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hottpinkpenguin · 5 months ago

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Easy Company HCs: Coming Home To You After the War

A/n: ahhhh my first time writing for a new fandom always makes me nervous. I'm rewatching BoB for probably the 5th or 6th time and just felt compelled to start writing for some of these incredible characters. please note all writings are based solely on the BoB TV characters and not the actual veterans. Let me know if you want any other BoB HC's or oneshots!

*Please refer to each character for warnings*

Dick Winters Warnings: angsty Major Winters, vague references to PTSD/war trauma

Dick is standing outside on the deck of the ship before the sun is up on the day they’re due into port. He can’t stop looking towards the horizon, waiting for the shoreline to swim into view.

He’s melancholy, thoughtful. Reflects on all he’s seen in the war. He feels different than how he was when he left almost 3 years ago. He thinks about all the men he left behind in Normandy, in Foy, in Bastogne, in Holland, in Hagenau, in Germany. And he looks around at the men whose bodies are coming home, but who lost pieces of themselves in foxholes, in the bombed out streets of Europe, on the beaches.

He also finds himself wondering what it’s been like for you. He hasn’t thought about that much, hasn’t let himself think on it too hard. He feels ashamed that he never asked much in his letters about how you were. He knows it was to protect himself. If he’d asked, and if you’d been honest and told him about the rationing, the fear, how many of your friends were losing their brothers, husbands, and lovers overseas, the suicides of the men who couldn’t go… well, Dick knew he’d have been distracted. And distracted leaders got men killed. So Dick had sealed off his thoughts on that account. He knew it was the right choice. But now, he doubted.

So as the ship pulls into port, he’s sad in a broken way. Like the war has finally caught up with him. And he’s terrified, suddenly. How is he going to see you like this? What are you going to see in him when you finally do? More importantly, what are you not going to see?

He lets all of his men debark before him. Partially because that’s what a good officer does, but partially to try and collect himself.

You know what to expect. You know Dick Winters isn’t going to really stop fighting the war until he sees every last man in Easy Company off that ship and safely home. So you wait. You’ve waited this long, after all. You can wait another thirty minutes.

When you finally see him in the thinning crowd, you call out his name and break into a beaming smile. He’s here, he’s home. He’s safe.

As soon as he sees you, the ice in his veins thaws. The sun is warm on his skin, he’s surrounded by clean sea air far from the burnt out husk of Europe, and you’re there. You’re smiling at him. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen something so singularly beautiful.

He strives over to you, taking his cap off as he approaches. His stomach is flipping like a schoolboy and he couldn’t keep the smile from his face if he had an entire firing squad of Krauts in front of him.

You run the last few dozen paces into his arms. He catches you easily, spinning you around with a long, languid sigh of contentment. Your laughter is like a peeling bell in his ear.

Richard, how dare you make me wait? you tease him.

He can’t find any words except to smile at you, looking into your eyes, memorizing your smile, reacquainting himself with the dusting of freckles across your nose, the scent of your shampoo, basking in the feeling of you in his arms. He smiles, then laughs. Your hands frame his face and suddenly he’s kissing you.

Dick Winters’ mind goes blissfully blank. The harsh edges of all his worries, his responsibilities, the burden of leading a company of men and ordering some of them to their deaths. It’s all soft now. There’s just you. You and that piece of land he’s been dreaming about.

Lewis Nixon Warnings: alcohol abuse, war-time violence, detailed reference to parental suicide

Lewis Nixon came back from the front with an exorbitant amount of contraband, shadows in the back of his eyes, and a terrible drinking habit. You had no idea what to do with any of it.

Two months after his return and you found yourself staring out across a sea of boxes piled haphazardly in the foyer of the summer home Lew had bought you for your six-month wedding anniversary. Your home had never been more crowded, and yet you’d never felt so lonely.

You wiped the damp tea towel you’d soaked in the kitchen sink against the back of your neck in a vain attempt to keep the heat at bay.

Lew! you called up to him, although you knew he wouldn’t answer. A brief glance at the clock - 2:15 pm - told you as much. Since coming back, Lew hadn’t woken up before 3:00 pm and you’d yet to share a goodnight kiss with him because he was liable to stay out until sunrise. Doing what, you’d rather not know.

With a weighty sigh, you decided you might as well pick a box and get started. Otherwise, this ridiculous maze of illegally shipped stolen goods would just go to rot in your foyer. And with your in-laws due in next month to visit your shell of a husband, you’d better try to clean up the mess.

You chose the box closest to you. It came up to your waist. As you ripped into it, you realized it was incredibly heavy, and you heard the unmistakable tinkling of glass on glass. You sliced the tape open with the boxcutter, marveling at how sharply the instrument cut into the flesh of the tape and cardboard. One of the first few nights after arriving back home, Lew had managed to stay at home and get drunk rather than do so out on the town. Somewhere between bottle three and four of the Chateau Rhone that you’d served at the reception, Lew had started to talk. Once he’d started, he hadn’t seemed willing to stop, as if he had one chance to pour out all the misery and regret and terror he’d accumulated in Europe. You remembered that at one point - one of his more lucid memories, when the slur in his words was light enough for you to understand him - he’d told you that he had seen a whole platoon of men shredded to ribbons by a Kraut tank. He’d recounted in excruciating detail how one of their fingers had landed on him, the blood and sinew drying on his uniform like an adhesive, and he hadn’t noticed it until the next day. You’d never seen anything quite so distasteful or violent in your life, but you imagined that it might be something like watching someone get sliced apart the way your boxcutter glided through tape.

With a shiver, you sheathed the blade and set the boxcutter aside to rip into the contents of the box. Tipping the heavy box sideways a bit, you spooned out the top layer of packing peanuts to reveal a familiar sight. Four corked bottles of wine sat at the top of the box. You stopped, staring down at the wine in the box in disbelief. This was the precious contraband that Lewis had spent thousands on to smuggle out of Europe? Fucking wine?

Your temper flamed to life with a vengeance. You pushed the heavy box over, letting loose a scream of frustration as you did. One of the bottles shattered as the box tipped over, a puddle of red wine staining the white marble floor. Once again, your mind flashed back to the war. Not to Lew’s memories, but your own. To the black-and-white films you’d seen in the theaters, to the newspaper clippings, to the reports that had come out of Germany about the death camps and the killing fields and the brutality of the war, to the letters your brother had written to you before his death at St. Vith. You thought of all the men you’d known who hadn’t come home - your brother Johnny, your childhood neighbor Tim Viens, your cousins Luis and Giovanni, the florist’s son from your hometown, your girl friend Jill’s fiance…

Your head was spinning and your blood was boiling as you summited the stairs to the darkened upstairs two at a time. When you flung open the door to Lew’s study where he’d taken to sleeping, you were seeing black at the edges of your vision.

Lewis fucking Nixon, you better wake the fuck up or so help me God I will strangle you in your sleep!

The words flew off your tongue faster than you knew what to do with. You’d never had a foul mouth, and you’d certainly never threatened your husband before. Despite his obvious hangover, he snapped to wakefulness faster than you’d expected him to. He regarded you with a wary, tired expression, and you wondered for a half second if he was going to ask you to make good on your threat.

Saints above woman, what is it? he demanded, reaching around the graveyard of beer and wine bottles strewn about the floor next to him. You noticed a particularly foul smell in the room at the same time you noticed the stain of vomit caked on one of the pillows he’d propped under his head.

The sight of your husband fumbling around for another drink at 2:30 in the afternoon with vomit caked on his cheek did something to you. You weren’t sure if the sight broke you or if it snapped you into form. Whatever it did, it took the wind out of the hateful words that had been boiling in your gut. You snapped your mouth shut as you became acutely aware that you had nothing left to say to him. You’d said it all already. You’d cried, threatened, screamed, pleaded, reasoned, demanded, and done just about everything you could think of in your power to bring Lewis Nixon back to something resembling sense. You weren’t without feeling - you knew that he wasn’t the only man who hadn’t fully come back from the front. Memories of your father’s glassy, empty-looking eyes flicked in your mind like a silent movie. Your father never really left the trenches, your mother used to say by way of explanation and apology. Some men just can’t come home after a war like that.

The last memory you have of your father was the sight of him leaned back in his chair, his head bent away from his neck at an unnatural angle, with a ghoulish bloodstain on his chest from the hole his pistol had left where he’d fired it under his chin and up into his skull. You’d found him like that when you were just six years old. At almost twenty six now, you were resolved never to see someone you love waste away like that again. Yet here you were, watching someone who’d once been your brash, fun-loving, hot-headed husband fade away like a ghost.

As Lew braced for what he felt sure was going to be a proper dressing down, you felt yourself deflate like a punctured balloon. Something final and irrevocable had happened in those few moments since you’d come running up the stairs, and you knew deep in your bones that there was no going back.

I’m leaving.

It was all you could say. Lewis looked over at you through slitted eyes, stifling down an acidic belch as he tried to figure out your angle. Usually your arguments started with much more heat than this, but he wasn’t sober enough to hear the goodbye in your tone.

After a few agonizing moments, he grunted at you by way of dismissal. Get me some Vat 69, while you’re out. Vat 69 was the only thing that Lewis Nixon had asked from you since he’d gotten back to the States.

You didn’t have the heart to answer him, so you just turned on your heel, letting the boxcutter that you hadn’t even realized you’d been gripping like a vice slide out of your hand and land with a thump on the carpet.

