#The plot is the biggest strength of this series hands down

[therealslimshakespeare]

Masters of the Air Fanfic

As requested by sweet @arianatheangel-girl and the subsequent poll for a “Buck Cleven Fic before the series comes out” -and I, being a madwoman with no impulse control and a faint recollection of the book, have delivered…this…whatever this is

Song Challenge: i was challenged by dear @the-ugly-swan for a twenty favored songs challenge and I’m gonna go ahead and make this part of it. August by Taylor Swift informed some of the bittersweet timeline here, with infidelity not being the enemy but rather the lack of possessing oneself fully during wartime to give to another

Spoilers: historical accuracy and inaccuracy abound here so, beware there are some biographical facts about Cleven in here that might count as spoilers to those who wish to watch the series with a blank slate. While to the history purists I must beg for a substantial amount of artistic license to be granted me, and obviously I’ve not seen the show yet and I crunched the timeline to my own will

Reader insert but without the use of “y/n” -I’m utterly fudging a bit on the likelihood of a WAAF lady being part of the American ground crew, however, I had in my minds eye the vision of a greasy mechanic and a glamorous flyboy and it wouldn’t budge, so shhh, go with the vibe

Warnings: mature, 18+. Fluffy smut was requested and while it is very brief and mild in here, not very explicit in phrasing, it’s quite present and a plot point so beware. Also, Virgin!Gale has my heart so we went with that. No shade to dear Marjorie irl, I’ll probably end up writing fics about her once the show gives me Inspo. Some angst due to war, POW’s, etc, mild language

Word count: a monstrous 12k

They came in like locusts at the height of summer, long prayed for, oft cursed in moments of perilous isolation, those ever so intriguingly shiny Americans.

Swarming with a metal buzz over the flatlands of East Anglia, big hulking beasts touched down on fresh tarmacs with more grace than anything that size ought to have, flashing the most bizarre and suggestive paintings on their gleaming fuselages. Flying Fortresses, they were called, and deserved the name. Nothing but the biggest, the loudest, the most alarming machinery would do for the American war effort, and now all this mighty strength was Britain’s too, no longer alone, no longer enduring.

Now the fight could be taken to the enemy in earnest. Out of their flying ships poured the most alarmingly young looking faces, jaunty hats and leather jackets, they looked every bit the sort of fellows war was advertised to.

Farmers in their tractors, mothers with daughters still under their command and RAF veterans all looked askance at such pristine warriors. Had their fertile fields been paved into airfields just for this? Were these gum chewing boys the long expected aid? It wasn’t anti-climactic, nothing American could ever be, it was all just alarmingly fresh. It was understandable then, the initial tentativeness the locals felt towards their new occupants, the way the boys took up such space in the rural villages, made such a racket in the pubs, chased every skirt that swished in the rainy summer breeze, stuck hands out for a shake no matter the introduction. They were a warm, boisterous and confident lot, all much needed attributes in wartime Britain, and soon, the initial distrust of the citizenry thawed, hands were shaken in return and invitations made. An amiable amalgamation eventually occurred, Norfolk never to recover or return to whatever placidity had been her’s before the arrival of the 100th.

Personally, you couldn’t wait to get your hands on them. The planes, that is.

Amalgamation was less a choice for yourself and your service members than a duty. It was abnormal, having a mixed ground crew, British and American servicemen too often clashing in hierarchy disputes for it to be standard, but with deployment rates so high and casualties mounting, ground crew became a case of whichever skilled individuals could be called upon to keep the operation running, the pilots up and the enemy bombed.

You were just glad to be near home, first time back since ‘39 when you’d signed up in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force -even if your rural hometown was now overrun with Americans. They weren’t a bad lot at all, at least not the ones you’d encountered so far on base. Amiable and unexpectedly eager, undeterred by veterans’ grim looks and tales of the woodchipper across the channel, that line of anti-aircraft that shredded anything trying to penetrate the continent.

“Better get crackin’ then.” Was the common response followed by a grin.

Your crew chief sergeant, Ken Lemmons, an American with a forelock of sandy ringlets and the patience of a saint, made the job easier even as every ounce of expertise was exacted from each man -or woman- under him. Feeding a fiery chain of bullets into the turret gun under a hot July sun, you thought your papa may have had the right of it when he tried to dissuade you from choosing the harsher duties of the Auxiliary Force. You could’ve been pouring over a map in the cool of the boardroom right now, or passing on radio messages, even shuttling planes would’ve been more relaxing, but no, you’d spent your life passing him tools in his garage, your papa had been building flying machines when most for these boys were still in diapers, and that path called to you, too. So for you it was grueling maintenance work and the ever present grime of grease on your hands and the awkward reach of twisted metal repairs. Gratefully, after their first mission, there were plenty of them back safe, however riddled their fortresses might’ve been.

