder is a wonderful gentleman and i love watching him and scully #tagged #sorry for going off in the tags but i've been wanting to rave about this stuff for a few days now xD

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

a huge contributor to my generation’s disastrous lack of desire to have kids is the disastrous parenting of those who do. nobody is going to think they’re good with kids if most kids are good with nobody.

#- HK #mobile #x #kids #even when I was being raised in the early 2000s my parents got compliments for how well-behaved I was #when my behavior was the norm for kids for most of modern history #and when I say disastrous I mean there are maybe two families in my church whose kids are pleasant to be around #in my CHURCH #and I know it’s the parenting because I was a MONSTER until abt the age of 3 when an older couple took my parents under their wing #so young Christian women should not have kids unless they’re willing to accept the wisdom of their elders #and old Christian women should not encourage childbearing unless they’re willing to offer said wisdom

[countess-of-edessa]

the thing about taking advice from anyone on tiktok or instagram including catholic and christian type influencers, parenting advice, relationship advice, etc, or internalizing any stories of horrible relationships and betrayal people tell on those platforms, or reading about all the ways interpersonal relationships can end horribly and be cycled through extremely quickly on those platforms is that you are necessarily then consuming the thoughts and experiences of someone who is willing to put their face and name on a public social media platform to talk at you. and like 1% of those people have a good reason for doing so and the other 99% are completely unhinged. so everything you’re consuming has first gone through the filter of "is this person weird and insane enough to make Instagram reels of themselves crying?" and if the answer is yes maybe their advice doesn’t apply to your life because you’re a normal person who would not do that.

#i don’t know if this makes sense but it’s something i was thinking about today #not that i really live my life according to Instagram reel advice but as a human being when i see something stated as fact i naturally seek #out the parts of it I believe or compare it to my current worldview #and when that person seems to have a lot of “clout” for discussing spiritual things….idk sometimes I’m like wait is this true? should i #believe this? and other times I’m like well is this a real pattern of behavior that can be observed in many people from different walks of #life including my own? this thing that all men do or all women do or the way all couples will eventually behave #this makes it sound like i am constantly on social media consuming hours of content which im really not #I’ll be on a train and scroll a little bit and something gets stuck in my craw #but with me I’m always like am i rationalizing this away because i don’t want it to resonate? #and I think in the case of anything on social media the answer can almost always be no #because im like wait. why would i take advice from someone who has a public Instagram account #im not saying a stopped clock isn’t right twice a day but really how much of my perspective and life experiences can they share in #when we have this totally totally mismatched worldview #(i mean this also applies to basically anyone offering any type of life advice who isn’t catholic about that) #(but when they are Catholics doing this that gives me slightly more pause for obvious reasons I’m like we are on the same team though?) #(and we are but only kind of and i do not have to listen to you because being an Instagram influencer is still cringe in 99% of cases.)

[michaelbaileywriter]

Weekly Update - February 27, 2024

My birthday is coming up on Saturday — fifty-four rotations on planet Earth, thank you — and to celebrate, I am giving you a present. Beginning today and running through March 2, my birthday, the first books in my three series — Action Figures – Secret Origins, The Adventures of Strongarm & Lightfoot – Scratching a Lich, and Well-Behaved Women – Awakening — are all free for the Kindle! If…

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#Action Figures #Awakening #Connecticut Renaissance Faire #Draconian Measures #fantasy #fiction #Legacies #novel #Scratching a Lich #Secret Origins #Strongarm and Lightfoot #Well Behaved Women

[gothhabiba]

i understand what you mean by abolish the family, but does that mean it’s unethical to have children and want a family?

no lol, there's no anti-natalist programme entailed in 'family abolition'

#this is kind of like asking if it's wrong to be a man who dates women since patriarchy is bad #we're just not talking at the level of the individual here #tho' imo it still makes sense to read and internalise critiques of these things and try to allow them #to change or guide your behaviour #but that's not a political programme per se--it's just trying to behave well to the people around you

[comradekatara]

I think looking back another thing about the opening scene to me is that’s it’s from kataras perspective because as well as filling the hero archetype Katara is also The Narrator and honestly I think it’s such a little sister move to start your story with oh my brother being a dick and me being righteously angry about that led to my inciting incident.

and she's so fucking real for that 😤

(what they don't show you is her begging sokka to take her fishing with him and kanna being like "did you do all the laundry" and katara being like "yep i did all the laundry" "even sokka's–" "yes i even washed sokka's disgusting smelly socks!" "okay fine i guess you can go. sokka make sure katara doesn't capsize the boat" "oh my GOD gran gran i'm not gonna capsize the boat!" [cut to: ten minutes later, sokka soaked to the bone, their boat in smithereens] "ugh! this is all your fault sokka!!!!!!")

#amphibiayan #ask #well behaved women rarely make history innit #shes SUCH a little sister i love her so much #as a kid who longed for adventure i saw so much of myself in her #the older i get tho the more i sympathize w sokka and kanna. they just wanted sum goddamn peace & quiet. cant fault em for that! #katara #kanna&katara

[icedteaandoldlace]

Armageddon (Flash) alternate ending

Barry: Thanks for picking him up. I know the world will be safer with Thawne in A.R.G.U.S. custody.

Cisco: Of course. Although, I am still confused about why you removed his powers instead of just letting the timeline finish him off?

Barry: It's complicated. But basically it boils down to the message we want to send about who the Flash is and what he stands for. It just wouldn't be right to turn my back on someone who asked for my help. Even someone like Thawne.

Cisco: Ah, right. The ol' "history's watching" routine.

*gunshot*

*Thawne drops to the ground*

Barry: What in the—

Kamilla, blowing smoke off the barrel: History may be watching you, but I'm a well-behaved woman.

#*Caitlin high-fives her as she walks past* #The Flash #Barry Allen #Kamilla Hwang #Cisco Ramon #Armageddon Part 5 #Well-Behaved Women Seldom Make History

[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

[literallybonkers]

We put too much authority on humanly love, and when we fail to seek those who accept our flaws every day, without judgement or pity, we slander the beauty we once felt as deranged. We close our hearts in hope that this indifference will liberate us of injuries that our futures might hold. We condemn ourselves to a world of eternal agony- a one that is laughing, menacingly, at all things that could have been.

This is to those willing to take that jump, know that you are embraced by the divinity of the love that lingers beyond all that is reachable. Look at the horizon, and you will know what a pity is it to live in a world of eternal summer, yet to be indifferent to the pastures that welcome those who seek adventure with unwavering, open arms.

An eternal expanse of perennial goodness and glory, where the warm summer breeze make bees dance and birdsongs invite autumn home. You don't pluck the pretty flowers that sway with the crisp morning air that makes your chest rise and rise and rise as if there can't be enough air to full your lungs with all the richness the first light brings, and when the shield of the sun weakens and you can't help but look up the night sky where stars keenly glance through all what the night brings as if in protest against the darkness.

The ocean, that lies in wait for explorers, is calm now. And you can see the reflection of the night sky shimmering in the undulating waters. And as you hear the monotonous song of waves hitting against the cliff, you finally remember that you are always loved, and just because you fail to notice it doesn’t mean that you are not worthy of it.

#anne shirley #anne of green gables #anne shirley cuthbert #anne with an e #netflix #series #well behaved women seldom make history #books & libraries #aesthetic #artists on tumblr #classic academia #original work #poemsociety #poetry #art #chaotic academia #dark academia #existential musings #existentialism #existential peace