You descended the stairs with a strange buzzing in your head. You wondered if you should pack something, although you realized that all you really wanted to was to get as far away from the time bomb that was Lewis Nixon as fast as you possibly could. You called your mother from the kitchen phone. She didn’t need to hear you say the words to know what had happened. Come on home honey, she said gently. I’ll make your favorite key lime pie. The kind and simple gesture brought tears to your eyes.

After a few minutes to gather the essentials - your wallet, your pearls, your father’s WWI medals - you thought of one more phone call to make. A parting kindness, you thought, as you sifted through the Rolodex you kept next to the phone until you found the card you wanted.

The phone rang twice before a voice you knew well picked up.

Hello? Dick, it’s me, it’s y/n Nixon. Listen, you better come get Lew. He’s… he’s not well. And I’m leaving.

You didn’t wait for a reply before you clicked the receiver. If there was any saving of Lewis Nixon now, it wouldn’t be by you.

With one final glance at the house and the sad trove of memories it contained, you closed the door on your past and left, hoping that both you and Lew would find some corner of peace to spend the rest of your days.

Ronald Speirs Warnings: smut, sweet baby boy Speirs

Ron doesn’t even tell you that he’s coming home. You know it’ll be soon, and you’re waiting for a letter. None come. Years of waiting, years of him faithfully writing, years of dreaming and praying for this day. Now? Radio silence.

So when this man shows up at your door, his duty bag in one hand and his hat in the other, the first thing you can do is scream at him.

Ronald fucking Speirs! You didn’t fucking write me, I thought you were dead or lost or just done with me! Why didn’t you tell me! You fucking bastard, you utter fucking bastard!

You’re hitting him and screaming and tears are everywhere. Ron just smiles. You’re precisely how he remembers you. Better even.

He wraps you up in a hug, so tight that you can’t move. You’re still struggling, wiggling and sobbing into his shirt, trying to beat your fists against him.

When you feel him kiss the top of your head, it all just melts. Your knees buckle and instead of beating on him you’re clinging to him. Realization hits you in waves. Ron is home. Those are Ron’s arms around you. Ron’s voice murmuring into your ear. Ron’s breath on your forehead.

When you finally look up to him - eyes bloodshot, nose running, mascara streaking, cheeks tear stained and red - Ron smiles down at you. My beautiful girl, he says softly before catching your lips in a kiss. Everything breaks loose in that kiss. You practically want to crawl into his mouth. It’s all need: lips devouring each other, hands grabbing and nails dragging, tongues invading each other. Ron moans and you’re done, you’re a mess.

He knows. He pushes you across the doorway, his hat and duty bag long forgotten on the porch, lifts you up and carries you to the nearest couch, undressing on the way. He rips your blouse, knocks over one of your side tables when he kicks off his shoe, and almost drops you to let you rip off his belt.

Ron’s home to you when he slams inside of you. Your thoughts disintegrate as the two of you collide together, alternating between frenzied ferocious fucking and softer sweeter sensuality as lust, love, longing and whatever lives between those things rips open the walls you’d both built up around your hearts.

But Ron isn’t home until after, long after, hours even. The house is trashed, clothes and pillows and furniture disheveled and everywhere. You’re both in bed, exhausted from countless rounds of tangling, with dawn threatening. You’re asleep, and Ron’s watching you dream. There’s a small crease between your eyebrows, and you’re muttering. You look troubled; and he wonders if he should wake you. He can’t stand the sight of you in anything resembling pain. But then, suddenly, you roll towards him, your head settling on his chest and one of your legs slung over his.

Your face relaxes. You nuzzle into him. You sigh, a gentle smile on your lips. The crease is gone, your face smooth and peaceful.

He marvels. His head tips back against the headboard, looking down at you in awe as a distinct wave of content washes over and through him.

Ronald Speirs is finally home.

Carwood Lipton Warnings: just Lip and his perpetual angel-status <3

Lip is standing with the throng of men on the deck, watching as they pull into port. The crowd below is cheering and waving American flags, popping off champagne, and the women are waving handkerchiefs. There’s a band somewhere playing patriotic songs and jaunty marches. Home has never looked so good.

‘Ey, Lip, I think I see your girl

It’s Malarkey who spies her - why and how he picked her out so easily, Lip didn't rightfully know nor want to know. But Malarkey was right, there she was.

White ribbons in her hair, white dress on, white handkerchief waving. She’s craning over the other sweethearts and mothers and fathers, eyes combing the deck of the ship. Her expression - impatient longing - snaps Lip in two. How the hell did he ever leave that girl halfway across the world?

Carwood?! Carwood Lipton?!

He can’t hear her, but he sees her lips moving and he knows that she’s calling out his name. He doubts that any of the deck goers are having luck finding their men that way. The ship is alive with soldiers and airmen buzzing with excitement, calling out to the shore and cheering. The dock is no less vibrant, so the entire place is drowning in the sounds of joy.

Lip stares at her, unwilling to lose sight of her ever again. He vaguely registers the ship jolting to a halt at its berth, the enormous horn announcing the official arrival and, for all the men on board, the uproarious end to the war from Hell. Lip exchanges hugs, slaps on the back, firm handshakes with the men of Easy. It’s strange to have so many painful goodbyes at the same time as a long-awaited hello, but Lip knows he’ll see these men again. He can’t imagine life without them, just like he can’t imagine living without her.

The crowd of soldiers and airmen begins to move, a mass of jumbled emotions with a healthy sprinkling of joy. He watches as the first few men off the ship are swept up into the awaiting crowd as they step off the planks. He can still see her, a beacon of white. An angel, he realizes.

He shuffles forward with the rest of the disembarking ranks. The process is painfully slow, and he’s not close enough to call out to her yet. He tries to catch her eye with a few waves, but he can only imagine how many waving hands and beaming faces she can see at once. She’s almost passed him on the dock, and Lip feels himself losing patience with the slowness of the men around him. He contemplates yelling at the men to keep it moving or don’t stand at the end of the ramp, but he doesn’t. He can’t bear to ruin a moment of this, for anyone.

Suddenly, she sees him. Her hands fly to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. That handkerchief blots at her face. She’s gone quiet; just staring at him, waiting. He waves at her, swallowing down the tears threatening in his eyes. She waves back, unsure whether to laugh or cry, so she ends up doing both. Once again, Lip wonders how he’d ever left her. He realizes he’ll never be able to again. He’s stuck to her like glue now, it can’t be helped. And he’s got his eye on a ring. He’ll buy it tomorrow, he decides. Maybe even today, if he can find a jeweler. No more wasted time.

The wait is agonizing. Every few minutes, she waves at him again, as if afraid that he’ll disappear like a ghost. He can’t stop smiling at her. He doesn’t notice, but the Easy men all softly agree that they’ve never seen this Lip before. A smile reserved all for her.

He steps off the ramp and she’s there, pushed through the crowd. He envelopes her in his arms as she peppers his face and neck with kisses. Soggy ones, from the tears. His or hers, anybody’s guess. She keeps repeating his name like a prayer and a plea. He holds her as she comes undone in his arms, body-wracking sobs and her head buried in his neck. He tells her it’s alright, I’m home and it makes her squeal with delight. Then they’re both laughing. He carries her a bit, not trusting her legs quite yet, and honestly unsure if he trusts himself to walk without her weight in his arms holding him to Earth. She babbles, he listens, she asks something, he talks. It’s easy - so easy - and Carwood Lipton feels himself stepping back into himself after so many years of being Lip and First Sergeant.

Her hand in his, they walk the streets of this strange town that neither of them are from, but yet somehow always find themselves feeling right at home. He has to squeeze her hand every once in a while to remind himself that she’s real, and he’s really here, and the war is behind him. All day and late into the evening, Lipton and his girl stroll together, two friends, two lovers, one very happy ending.

Buck Compton Warnings: cursing, references to alcohol abuse

No one’s there at the train depot when Buck gets home. His mother is tied up taking care of his baby sister and her new baby, sick with colic, and his dad is too frail to make the forty-minute trip by car to the station. And you’re done with him, as of Christmas time.

Some homecoming.

He wanders through the town’s sleepy Main Street, killing time before his brother-in-law’s shift ends at the munitions factory and he can pick Buck up. It’s a hot day, sweat runs down his back. It reminds him of Toccoa. He chuckles darkly, grateful that he’s not running up Currahee with Sobel’s sour puss hot on his heels. He’s grateful for a moment, but then he wonders if maybe those were the best days of his life, and he just didn’t know it. So far, the end of the war hasn’t brought much happiness his way. Maybe the best is behind him already.

He stops for a root beer float at the local soda counter. He brought you here for the first date. He still remembered that your lips tasted like strawberry milkshake later when he’d parked his truck in front of an empty cornfield and kissed you until he was dizzy. He knows he’ll never be able to order a strawberry milkshake again.

A couple of the old men sitting in the window side booths nod at him, one even pays for his tab. Buck thanks them but makes no move to engage in conversation. He’s not gloomy, exactly. Just lonely. He thinks about Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere, about the marrow-deep cold of Bastogne, and about just how far away he feels from the taste of strawberry on your tongue. Despite the scorching summer heat, he suppresses a shiver.

Buck’s sitting on a bench in front of the depot when his brother-in-law pulls up.

Hey Buck! Welcome home, buddy.

