#dick having a dozen of redheads without even looking for them? makes sense

[wrctings]

Dick Winters x reader | The best way to recover

for all of my fellow soft dick winters stans 🧡

“Is being mess officer that horrible?” Nixon asked lightly, trying to get a smile out of his friend as he made his way through the kitchen, avoiding army cooks to join Winters.

As usual, the clinking melody of cutlery knocking together was reverberating through the room, bouncing off the walls and mingling with the voices of the men whom avidly scraped their ration of food off their plates, which had somehow led the atmosphere of dinnertime to become congenial over months. After the long hours of draining, at first even almost unbearable preparation that they endured daily, the soldiers of the 506th had started to form a bond that not only got them through the toughest of training sessions, but also manifested whenever they were bestowed a bit of free time. In between running to exhaustion, teasing and munching on flavourless beans together, camaraderie was growing day after day among Easy Company.

“I’d rather not be here right now,” Dick replied shortly, only giving the brunet officer a brief glance before his eyes drifted back toward the window pane. As a Lieutenant, the redhead was accustomed to watching over his men with care, even moved as he witness their efforts bear fruit and theirs friendships grow tighter, but on that evening his thoughts and attention were directed toward something else — someone else, rather. As the pouring rain drummed outside, accounting for the definite arrival of Autumn’s brisk weather and carpets of brown leaves, what Dick would have otherwise considered appeasing had now become the cause of his worry, distracting his diligence from the task that Sobel had given him when he designated him mess officer. 

“Dick, what’s happening?” Lewis frowned, sensing that the other man’s tone smacked of particular concern — he could tell that something was off by the hardened look on Winters’s face, the officer pacing up and down without truly acknowledging what was happening all around. 

“Sobel made Y/n run Currahee right before dinner. Guarnere and Toye went with them, but they’re not back yet.” 

“Shit, it’s pouring out there,” Nixon cursed under his breath, shaking his head at the news. He now understood his friend’s state of mind much better, knowing how much you meant to him. “How long?”

“Twenty minutes. They should be back soon,” Winters’s gaze was shifting from the window to the door, the man intensely hoping that you and your two companions in misfortune would finally show up at last. 

“They’ll be okay,” Nixon put a hand over Dick’s shoulder, giving him a few comforting pats. “They’ve run that mountain dozens of times.” 

“I know, Nix, but have you seen the weather? We don’t need soldiers falling ill now,” Winters added roughly, in sharp contrast with the composure of his usual behaviour. 

“Dick, Y/n is a good soldier,” Nixon spoke in a quieter voice, understanding that Dick was most of all worried about your well-being. “And they’re with Guarnere and Toye, the three of them can help each other out.” 

“Yeah.” The redhead eventually nodded, turning around to get a glimpse at the other officer. “Why did he made them run the forsaken mountain now...,” he muttered, jaw clenching as his eyes narrowed. 

Lewis’s lips parted, the man about to agree on the deplorable nature of Sobel’s methods, but before he had time to lash out at their Commending Officer the door finally swung open and ricocheted off the wall, revealing three panting figures. Soaked to the bone, Bill, Joe and you stepped inside, getting your helmets off as you took in the warmth of the room, shivering in your drenched gear. 

Soldiers cheered as you walked up to the kitchen, giving you pats on the back and congratulating you for getting through the task, to which Joe was bitterly swearing that he would “always hate that son of b*tch” and Bill grunted by your side, sharing your exhaustion. You couldn’t have been more grateful for your friends’ presence, Guarnere and Toye following you in solidarity after Sobel had commanded that you run Currahee, but you didn’t feel like you had enough remaining strength to join Toye in his breathless attacks against your CO. All you could strive for at that moment were a hot meal and a place to collapse in, your legs threatening to cave in with every additional step — while braving the downpour your equipment had felt heavier than ever, painfully weighing down on you for miles. 

When he saw you come in Dick’s first instinct was to rush up to you, attempting to help out best he could, but the interdiction to surrender his post in the kitchen left the ginger-haired man no choice but to helplessly watch you get a plate of beans and bread, then taking a seat alongside Toye and Guarnere with your uniform wet and hair sticking to your skin as you took a hasty mouthful of food. You hardly payed attention to anything around you, trying to stop yourself from shaking while filling your empty stomach with the lukewarm beans that you had been served, feeling Bill also quiver beside you.

The time to depart came after you had just finished eating, the company being ordered out of the canteen. Rushing out as fast as possible to find shelter without getting sodden in the rain, the men rapidly emptied the room, leaving no one but Dick, Nixon and the cooks behind; the First Lieutenant still having to face their CO before he was free to go, Lewis disappeared just in time for Lt. Sobel to march up to Winters, requiring his daily report. In the meantime, you headed back to the barracks, eager to get a change of clothes and finally be able to have a break — after this evening, you couldn’t wait to tumble upon your bed, your sore muscles sending you clear signals that they demanded to rest. 