It was interesting, the way certain of the flight crew treated the ships. Some were endeared but indifferent to their repairs while others hovered at each hole and tear, like over protective mothers, while you and your mates tried to do your jobs.

Why, one plane in the five assigned to your care was even named “Our Baby”. With such a moniker it made sense that its porcelain faced pilot would caress the shredded wing with a misty eyed frown at each wound, like it were a breathing thing, a race horse, a friend. You didn’t judge it, and he didn’t seem aware of his audience, he’d be back out there doing his own check up after debriefing. Never interrupting your work, always quick to step aside or duck out of the way of a ground crewman’s path, it wasn’t time to chatter or make introductions, although sometimes when the work took long and his reports longer, he’d be there to bid goodnight to you all, soft, American drawl saying “Goodnight, thank ya, goodnight, good work, thank ya” again and again to each.

You grew to recognize them, the ones each mission spared, there were so many and under hats and bundled in leather jackets they tended to blend together, but there were those who made their mark, if not on you then on Dorace in cartography and Eileen at the Red Cross. There was much tittering and speculation, after all, spread thin as their time was, there was also plenty of off time, made all the more charged and anxious as it came in the form of waiting for new orders. The men would be vibrating with nervous energy and generous in the flush of a recent victory and they took it out on the little villagers who in good British fashion took it on the chin and challenged them to a contest of good spirits.

Those were happy days, less anxious than the preceding ones and less heavy than those making up the year after. You dared be roped into the multiple pub crawls, often choosing the most sensible and quiet of the group as your victim and attaching yourself to their side for the evening. This tactic had its fallibility, sometimes those moderates were such a bore as to be unsupportable or hadn’t enough verve to make a full night of it and retired early like respectable, curfew-abiding saps. That’s how you found yourself one night ensconced in a beer pungent corner of Flaggen’s, green leather seats sticky under your palms, with Major Egan fanning out a wad of cash in front of you. It was a blatant attempt to bribe you to clear his aircraft sooner than the last inspection suggested.

“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.

If you were less tipsy you wouldn’t have giggled at the man’s idiocy, but his arm was heavy around your shoulders and this very cash had bought you one too many gin and tonics. “These regulations keep you alive!” You chided him, shaking your head and feeling the room tip as you did. Truly these Americans could hold their liquor, almost as well as the Polish Squadron when it came to a binge.

“A little flack isn’t gonna keep her down.” he scoffed, “I’ve been grounded for a week now-“

“-I don’t have the authority-“

“-and I’m not gonna sit here while Buck goes up and racks up his number!” Eagen was vehemently slurring and your drunken mind tried to process who Buck was, if not Egan himself.

“Aren’t you Bucky?” you asked, bewildered.

-Americans and their nicknames.

“Yeah.”

“So who’s Buck?” you concentrated very hard on the ancient coaster beneath your latest pint.

“It’s Buck! It’s Gale, Cleven, Major Gale Cleven!” Egan waxed louder and more dramatic with each addition. “You keep clearing his plane! But not mine! Why’s that, huh?”

“How do you know that?” you asked, dubious and only in the raucous of this little pub would his loud voice go unheeded. Compared to the ongoing dart game to the left behind the half wall, an elephant’s trumpeting would be considered bashful.

“ ‘Cause he tells me?” he replied, bewildered at your slowness, “Says you and your crew are little fairies, crawlin’ all over his plane and patching it up better than ever after each mission. And then you clear him. Simple as that.”

“I don’t have authority to clear anyone.” you repeated.

“Huh,” Egan grunted, “how’does he mean then?”

“I don’t know.” you replied firmly, “I doubt I’ve even got your plane, i don’t see you around.”

“I don’t stay around, that’s your job, patching up. I just fly the damn thing.”

“Oh, well.” you shrugged, “I’ve had five, it’s down to three after last mission.” Three years ago the mention of that ratio of losses would’ve sank your mood to the floorboards, by now it’s horrifically routine. “What’s yours called?”

“Mugwump.” he grinned proudly, a flash of white beneath his dark mustache, the man’s face positively shimmered with sweat.

“Serial?” you asked demurely, just to be difficult.

He squinted his eyes shut briefly, head tilted back as if to ask the heavens for help and the recited in a drill master’s staccato “42-30066, ma’am, yes ma’am.”

