coco-bean-1218

[coco-bean-1218]

Hello! For the love letter- my name is Claire, I’m a female and my pronouns are she/her. Could you possibly write for Grant??

Thanks again!! 🩵

CLAIRE MY LOVE!! I'm so so sorry this took forever 🫠 Here it is tho! One (1) love letter from the adorable Chuck Grant! I may or may not have stolen a couple details you mentioned from your ship a while back 😂 Hope you like it 🥰❤️

31 January, 1945

My adorable Claire!

How are you? How has your day been? I miss you more than words could possibly say. Thinking about you was the only thing that got me through the cold nights in Bastogne - I thought about those nights when we would sit in front of our fireplace and share a hot chocolate. I will never forget the night we opened your letter of acceptance to medical school, we were so excited we spilled the hot chocolate all over the letter!

We just moved from Bastogne to a place called Haguenau. It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it beats sleeping in a foxhole in the snow every night. We’ve been hearing rumors that the war is starting to wind down - I’m so afraid of having false hope, but I can’t stop myself from being excited to come home to the love of my life. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again, to laugh at the ridiculous jokes that only we understand, to have lazy mornings and adventurous days with you. 

I think what I miss the most is getting to have dinner with you at the end of the day. I always knew, no matter how awful of a day I had, that I was coming home to you - Claire, you are my home. I love getting to just sit with you and hear about your day - how your job went, what the traffic was like on the way home, who you ran into at the post office, my darling I could listen to you talk for hours.

They’re sending some of us out on a patrol tonight to get some German prisoners - I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling in my gut about it. The war is almost over, do we really need to risk our lives again over something as menial as gathering up a couple of Germans to interrogate? I don’t understand it at all, and I’m worried it’s not going to end well.

I think that is all of the updates I have for you, my love. How is medical school going? Are your professors treating you alright? I’m still so proud of you - I know you worked your ass of to get where you are today. I’m pretty sure the boys here are tired of hearing me talk about you.

I will write to you again as soon as I can, Claire. I love you more than you can imagine. Please be sure to take care of yourself, and don’t have too much fun while I’m gone!

Your’s always,

Chuck

#THIS RIGHT HERE #THIS IS HEALING #I LOVE THIS SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA #THANK YOU SO MUCH

[coco-bean-1218]

Here’s the gang (in their ODs, no less) doing Currahee to Normandy - they’ve started their jump training in Toccoa!

Not everyone is tagged, but I spy Dukeman, Grant, Garcia…. can anyone fill in the blanks on the others?

#omg Nolan #my beloved #the silver fox himself

[coco-bean-1218]

Chapter 1 of WBWNMH is now posted!! Chapter 2 is in the works!

#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Chapter One: Something In The Way

Chapter Soundtrack

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

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

Warnings: Swearing, period-typical behavior

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

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

June, 1942

Detroit, Michigan

10 a.m. Eastern Time

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Claire," she replied, shaking his hand. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

[coco-bean-1218]

HI CLAIRE!!! 🩷⚾️🐾 for the oc ask game! I wanna know more about oc!Claire :3

HI PRETZ!!! I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!

🩷- Open-mindedness, self-worth, intelligence

⚾️- Claire's hobbies are reading about medicine (specifically the brain), psychology, and history, listening to music on the record player, and painting.

🐾- Dogs

#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #ask game #i love my mutuals #band of brothers oc

[coco-bean-1218]

hi claire! for jess' oc ask game, how about 👗, 🤕, and 🌍 for claire? oh! and 🎶 for noah? thanks love!

HI BLU!!!! I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!

Claire

👗- The best description would be dark academia or minimalistic. Think Polly Shelby, Peggy Carter, and Helen Alderson.

🤕- Claire would be pretty worried and empathetic. As the story progresses, very angry. Just wait.

🌍- Claire was born in Dearborn, Michigan. For generations both sides of her family (Mom and Dad's) have resonated in Detroit. She lived there for the first five years of her life until her parents moved her and her sister to a more suburban area. She's been there ever since.

Noah

🎶- There's so many so I'll give a Top 5:

I Love You So- The Walters

The Night We Met- Lord Huron

Back To You- Selena Gomez

I'm A Fool To Want You- Frank Sinatra

The One That Got Away- Katy Perry

#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #i love my mutuals #ask game #band of brothers oc

[coco-bean-1218]

CLAIRE HI!! can i ask 21 and 13 from the oc asks: root edition for claire? and then could i ask 14 for noah? :)

BLU!!! HELLO!! I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!

Claire

13. Claire has one older sister named Emma. Emma is 3 1/2 years older than Claire. Growing up, they fought a lot, but as they got older, they became closer.

21. Don't fall for those idiots in middle school. Talk to Noah. Be patient. Let your guard down a little. You will soon embark on an amazing journey.

Noah

14. This is tough because we never truly know how Noah felt about Claire during their high school years. It would be nice to say her, but that wouldn't be entirely true. So, I'll say his girlfriend that he had his senior year. She was a family friend and went to a different high school farther away, so it was a long-distance relationship.

#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #ask game #i love my mutuals #band of brothers oc

[coco-bean-1218]

hi! spring, fire, and run for the oc ask game? i'm going to ask if you could do it for peyton for fun... she seems super neat!