Thanks, Dickie.

His sister’s husband has a noticeable limp, one of his legs visibly wasted and bent at an unnatural angle from the knee down. Bike accident when he was six, kept him out of the war. From his sisters letters, Buck knows that Dickie’s been hitting the bottle hard after he got 4F’ed and told under no uncertain terms that he won’t fight for Uncle Sam. Buck can see the strain in Dickie’s smile, the dark bags under his eyes and the faint stain of gray at his temples. Buck feels about three decades older than when he left home, but Dickie looks it.

The ride home is quiet. Buck asks after his sister, Dickie asks after the war. Neither of them really listen to the answers.

When Dickie cuts the engine off in front of Buck’s parents’ place, the porch light is on and there’s a lamp in the front room window, shining merrily. Buck sighs deeply. He’d expected to come home to you, a little apartment somewhere. He’d planned on picking up his life from there, but instead he’s here, looking at a place he calls home without feeling at home. He thinks he might prefer a cot in Toccoa, or a hot cot on a transport ship, or maybe even a foxhole.

Aight Buck, you take it easy. I’ll see you ‘round. Make sure you stop in and see Kitty soon, she’s dying to see ya.

Sure, Dickie. Thanks for the lift.

The sun is setting fast behind the mountains. Cicadas are beginning to strum and the fireflies dance in the fields gone farrow behind the house. Buck climbs up the front steps, his duty bag slung over one shoulder.

Buck?

He freezes where he is, hand outstretched towards the doorknob. It can’t be… can it?

He hears the creak of the swing from the darkened corner of the porch as you stand up.

Welcome home, Buck.

It is you. Buck is still frozen, his upper lip beginning to tremble. He wished it were darker, wished the damn light was off so you wouldn’t have to see him like this. He feels the boards vibrate as you step towards him, hesitating at his side.

I’m sorry, Buck. I… I made a mistake…

A tear slips out. He swipes at it angrily. What the hell is he crying for? he wonders.

It’s just that Louise told me she read in a magazine that it’s harder for the men sometimes if they’re worried about someone back home and in your letters you were just always asking about me and how I was and what I was doing and I just knew that you were going through it, Buck, you know, I read the news and I knew you were right on the front lines and I started thinking about you being out there and distracted and what would happen if you lost your focus at the wrong time and you got shot or you got hit by a grenade or a sniper and I thought about losing you, Buck, and I just couldn’t, I couldn’t lose you, and I started to think maybe I needed to make it easier on you and I wrote you that awful letter and it was terrible Buck it was so bad and I hated writing it and I hated sending it but I convinced myself I had to and-

Buck silenced you by pressing his lips to yours mid-sentence. Whatever other explanations and apologies you had died in your mouth with a soft whimper, and suddenly your hands were traveling up his arms and tickling the base of his neck and you were sighing like you hadn’t really exhaled in months. Buck swallowed it up, kissing you deeply and gently. He didn’t know how to say that he didn’t care about all that, that all he wanted was you with him. The rest would work itself out. Buck knew from the war that if you surrounded yourself with good people, then you could get through anything.

He laughed when he tasted the strawberry milkshake on your lips. Smiling against your mouth, he broke the kiss and held you in his arms, his hands at the small of your back.

Why are you laughing you ask incredulously. Did you hear what I said? aren’t you mad? You hadn’t expected this reaction. In fact, you’d prepared yourself for Buck to be so furious that he wouldn’t even speak with you. It was less than half of what you felt you deserved.

Buck just shook his head, smiling to himself at a private joke. You wondered if he was laughing at how easily you fell for that kiss before he told you to take a hike and disappeared from your life forever.

Mad? He sounds incredulous, like that’s the most ridiculous question anyone’s ever asked him.

Yeah, Buck. I mean… I know I broke your heart.

He doesn’t deny it, just nods simply and looks deep into your eyes.

Don’t leave me again, darlin’, and I’ll consider it even.

You can’t reply because his lips are on yours again. All you can do is smile as you kiss your apology into Buck’s mouth until the sunset has faded and his dad calls out to the two of you to come inside already!

Bull Randleman Warnings: angst (you have been warned!!)

Something strange happened to Bull in the convent at Foy. He hadn’t expected it. But suddenly, there you were. Sitting in the back of his mind like an itch he just couldn’t scratch. His third grade crush from Ms. Wheeler’s class. And his eighth grade crush. And his prom date.

Bull grew up in a small town, and it had only gotten smaller to him since he’d left. Sometimes in quieter moments he’d wondered if he’d ever be able to go back home. He’d seen a lot of the world - granted, most of it with the threat of German artillery at his back - but still. His hometown felt so far away and so small that he couldn’t imagine fitting the size of his memories back there.

And yet, sitting there in the dim candlelight of that convent, listening to those angelic voices, that tiny podunk town was all he could think of. Why couldn’t he remember the name of that street, the one with the post office on it? And what was the name of those neighbors with the herd of basset hounds? He couldn’t recall what kind of flowers his Ma planted in front of the house, facing due east. Bull realized that he was forgetting home, and it opened a gaping wound in his heart.

One thing he did remember clearly was you. He hadn’t seen you in a long time, maybe not for months before he’d signed up for the 101st. You’d been working at the florist right off 1st Street the last he’d heard. Why he hadn’t looked in on you after high school, he couldn’t say. He’d been sweet on you back then, puppy love head-over-heels type stuff. You were his first kiss, his first date, his first of just about everything. Including his first love.

Somewhere along the way, Bull had gotten the hare-brained idea that he’d outgrown you. He’d stopped calling, stopped asking you out to the movies or to the diner. He remembered how he’d seen you out one night, his arm slung over some other girl that his buddy had set him up with. He remembered the way you’d stared with your lip shaking, your eyes welling with tears, before you’d practically run off into the Sears department store. Bull knew damn well you couldn’t afford anything in Sears; all of the money you’d ever made working as an English tutor and a nanny went to taking care of your eleven foster siblings. He knew you ran in there just to get away from him. At the time, he’d laughed about it. He’d told himself you’d be fine, you’d grow up eventually and get over it. He told himself that’s exactly what he’d done - grown up - but now he realized quite the opposite. He’d been intimidated by how much he’d liked you, how much he’d thought about you and worried after you and how scared he’d been when he’d realized that he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed you anymore. You with your hand-me-down dresses and your sweet, shy smile and your head always in the clouds of a romance novel. His buddies had commented on it, and suddenly Bull had felt jealous, insecure even. He’d hated it, and he’d run from it.

But that night in Foy, you were the only place his mind could land. You were all he thought of. And he’d promised himself that if he somehow managed to walk out of hell at the end of the war, that he’d ask you out again. Who knew what you were up to now. He thought he remembered his Ma make an off-hand comment that you’d started working at the hospital in the next town over, but he couldn’t be sure. But Bull knew you’d be back in that small town, probably just as sweet as ever. And if you gave him another chance, he’d never let you go again.

Three days after stepping foot back in the States, and Bill was standing outside your house in his Army dress uniform, a bouquet of orange lilies in his hands. He wondered if you’d remember that he’d gotten you those same flowers for your prom corsage. They’d stood out against the baby pink of your dress that you’d borrowed from your cousin. Every time Bull saw a sunset or a flower bed, he thought of you. In fact, there wasn’t much that Bull saw these days that didn’t make him think of you.

He knocked three times sharply on the door. Your house looked just the same as ever: the front porch sagged in the middle, the curtains drawn and stained, the paint peeling. There was a ruckus inside, and what sounded to be about a dozen kids all screamed out “DOOR!”

A severe woman with dark gray hair slicked back into a tight bun answered. Her mouth was a thin, straight gash and her eyes narrowed in something between distaste and disbelief. She glanced down at the flowers in Bull’s hands and at the sharp, crisply ironed lines of his uniform.

Mother Beatrice, Bull said with a slight bow. Not sure if you remember me, ma’am, but I-

I remember you. Randelman, right? You here for the girl?

Your foster mother looked older but her manner was as cold and loveless as ever. She never used names for the children she took in - just called them by various impersonal monikers. For some reason, yours had always been “the girl”. Bull wasn’t the only one who’d overlooked you.

He nodded, thinking that if Easy had Mother Beatrice in their ranks then Germany might have fallen about a year earlier. He’d have to be sure to tell you that. He was certain you would laugh.

I wondered if anyone would come Mother Beatrice commented as she shut the door behind her, muffling the sounds of screeching children. She walked down the front porch steps and turned towards the back of the old farmhouse without a backwards glance. Bull followed, his brow furrowing slightly at her cryptic comment. He figured you might have had a few pen pals on the front, some girls would do that sort of thing, write to strangers to try and keep their spirits up. He’d heard that some of the men had made a point to look in on their pen pals when they’d gotten back home. Maybe that’s what she meant.

She’s back here? Bull asked, taking in the sight of the rundown farmhouse-turned-orphanage and its weedy lawn. As long as he’d known you, he’d never known you to linger here. Too loud, no privacy you’d always told him. Bull usually found you in the library or a park bench. Somewhere quiet.

Mother Beatrice nodded, shooting him a strangely exasperated look. Course she is, where else would she go? The girl doesn’t have any other home.

Bull chewed his lip thoughtfully. He supposed that was true. Maybe things had changed.