You giggled again and Egan’s arm jostled your shoulders, smushing you further into him. They were good fun, these boys, didn’t even mind your horrifyingly unflattering uniform with its bulging pockets adding bulk where your curves should take center stage and your stupid pleated cap making you look to be half baker, half doll. You preferred your plain navy coveralls but you’d hardly be let into an establishment in them. Egan’s warm arm didn’t seem to mind the excess poof of the material, he smashed it right down with his hand’s firm grip, he was fun, you decided, no harm in good fun. “Alas, not one of mine.” you sighed, focusing hard on the serial number.

“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.

“No,” you went on, “but I’ve got this one, a very spoiled one, maybe you know whose it is. They named it ‘Our Baby’!”

Poor manners and personnel etiquette though it was, you couldn’t say it without tittering.

Egan didn’t laugh, he just looked at you like you’d proved his point. “Yeah,” he replied vehemently, “That’s Buck Cleven’s!”

“Oooh.” -So it was him, the fighting cherub, the walking doughboy, toothpick, baby at wings: there were a dozen or more nicknames you and the ground crew gave the wing-petting Major behind his back. “He always says goodnight to us.” you said instead.

“Is that where he is when I wanna go for a drink?” Egan exclaimed, “Ha! You’d think he was married to the ole ship.”

“He handles her beautifully.” You feel oddly compelled to defend, he’s a master at flight and as someone who must repair each fault of his landings and his leavings and his missions, you feel some loyalty to his finesse. “He handles her so well.” you repeat in the tone of a woman who’s seen some aviation in her time, young though you may be.

“Well let me let you into a lil secret,” Egan smirks and you brace without knowing why, he is, after all, not the respectable and dull men you choose to go out with, he is the dangerous sort you bring those dullards along to deter, “shes the only ‘she’ that boy has ever ‘handled’ -if ya get my drift.”

The sleazy wag of his eyebrows leaves no room for ignorance, you feel your face heat up, wether in prudery for the topic or second hand embarrassment for his friend’s sake, you don’t know.

“Nothing wrong with that.” you reply coldy, only to distance yourself from the road his body language seemed to be hurtling you both down.

“Quite right. Nothin’ at all!” Egan agrees vehemently, his smile easy and his eyes clever “But I’d be a poor friend if I didn't try to remedy his predicament.”

“Telling me is somehow part of this remedy?” you were suspicious, rightfully so.

“Maybe.” Egan drawls it out, shifting in his seat to no longer corner you, his attention drawn to the nearby dart game. The man of the moment, the subject, the handler of planes and none else, was not here. He had such a luminous head of golden hair, it would be a beacon amongst the muddy haired crowd flinging darts. “The thing of it is, dear,” Egan confided, “I've had an absolutely marvelous time since I got here. And I think that’s rather essential, for sanity and for international relations, don’t you? I’ve gotten to know all sorts of wonderful people, lovely people like yourself-“

“-word is, you’ve known them a little too biblically, no wonder Cleven avoids your outings.” You could not help but temper him. “Half of Great Britain has had the privilege, if some are to be believed.”

“And so what if I have? I love dancin’!” he laughed quite happily at your barb and you didn’t have it in you to pull down any further a man who was sacrificing so much day in and out. “Getting to know Great Britain is a better occupation than pettin’ plane wings under the moonlight.”

You tittered again at his words and the oddly endearing memories you had of watching Major Ceven petting and whispering to his plane like she was his long-standing beloved, loitering ground crew unheeded. “He does do that.” you agreed.

“Hey, everyone’s got their method.” Egan insisted in his friend’s defense, “But I have told him, it’s good for the morale to mingle, even if he hates drinkin’.“

You pucker your face at that. “I know he mingles, Violet says he’s a doll when he goes to market.” you point out, small town chatter gets around and while you can’t say you know Cleven, you know he’s mild mannered and precious. And a terribly pretty face too, which isn’t fair, he oughta be an ass which a face that cute. “And he got a tan from somewhere last week.“

“Oh, so ya noticed!” Egan is triumphant, “A bunch of us used our day passes to go messin’ around in boats on the canals.”

“Good for you.” you didn’t know what else to say. “Why are we talking about him? What’s your point? I can ask for your plane to be transferred to my crew, but it won’t get you a sloppy clearance. And if your friend is so socially awkward he can’t even manage a pub night, you can hardly expect me to be flattered that you consider me prime material to throw at him.”