HELLO BLU!!!!! I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!!

Peyton is very neat!! Love her!!

Spring- I think what Peyton misses the most is her innocence and simplicity of life before the war.

Fire- Peyton would destroy prejudice, injustice, misogyny, sexism, and racism.

Run- Peyton is a realist but more optimistic than Claire. She tries to see the light in dark times, even when it's difficult.

#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers oc #ask game #i love my mutuals

[coco-bean-1218]

Hi everyone!! I just wanted to say that I have all the asks you’ve sent me in my drafts. I don’t want anyone to think I’m ignoring them. To be honest I’ve been struggling lately. I’m not doing well in my classes and I’ve dropped a bunch, I feel exhausted and unmotivated to do anything and I feel irritable and snappy. I don’t mean to trauma dump but I just wanted to let you all what has been going on and that I’m doing my very best to get these asks done and Chapter 1 posted. I feel like it’s been like pulling teeth to get this done. I’m not asking for sympathy or anyone to feel bad, like I said I just want you all to know that I’m seeing your asks and I have them. Thank you all and I’ll try and post things when I can! Love you all!!! 🩵

#personal stuff #band of brothers #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #i love my mutuals

[coco-bean-1218]

when in fics they say two characters gave each other a look this is always what i envision in my head

#this is how claire and eugene look at each other #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh

[coco-bean-1218]

#is this claire? #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh

[coco-bean-1218]

I’ve done lots of writing today and catching up on some things and I’ve been thinking a lot about my OCs so I thought I’d do an oc ask game. Feel free to reblog and people can ask all about your OCs too. I look forward to see what you guys want to know. All my OCs can be found here on my masterlist

OC Ask Game

🎵 How do they sound? Accents/ common phrases etc

✉️ How would they react to a love letter?

👗 Describe their style

😊 Something that always makes them smile

🩵Assign them an aesthetic

😱 What’s their biggest fear?

🐾 What’s their favourite animal?

🍸 What’s their favourite drink?

🥘 What’s their favourite food?

🎶 A song that reminds you of your oc?

🎤 Do they sing in the shower? If so what song.

💃 Do they dance? Are they a good dancer?

🤕 How would they react to the person they love being injured?

🩷 three good traits your oc has?

🖤 three negative traits about your oc?

🌍 Where was your oc born/ where do they call home?

⚾️ Does your oc have a hobby?

👨‍⚕️What job does your oc have? / what is their dream job?

That’s just a few questions I thought of but feel free to add question or ask questions if your own.

Tagging a few of my mutuals @georgieluz @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @blurredcolour @blueberry-ovaries @hesbuckcompton-baby @heystovepipeboys @b00ks1ut

#ooh this looks fun #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh

[coco-bean-1218]

@xxluckystrike yes of course! I love these two! Don’t forget my beautiful sunshine boy as well!

me: I don't have a type

-sees man with puppy eyes, traumatized by war and homesickness-

me: oh :)

[coco-bean-1218]

anon requested: *walks up to the counter like I’m ordering a big mac* hi can I please order a serving of umm gifs of Crosby when he’s in his little hat and towel combo and when he goes to close the door there’s a little flash of leg and I kinda need a gif of that for scientific purposes?

#oh. #harry crosby #masters of the air

[coco-bean-1218]

A little elaborate but so 1940′s.

#claire core #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh

[coco-bean-1218]

(1940s Woven Silk Tailored Button Down via Millay Vintage)

#claire core #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh

[coco-bean-1218]

oc asks: roots edition

1. How many living parents does your OC have? If they're alive, where are they now and what's your OC's relationship with them? If they're dead, how did they die?

2. What was your OC's first job? Do they still work that job (or in that field), or do they do something else now?

3. How did your OC feel the first time they left home? Why did they leave?

4. What was your OC's childhood dream? Is that still their dream? If it has changed, why did it change and what's their new dream?

5. What did your OC think their life would be like when they grew up? Has it lived up to that expectation?

6. Did your OC have a teacher or a mentor growing up? What was your OC's relationship with them like?

7. Where is your OC's family from? Does your OC feel a close connection to that place? Why or why not?

8. Were there expectations placed on your OC when they were growing up? Have they lived up to those expectations?

9. Did your OC receive any kind of schooling? What did they study? How were they as a student?

10. What's the first significant injury your OC remembers getting? Did it leave any scars?

11. What was your OC scared of as a child? Are they still scared of that?

12. Does your OC's family practice any faith or religion? Does your OC still practice? Why or why not?

13. Does your OC have any siblings? What was their relationship with their siblings growing up? If they were an only child, did they want siblings?

14. Who was your OC's first love? How do they remember that person now?

15. What was comforting to your OC as a child? Do they still find comfort in that now?

16. What does your OC's childhood bedroom look like?

17. How deeply connected is your OC to their past? How do they feel about that connection—does it hinder or help them in any way?

18. If your OC were to return to their childhood home now, what would that look like? How would they feel?

19. What traditions or stories does your OC carry forward from their childhood to the rest of their life?

20. What were the most idyllic years of your OC's childhood? Does your OC miss those days?

21. If your OC could speak to their childhood self, what would they say?

#ooh this looks fun #let’s do it #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh