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hottpinkpenguin · 7 months ago

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Easy Company HC's: Letters Home

A/n: I'm really rolling with these BofB headcanons! hope you enjoy :)

Characters included: Dick Winters, Lewis Nixon, Ronald Speirs, Carwood Lipton, Buck Compton, David Webster, Joe Liebgott

Dick Winters

Writes frequent, short letters

Meticulously dates his letters and includes a blurb about the weather. January 12th, 1945. It’s snowing outside, dark and cold.

Starts each letter with My dear y/n

Always asks how you are, even though he’s the one fighting a damn war

Follows up on every little question or story you include in your letters. How was the bake sale? Did you ever hear how Louise Graham’s brother is doing after taking that shrapnel to the shoulder? Hope you were able to get someone out to look at the washing machine.

Ends his letters with classic but sentimental sign-offs, like Affectionately yours and All my love

Makes sure not to include anything in his letters that would worry you. Doesn’t necessarily lie or fake being happy, but just gently side steps that.

Although every once in a while you get a longer letter where Dick’s handwriting is a little messier. You know it’s from writing fast, you can almost feel the pressure behind the penmarks. He opens up more in those letters, talks about losing too many good men and sometimes will say things that just absolutely break your heart, like sometimes I wonder how all of this is really going to end for the men who are over here fighting.

Even in these letters, Dick never says “I” or “Me”, always writes about the men and the boys. You know - and so does he - that he’s including himself in those boys.

His next letter he always makes sure to reassure you. And it’s genuine, you can tell. He’ll say something like I have to put some of these heavier thoughts somewhere, and there’s nowhere I trust more than with you.

When he comes home, you find a stack of letters you wrote to him tied up in a neat bundle and stashed in an inside pocket of his Ike jacket that he sewed in especially for that purpose. You could tell by the flimsy, near-ripped creases and dirty paper that he’d read each one about a hundred times over. Buried in the middle of the stack was the picture you’d given him before he’d left for training. On the back, he’d written simply your name, the date the photo was taken, and a short instruction: in event of my death, please send all personal effects to with your home address. It made you sob but you never told him you found it.

GIF by mads-weasley

Lewis Nixon

Rarely writes. Actually drives you crazy with worry most of the time.

When he finally does, you can tell that he’s initially annoyed at having to put his thoughts down on paper. Letters start off with short, sarcastic sentences like nothing new here. Still fighting the war, in case you hadn’t heard. Enjoying German hospitality.

But as the letters go on he relaxes into it and stops being so grouchy.

Because he’s always grumpy at having to write (you should probably thank Dick for cajoling Lew into actually sitting down to write to you), he usually doesn’t write any sort of introduction or sweet address, just dives right into it.

His letters usually don’t say much, he just kind of rambles about how much he hates being away from you and how he can’t wait for the whole damn thing to be over.

Sometimes he’ll write something so incredibly romantic it takes your breath away, like I’d fight a whole division of Panzers myself if I could just get one more sniff of your perfume.

Those are the letters you save and reread to yourself over and over again when you’re waiting weeks for the next one.

Always signs off with something kind of sassy but also sweet?, like You know I love you or Keep our bed warm for me.

Sometimes you feel like you can smell whiskey on the paper, which both worries you but also reminds you of Lew

When he finally gets home and you ask him about what he did with your letters, he kind of looks at you like you’ve gone crazy and says I read them of course, what else was I supposed to do with them?

This hurts your feelings at first which of course he doesn’t understand, but after a few weeks you start to realize that he actually did read them and not only that he memorized their contents. Like he refers to your mother as “the Wicked Witch of Wichita” (something you called here after you wrote him a long rambling letter about how angry she made you at your sister’s bridal shower) and buys you a bouquet of daffodils because you wrote him a letter with a daffodil doodle in the margins of the page talking about the spring gardens.

You realize that Lew shows his love in the little details, and it makes you appreciate him all the more.

GIF by beautifulguycollector

Ronald Speirs

Ron’s letters read like military bulletins.

Doing well despite the cold. 1st sgt sick with pneumonia. Think of you often.

Writes predictably once per week. Never misses a letter. Ever.

You always write him long, lengthy, romantic letters. Sometimes even a little raunchy, if you’ve had some wine. After one particularly *ahem* suggestive letter, you feel ridiculous and say so the next time you write.

In typical Ron fashion, you get a short, to-the-point reply, but it still puts a smile on your face and a blush on your cheeks: Loved your letter. Keep writing.

Towards the end of the war, Ron starts a countdown to when he expects to be coming home. Two months now, maybe less. Home for the Fourth of July.

Also signs off with R.S. Which makes you laugh, as if you could forget who was writing to you.

Whenever your girlfriends find a letter from Ron (you keep them all in a shoebox in your closet), they tease you and ask how you can possibly be in love with someone so stiff and formal. To which you can only chuckle to yourself, because you know it’s just that they don’t understand that Ron doesn’t tell you he loves you, he shows you. Writing a letter every single week. Updating you on everything going on, even short updates, because he wants you to know how he’s doing. That’s Ronald Speirs’ love language.

Maybe three weeks before Ron comes home, you start getting boxes of (stolen?) German silver at your door. At first it freaks you out and makes you feel slimy for having lavish riches from an enemy country, so you don’t unpack the boxes and you just stack them up in the back bedroom. When Ron gets home and sees the boxes unopened and shut away, he immediately asks you what’s wrong. You stammer out an explanation and without blinking an eye, Ron loads them into his truck and takes them to the dump.

(Later you convince him that a better use of those would be to donate them to the local orphanage, so off he goes in his truck to get the boxes back out of the dump and bring them to shelter.)

One night when you’re lying awake, head on Ron’s chest, talking idly about things that don’t matter, he interrupts you to ask Can you guess which letter I kept?

You instantly blush, thinking of that risque letter you wrote him when you were halfway through your second bottle of white wine. He shakes his head and pulls a letter out of his nightstand and hands it to you. You don’t recognize it immediately, although you do see that it’s too short to be one of the naughtier correspondences.

It’s too dark to read, so you ask him which letter. He says it’s the one you wrote to me for my birthday.

You don’t remember that one and you tell him as much, so you ask him why he kept that one instead of some of the others. He looks down at you with a serious look in his eyes, a little surprised that you can’t figure it out. Then he tells you: it’s the first time you wrote that you loved me.

The next day, you sneak a peek at the letter and realize he’s right. You signed it, I love you Ron.

From then on, you make sure to tell him that every night before he falls asleep.

Carwood Lipton

Formal, sweet letters. This man is a king of romancing by words.

Writes as often as he can, but you know that Lip needs peace and quiet for an entire evening to get one of those letters done (he probably definitely writes a draft or two before he gets it right). And let’s face it, Easy Company doesn’t have the luxury of many quiet evenings.

Always, always, always starts his letters off with Dear (future) Mrs. Lipton, which you honestly think is hopelessly corny but it’s way too adorable to tell him so. And besides, you secretly love it.

He always reminisces about home in his letters. Tells you how much he misses the smell of your baking, the squeak of the front porch swing that you two would sit on and watch the sunset.

He worries a lot about you and his family. He always asks you to look in on his mother if it’s not too much trouble.

Lip doesn’t talk much about the war, in fact he hardly acknowledges it at all. And he never uses the term ‘war’ or ‘battle’. Instead, he says things like The boys over here are still committed to doing the job or Easy presses on.

Lip’s letters get a little shorter and less soft after Bastogne. He starts including the names of the casualties in his company in the P.S. Even though you don’t know these men except by name - and some of them, not even that - you feel honored that he trusts you with their memories.

Lip has saved your letters and all the pictures you sent to him - he loves pictures, and asks for an updated one of you almost every month - tucked in his foot locker and safely between the pages of his Bible so they don’t get creased or dirty.

You also find that he’s kept stacks of letters from some of his men that died in the field. When you ask him what he plans to do with the letters, he gets a heartbreaking, far-off look in his eyes and says I reckon I’ll try to get them back to their families.

You take on the burden of doing that, and you write to some of the families introducing yourself and introducing Lip and offering to forward them the letters.

All the replies you get back mention that their soldier talked about how good a leader and friend Lip was. Their replies bring tears to your eyes. For some reason, you don’t show the letters to Lip, although you do tell him about them. He never asks to read the letters, he just kisses you on your forehead and tells you that he’s never loved you more.

Even after he’s home, he’ll still write you a letter from time to time, usually at Christmastime or for your birthday in the summer. His letters are always talking about his favorite memories with you, and there’s always a paragraph at the end where he talks about how in love with you he is. It’s borderline poetry and it makes you cry every single time.

GIF by balladofthe101st

Buck Compton

Basically just writes a list of questions for you to answer in every letter.

Wants to know everything about what’s going on at home. Especially sports teams.

Doesn’t write frequently, so sometimes it’s hard to feel like there’s a conversation happening.

But he always includes sweet little notes about how much he’s thinking of you and how he’s counting down the days until he can hold you again, so you’re not complaining.

Not the most poetic writer. Always says what he thinks and feels though. Completely honest and open.

Does not tell you anything about the war. Basically ignores the entire thing.

Sometimes you think about asking him about that, but you figure that he’s not talking about it for a reason, so you follow suit.

Calls you baby in his letters.

Doesn’t actually say ‘I love you’ in his letters, although says everything else. Miss you baby. Dream about you all the time. When I get home, I’m putting a ring on your finger.

One time he writes that he woke up last night out of a dream and swore I could taste you and it makes your toes curl.

You save that letter, tuck it in your underwear drawer.

Signs his letters very simply: Buck. Sometimes he’ll put something in like until next time or I’ll write soon. But usually nothing super romantic or sentimental.

Doesn’t save your letters, but that really doesn’t bother you too much because all you wrote in them was basically just rambling details that Buck requested about your boring day-to-day.

Buck’s always better in person than in writing - he’s a quality time and physical touch kind of guy - but you know that your letters were his only lifeline to normal during the war, and you’re just happy to have him back at all.

He does surprise you one night when it’s really quiet in the house and you’re sitting on the couch together, each reading a book. He suddenly turns to you and says You know baby girl, your letters saved my sanity over there. It’s the most he’s really ever said about the war, but it’s enough, and you kiss him so he knows that you get it.

GIF by balladofthe101st

David Webster

Unsurprisingly, Web is probably the best letter writer in all of Easy Company.

He helps a lot of the other guys write letters home, especially if they’re trying to say something important. Web just has a knack for words unlike any other.

He writes a lot of letters home, not just to you, but to the rest of his family, his siblings, some of his friends, and definitely his professors.

So because you’re close with Web’s family, you do get to read a lot of his writing.

His letters to you are different though. They’re darker and a little less polished. Sometimes, they frighten you a little bit. Web talks about things you’re not you really understand - like how pointless death is, how empty it makes him feel to see his friends get KIA, how he carries around guilt about surviving this long like an anchor.

Refers to you exclusively in his letters by your first name, his writing is always serious and somber and drenched with heavy emotions, so pet names just really don’t fit the vibe.

He quotes poetry and literature quite a bit when he writes. It all feels a bit Gothic, but you’ve always known that Web has found clarity in the world through books, so you don’t begrudge him a little poetic license.

Signs his letters Yours in perpetuity, David K. Webster.

Asks you to send books. Sometimes he asks for something specific, but other times he’s happy to get whatever you pick out for him. Your tastes are different from his; you prefer to choose shorter, gentle pieces about life in the British countryside or Western adventure novels. Web would prefer Wadsworth or Hemingway, but he figures it’s probably in his best interests to read things that don’t tackle dark themes. You always tuck a letter for him into the first few pages.

He doesn’t save your letters, per se, although he does save every single book you send to him. When he gets home, he puts them all up on the bookshelf in his office. Even though they’re beat up and stained and not at all fitting with the rest of his collection, they’re front and center.

Sometimes he takes a stab at sketching in his letters. He’s not bad, either. You try to encourage him to take lessons when he gets home, which he never does. He secretly loves how much you love his drawings though.

GIF by yourspeirs

Joe Liebgott

KING OF DIRTY LETTERS

You definitely like to re-read his letters… again and again…

Not every letter is a dirty one. But most are. Or at least have a dirty section in them.

You don’t know how this man makes you feel wanted from halfway around the world, but somehow he does. Lord knows you love a lot about your Joey, but you didn’t realize how good he was with words until you found yourself practically stalking the mailman, hoping for another delivery from Joe.

Uses a lot of pet names in his letters. Baby girl, Doll, Princess are some of his favorites. Literally never calls you by your name.

Always signs off with Your Joey.

Even when Joe is clearly in a dark place, his letters are saturated with how much he needs you and how he can’t stop thinking about all the ways he’s going to have you when he gets home.

When your mother finds one of Joey’s letters to you, she throws an absolute shit fit and freaks out that you’re sleeping with someone before you’re married. It takes a long time for you to convince her that you haven’t slept with Joey yet, you’re just… really into dirty talking.

She kinda chills after that but still looks at you suspiciously every time you get a letter from him.

She never tells your dad though, which makes you think maybe she’s more supportive of your relationship with him than you realized.

After working up the courage, you write Joe a letter that is so sinful you actually doubt whether you should send it in the mail, it just feels so wrong.

When I say this man goes crazy for that letter, it is an understatement. He is out of his mind and immediately writes you a reply telling you so. Basically begs you for more.

Even though your letters back and forth with Joe are pretty raunchy, there’s also a sweetness to them. He’s always sure to mention that This ain’t just all talk, Doll. When you’re Mrs. Liebgott, you’re gonna see exactly what I’ve been writing about. Which you know is still pretty dirty, but hey, he’s basically proposing to you, right?

You are not the least bit surprised to know that he kept your naughtiest letters when he finally gets home.

But, Joseph Liebgott is a man of his word, and even though he is clearly dying to and you’re practically begging him to, he doesn’t make good on all those dirty promises until after you’re wearing his ring.

Much to your delight, you find that he is just as good with actions as he is with words.

#band of brothers imagine #band of brothers headcanon #dick winters x reader #lewis nixon x reader #ronald speirs x reader #buck compton x reader #carwood lipton x reader #david webster x reader #joe liegbott x reader

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multifandomfanfic · 1 month ago

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Meeting and Falling in Love with the Easy Company Boys (x f!reader)

A/N: These headcanons are my Secret Santa gift for the wonderful @hxad-ovxr-hxart (for @hbowardaily!'s yearly exchange)! I hope you enjoy them—this is the first thing I’ve ever made for Band of Brothers, despite being such a big fan. I had a lot of fun writing them! (BTW, I haven't watched BOB for a good six months, so I struggled a little with remembering what Talbert was like. I hope I did him justice.)

Characters: Joe Toye, Bull Randleman, Ronald Speirs, Joe Liebgott, Floyd Talbert

Joe Toye

This man is my short king (there is no way he is 5'10")

He may seem tough on the outside, especially toward his friends, but I know he would be the most caring person in the world to you. I mean, he broke out of the hospital in Bastogne to rejoin Easy Company–can you imagine what else he would do?

I figure you two would meet while he was in the hospital in Bastogne or after Market Garden. You would be doing your daily rounds, changing bandages and making beds when you come to him. He immediately thinks you’re the most beautiful girl he has ever seen, and thanks his lucky stars he ended up in your section.

He keeps requesting to see you, whether it’s under the guise of needing more medicine or needing someone to write his letters home for him (God, he thinks your handwriting is so pretty). It gets so tiring that your supervisor automatically sends you whenever he has an issue.

Of course, in an army hospital, there isn’t much Joe can do to try and be romantic, especially with a hundred other men needing your undivided attention. But he makes do with his pure charm and charisma, good looks, and maybe some candies he wrote home for. He makes sure to show you his brass knuckles and his plans to celebrate Joe Toye Day.

“Say, Y/N, when this war is over, how do you say we go out to dinner together? My treat.” Despite being bedridden, Joe’s affability shines through for you. You can’t help but laugh.

“Sure, Sergeant. I’d love to.”

As the war progresses and Joe goes back to active duty, you two exchange dozens and dozens of letters. They persist even as you’re both transferred to the most gruesome areas of the European theatre. He doesn’t sugarcoat it for you, but his stories of his friends and back home manage to light up your days. And he could say the same for the perfume and red lip-sticked kisses you leave on your letters.

He asks you to marry him in one letter (which he tried to keep hidden from the other men, until George found it and spread the news to all of Easy Company), and you immediately write back with a resounding YES!

Suddenly, though, the flow of letters to you goes cold. It isn’t until a few weeks later that his mother writes to you: Joe had lost his leg in Bastogne and was recovering in a hospital in Atlantic City.

It was difficult getting through the latter months of the war knowing that an entire ocean separated you and Joe, but the letters and love continued. Once the war ended, you knew where you were going, and surprised him by his bedside in late May.

“This is like déjà vu,” Joe chuckled, looking at you with all the adoration he could muster. The sun was setting over the New Jersey skyline, and the last of the hospital visitors were shuffling out into the night.

“Except you’re not leaving me this time,” you smiled, squeezing this hand, “And I’m not changing your sheets.”

Bull Randleman

BULL BULL BULL BULL (sang to the tune of “Bill Nye the Science Guy”)

I already know Bull is a big softie; I mean, not only does he look like he gives the best hugs on this here Earth, but we already know he is one of the best NCOs in Easy Company.

I think you two would meet prior to D-Day at Aldbourne. You’re a Donut Dolly helping the Red Cross lift the men’s spirits, and boy, do you certainly lift one paratrooper’s spirits. Bull comes back to your Clubmobile on a regular basis, sometimes multiple times a day, even if it is just to chat.

Due to the Red Cross’ discouragement of Dollies having romantic relationships with servicemen, you can’t reciprocate the kind man’s feelings, despite how much you want to. However, it doesn’t go unnoticed that Bull gets his coffee and donuts for free whenever you’re working the station.

There’s an unmistakable tension in the air before D-Day, which inspires you to break the rules a little and accompany Bull to a local pub. Hours and a dozen endearing Southern phrases later, you are wrapped in his arms, dancing, as Glenn Miller plays on the jukebox.

“Thank you for this, doll,” Bull said, as you swayed in the middle of the dark pub. Several other Americans were there, trying to drown their fear away. They were aware you were a dolly, forbidden from socializing with Bull in such a way, but they knew the gravity of the situation, and would never say a word.

“Don’t say that, Bull. We’ll see each other again.”

A few days later, D-Day was in full swing, and the men you had spent the last months with were across the channel. However, you did not have to wait for Bull to come back for you, as you came to him. Within a week of the invasion, you and your clubmobile walked onto the Normandy beaches, footlocker in hand.

You can not imagine the look of surprise and joy on Bull’s face when your truck joined Easy Company outside of Ste. Mere-Eglise; witnesses say it was the only time his cigar ever fell out of his mouth.

Everyone knew you had a thing for each other, but the rules were the rules, and they were enforceable now. So, you had to exchange letters and glances in private, with conversations and hand-holding reserved for when no one was around.

When VE and VJ Days were finally declared, it was like a load off your shoulders. Your first “official” dates together include swimming and walking in the Austrian mountains, and enjoying the left-behind alcohol and cigars. And let's not forget those hugs!

(A/N: Can you tell I've had a fixation on WWII Clubmobiles recently?)

Ronald Speirs

This man actually scares me, but that’s ok.

Speirs’ infatuation with you definitely comes from a place of respect. You work somewhere on the frontlines, whether it’s as a nurse, photographer, or another paratrooper in an alternate universe. While he may not vocalize it, he really admires your drive and bravery.

You two are acquaintances, having known each other since the early days of the Normandy invasion. You brush shoulders once in a while, but to your disappointment, nothing seems to develop between the two of you. His lingering glances go unnoticed.

He wouldn’t outright approach you. You would begin to notice small things added to your rucksack or station: chocolate, money, pawned jewelry, clothes–an entire set of fine china once appeared on top of your footlocker. You had no idea where it was coming from, and several attempts to find your secret admirer were to no avail. Whoever he was, you thought, he must be the most caring man in the world; who else would go out of their way to give gifts to a woman they barely know?

Someone would notice something, though. All the rumors about Speirs’ cruelty led some men to have a heightened interest in him and his daily happenings. It would be Luz who finally sees him bring a stolen pair of heels into your tent and exit without them–all while you were out doing your job.

“Hey, Lieutenant? You got a moment?” Luz called out to his superior. He walked across the ruined town square to Speirs, who responded with nothing but a blank stare. He had been caught and by no one less than George Luz.