Mother Beatrice led him around the backside of the dingy farmhouse, past a rundown chicken coop with a few mangy looking birds pecking at the dirt. There was a dilapidated stable off in the distance with one bony mare grazing on the tall grass and an overgrown vegetable garden. The tree line off in the distance looked ominously dark, like a line of guards sent to make sure the misery of this place didn’t spread.

Mother Beatrice stopped short, and Bull almost walked into her. There she is.

Bull looked around but didn’t see you. In addition to the forlorn horse, the garden and the coop, he noted a greenhouse missing more windows than it had and a towering oak tree reaching up for the sky as if running away from the unfortunate place it’d been planted. But no sign of you anywhere

Mother Beatrice looked at him intently for a moment, making Bull squirm in his boots, before sharply turning on her heel to leave. She called back to him at the base of the tree and vanished around the side of the house.

Alone at last, Bull looked at the shadowy trunk but didn’t see anything. Must be around the backside, he reasoned. He started walking towards the tree, but a strange quiet settled over him. Suddenly, his collar felt too tight and his chest felt hollow. Something wasn’t right.

As he approached the tree, he began to make out what Mother Beatrice was referring to. He could hardly believe his eyes, and with each step forward he felt his feet grow heavier as if his boots were filled with lead. About ten paces from the trunk, he stopped, unable to go any closer. His shoulders sagged and he felt the bouquet slip out of his hands.

There you were, your name staring back at him from the headstone.

Y/n Y/l/n October 11, 1924-January 9, 1945 Army Nurse Corps May she rest in the peace of the Lord

Bull wasn’t sure how long he stared at the stone. At your name. At the words Army Nurse Corps. Bull hadn’t known you were a nurse. He hadn’t remembered your birthday. He realized he’d been misspelling your last name this whole time.

Bull stood and stared until the light was almost gone from the sky. The sound of Mother Beatrice ringing a bell and calling out dinner! from the front porch jarred him out of his reverie. He hastily wiped the tears that had long ago dried on his face, feeling out of place and like an unwelcome intruder.

He left without saying goodbye. He did manage to tilt the bouquet against your headstone, and run his fingers over the cold edges of your name cut into the marble. He didn’t feel entitled to much else.

It wasn’t until he was home that night, deeper into a bottle of whiskey than a grieving man ought to be, when he realized something.

January 9th, 1945. The day you’d died. It was the same day he’d sat in that convent outside Foy, listening to that angelic choir, reminiscing about you and imagining a future that would never come to be.

***********************************************************************

Still working on... Joseph Liebgott Doc Roe Maybe David Webster too? *let me know if you have any other requests

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jentrovert · 4 months ago

Text

Time Marches On

(Richard Cameron X Fem Reader)

Oneshot

Synopsis: After the death of Neil Perry, your brother Knox brings you to one last poet’s meeting. As a falling out with Richard Cameron ensues, you seem to be the only one capable of seeing his side of things.

Warnings: Talk of suicide, death, grieving, mention of firearms, arguing, swearing, minor violence, a kiss, angst with a semi-happy ending.

｡ﾟ •┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡ *

Author’s Note: Based on the movie Dead Poets Society, but obviously a bit different. Reader is about a year younger than Knox, and is referred to by she/her pronouns. It’s difficult to be neutral for every appearance and capability, but I do try to be pretty general. Let me know if you see anything to the contrary. Thanks, guys. X

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Neil was gone. It was easy to say, impossible to process. On paper, he was dead; mentally, it just wasn’t true. He was still around, you’d see him tomorrow, or maybe over spring break when he and your brother would dare each other to go swimming in the frigid water. Everything was fine; everything was normal. Until it finally got quiet, the night you sat in the dining room after his funeral, shivering under a blanket by the radiator. Everyone had excused themselves to their own rooms for the night. Even watching your older brother sob, which you seldom witnessed, you managed to keep it together. Only once the silence crept in, engulfing the room and everything around you, screaming in your ears to be heard, did you finally crack.

First it was one tear, then three, and then before you knew it, you were a broken mess on the floor. The winter cold seeped through the old walls of your childhood home, bitter and unforgiving of your circumstances. A cruel reminder that the world wouldn’t stop after this, on the contrary, it would keep hurling at you just as harshly as it had before.

You hadn’t been the closest friend of Neil Perry, but he’d known your brother for years and had become something of an honorary brother by that point. It was easy to picture their group of poets, affectionately called “dorks” by you, all joking and picking at one another as they always did, huddled up in their quaint little cave that you’d been invited to on a handful of occasions. They were happy and smiling, filled with admiration for each other as they read off their newest theatrical composition. They were poems that bestowed hope to each boy, giving them the promise of an eventful, passionate future. You hadn’t admitted it at the time, not in front of your brother, but it gave you hope as well.

“Why?”

It repeated itself on a frustrating loop in your mind.

Didn’t Neil love his friends? Weren’t they worth living for? Didn’t he know how dreadfully you’d all miss the boy?

You were aware of how selfish those questions sounded out loud. It wasn’t about any of you; you knew that. And part of you wanted to wring Thomas Perry for the way he treated his own son. He’d failed him in every way a parent could. You wanted to blame everyone that ever wronged your brother’s friend, but deep down, you knew the thing that had pushed Neil toward the decision he made was bigger than all of you. You didn’t know if you felt more helpless wondering what you could have done to save him or by considering that there was nothing anybody could have done at all. A small part of you wanted to feel angry with Neil, angry at the state he’d left you all in, but you knew that was just as ridiculous, too.

It was incomprehensible. He looked so great in that play the night he died, and so excited to do what he loved. You were all so proud of him. You would’ve hugged him so much tighter if you’d known it was the final time.

The struggle of trying to keep quiet in the late night made you cry even harder. You considered each of Neil’s schoolmates, how they were probably doing the exact same thing you were, and how they definitely had more of a right to cry than you did.

The image of Neil with a gun in his hand continued to claw and tear its way into your brain regardless of how much you struggled to shove it away. You didn’t want to see it; you just wanted him to put it down. You wanted it so bad that you started mumbling it aloud. You begged God, you begged the universe, you pleaded with anything that would listen, but no one answered, and you knew no one ever would.

Before you realized it, you were fast asleep on the linoleum, and unbeknownst to you, Knox had placed a pillow by your head and two extra blankets over your body whilst you slept, unsure if he should disturb your slumber or not. In the early morning hours, you found what your brother had done and immediately knew the culprit. There was no doubt it your mind Knox hadn’t slept at all that night.

You smiled faintly into your pillow, grateful that your brother always made the effort to care for you, even in his own strife. Sure, you made fun of him constantly, but you loved him a lot, and you did miss him when he was away at boarding school. You loved his friends, too. You wanted nothing more than to take all of their grief away and make everything better, but it didn’t work like that. You were powerless in the situation.

Not long after that, you learned that Knox’s friend Charlie Dalton had also gotten expelled from the school they attended. You were shocked, to say the least. It was the last thing those boys needed to lose another friend. When probed, your brother informed you that Charlie had actually attacked one of their other friends, Cameron. Apparently it had something to do with a lie Cameron told, and it had really crossed the rest of them. Now, you knew Cameron, and you knew Charlie. You also knew that they liked to bicker back and forth, mainly because their personalities differed so significantly, but nothing too major. Charlie was an avid rule-breaker, and Cameron was terrified to stray away from the straight line he always walked.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” Came your brother’s voice, along with a weak knock on your open bedroom door.

You looked up at him in acknowledgment, turning away from the blank schoolwork in front of you.

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. “We’re having our last poet meeting with Charlie.”

You blinked at him, fighting the painful lump that formed in your throat. “Oh” was all you managed to croak.

“If you’d like to come with me…”

With a shaky breath, you nodded, standing from your desk. “Let me get my coat.”

There was a heavy weight on your shoulders as you trudged through mounds of snow. The turns were familiar; the same branches snapped under your feet. It was equal parts haunting and comforting to see the cave coming into view. Once inside, you weaved around rocks to find your usual spot. You offered firm hugs and empathetic smiles to each of the boys who’d already arrived, taking extra time for Todd, who sat off to the side. You hadn’t known Todd for long, as it was his first year at Welton, but strangely enough, he actually seemed to have gained some confidence since the last time you met. You’d honestly expected the opposite, given how close he was to Neil, but you were proud of him nonetheless. You were proud of them all, and you let them know such.

Everyone mingled half-heartedly with one another, doing their best to raise the spirits a bit. You finally managed to question one of them about their English teacher, whom you hadn’t known as well as they did, but knew their dead poet society was founded by his encouragement. Just as Pitts was about to answer, Charlie came strolling into the cave, and everyone turned their attention to him.

“Alright, we’re all here, I guess,” He stated, barely loud enough to hear, keeping his hands stuffed in his trench coat pockets as he scowled at the floor.

You could tell Knox wanted to say something to the boy, as this had been Neil’s best friend, but he didn’t. Charlie looked bitter, scorned. He didn’t bother with greetings or formality as he took a seat on a rock near the entrance.

Knitting your brows, you peered around at each of them, then back to Charlie.

“What about… Cameron?”

“What about him?” He barked, gawking at you like you had grown two heads.

You hummed in thought, caught between not wanting to overstep and also wanting to speak your mind.

“Listen, Charlie,” You started carefully, gripping at your jacket hem, “I know that you’re angry-“

“Angry?” He cut you off. “Angry? That lying bastard wasn’t invited, (Y/n).”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” You quipped.

“Then what are you so confused about?”

It was almost comical the way the rest of the boys’ heads went back and forth between you as you squabbled. Your brother attempted to interject, but you dismissed him.

“I know he messed up, Charlie-”

“He didn't 'mess up’… He got our only role model, the only support we had, thrown out! As if we weren’t grieving enough!” Charlie gestured to the people around the room.

Your jaw clenched. “Stop interrupting me. I know what you think happened, but Cameron is grieving too.”

You’d known Charlie for a long time. The two of you butted heads in the past over trivial things, as he had a habit of deliberately trying to work your nerves, but it was never like this. Emotions were at an all-time high; that part was clear.

“Think? (Y/n), you weren’t even there; I know what happened!” His volume grew with each word he spoke, hair falling over his eyes.

You could feel heat rising in you from anger, a stark contrast to the freezing air around you. “Charlie, Cameron is a teenager who freaked out and made a bad decision. I really think you’re all dog piling him.”

“He got me expelled!” Charlie’s face turned a deep shade of red as he shouted, each syllable emphasized by the fog of his breath and an echo off the cave walls.

“Are you joking?" You jutted a finger at him. "You got yourself kicked out!”

Charlie looked fiercely taken aback for a moment, but quickly snapped out of it. “Are you saying we shouldn't be pissed off at him for what he did to us? What he did to Keating?”

“I didn’t say your anger wasn’t justified, but for God’s sake, nobody put puppet strings on you and forced you to hit Cameron! I’m sorry you have to leave Welton, but that was dumb as hell, Charlie. Don’t you realize that all of you and Keating might’ve gotten kicked out if Cameron hadn’t blamed him?”

The rest of the group exchanged looks, completely at a loss. None appeared to handle this kind of confrontation well.

Charlie’s feet were heavy as he stood, his voice much lower but still venomous. “Why the hell are you defending him like this? Are you two shagging or something?”

You took a sharp inhale at the accusation, gaping at the male in front of you. You glanced over at the other poets, whose cheeks were collectively warm with embarrassment.

“Are you kidding me, Dalton? Look, just because you can’t do anything remotely nice for the opposite sex without getting something out of it, doesn’t mean the rest of us function that way,” You snapped.

“You know what?” He scoffed. “You weren’t even part of this group, you were just a tag-a-long for your goddamn brother.”

“Fuck you.”

“Guys, please!” Your brother shouted, looking so distressed he might cry.

Charlie was unfazed, and turned to lean against a rock.

“She and her boyfriend started it,” He shrugged, cold as the Vermont frost outside.

You knew this wasn’t Charlie. He was hurt, mourning the gaping hole now present in his heart. He wasn’t angry at you, not even Cameron for the most part; he was angry that Neil had been taken from them; he was angry at the world. Even so, it still stung.

“You know, Charles,” You muttered, starting toward the exit. “You can point fingers in every direction you want, but it won’t change a damn thing about what happened.”

Knox tried to grab your arm, but you shook him away, pivoting to face Charlie one more time. “Have fun at your new school.”

With that, you briskly made your way back toward Welton, listening to the arguing between Knox and Charlie fade behind you. You hated what death could bring out in people. On one hand, you understood their anger toward Cameron, but on the other hand, you knew there was more to the story than that. Cameron was devastated just like they were, and now completely iced out by the people he had left.

You knew how much all the boys looked up to Charlie, and due to his discrepancies with Cameron, you were aware of how the rest of the group tended to treat him. Their loyalty lied with Charlie, no matter what. Even Knox would roll his eyes and get annoyed with the youngest boy, but you understood Cameron better than that. He was a kid who’d been conditioned to do everything by the book, to never oppose an authority figure, and to fear all the adults around him at all times. It was something the rest of them usually couldn’t comprehend.

You chose to take Charlie’s words with a grain of salt. Eventually you would reconcile. Though he was partially right, however; you weren’t an official part of their society; you didn’t even attend Welton. He also wasn’t wrong about your infatuation with Richard Cameron. You were closer in age, and you actually got along quite well. You were the only one capable of persuading him to sneak out on nights he was being particularly stubborn. Meeks had teased that “Of course a pretty girl is what convinces Cameron to break the rules,” which made everyone but him erupt into laughter. You’d spent most poetry meetings exchanging fleeting glances and casual touches, ones that went undetected by the rest of the group. It was something that never really got the opportunity for discussion.

You were so lost in thought you almost didn’t notice the solemn redhead sitting on Welton Academy’s front stoop. Just as you reached the parking lot, you saw him from your peripheral; his head hung low as he absentmindedly fidgeted with something in his hands. After taking a second to look back in the direction you’d come, you ultimately decided to approach him. You weren’t sure if he even wanted to talk, but you were certainly itching to. Once he caught sight of you, he rose from his spot, expression a mix of relief and guilt. He was happy to see you, you could tell that much, but it was obvious he also feared what you might be getting ready to say to him.

As you opened your mouth to greet the boy, the next step you took was immediately met with a patch of ice that caused you to tumble forward. You shrieked in surprise, arms flying forward to brace your body for impact. However, Cameron was quick to catch you. He grunted at the initial collision but was graceful at steadying you back on your feet, only after holding you in place for a brief moment.

“You okay?” He murmured, gazing at you with eyes that seemed heavy and tired—the kind of tired people your age shouldn’t know.

“Yes- Yes, I’m fine; thank you, Cameron,” You stammered, trying and failing to collect yourself under his watchfulness.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded shyly. “I appreciate it. I would’ve eaten that concrete if it weren’t for you.”

He chuckled under his breath, managing a small smile. That’s when you noticed the purple ring around one of his otherwise bright emerald eyes.

“Cameron!” You gasped, taking his face in your hands, which caught him off guard. “Oh… Your poor eye.”

His face was already flushed from the cold, but it spread as you inspected him closely from different angles. You grimaced at the injury, shooting him a sympathetic look that made him shake his head at you.

“It’s fine, (Y/n). I deserved it.”

You released your grip with a huff. “That’s not true.”

He looked at you as if that were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Yes, it is. I'm sure you know what I did.”

The shame in his voice made your shoulders drop, and you placed a hand on the boy’s forearm.

“Cameron…”

“Neil was the one who took me in, introduced me to everyone.” He studied the ground like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “And I… I got his best friend kicked out. I got his favorite teacher fired. I made all his friends miserable. That's what I did for him in return."

You examined him for a moment—the way his lip quivered as he wrestled with the urge to cry. He looked away, hiding his face.

“I wrote a poem for him.”

You looked down at the folded piece of paper in his hand. “Cam-”

“I don’t know why I did it, (Y/n). I don’t. I loved Mr. Keating. I thought that’s what I was supposed to say. The way they spoke to me… I didn’t want to let anyone down; I panicked. I didn’t want us all to get expelled or something- Mr. Nolan, he- I didn’t want to…”

You could tell by the way his voice was cracking that he’d begun to cry, and you ran your thumb over his arm to try and comfort him. It was disturbing to see so many people in your life crumbling like that, and even more so knowing there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t stand it anymore, and drew him in for a tight embrace.

“Cameron…” You spoke softly. “Nolan manipulated you. He's an asshole. He needed someone to blame besides himself, and he wanted it to be John Keating. So he picked out the one student he knew was under his thumb and fed you what to say. A vulnerable kid he knew would fold at the thought of disappointing him. He’s the bad guy in all this, not you. Him and Tom Perry. It was never you.”

Cameron looked up at you with glassy eyes as you pulled away. You couldn’t tell if he believed what you were saying or not. He didn't respond one way or the other.

“Why are you still here?” You wondered suddenly. It dawned on you that most of Welton's students had left for the holiday already.

Cameron’s eyes drifted downward again, his voice almost a whisper. “I asked my mother if I could go back and visit after Neil…” He didn’t finish the sentence. “She told me that she and my father didn’t pay tuition just so I could leave all the time.”

“That’s all she said to you?”

You were perplexed.

“They just want me to be good and focus on school,” He added, almost as if it were normal.

“Oh, Cam,” You nearly broke down crying yourself.

None of these boys deserved to be treated this way, not at all.

Your fingers trailed up to his chin and lightly directed him to face you. A single tear spilled over his lashes, which he hurried to wipe away.

“I shouldn’t have told on Charlie. I screwed up. I screwed up badly.”

You contemplated how a mother could hear her young son under such duress and not rush to his aid. It was the least they could do to comfort their own child, who now had no one to turn to. For a split second, you worried if Cameron would ever have the same thoughts that Neil did, and the idea terrified you.

“I want you to understand you’re worth so much more than that mistake. Even after everything, I bet Keating still believes in you. In fact, I know he does. And if Neil were here-” You took a breath. “He wouldn’t hold it against you for long. I'm confident in that.”

Cameron offered a fragile, half-cocked smile.

“They’ll forgive you one day,” You continued. “I know how bad it feels right now, but you need each other. And once you’re done with this school, you’ll go on and do amazing things, because you’re too smart not to.”

Neither of you realized the way you gradually began to lean in closer as you spoke.

“You’ll grow up, become even more handsome, then probably have a family or run a business, and never have to think about some of these people again.”

“You really think that?” He uttered, trying not to sound as desperate as he was.