“He’s not awkward.” Egan cut to the chase quite serious, in mission mode, “Buck just had his hopes tangled up back home, and now he’s here he’s finding it hard to accept that hopes were all they were. She’s real moved on.” Well that had hurt, you winced in sympathy. “I warned him, everything during this war has got to be taken as a bit inpermanent. Don’t fall in love with Texas girls when you’re headed to England -via: Louisiana, Indiana, hell, by New York she’d stopped writing.”

“And now the texas girl has-“

“-found a Texan, I guess.” He shrugged and chugged the last of his pint. “She’s gettin’ married, it's really over. So, -“ he made a broad gesture as if to explain his reasoning for this entire segue. “-you like projects, you wouldn’t be in the line of work you’re in if ya didn’t, so whaddya say?”

You looked around the dimly lit pub in search of two things, sunny blonde hair and a clock to tell you how badly you were going to regret this night, come morning. “He’s not even here.” you balked.

“Well, no-“

“-what I say is,” you grinned at him disbelieving, “you owe me another gin and tonic for subjecting me to such inane chatter.”

His grin should have served as warning enough that he would neither drop the subject nor let you off free this evening. In fact, the ticking clock and its late curfew breaking hours became the least of your concerns come morning. The cool wash of bitter juniper blended into the pungent flow of beer, it blurred everything, soon there was a great swelling of pride for your native village, a pub crawl was on, all three visited and drank from, an army Jeep was requisitioned without authority, there was some incident regarding a policeman‘s helmet. The latter being the reason why you found yourself in “jail” the next morning, nursing a raging headache and questioning life decisions while glaring at John Egan’s polished boots.

There was very little talk about bail or Air Force hours being exceptioned, the more pressing concern to the Bobbies who had nabbed you was the coed holding cell. Thorpe Abbotts was a small place, after all, and you liked it that way. If this overly indulgent night could be kept away from the military police, all would be well.

You had one hope: Harry Crosby was sensibly absent from the holding cell, having a keen sense of when to depart from the raucous joyride at the precise moment to save himself a demerit. It was an extreme embarrassment to you that you’d not had the same sense. In fact, fond as you were of a bit of a knees up, you couldn’t quite credit the fact you had allowed yourself such free reign, or accomplished such foolishness. Glowering at Major Egan’s face now, animated with delighted chagrin at your shared plight as it was, you vowed to never again hook your fortunes to his, as it were.

Your resolve, and humiliation, was about to be compounded, exponentially.

There was a bustle of a visitor entering the precinct, easily heard in the small space, followed by the low hum of mild mannered conversation. It went on for sometime, and no amount of straining at the bars and cocking of ears would allow you, Egan or your fellow misfortunates to ascertain the gist of it. Violet’s husband was the main constable, and you were quite certain he’d be moderate in his sentence, he had his helmet back, after all. It was the Air Force penalty of not being on base in time this morning that you feared, a growing nausea that compounded the misery of your aching head. They’d not discharge Egan, they’d probably not even demote him, he was too crucial and he’d done this one too many times for it to be grace alone saving him. When he was needed, really needed, he was there. That’s what counted. The same could be said of you, but that hardly mattered given your low rank.

Violet’s husband, also known as constable Herbert, came in sight and with a jangle of keys and a tap to the side of his nose, swung open the bars of infamy and gestured for you and your fellow inmates to file out.

“All sorted.” He declared. His gaze lingered on you as it had many times in your life when you’d been caught jumping in puddles after church, “Let this be a lesson and a warning to you.”

You tried your best at both obeisance and penitence, both of which were rather natural feelings at the present time, while hurrying past as fast as was respectful, your approaching shift hours making your heart thump in panic.

On the steps outside, your savior was loitering against the wrought iron fence, thumbing at the petunias in the nearby window box. Gale Cleven was a mile long of lanky body in perfectly pressed and tailored Air Force greens, fresh faced as the good conscienced are, hair combed without his cap and a smile on his soft face that was composedly long suffering, rather than endeared, as he watched you miscreants pour out of the modest brick building.

You stumbled to a halt on the first step at the sight of him and allowed your instincts to take over, hands smoothing down hair and skirt with frantic self consciousness. You must’ve looked a rumple.

“I hope last night was worth it.” Cleven drawled in that voice of his, so oddly deep for so fresh a face, his placid smile growing into something more genuinely mirthful as Egan smooched at him in gratitude and swore that he knew his Buck wouldn’t abandon them, that his Buck would pull through for them. “I order a round of toothpaste for everyone and cold showers, you stink.” Gale shied away without any real effort, nodding in greeting to the boys he recognized.