“What do you want, Sergeant?”

“Well, I just wanted to say…” Luz looked around, half-jokingly making sure there were witnesses, “If this leaving stuff in Y/N’s tent is an attempt to ‘woo’ her, you might want to leave a note. Or just talk to her. How else will you know it’s you leaving her gifts and not Major Winters or Lieutenant Dike?”

With that, Speirs immediately goes out to find you. From the outside, he may appear to have all the confidence in the world, but he can not fathom you thinking all the gifts he has left are from the man he replaced. Speirs spots you mailing something back home; he pulls you outside, away from the attendant, and confesses that he has been the one leaving you gifts because of the feelings he’s been harboring. You quickly embrace him, causing Luz to whoop and cheer, which is only stifled by Speirs’ scowling.

From then on, you become the “First Lady” of Dog and Easy Company. You’re untouchable. Most of the men will bend over backward for you to stay on Speirs’ “good side.” You are treated with the utmost respect and courtesy, and privy to all the going-ons of the division.

Toward the end of the war, Sgt. Grant is shot, and Speirs goes into full-blown protection mode. You accompany him as he locates the German doctor before initiating the manhunt for the soldier who shot Grant. You try to calm him down to the best of your abilities, but its no use. He hardly leaves your side after that night.

At the end of the war, Speirs decides to stay in the military, and despite the ups and downs that come with that, you stay with him. You celebrate with the rest of Easy Company as the men slowly start to return home with Speirs by your side. Not to be cliche, but you do live happily ever after, even if you’re never truly settled in one place.

Joe Liebgott

Call me David Webster, cause I would die for Joe Liebgott. He was my OG.

I think its safe to say that Liebgott is very tru cocky. I wouldn’t call it a superiority complex, perse, but he knows he’s good-looking and suave, and he’s confident enough to put it to good use. He can wine and dine any nurse and WAC he wants in a matter of moments. It’s a foolproof strategy; that is, until he sees you.

It’s Aldbourne, 1944, and he spots you in a pub while playing darts. He is immediately captivated by your looks, as even the drab green of your uniform manages to compliment them. He’s too busy staring at you and completely misses the target on his next throw. It costs him a pack of cigarettes, and you giggling at him, but man was it worth it.

You spend the evening huddled up together in a booth, him trying every one of his usual pick-up lines, and you shrugging them off like they’re nothing. It confuses Joe to no end that the one girl he wants doesn’t fall prey to his anecdotes. In reality, they do work, as you fall more and more in love with him throughout the night; you just want to hear him work for it.

He walks you back to your barracks, dizzy from infatuation (and dancing). You leave him with a peck on his cheek, and it's there he promises you will be the last girl he chases.

Before D-Day, Joe asks for a picture of you to keep during the war. You happily oblige, signing your love on the back of it with a kiss. He keeps it with him until the very end of the war and can not count the number of times he has shown you off someone else. By May, everyone in Easy knows what you look like.

Despite his addiction to Dick Tracy comics, Joe isn’t much of a poet, but this doesn’t keep him from writing to you daily. Sometimes the letters don’t contain more than an “I love you” or ramblings about how terrible his rations tasted or German lessons. Other times, they were more macabre, even though he attempts to sugarcoat things for you. Your favorite letters are when he describes life back home in California and everything he hopes to show you one day.

Obviously, the war was hard for Liebgott, even more than other soldiers. But knowing you are waiting for him and will stick with him helps get him through the hard times. I imagine Liebgott turns into Harry Welsh now that he’s smitten with you. He tells everyone about you, and wherever he goes, he looks for something to ship back to you.

After the war, the two of you find yourselves a nice house in California. No matter what happens, you are there for each other through thick and thin. The picture you gave Joe in Aldbourne is framed in your living room for years to come.

Floyd Talbert

Unfortunately, I don’t remember Tab that much since it has been so long since my last rewatch. But if I know one thing for certain, I know he’s a cutie pie. (But I’m very sorry if these headcanons don’t match the character well).

You two would definitely meet while Floyd is recovering from being bayonetted by Private Smith in Carentan. You tend to his wounds and listen to him recall the harrowing story of how he received his injury. Its only when Easy Company returns to England and you meet his friends that you learn the injury was a simple mistake. Of course, Floyd is embarrassed, but you find it endearing.

Much like with Toye, you return to Tab’s bedside innumerous times. Since you’re in England, you can relatively safely go out for a “date” once he is healed. You enjoy the best British food the two of you can afford, and when that gets too sickening, you stroll through London like tourists.

He insisted you be there when he returns to Easy and informally receives a Purple Heart. His beams with pride, and in his confident state shows you off to the rest of the men as his fiancee. Well, that isn’t exactly true until a couple days later, when Floyd pops the question hours before departing for the war again. You wouldn’t think of saying anything but yes.

Like the other men, you exchange letters for months. You remain stationed outside of London, and despite wartime rationing, send him anything he needs. Cigarettes? Bought and shipped. Pictures of you? Taken and sent. Some baked goods? Consider it sent. If he could, he would reciprocate the favor, which he tries to do whenever they stop through a somewhat intact town. The tulips he sends you from the Netherlands are permanently placed by your beside, even if they arrive a little dried.

Once the war ends, Tab can not wait to see you and shows up unannounced in your ward. The excitement and love is palpable, and you marry within days. After that, he feels no rush to end the honeymoon phase, and you dawdle getting back to the states to begin life together.

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luminouslywriting · 8 months ago

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Falling asleep on the Bob guys

Nonny, this is such a darling request! Sorry it's taken me so long to get to it :) I hope you really enjoy and are having a great day! Reminder that my requests are open and I love the spam!

Cut for length, paragraph format below:

Dick Winters:

Dick Winters is the type of man to be caught off guard in the softest of ways. He's not expecting you to fall asleep on him and he's still trying to talk over plans when he realizes that you're totally and completely out. It's at this point that he gets this really soft expression on his face and just decides to treasure the moment since you never know what will happen. He stays awake and keeps a wary eye out for any sort of danger that might befall the two of you. And he might murmur a few sweet nothings to you while you're asleep since there's no harm and foul for that.

Lewis Nixon:

Honestly, he's rambling and rambling and is waiting for you to reply to anything that he's said and mid-ramble, he looks down to find you asleep. Kinda makes this amused expression on his face and then presses a short and sweet kiss to your forehead. He's perfectly content as a kitten, curling up and falling asleep next to you. Especially if you're the one who fell asleep first—he's not about to move you or wake you up haha.

Ronald Speirs:

Realizes you're falling asleep very quickly and just goes kinda quiet. He doesn't have the heart to move you or wake you up so he can move, so he just sits there with your head on his shoulder and finally has a minute to just be calm and relax in peace. It's honestly a cathartic experience for him and he gets to reflect on your relationship, which endears the situation even more to him.