You were close enough then to run a hand through his ginger strands of hair, your other hand finding purchase on the back of his neck. It wasn’t clear whether you were feeling bold or just emotionally vulnerable, but it seemed to surprise you both equally. You’d been way too nervous to try anything like it previously, but now you understood how short life truly was, and you weren’t going to waste any more of it.

“(Y/n),” He hesitated, looking worried. “You should probably go. I really don’t deserve…”

“Yes, you do.”

"But... Why?"

You beamed at him with the most playfulness you’d mustered up in days. “Carpe Diem?”

After staring at you shortly, he reciprocated the sentiment, and gently pressed his lips to yours. His hands found the most respectful place they could on your waist, although a bit shaky and unsure. The feeling was foreign and somewhat awkward at first, but you wouldn’t have changed it. It was a soft and simple kiss, one that gave you butterflies. The moment didn’t last very long, but it was plenty for the time being.

When you finally pulled back, Cameron looked like a deer in headlights, to which you couldn’t help but giggle. You marveled at the pattern of freckles dotting his scarlet cheeks, unconsciously reaching to brush your fingertips over them. You could feel the dry tears that lingered there. He relaxed under your touch, and with a newfound bravery, he tilted his head and gave the palm of your hand a light peck. You savored each other’s company, content to stand out in the elements as long as you could hold onto that comfort for a moment. It was all the validation you needed.

“Maybe not today or tomorrow, maybe not even a year from now, but everything is going to be alright. I promise.” You leaned and gently took the paper from Cameron’s grasp. “Now let’s go read this for Neil.”

And he trusted every word you said.

Knox was going to avoid telling Charlie what he’d accidentally stumbled upon when he went to check on you. As much as he wanted to murder Cameron for everything—that now involved moving in on his little sister—it was an issue that could wait for another day, he decided.

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skyesdaisys · 1 year ago

Text

character's i write for

welcome to my list of characters where i have many of them from many fandoms that i write for

requests: temporarily closed

bolded names are ones i really wanna write for

yellowjackets (shauna shipman, jackie taylor, lottie matthews, taissa turner, van palmer, nat scatorccio, laura lee, callie sadecki)

dc titans (dick grayson, jason todd, kory anders, gar logan, donna troy, dawn granger, hank hall)

fear street (deena johnson, sam fraser, ziggy berman, cindy berman, kate schmidt, alice hart, simon kalivoda, tommy slater, young!nick goode)

teen wolf (scott mccall, stiles stilinski, isaac lahey, malia tate, kira yukimura, lydia martin, liam dunbar)

american horror story (violet harmon, kit walker, lana winters, zoe benson, madison montgomery, kyle spencer, misty day, cordelia goode, jimmy darling, tristan duffy, ally mayfair-richards, kai anderson, winter anderson, mallory, brooke thompson, montana duke)

the summer I turned pretty (jeremiah fisher, belly conklin, taylor jewel, shayla wang, conrad fisher)

miscellaneous: maeve rojas (one of us is lying), leighton murray (the sex lives of college girls), miguel diaz (cobra kai), brooke davis (one tree hill), maeve wiley & ruby matthews (sex education), kate bishop (hawkeye), roronoa zoro (one piece live action), daisy johnson (agents of shield), zach dempsey (13 reasons why), nate archibald (gossip girl)

another thing i'd like to add, i wouldn't mind writing poly ships x reader like dickkory, jackieshauna, stalia, sameena, lottienat, jaygar, etc. (or a poly ship with crossover characters like dick grayson & kate bishop for example)

i will write for fluff, angst, and maybe smut (there's only so much i am comfortable with though) if you ask nicely. and i only write for fem & gn readers

and as a reminder, you guys can request for the following fandoms for oneshots, headcanons, or just sending your fluffy or horny thoughts in my inbox (i don't judge)

#yellowjackets x reader #titans x reader #dc titans x reader #fear street x reader #ahs x reader #tsitp x reader #jaiden writes things

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delusionalmultifandomwriter · 10 months ago

Note

Heyy, can you do a fic, where Batman and Robin are driving through Gotham, relax and talk about life, while they get something to eat? Something cosy for a chill night story?

Oneshot

words: 1220

because you didnt specify, i picked Dick as Robin for this oneshot

Note: Dick is around 13 years old, takes place somewhere during the start of YJ S1.

Dick Grayson had an awful day at school. He nearly fell asleep during history class which luckily noone noticed but still he hated it, trying to keep his eyes open when all he wanted was to sleep for a full 24 hours, after that he slept through his lunch break and froze off his toes in the cold January weather while he tried to perform in a football game.

Normally, Dick was excited when Bruce came home because it meant that he would get to either do some training or go on patrol very soon. Tonight, he was sitting on the living room floor, laying on his English exercise book on the couch table and wanted to stay inside for the rest of his life time. Or at least until the snow started to melt.

Bruce entered the house and hanged his coat to dry next to the door. He made his way into the living room were he spotted Dick laying on his textbooks. "Are you trying to do or to crush your homework?" He asked smiling. Dick huffed and buried his face deeper into his arms.

"That bad?" Bruce's tone changed into a more concerned one as he approach Dick and sat down on the couch next to the boy. Dick grumbled something inaudible into his sweater sleeve.

"Come on, you have to talk to me. You are clearly not feeling the aster." Bruce said with a half-smirk. Dick groaned and lifted his head. "Im feeling the dis-aster." He groaned. Bruce leaned foreward and took a glance at Dick's textbook. "Shakespear, i see. That definitly is a disaster. What have you got so far?" He asked.

"The 'eye of heaven' is the sun." Dick grumbled. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day." Bruce said dramatic. "I see." "I'll just google it." Dick mumbled and buried his head back into his arms. Bruce nudged Dick playfully. "Richard Grayson, i will pretend that i didn't hear that." He scolded him playfully.

Dick giggled and sat up to nudge Bruce back. Bruce parried the attack of the boy gently. Dick sat down next to him. "Do you want to go for a ride and eat some unhealthy food?" Bruce suggested. Dick smiled widely. "Yes please." Bruce got up and waved for him to come with him. "Come on, before Alfred catches us and forces nutritional dense food on us."

Dick smiled and followed Bruce, he swiftly put on his winter boots and his jacket. Bruce also put his coat back on and they headed into the garage to get into the car. The boy sat down on the passenger seat and put his seat belt on excisted.

Dick was eating some fries when Bruce pulled back on the street. They sat in silence until now but as Bruce drove through the streets he finally broke the silence. "So, is it only Shakespear that annoyed you today or did something else happen?"

Dick shrugged as an answer. "I don't know, today was just... mid." School was boring and we had PE outside and i was tired. It was all... okay." Bruce nodded while he sipped his coke. "I see. Want to talk about it?" He offered. Dick swallowed some fries he was munching on. He shook his head. "Not really. Just forget about it." He grumbled, the lights of Gotham passed by outside as Bruce drove outside of the city.

"Are we going on patrol later?" Dick asked. Bruce leaned back into his seat, holding the steering wheel with one hand. "If you want but i wouldn't mind when you stay in tonight and catch up on some sleep." Dick nodded and shrugged. "I don't know." Bruce smiled over at him. "You can still decide when we get home, you look like you could use a night off."

Dick sighed. "Do you think i can stay Robin forever?" He asked hesitantly. Bruce was not too shocked by the question, Wonder Woman brought the topic up a few times before.

"If you want, you can stay Robin forever." He answered. Dick nodded pensive as he looked out of the window. "If you ever want to become another alter ego, you can, of course. But you can always stay my partner." Bruce added. Dick smiled down on his milkshake before he took another sip.

"But don't you even dare calling yourself 'Captain Obvious', in that case i will have to end our partnership." Dick laughed. "It was Wally's idea, i swear." He argued. Bruce shook his head unbelieving but smiled a little. "That boy is full of bad ideas. Who even brought that topic up?"

"It's just... it was M'gann. She asked what connects us. I'm sure she didn't mean it but.... yeah." Dick said, Bruce could hear the sorrow in his voice. "Because our costumes have nothing in common."

Bruce huffed. "M'gann is still learning about earth." Dick shrugged. "I always thought people would know we belong together. We complement eachother perfect." He grumbled. "That's true. Well, at least all the villains we arrested know we are a team." Dick chuckled at Bruce's response.

"Do you like the team so far?" Bruce asked curiously. Dick nodded. "Yeah, it's amazing. Im excited to go on real missions with them. Although, Superboy doesn't really like the aster." Bruce chuckled. "I think he just doesn't get it." He answered. "He is also just getting used to earth. And also to your humour."

Dick nodded smiling. "Yeah, took you a while too." Bruce pretended to gasp dramatic. "I am outraged, although, you are probably right. You were a handful when i first took you in. You still are." Bruce chuckled.

"What did you hate most about me?" Dick asked straight away. Bruce huffed. "I took you in, i loved you. Although, you leaving all your stuff around in the manor probably put some stress on Alfred." Dick laughed. "Yeah, maybe." "You still leave your shoes everywhere." Bruce teased Dick.

Dick chuckled sheepishly. "Yeah... it is so i can.. ugh... for a top secret reason." Dick said and nodded fast. Bruce laughed. "Of course it is."

"Would you adopt another kid?" Dick asked between eating more fries. Bruce looked on the street thoughtful and stole a fries from Dick before answering. "Maybe. I never thought about adopting a kid when i took you in but i didn't regret you for a second. Maybe, if it happens. Would you like a sibling?"

Dick thought about it a moment. "I don't know. I never had a sibling before, i was always the only child. I like that it is only you and me for now. Maybe one day." Bruce nodded solemnly. "Sounds good." "What did you like most about taking me in?" Dick asked curiously.

Bruce thought for a moment before he smiled to himself. "I was very fond of your 'hug attacks'." Dick laughed in response. "You haven't done that in a while, how come?" Bruce asked. "I thought i was getting too heavy for it. I could probably knock you over." He admited sheepishly.

Bruce smirked. "Nothing, can knock over The Batman." Dick nodded slowly. "So... can i do it?" He asked. "Always, even when you are taller than me." Bruce answered quickly. Dick smirked. "I will attack you when you least expect it, Bossman."

#batfam #batman #my writing #batfamily #bruce wayne #dc robin #dick grayson #dc comics #hug attack #dick grayson does hug attacks #car driving #late night drives #young justice #captain obvious #oneshot #fluff

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the-sound-of-her-wings · 10 months ago

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WIP: Jason Todd Oneshot?

This is repurposed from a rewrite of a different fanfic that I think could probably work as a one shot or like. A short series.

TLDR: You get thrown into Gotham, end up working for Penguin as a singer, end up being Selina's roommate. You've met Jason as the Red Hood. Tonight, he climbs in your window.

Excerpt under the cut, appreciate any feedback and thoughts 🫶

The nightmares, it seemed, were in escapable. You sigh, throwing the blankets off of your body and slipping into your newly purchased slippers. You heads downstairs, pouring yourself of cup of water and throwing it in the microwave. You rummage through the kitchen cabinets, moving Selina’s stack of tea out of the way to reach the box of hot chocolate mix. You head back to the microwave, careful to shut it off before it finishes as to not awaken the entire house. You add the mix to the packet, stirring it with a spoon, and heads back upstairs.

You've barely set foot in the door when you notice a familiar red figure lingering at your window, “Red?” You whisper.

“Hey, sweetheart. Mind if I come in?” He asks.

“Are you a vampire or something? Can’t enter uninvited?” You reply, a small smile on your lips, your free hand resting on your hip. You close the door behind you with your foot.

He huffs as he climbs through the window, “You shouldn’t sleep with the window open. You could catch a cold, or worse.” A deliberate avoidance of the question, just like his father taught him. He shuts it behind him, locking the chill of winter outside.

“Or worse.” You repeat, taking a step forward and a sip of your hot chocolate, “Like strange men climbing in my window with unclear motives?” You tease, walking around the bed to meet him by the windowsill.

Jason’s finger traces your arm, “Missed you.” He murmurs, “Wanted to see you.”

“You could’ve dropped by the Lounge.” You reply, allowing him to caress your arm. Your skin reacts to the continuous touch, goosebumps forming on your shoulders.

“You were busy. Didn’t want to interrupt.” He replies, pulling his hand away from you.

You raise the cup to your lips, hiding your disappointed sigh by swallowing more of your drink.

The truth, you know, is that he didn’t want to see his older brother around you. Didn’t want to know what you would sing to him, didn’t want to see how the two of you would interact, didn’t want to feel jealous. Jason spent years in Dick’s shadow only to die there. And when he came back, he’d been replaced.

“I would have made time for you,” You respond, placing the cup of hot chocolate on your nightstand. Would have preferred to spend the time with him, if you were being honest.

“It went well?” He asks.

“It did. Dick is… charming. Beautiful. Any girl would be lucky to have him.” You recall, remembering the night. Dick’s eyes sparkled the purest blue. He had a laugh like a warm summer breeze, like an ocean wave breaking on the shore. The perfect man, some would say. “But he’s not my type.”

Because, at the end of the day, Richard Grayson is not perfect. As a child, he was wild, reckless, and angry. So angry that he tried to avenge his parents’ death by killing their murderer. So angry he began fighting crime. So angry that he yelled and screamed and fought Bruce over petty things, over big things, sometimes just to have an excuse to fight. He’s grown since then. He’s now a man who knows how to manage that anger, who takes on the role of father and older brother and uncle and whatever else he needs to be because there are more important things than his emotions.

He is Dorian Grey personified.

“I thought you couldn’t love a man you can’t look in the eye,” Jason’s hands remain at his side, the white eyes of his red mask seeming to bore into your soul.

You did say that, at first. Because you were scared, because part of you can't help but look at him and think of the thousands of people who voted for him to die. Because you don't want to hurt him if you leave.

You smile, a small, pathetic sort of smile, “Everybody lies.”

Jason chuckles and your heart flutters. You stand there, dumbly, staring up at him and waiting for him to do or say something, forgetting that you too have hands and a mouth. Jason begins to slowly peel his jacket off, revealing an shirt identical to the one she you last saw him in. As he slowly takes off his gloves, pulling at each finger, he says, “I hear you wear my jacket often. Heard you wore it tonight.”

“I never leave home without it.” You reply, twiddling your thumbs, “I feel safe when I wear it.” You add, sheepishly.

Jason makes a noise in his throat, one so primal that you know it must have turned him on, must have satisfied his possessive nature. He reaches out with his right hand, his calloused finger tips running up your neck. Your skin reacts to the touch, gentle but full of desire, sending a pleased shiver throughout your body. His fingers stop when they reach your chin, the index, middle and ring hooking into the curve, the middle stretching ever so slightly so that it grazes your lower lip.

“Tell me what you want to do,” He whispers.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n

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rosewaterandivy · 1 year ago

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crawl til dawn

Summary: Steve remembers them all, every single one. The doom in his blood, it comes rushing back like a bad habit.

Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine. - Richard Siken, "Little Beast" from Crush

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

WC: in-progess; mini-series

Warnings/Themes: 18 +, MINORS DNI. Graphic depictions of violence and sex. Psychological horror/trauma, memory loss, body horror, botched forced sterilization, abortion, dark and sacrilegious themes, and mutual corruption.

A/N: prosaic idolatry, smut, horror, and the sublime. please re-read the warnings/themes section above because this is not for everyone. if you can't watch a David Cronenberg film or have issues with any of the warnings above, please move along. and before you can ask, yes, this is a quasi-winter soldier!au

Please do not interact if you aren't 18+.

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not.

Enjoy! 💜

(*) denotes NSFW

Prequels: i. psychopomp, ii. hiraeth, iii. tabernacle, reconstructed, iv. exsanguinate

Series:

I. i'll be your slaughterhouse

II. your killing floor

III. your morgue

IV. and final resting

oneshots/drabbles

caught in the throes

inspo tag

#steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #winter soldier!steve

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the-hinky-panda · 2 years ago

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Hinky’s Masterlist

Minors DNI: The content on this blog is intended for adults (18+). By following or engaging with this content, you are agreeing that you are 18 or older. Do not interact if you are not 18 or over.

Ask: I love analyzing character, plot, storytelling methods, so if you ever want to talk about those things, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me! I also love hearing other people’s ideas so please, share those as well!

A03: Here is the link to my AO3 account. I have a lot of stories with OCs there if you like reading those. I’ve just started getting into writing the Reader stories.

Tag List: Sign up for your favorite characters here!

Fic Fests:

October 2022 Fic Fest

**All stories are Fem!Reader and are explicit

Dustland Fairytale - Complete

Mariposa - Complete

Pura Vida (An Alternate Ending to Mariposa) - Complete

Los Regalos - Ongoing series

La Chaparrita - Ongoing Series

After We Fall - Ongoing Series

By Land, Sea, and Air - Ongoing Series

How To… - Ongoing Series

The IT Series - Ongoing Series

The Penny Series - Ongoing Series

The Tremont Tempest - Ongoing Series

The Dog - Ongoing Series

The Lens - Ongoing Series

Sacrifice - Complete

Oneshots for Sacrifice:

Otherworldly

Ghastly

La Finca - Ongoing Series

Eldritch - Complete

The Florist - Complete

The Community Universe (in collaboration with @bullet-prooflove)

The Medic Series (Coco Cruz x OFC! Morgan Fox)

The Preacher’s Wife Series (Hank Loza x OFC! Maggie Fox)

The Gin Blossom Series (Gilly Lopez x Reader)

Stand Alones:

Vanishing Act (Kevin Jimenez x Fem!Reader)

Dog Days are Over (Chibs Telford x Fem!Reader)

Strings (Les Packer x Fem!Reader)

The Drowning Kind (Sean Renard x Fem!Reader)

The Seasons Series:

The Fall Series (Porthos x OFC Reader)

The Winter Series (Aramis x OFC Reader)

The Spring Series (Athos x OFC Reader)

The Summer Series (Treville x OFC Reader)

Boss Mare Series (Jamie Dutton x OFC reader)

The Hare (Richard “Ritchie” Jerimovich x OFC reader)

Out of the Woods (Mitch Keller x OFC!Reader)

June Bug (Goodie Carangi x OFC!Reader)

Forged (Bill Bevilaqua x OFC!Reader)

War of the Roses (Bill Bevilaqua xOFC!Reader)

Vice (Armand Truisi x OFC!Reader)

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themuselesswriter · 4 months ago

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Forgotten and Buried - AHS: Oneshot

Characters: Kai Anderson, Lana Winters, Original Female Character

Summary: Kai went on an interview with Lana Winters after he was imprisoned only for her to unlock a portal from his past that he wanted buried and forgotten

Warnings: sexism, racism, slurs, slight schizophrenia, mention of death

A/N: I know, but I have a thing for awful people apparently, it has lots of touchy subjects so it might not be for everyone, nothing written reflects on my personal views so I felt like i needed to get that out in the open

Credits: photos from Pinterest, editing app is picsart

-----------------------------Oneshot---------------------------

A moment later, three jail guards walked in, escorting the man of the hour, he wore an orange prison suit, his hair was shaven, Lana recalled it was by choice as this was his hairstyle before prison, a change from his usual blue haired style, he was calm and even had a polite attitude, his aura though was unsettling, he was shackled as well, one of the guards shoved him gently on the chair across from Lana "Don't try anything Anderson" the guard said then took off his handcuffs, Kai fixed his attire, making himself slightly more presentable given the circumanstances "the man of the hour" Lana greeted him, she put on a polite yellow smile "Miss Winters, thank you for meeting me... I... uh... apologize for the attire, apparently formal chic isn't part of the prison's wardrobe collection" he cracked a joke, Lana gave him another smile "we're ready whenever you are" she told him, he grinned "I was born ready"

Lana gave her team an approving nod, they all took position "we're rolling in one... two..." the three wasn't verbal, it was a gesture that Lana was too familar with "A charismatic enigma, a millennial Machiavelli. Some might call him a cult leader, others… a visionary. But beneath the veneer of idealism lies a heart consumed by a very real, very dangerous hunger." she raised a knowing eyebrow at the camera then turned her attention to Kai "Kai Anderson, this interview... I've always envisioned it would go differently, perhaps one as you win presidential elections" she said, he laughed a little "well, you and I both Miss Winters, you and I both" he told her casually.

"What happened Kai? How did you turn from the man of the hour to a man in the orange?" she asked him, he let out a little scoff "A conspiring traitor is what happened" he snared "you are blaming Allie Mayfair-Richards for your choices?" he shook his head "No, I'm not blaming her for my choices, the choices I made were difficult but necessary, every leader knows what it's like to be in my shoes. I'm blaming her for conspiring against me, for pretending to care and believe in me, for lying to dethrone me... she came to me for help, you know? She wanted me to help her get her son back and what did I do? I helped her, and well, she stabbed me in the back" he said griefly "that must be nasty to experience" she said, he nodded "true, but you know... every experience is a lesson" , "I can see that lesson coming handy in prison as my resources inform me that you built yourself a nice group there" He nodded "yes, we... I see us as the underdogs, sticking together to protect each other, a family of brothers, if one bleeds the others do too"

"Is that what you've been searching for Kai? A family?" he smiled a little "don't we all search for a place where we belong? people to accept us regardless? protect us when needed?" he answered, from his tone, Lana could tell that this was a touchy subject, great, she needed to pry on that immediately "is that why you killed your brother and sister?" his smile dropped "Vincent had it coming, you know? He... he was going to turn me in and send me to an asylum, I'm not crazy, you know? I'm a man with a vision" he said defendingly "And Winter?" he went quiet for a moment, feeling the cameras zooming close to his remorseful expressions "she's the one person I truly miss, my plans for her were big..." that was the only comment he gave regarding his sister, Lana gave the signal for a break.

Kai looked like he was in distress, so far, none of the questions were in his favor, he had hoped that this intreview would be a spark, that if he showed a more humane side then perhaps a petition for his release would be signed, or that he would get some redemption for an appeal or even a parole. Then the team signaled for them to start rolling the cameras again "We're back with Kai Anderson and I do have a question for him that I'm sure every woman is asking" she said looking straight to the camera then turning to look at Kai "Kai... why do you hate women" Kai blinked at the question, finding it amusing "I don't hate women" he corrected "your actions speak a different story though" Lana insisted "Just because I believe that men and women are different doesn't mean I hate women, you see... this generation, this society has differed so much from its original principles and created a path that's so obsessed with equality rather than solving the thousands of issues that we're facing, and it's ridiculous, if you treat a woman like you would treat a woman normally then you're sexist and if you treat her like you would treat a man then you're sexist too" he said, playing it as a silly joke "is that what happened when you slapped Riley Michaels?" Lana asked "I was treating her like I would've treated a man, yet, she got offended, this whole... women are equal to men system is fragile. If she wanted equality instead of crying to her daddy about how the big bad man hit her, she should've just... slapped me back and moved on" he said it dismissively.

Lana raised an eyebrow at him, he wasn't trying to sound so redeemable now, no, he understood that this interview wasn't his salvation but a window to his soul, and he was getting sloppy, this was the perfect time "who is Avery Smith?" Lana blurted out of nowhere, watching Kai's world crumble before her eyes as he was shocked to hear the name "what?" he asked, his face looking pale "Avery Smith, my intells suggest that you knew a person of that name" he shook his head "no, no I didn't, don't... don't say her name" he said aggressively "why not?", "Don't bring her into this" he snapped, the guards immediately threatening to remove him from the scene as he was aggitated, Lana's team showed pictures of the girl, Avery on the screen next to Kai, he felt his heart beating fast, his grip on the chair's handles tightening "I said don't bring her into this!" he said, he got up and immediately smashed the screen before anyone could stop him, the guards instantly interviened and dragged him out of the room, cuffing him and apologizing to Lana Winters for their inability to continue the interview.

Lana turned to the camera "It seems we reached an end to the interview with former councilman, current prisoner Mr Kai Anderson, he did indeed show a color other than orange or blue, the color of a villain being exposed" the director said cut and they began to edit the episode.

Kai was escorted to his cell, the guards said something about him behaving himself better or whatever, but his brain was too occupied to function "who is Avery Smith?" the question kept repeating itself in his head, he struggled as he tried to push his thoughts away "man... you really blew it" he heard his hallucination saying "I know... fuck! You don't need to remind me!" he groaned "you ruined our one ticket out of this" the hallucination said again "shut up!" Kai said, he sat in a corner and hugged his legs, rocking back and forth, if anyone saw him like this they would think of him as the most pathetic thing ever "don't tell me to shut up" a familar voice said, he lifted his head up and saw her, just the way he remembers her, wearing her pink summer dress, jean jacket, high boots, the strands of blue hair in her natural blond hair, the smile, the sweet, innocent smile of hers "you can't be here, you're not real" he said frightened "I know... but your brain called for me so... here I'm" she replied sweetly, sitting next to him.

He hugged his legs again and hid his face "go... I don't want you to see me like this" he pleaded, she sighed "Kai, I've been watching you from up there, and let me tell you... this is the best I've seen in years... what happened?" she asked with a little frown "I... I don't know... I was just-" he paused "I'm trying to-" he paused again, as if all the excuses ran out of him, every lie he had told himself to justify his actions just disappeared "you were supposed to move on, live the life we've always dreamed of" she told him, he shook his head aggressively "no... no! You left! that's what everyone does! Everyone leaves me!" he said, his voice full of pain "I died Kai, I didn't abandon you" she corrected him "you died because I was weak and I couldn't protect you" he looked at her with tear-filled eyes "I died of a hit and run on my way to work" he nodded "if I wasn't... you should've been home, I'm the man! I should've been the one out there working, if I just did what I was supposed to do, that filthy illegal immegrate would've never hit you with his car!" Kai hissed "it wasn't his fault, you know that" , "I don't know anything anymore" he mumbled, choking back his tears "the car swirled due to slippery road, it wan't anything he's done" she continued, he said nothing.

"Remember when we were little? You always teased me for dying a few strands of my hair blue" she gave him a little nudge, he nodded "I died my hair blue... it helped me feel closer to you" she smiled "I know... I found it amusing" he couldn't help but laugh "hey... if I die... would I be... would I be reunited with you? With all of you?" he asked her, she shrugged "I don't really know baby, these things don't have a rules book, you know?" he nodded "but you can't die... you have more work to do and you definitely can't die here... I want you to live, I want you to live a happy long life, somewhere far away from here like we always talked about... have a wife, a few kids, do mundane things" she said sweetly, he shook his head "all of those disappeared with you, that's not the life I want for myself anymore... I just... I want this to be over", "the Kai I knew wasn't a quitter" she said softly "the Kai you knew was pathetic, he had dreams of an ordinary happy life that he would never get, he allowed himself to be abused by his crippled father, he allowed his mother to carry more than she should until she broke down and shot herself and her tormenter, he allowed Vincent to terrorize him and manipulate him and he failed to protect his little sister... the Kai you knew is long gone... if you see me now, you would weep" he said aggressively "I see you and I know he's in there somewhere this is the perfect chance for you to reconnect with him" Kai shook his head.

He opened his mouth to answer but before he could, he heard a voice that wasn't his, or hers, "You're okay Anderson?" the guard asked him suspeciously, Kai looked in his cell everywhere, she was gone, the sweet woman who was gonna be his everything was gone "yeah... I'm okay" he said faintly.

That night, Kai's dreams were filled of her, their dreams together, their memories, she was going to be the woman he marries, his savior, his entire world. If she lived, his entire life would've been different but she's gone, and he's stuck with this anger, this undeniable anger and need to punish the world for taking the one light he's ever had and known then rub it into his face, a reminder that he could never quit, not until everyone had a taste of his suffering, a determination to start his escape plan.

#museless tumblr oneshot #tumblr oneshot #oneshot #kai anderson #ahs cult #ahs #american horror story #american horror story cult #ahs oneshot

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