However, an unexpected visit awaited you a short while later. As you were carried forward amidst the flood of soldiers — everybody willing to take refuge from the icy droplets of rain piercing their skin with coldness —, you caught a glimpse of a figure coming toward you from the side, making way among the company. Soon enough, the blurred lines turned into a familiar shape, then becoming clearer as the man got closer to you, and in a few seconds Lt. Winters stood at the side of the crowd you were part of. His dark green iris fixed upon you, he made a small movement of the head when you met his gaze, as though asking if you could join him. After quickly looking around to be certain that your retreat wouldn’t be noticed, you slowed down, letting men overtake you, and stepped to the side until you found yourself close enough to Dick.

You strode away from the barracks without a word, but you rapidly recognised the direction you were taking — it wasn’t long until you reached the officers’ lodgings, the building’s outline illuminated by a beam of light flickering through the windows. Opening the door, Dick let you in first before closing it behind the two of you, making sure that no one had seen you leave together; Nixon and Harry were visibly missing as well, probably enjoying a game of cards in the headquarters.

The redhead immediately went to his footlocker afterwards, not even bothering to take his side cap off as he rummaged through the piece of furniture, and only spoke after he handed you the blanket which he had retrieved. You took it gratefully, teeth still chattering in spite of the warmer temperature of the room.

“How are you? I learnt that Sobel sent you off after you had already left...” he let you know apologetically, helping you unbutton your wet uniform.

“Cold,” you gave him an honest answer, resting the blanket on the bed nearby while starting to get your soaked clothes off. “But Bill and Joe made it a lot easier.”

“Still, ordering you to run Currahee by yourself in that weather..” Dick harsh voice however broke off as he was about to enlarge upon his disapproval of Sobel, deciding at the last moment that it wasn’t worth it — he would much rather focus on you.

Kneeling, he unlaced your boots, your own fingers being too numb to get a firm grip on the shoelaces, and went back to his footlocker while you took off the shirt that you were wearing under your uniform; it hadn’t been spared from the rain, unpleasantly clinging onto your body and sending chills down your skin. Dick then handed you the sweater, trousers and socks that he had taken out while politely looking away — which you always found irresistibly sweet since you were in relationship and had been intimate before —, leaving you all the needed time to change into dry clothes. Only when you were done did he finally came close to you again, the worry that had been painted over his face slightly alleviated now that you were safely shut away from the rain and cold.

“Is it better now?” Winters inquired caringly, his heart swelling as he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of you in his clothes, fitting too big for your smaller frame. It was as though he had given you a real part of him, aside from the discreet kisses and affectionate words that you had to find a way to exchange throughout the day.

Dick greatly admired your strength — the way you held your head up, kept your spirits firmly focused even though your first months in the army had been rough since you had to constantly prove your worth to the men —, but the intimacy that had developed between the two of you allowed him to see another side of you, just like you could access another side of him. With you, he was not afraid to be himself — he was not afraid to care, because you cared too, and understood. And you were not afraid to let your guard down — to let him help you, just like you also helped him.

“It’s so much better. Thank you, Dick.” You gave the redhead a touched smiled, deeply grateful for the trouble he put himself into just to make you feel better. “Hey, you haven’t even taken the time to take care of yourself,” you then added in soft indignation, it being your turn to look after him. You reached for his side cap, cautious not to wrinkle it, and folded it neatly while Dick took off his jacket.

The Lieutenant ran a hand through his hair, quickly fixing it, and gave you a smile that revealed the creases happiness shaped around his eyes. Although you ought not to be seen inside the officiers’ barracks, such an intrusion being formally forbidden, for once Dick couldn’t have payed less attention to the rules — if risk was the price to pay for spending time with you, he would assume it.

“You must be tired, I’m sorry if I’m cutting your hours of sleep shorter,” Winters still apologised, getting up to hang your wet uniform so it dries out overnight. “I didn’t want to let you go like that.” He sat back down, taking your cold hands into his, warming them up. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, Dick,” you squeezed his fingers, a strong, fuzzy feeling coating the inside your chest while you were peering into the man’s eyes, their pale greenness reminding you of everything safe and loving. At the end of the day, after bullets had miraculously flown by and spared your life, Winters was always whom you came back to — though so far away from home, you had found something in him that couldn’t be immured between four walls. 

“Come here,” the redhead added, gently inviting you into his embrace as he opened his arms, and you ensconced yourself right up against him, pecking his lips tenderly before you rested your head against his chest. In spite of the barrier of cloth that the Lieutenant’s uniform represented, you could hear the beating of Dick’s heart, each of its pulsions holding onto the frail life that you all tried to preserve from the brutal grasp of death. You tried to keep the thought of it away from your mind as much as possible, standing by the same principles as the ginger-haired officer. In the field, you didn’t have time to mourn; and outside of it, time was too precious to attempt predicting the breath that the following day would suck out out of one of your fellow soldiers. Although the both of you had at first tried to fight it, thinking ahead about what devastating consequences falling in love would bring be one of you killed in combat, you couldn’t have come as far as you had without each other. Even the most violent of human struggles hadn’t managed to turn your heart into the same steel that made up your bayonets. 

“Aren’t Nixon and Harry going to come back?” you whispered regretfully, your fingers mindlessly running through the slightly damp hair at the back of Dick’s head.

“I asked them to wait for a bit.” Winters gave you an implicit answer followed by a little smile, stroking your forearms as he kissed you on the cheek. “They’re busy playing games and gambling anyway.”

“I see,” you smiled back, closing your eyes as you let yourself go all against Dick, the regular rising of his torso lulling you as you felt much warmer, your preceding running of Currahee now already seeming like a distant memory. 

It was in each other’s arms that the two of you eventually dozed off, soothed by the fluttering rhythm of the rain pounding against the windows of the barracks and the cosiness that enfolded you, making you hope for many more evenings like this. Even on the chilliest and most straining of days, the space between Dick Winters’s arms was a place for your heart to rest in. 

#dick winters #dick winters x reader #dick winters fluff #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfiction #BoB #writing #autumn #my writing

[zmediaoutlet]

I know it can be difficult to craft the perfect ending to such a long running show. My question is what do you think would be the absolute WORST ending that could feasibly happen?

Let’s start with this: there is no possible way to craft an ending that will make everyone happy. There’s no possible way to craft an ending that will make most people happy. Anyone who thinks there is such a thing needs to have their head examined. Example: I was perfectly happy with both Endgame (end of the MCU) and the Game of Thrones ending. Note how many fangirls disagree. So, whatever. That’s just got to be taken as read.

One thing about endings: they should speak to the totality of the body of the text. A very satisfying ending references the beginning–talks about where we’ve been, and where things started, and where we might go now. A good ending looks toward a future, where the audience isn’t invited. Jon riding off into the north (to have Tormund’s babies, cough)–that sense of wistful mystery, that’s just right. (–there is no mystery about the babies, though. redheaded mopey babies are in the North’s future.)

I have no faith in Dabb et al to manage something like this. In a way that’s… a good thing? Because I’m not getting my hopes up. There are a couple of different endings I can think of that would speak to what the show–and, more importantly, the two main characters–actually meant, what it (and they) stood for. The “everyone dies” ending would be lame, but it could sort of work; the “always keep fighting” ending would be more meaningful. 

An ending that would be actually WORST would be one which divided the two of them. Not for shippy reasons. The thing that made this show interesting was how… weird Sam and Dean were. Occasionally we still get sparks of it–they really can’t live without each other, as proven over and over. Some people think that the story is one of “growth,” but it really isn’t–or at least, not any growth that isn’t them growing more inextricably together. Two twined trees–if you try to remove one, the other dies. That’s at the heart of Supernatural.

Under Dabb, under J2′s decreased commitment, under the extra-CW-y vibe that’s been overtaking the show, genericization is now the name of the game. Monsters are generic; side characters are generic. The plots, such as they are, are generic. Found family. Lots of cheekbones and makeup. “We’re the guys who save the world.” Sure. Whatever.

My WORST ending? It’s not even anything to do with the last episode. The worst possible thing would be for the season to continue in the vein it has been. We’re heroes. We save the world. We’re the guys who break the rules. We’re the guys who rely on deus ex machina magic bullshit to take care of things, without actually using any of our own skills. We’re the guys who don’t make the sacrifice play, not anymore, because this convenient elevated extra will do it for us. We’re the guys who use a tea bag dropped into a Home Depot bathroom floor model set to bring someone back to life without a single issue or problem. We’re the guys who fumble through the same copy-paste dialogue over and over until we get to the end and–what, a resurrected Jack and Patience and the bland Lebanon teens all band together to drive the Impala around and live in the bunker and start a hunter school where we can pump out appropriate flannel-wearing generic hunter clones, because apparently hunters are just a dime a dozen now and no interesting personality is required?

After all that, what happens in the actual final episode? Who cares. This show is, in a lot of ways, not Supernatural, not anymore. If they manage to remember what gave it that little modicum of difference that made it worth paying attention to–then I’ll be happy. Every once in a while when we get a little reminder of it, I almost fall out of my seat. Most of the time, though, I’m just dicking around on my phone. It’s not appointment television. The worst possible ending is: shrug, and that kinda already happened.

#spn #spn wank #kinda #this is a bleak answer i guess #sorry anon #the whole eileen resurrection business has just... #tanked any mild enthusiasm i'd dredged up #if they go that direction it'll just be proof #there's no ending that can satisfy anyone #this is true #but the enblandening means that it's already over #Anonymous