Buck Compton:

Gets this really goofy smile on his face at the fact that you're asleep on his shoulder. He absolutely adores seeing you this peaceful and will press a kiss to the crown of your head and snuggle in real close to you. He's the type to probably fall asleep with you, even more cuddled up and practically spooning at that point.

Carwood Lipton:

A softie who softly tells you a story until you are solidly asleep on his shoulder. And then he's slightly blushy and shy about the entire thing, but he's not about to move—he's no idiot. So he just wraps an arm around you and murmurs a soft goodnight. He'll treasure this memory for the rest of his life and wants to wake up next to you every single day henceforth.

Joe Liebgott:

Literally the sassiest mf—the minute that you fall asleep, he's out here glaring at anyone who walks by a little bit too loudly or is talking too much. He'll shush and tell someone to get the hell away from the situation bc no one is about to interrupt your beauty sleep. Not on his watch. He's also slightly smug and definitely thinking about sex in the future and how your married life would be.

Donald Malarkey:

10/10 a great person to fall asleep on. He's a solid choice, if only for the fact that he's ultra respectful and kind about things. He'll sit there patiently and untangle your hair while you're asleep and just relax. It's honestly just as calming getting to be around you while you're asleep and it becomes a tradition between the two of you.

Eugene Roe:

You cannot convince me that he isn't the best choice here. He gets super soft and almost emotional about the fact that you trust him enough to fall asleep near him and on him. He'll murmur lullabies in a half-whisper in French and stroke your hair and rub your back soothingly until you're totally asleep. He absolutely loves you and that'll be the last thing you hear before you're totally out for the count.

Bill Guarnere:

Doesn't realize you've fallen asleep until he turns to hear your reply or comments from a story he's been telling and then realizes that you're totally out. He gets this kinda goofy grin and just snuggles up real close to you. He's very honored that you feel safe enough to fall asleep in his presence—and he's not about to lose that trust for literally anything. You mean the world to him.

Joe Toye:

Slightly panicked?! Which doesn't really make sense, but you're literally asleep and he's just not about to let anyone interrupt that. He'll glare and make menacing motions to anyone who's too loud and he just wants to cuddle up next to you without anyone giving him shit. Not that anyone would—but you know, he's got some worries. Either way, he's real gentle about the entire thing.

George Luz:

Probably happens in a foxhole amidst some jokes and laughs to keep spirits up. And when you don't respond, he gets a little worried and then glances over to find out that you're just asleep on his shoulder. Gets this shit-eating grin on his face and he's definitely gonna tease you about it later (but not in front of anyone else). He's secretly very pleased that you fell asleep on him since he's got a big crush on you anyway haha.

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joenotexotic99 · 1 year ago

Note

Hey! I love your work so much! Like your writing is actually beautiful! Anyway, I was wondering if you could do some of the Easy Boys if you were to tell them your pregnant? If not that’s totally ok, I completely get it. I just thought it would be kinda cute lol. I was wondering if you could include Bull, Lieb, Gene, and Winters along with whoever you want bc let’s be honest, I’m in love with them all.

A/n hope you liked this anon! <3

Warnings, so much fluff, slight language, probably needs a spell check.

Bull Randleman

You weren't sure of how he'd react, sure you loved each other but you never got to the point of whether or not you were having kids. When you did tell him his face stayed neutral, you almost thought that he was upset at first until a huge grin displayed across his face. He took you into his arms and gave you the biggest hug. He rubbed your back and kissed the top of your head, holding you close. He then let go to kiss your stomach. Telling his future kid that he loves them. When he looked back at you he had the most genuine smile.

“son of a bitch, I'm going to be a father”

“Damn right your are”

Joseph Leibgott

You just made this man stop completely in his tracks, you knew how bad he wanted a family so as soon as you found out you were expecting, you went running to tell him. He had the biggest holy shit face. He immediately ran to you and scooped you up. He started to ramble, thanking you and telling you how much he loves you and how happy and excited he is. He then gives you the sweetest kiss. The whole day he sported the biggest smile, if anyone asked why so joyfully he proudly told them that he was going to be a father. If this was a modern au I would totally see him calling you a milf, respectfully

“holy shit I love you so much, you're amazing you know that? I'm gonna be a dad, jesus”

“The best”

Eugene roe

Like bull you haven't discussed the possibility of having kids. You had no idea what to expect telling him the news. You honestly expected the worst. But all that fear washed away immediately when you saw the excitement in his eyes and the wide smile on his face. He asked you if this is what you want and when you nodded with yes he went straight to hug you. Gene would be so caring with you. I honestly think that he would find trinkets and toys to give you his kid when he's old enough. Will be such a great dad.

“Are you sure we're ready for this”

“Probably not but one things for sure is you are going to be a great mom”

Richard winters

you wanted kids and so did winters, you've talked and discussed it before, even going as far as telling what names you liked and disliked. But it was always something you said you would do later in life, so it came as a surprise when you found out you were pregnant so soon. Telling him was exciting and nauseating at the same time. It took him a second to register what you meant, but he was more than excited. Starting a family has been something he's always wanted and now it's a dream come true. He rapped you in your arms telling you how happy he gets to do this with you.

“I love you, you know that?”

“More than you know”

Ronald Speirs

Honestly children were never really in the question. When you and Speirs talked about your future you would talk about beaches and vacations and buying a big house. Never kids. So you were rightfully terrified to find out you were pregnant. You had no idea if Speirs ever wanted kids. When you told him you half expected for him to walk away. It took at least ten seconds for him to make any face acknowledging to you his feelings. That's when he hugged you. When he pulled away he had tears in his eyes and a smile on his face.

“were having a kid?”

“We are”

“I love you”

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers headcanon #band of brothers x reader #bull randleman #bull randleman x reader #joseph liebgott #joseph liebgott x reader #eugene roe #eugene roe x reader #dick winters #richard winters x reader #ronald speirs #ron speirs x reader #request

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lovelyd0gg · 5 months ago

Text

Some mini HCs!

Heya! I decided I wanted to do this cute little thing where I write a small story with you and the boys in different scenarios! But you guys only talking!

The different ways the boys say "I love you too."

Warnings: cutesy fluff<3

Bonus boys: The bonus boys areeeee... David Webster and Richard Winters!

𝙳𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚗 (𝙱𝚞𝚕𝚕)

"Hey Bull?"

"𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩 𝘩𝘶𝘯?"

"I love you."

"𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘰, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵."

*soft kiss on the forehead<3."

𝐄𝐮𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐞.

"Gene?"

"𝑴𝒉𝒎?"

"I love you."

"𝑱𝒆 𝒕'𝒂𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒅𝒐𝒖𝒙 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒓." (𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆.)

*kiss on the cheek.*

George Luz.

"Luz?"

"ʏᴇᴀʜ ᴘᴏᴛᴀᴛᴏ?"

"I love you."

"ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ᴛɪɴʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙᴀʙʏ."

*Sweet kiss on the nose.*

𝘿𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙚𝙮.

"Malarkey?"

"𝘠𝘶𝘩-𝘩𝘶𝘩?"

"I love you."

"𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰, 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨!"

*kiss<3*

𝙻𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚜 𝙽𝚒𝚡𝚘𝚗.

"Hey Nix?"

"𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍?"

"I love you."

"𝖠𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄? 𝖨 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁."

*playful smack on the head.*

𝑩𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑮𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒆.

"Hey Bill!"

"Waddyawant?"

"I love you."

"Yeah, yeah, I love ya too sweetcheeks."

*kiss<3*

𝚁𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚍 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚜.

"Speirs."

"...hm?"

"I love you."

"...I love you too.."

*gentle head pats.*

𝐽𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑝ℎ 𝐿𝑖𝑒𝑏𝑔𝑜𝑡𝑡.

"Hey lieb?"

"What's up, beautiful?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, sunshine."

*kiss<33*

𝘿𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙙 𝙒𝙚𝙗𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧.

"Web?"

"yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, honey."

*continues to read book.*

Richard Winters.

"Richard?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

*soft forehead kiss.*

#hbo war #bob #easy company #band of brothers #george luz #eugene roe #lewis nixon #ronald speirs #richard winters #joseph liebgott #david webster #bill guarnere #bull randleman #donald malarkey #Headcanons

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cmspeirs · 3 months ago

Text

Band of Brothers Headcanons: What music they’d be listening to

(+ Playlists and absolutely historically inaccurate)

A/N: Hey! So here’s my first BoB headcanon - I hope you enjoy it! I’m sorry if this is rather short. Let me know if you’d like to see other characters in those or have any requests :) I also spent way too much time making several playlists for them, I’ll link them for you at the end if you wanna listen to them!

{Dick Winters}

• Classical. Music.

• Can list you every thing that Bach or Vivaldi ever published, but with the backstories

• I just picture him closing his eyes and sighing very loudly whenever he listens to something he loves

• Will dance to old Jazz music until the sun comes up, and says the day after that it was a really wild night

• Also listens A LOT to Lana (would never admit it)

• Secretly gossips and argues over her online. Tries to keep it a secret but his username is “DickDelRey101”

{Lewis Nixon}

• Classic Rock all the way

• I’m talking Bob Dylan, Rolling Stones, ACDC…

• “Paranoid - Black Sabbath” was his wedding song

• When he gets home he falls into the old chair next to the record player with a bottle of whiskey already waiting

• He’s always like “I need this music to calm down, don’t you understand???” and absolutely means it

• Drives the car only to listen to “Enter Sandman” and wear sunglasses while he does (windows all the way down, volume max)

• 100% certified Dad music

{Ronald Speirs}

• This mans music is all over the place

• Just like my feelings for him lol

• But mostly listens to a lot of old music???

• Like 40s to 60s, also a big fan of Elvis and Johnny Cash

• Literally has pictures of them hanging in the doorway

• Always says he doesn’t care about things like music, but will make a playlist for every one he meets with songs that remind him of them

• I swear to everything music would be one of his love languages - he’d absolutely remember every song you ever liked

• Turns the radio louder randomly to songs with the explanation “saw you smiling to that with your morning coffee last week”

{Donald Malarkey}

• Listens to a whole lot of sad songs - and I’m talking about gut wrenching, laying on the bathroom floor kind of sad

• Also somehow into Grunge??

• At least three Radiohead songs in every one of his playlists

• The Smiths is his happy music

• When his favorite Pink Floyd Record is on he listens to it all day. He runs to push the play button again every time it stops.

{Joe Toye}

• 100% an alternative Rock / Nu Metal kind of guy

• Would have Deftones playing all day

• Also listens to Bloodhound Gang a lot lol (The song “Jackass” is his anthem!!!)

• Just imagine him sitting in the garage with Guarnere, drinking beer while an old Limp Bizkit vinyl is on

• He thinks it’s the greatest thing of all time that bands began to combine Rap with Hardcore

• In terms of that - definitely a fan of Deez Nuts, Hollywood Undead or Linkin Park

• “Band of Brothers - Deez Nuts” is literally his favorite song

{George Luz}

• Unironically listens to the Soundtrack of Oklahoma

• It just puts a smile on his face every time he hears it - takes him back to the news of the musical still on broadway back in war

• Also loves & defends Tom Lehrer to death

• He knows every song from him by heart and always sings the loudest

• Will randomly sing his favorite songs throughout the day, which makes everyone shake their head but deep down they all love it

• He’s almost afraid of sad music

• He aspires to be Ricky Nelson in another life

{Eugene Roe}

• Similar to Malarkey, but doesn’t cry to those songs

• Just sits in silence with a cigarette between his fingers, staring into the nothingness while thinking about his time with Easy

• “Feels like a movie” - songs were made for him

• When he listens to Elton John or Billy Joel you know he’s in a happy mood

• Is also the anonymous person Winter argues with online about Lana

• DickDelRay101 replied: Are you clinically insane? How could you deny it’s her best album? Did you even listen to it?

• Absolutely knows that it’s Winters and accidentally called him Sir when he replied (several times)

{Joe Liebgott}

• Hear. Me. Out. He’s a pop punk & grunge boy all the way

• Has a big collection of thrifted vinyls (if you can’t find him, search at the next thrift market)

• Puts on Nirvana or the Offspring and just lays on his bed while smoking a whole pack of cigarettes

• Room full of ripped band posters and at least one guitar (but can’t play, although he says he can)

• 10/10 would’ve lived in a skatepark in another life

• Also really into Old school HipHop, loves the Beastie Boys

• Accidentally went to a New Kids on the Block concert once. Said he hated it but stayed until the very last minute.

{David Webster}

• Would also listen to classical music

• But it would just be for people to think he’s very intellectual, actually can’t stand it

• In reality really into slow and soft love songs

• Listens to Vera Lynn on a daily basis and happily admits that he cries to her songs. Always speaks of “Our Vera.”

• When he listens to “There’ll always be an England” he suddenly gets an English accent.

• The Fleetwoods is his favorite band

• Tries to listen to Pop Punk because he knows Joe loves it, but he absolutely hates it

• “There’s no emotion Joe!!”

• “For fucks sake, Web, there’s all the goddamn emotion!!?!!”

{Bull Randleman}

• Hard Rock, can’t say more

• Also 100% certified Dad music. He’s the one who visits Nixon once a week to play poker and smoke cigars while listening to his records

• Is the guy at a concert who will accidentally throw you to the ground while in a mosh pit

• But will absolutely make everyone stop so he can pick you up again

———

Link to the Ronald Speirs playlist:

Link to my profile - the other playlists are on there (still updating them regularly):

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belovedastolove · 10 months ago

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bofb ships and petnames hc’s :D

hey yall sorry for inactivity!!!! i am feeling quite insane and can’t stop thinking about this so i present you with this :3

webgott - david calls joe liebling because he is obsessed with the fact that the german word for darling is so close to joe’s name. he also calls joe honey and and joe pretends to hate it but actually is Absolutely Obsessed with it. joe calls david davey but only when he’s feeling especially tender and sweet.

baberoe - gene absolutely smothers babe with a bunch of random french petnames. a personal favorite of mine is mon cœur which means my heart or mon ange which means my angel. babe likes to call gene baby or love or genie.

luztoye - joe definitely calls george sugar, i don’t make the rules. george likes to call joe stud muffin as a joke but calls him sunshine when he’s feeling especially loving.

winnix - they aren’t big on petnames, but lew loves to call dick honey and dick calls lew dear like an old married couple.

spierton - they call each other sweetheart. end of discussion.

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kafka-ohdear · 1 year ago

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you know, the easy company members' ages are mostly equivalent to others but some are basically a child in a grown man body. a whole squad i'd say. there are:

• skip, don, penkala, they literally have children-like behavior. who will be the child if not these three.

• and we also have luz, hoobler, tab and babe in the problematic children group.

• webgott also belongs in this squad, they argue every single minute and skinny will have to stop them.

• skinny, shifty, eugene, chuck and blithe are also children-like, but they behave perfectly well. they are basically what people mean when they talk about the polite kid.

• and don't forget john hall, the shy little child who deserves the world.

on the other hand, we have the babysitters, or mom and dad group. this group includes:

• obviously, winnix aka the parents of the company;

• and speirton the another parents of easy co. but they are a bit closer to the men of the company somehow;

• randlemartin is a requirement. bull is most certainly the cool dad who will teach you to make models and martin is the mom who will give you a 2 hour long lecture but still let you make the models with you dad (aka bull) afterwards.

we also have the cool uncles and the perosnal babysitters. the uncle squad includes:

• harry and bill, the straights amongst gays.

• dukeman is the only one who will teach you good and valuable knowledge (they are appropriate, of course). he will also bring you candies, but only the right amount. let's say he is the only uncle that can be trusted in the whole squad.

• alton is the cool uncle who will take you for a ride on his motorcycle until you get bored and will answer/teach everything if you asked him no matter if it's appropriate or not;

• and pat christenson, who will draw a literal masterpiece and give it to you if you asked him to.

• buck is the kind of uncle who will sneak you a bunch of candies that are probably enough to keep you full for a goddamn month and will get a lecture with you if you both get caught.

an example for the personal babysitter is george, his personal babysitter and boyfriend is joe toye of course. or the kid will babysits the uncle sometimes. who knows.

band of brother kindergarten/family au, give it to me.

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1waveshortofashipwreck · 1 year ago

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Oh I just realized something about Should’ve Been Born Later, Nix! I wonder how Speirs would react if he came across Gossip Girl and there is just a guy who looks a little too much like him hehehe

I LOVE THIS!!!! (quick note i’ve never seen Gossip Girl so apologies for any inaccuracies lol)

Ok so I picture it happening when they’re all at the twins’ apartment and they just have the TV on in the background

Ron is maybe on the couch reading a book when maybe Winters or Nixon goes

“Hey Ron is that you?”

Lewis Nixon Seeing Matthew Settle in Gossip Girl, 2023 Colorized

So Speirs looks up and it’s a commercial for a Gossip Girl marathon

And he is just heckin bamboozled

Like ??? the fuck????

Zay hears the commotion and pokes her head into the living room to see if everyone is okay

Then she sees the screen and Ron’s face and STRUGGLES to hold back a laugh

“Are you saying that’s not you Lieutenant Speirs??” Zay said in the most genuine tone she could muster

Which wasn’t a lot

“You and him are played by the same actor here, so y'all look the same”

The rest of the room broke out in laughter while Ron just sat in silence… however he could not resist letting out a laugh

Here's a feared, respected, badass army lieutenant, and in the commercial he's got messy hair and wearing what looks like a third-day-worn t shirt

Ron simply let out a quiet laugh and shook his head before going back to his book

But he couldn't help but wonder…

What else did he, or rather, this actor, play in??

How do people see him in 2023?

Like, he doesn’t CARE…. But he's curious…

Thank you again for the ask love!! Apologies for the delay 😅💕

#ask #love--persevering #headcanons #band of brothers headcanons #band of brothers #hbo #hbo war #easy company #should've been born later #easy company x oc #help emily write #emily shut up #ronald speirs #ron speirs

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ithinkabouttzu · 2 months ago

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Hey Mac! I was wondering for an ask if you could do where the BoB men would take someone on a first date? Thank you!

Where Easy co. would take you on a first date!

a/n: Of course sweet friend! I’m sorry this took so long but as you know, life has been 🫠, but i hope you enjoy! ❤️

genre: Romance/comedy

warnings: cursing?(maybe idk i forgot); my brutal honest opinion

description: Where the men of easy company would take you for a first date and why!

taglist: @executethyself35 @linhkhanhcps @1waveshortofashipwreck @grumpy-liebgott @barbeygirl @samwinchesterslostshoe @ronsenthal @sweetxvanixlla @mstiemountainhop @imaginethatneathuh @goodluckbabeheffron @resting-distressed-face @bossboudicca (If you want to be on this list, let me know!! :))

BoB masterlist

Dick Winters: He's a simple man, might I add also a very romantic man. I think he would go for a classic candlelight dinner. Probably to some fancy Italian restaurant with amazing alfredo. He would pick you up, or meet you but either way he’s showing up with red roses. During the meal he’d be down for some nice conversation and overall he’s very charming. After dinner he’s paying and tipping the waiter generously.

Lewis Nixon: A sophisticated man like himself who occasionally enjoys history is definitely taking you to a museum for your first date. Thankfully he would pay for the both of you. I think it would go pretty well overall. Only somewhat bad thing about the whole date is the fact that he would talk so much about himself and interrupt. I don’t think he would do it on purpose, he really just loves talking any chance he gets lmao.

Carwood Lipton: He’s probably going to take you out to eat for your first date. Instead of a dinner date though, I see him taking you to a really cute cafe for brunch or something like that. He would be so polite the entire time, using his manners and being attentive to you. He’s kind of the opposite of Nix, instead of talking about himself, he can’t stop asking you questions and getting to know you more. “I didn’t know if you were allergic so I decided not to get you some, but I would love to give you a bouquet next time we meet.

Joe Toye: I feel like he’d be the type of guy to invite you to a bar on the first date. Not exactly like a bar but a nice seclusive brewery that isn't super overwhelming to get to, so I guess a pub? He's a fan of getting a couple drinks, relaxing, and talking about whatever is going on at the moment. He’s paying for all the drinks you get. Did I also mention that he’s so damn charismatic during the entire time? Afterward he would be more than welcome to walking or driving you home.

Joe Liebgott: This hottie would probably try to pick a nice dinner restaurant to eat at for your first date but then settle for something a bit more simple, like an ice cream date. You guys could sit, relax, and chit chat while enjoying a nice scoop of goodness (Sounds like an amazing date tbh.) He would of course pay for your ice cream and even take you out to another cool place afterwards (aka his room) if the date goes well.

Bill Guarnere: I feel like he’d definitely be the one to take you out to a nightclub on the first date. He’s all about having fun, and having fun with you, so why not go out and dance while getting to know eachother better? You definitely have to stop him a couple times for trying to grab your ass while dancing. You guys would have good conversation and fun and he’d definitely ask you to come to his place after.

George Luz: George would totally take you to an arcade on your first date together. I feel like that perfectly gives off his vibe. Fun and playful while still getting to know each other better. I'm not getting a Dave and Busters kinda vibe but maybe a cute place downtown that has fun games. (notice how you guys would probably be the only two adults there lol) Ughh it would be totally perfect. (George is so “Boyfriend” yk?) He would of course pay and afterwards maybe a cute kiss?

Moe Alley: I think he would invite you somewhere pretty random for a first date. Maybe wine tasting? It's giving middle aged mom but trust me it would be a total vibe lmao. Both of you would probably be a little tipsy afterwards (Ugh imagine flustered and tipsy Moe) and need an uber home. If he really liked the date I feel like he’d be the type to text you non stop until you guys go out for another date lmao.

Eugene Roe: I fear we’re going to find a common theme here. As much as I love Roe, I think he would settle for a nice dinner date like a good bit of the others. He would probably take you out to a steakhouse with really pretty decor. He would be such a cute gentleman the entire time. A little shy at first but he warms up to you as the night goes on. He's one of those guys that doesn’t want to make it awkward so he tries not to keep too quiet. (Also he would tip the waiter a lot which is a plus.)

Bull Randleman: Okay here me out: An at home dinner prepared by him. I know it’s kinda giving serial killer vibes when a man invites you to his house on a first date but lets go ahead and assume that you two already know each other pretty well beforehand. He gives such a homey vibe I feel like it would be out of his character to go out and spend a 100 dollars on a dinner that he “has all at home” But don’t worry because he can cook a pretty good steak.

Floyd Talbert: I think the first date with Tab HAS to be mini golf. The cute banter between you two while he’s slighting winning, the fake pouting once you take the lead. The flirting between holes and casual chit-chat while playing, he’s the perfect guy for a date like this. He’s so charismatic it's kind of hard not to fall for him after the first date. “We should come back here next week, then you might actually be able to beat me then, sweets.”

Skip Muck: To me I feel like he would want to take you somewhere a little seclusive where both of you can just relax and enjoy yourselves without there being crowds of people there. I could definitely see you and him going to a nice comedy show in town that has some nice drinks and food. It would be so fun for a little date night. Maybe afterwards you guys could stop by an ice cream shop and get some dessert?

Don Malarkey: I think like some of the other guys he would take you out to eat for a first date, but instead out to dinner maybe a lunch date at a diner? One with hamburgers and milkshakes that are to die for. There’s definitely a moment within the date where he’s trying to chug his milkshake and ends up getting a horrible brain freeze lol. Afterwards he would take you to a sweet drive-in movie theater to watch a classic movie. (He’s just the sweetest)

Babe Heffron: This first date has to be at an amusement park of some sort. I mean an amusement park kinda sums up his personality as a whole . Fun, wild, and if you’re there just know you’re having a good time 9 times out of 10. He would dare to go on all of the scariest rides with him. (Cue to him screaming at the top of his lungs right next to your ear. ) He definitely gets a stomach ache from eating all the junk at the park. By the end of the date he's making you take super cute pics in a photobooth

Shifty Powers: I’m really thinking that he would love to take you on a super duper cute picnic! He would set up a picnic table at the park and you guys could hangout there once the weather is nice during the day. He’s such a gentleman the entire time, it's certain that you guys are gonna have an amazing date together. Also his attempt at making a bunch of homemade foods is actually really good, I have a feeling he’s secretly an amazing cook!

Frank Perconte: He’s just gotta take you to a drive-in movie. He knows it won’t be too awkward because the movie will be playing, and if you guys run out of things to talk about then you guys could just focus on the movie. (Major overthinker here) he’s definitely one of those guys who sit there and stare at you intensely while you watch the movie and you can just feel his gaze on you lmao. “I had a fun time tonight, maybe we can go get dinner sometime again next week?”

Ronald Speirs: Again, (like a lot of the other guys) I'm sensing that he would take you on an amazing dinner date. He would probably take you to one of those fancy hibachi restaurants that make volcanoes out of onions and whatnot. I think he would be such a charming person you can’t tell if he’s going to be the love of your life or make you wish you were never born. He’s the type to pull up to the date with one singular rose to impress you lmao.

Johnny Martin: This old head is taking you bowling. (arguably one of the worst date options in my opinion) It’s a little awkward at first, just because the walking back from it being your turn and seeing him staring at you is so funny lmao. Also i can’t forget to mention the fact that he’s oddly super good at bowling?? I mean this man is practically getting a strike every time. “Maybe we should play again sometime, unless you don’t wanna get beat again.”

Chuck Grant: Okay here me out, this guy loves cars and motorcycles and just driving in general, so what would be better than a first date then go-kart racing?? It would be really fun and not too awkward for a first date. Maybe afterwards he could take you to a burger joint where you guys could get to know each other a bit better. But go-karting would originally take the awkwardness out of the first date.

Skinny Sisk : Axe throwing!! He wants to put your skills to the test (and his) with some fun knife throwing (i can’t tell if imagining him throwing an axe is hot or scary. ) Hopefully with a place that also serves food and drinks as well! The entire time he would try to make you laugh with a bunch of corny jokes of his (you can tell off the bat he’s kind of a terrible flirt lol) Afterwards he’d take you home and maybe finish the night off with a kiss?

David Webster: Knowing this guy, of course he just has to take you to an art gallery. He would sit there and try telling you all about some of the art pieces up for show. And after he would take you somewhere that has some really good tasting wine. I think the date would be very lax but also interesting. The more you talk to him all you can think is, “What else has this guy been through?” (I think he’s the type to trauma dump on the first date but can’t hate bc relatable tbh)

Buck Compton: I’m not trying to stereotype but I REALLY would want him to take you to a baseball game for a first date. He would be so excited to tell you all about the sport, he also desperately tries to catch a ball for you to take home. He probably buys you guys a ton of junk to snack on throughout the game and is so easy to talk to while the game is going on. “I know they lost but, wanna try and go out again sometime next weekend?”

Thank you all for reading so much! If you enjoyed, please help a writer out and like or reblog!! 🩷💖💕💝

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balladofthe101st · 9 months ago

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thinking about speirs as ares not because of his bloodlust, his violence, but rather in war, on the battlefield, when it comes down to it, you'd want speirs on your side, by your side because he'd get the job done and job done well

#this is a speirston post in hiding #speirs is ares or his son is my headcanon #lives in my head rent free #ronald speirs #ron speirs #band of brothers #bob #bofb #hbo war #ares #greek mythology #greek gods

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hottpinkpenguin · 7 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.

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

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