Then, as if in the most painfully slow motion with all the strong string accompaniment of a silver screen scene, his eyes landed on you and an odd ache formed in your chest at the anticipation of his disapproval.

It made you tense and draw yourself up to your full height, looking about as regal as a drenched bantam in your disheveled dignity, but you weren’t about to be relegated to another tier than these boys he so amusedly indulged.

“Y’all know what time it is?” he asked mildy, those azure orbs with their batting dark fringe didn’t waver and you realized he indeed had more guts than you’d given him credit for.

There was a chorus of “no”s and various guesses based on the fast evaporating fog and the lightening sky.

“Zero five thirty.” he ended the suspense with the cock of an eyebrow at you.

“Shit!” Egan was suddenly animated, “Shit, shit-“

“Hey, you keep your swearin’ away from my sweet lil corporal.” Cleven chided, and it took you a brief moment to startle upon realizing he meant you. And he thought you sweet? “C’mon Miss,” he waved you down the steps and for some inexplicable reason you felt very compelled to obey and suddenly stood beneath his gaze like a dutiful child awaiting deliverance or censure, “I’ve only got this bike, petrol allotment ran out when we went to the canals last week. But it’ll get ya back faster than this lot. Reckon you can manage on the handlebar?”

“Wha-?“ you glanced sideways at the bike with its large, sweeping handlebars and second guessed his meaning until he himself was straddling it. His legs required the seat to be hiked up impossibly high and the narrow nip of his waist was accentuated by the posture. Those padded, fleece puffed jackets you had seen him in had done no credit to his form, a toothpick he may have been with how terribly lean he was, but he was firm in all the right places. He was also waiting on you to answer while you ogled him.

“Gosh yes, I can, if you’re sure? Awfully kind of you.” you blathered and moved in a hurry to make up for your stalling, keenly conscious of his eyes on your back as you shimmied your backside up onto his handlebars, feeling the warm press of his hand as he helped steady you from tipping all the way back. You wiggled on the thin metal bar, spreading your legs on either side of the front wheel and doing your best to ignore the raucous commentary of the still tipsy audience of your fellow inmates swaying on the precinct steps. “Y’all just be glad there’s no mission scheduled today.” he snarked to them instead and they chimed up that last night’s idiocy was calculated with that in mind.

“Huh.” Cleven uttered, unimpressed, behind you and it made you shiver, worse than if your father caught wind of this stunt. “Darlin’ put your hands over mine, s’gonna get wobbly takin’ off.” he directed next and you did as you were told, looking back over your shoulder at him with a grateful smile that you were relieved to see returned, pink lips stretching and a freckled nose bunching up sweetly when all of the sudden a rush caught you by surprise and the bike was in motion and you whipped your head back to view the street as it rushed up ahead of you. “See ya boys!” he hollered out as a mutinous babble rose from his friends at being left to jog back.

The young man could put some speed on a bike, uphill too. Or, as much of a hill as could be found this far East. You could hear him chuckle when you squeaked at the first jolt of a pothole, your thumbs hooking under his hands and curling into his palms. They were warm and calloused, dry from the cool breeze and you may have imagined the way he squeezed them in assaurance but you did not imagine the way his voice piped up again, smooth and conversational: “Harry told me if I was quick I could get you out in time, I think we’re gonna make it. S’dont worry, even if Sergeant Lemmons gives ya trouble, I’ll insist.”

“That’s really too kind of you.” The chill of windburn and a substantial amount of remorse made your cheeks glow scarlet. “All of it is. I’m rather ashamed.”

“I didn’t take you for an all nighter sort.” he agreed but followed it with a soothing compliment, “You’ve always been nothin’ but perfect. P-p-perfectly punctual, I mean, and there’s no reason to let Egan’s idea of fun ruin your record.”

“Wasn’t his fault. Not wholly.” you sighed, giving Violet a bashful wave as you passed her opening the shop, a wave which Cleven mirrored behind you and between the two of you letting go the bike, it nearly dumped you both. It was luck and sheer persistence that righted you and kept your balance. “I’m afraid it’s a bit of a bad habit, picked it up at Northolt.”

“Where’s that?” he asked.

“South, by the coast.” you said, unsure why you felt the need to explain your debauchery away, “I was working a ground crew down there for a bunch of Polish Pilots. Spitfires mainly. That squadron nabbed the most kills of any in the RAF back in ‘40. Why, even Churchill visited more times than I can count, he found them good fun. Too much fun, they never went to bed without downing half a barrel. There was dice built into the bottom of the pints at the Black Bull, rather addictive, rolling to see who would buy the next round. —There was always a next.” You added upon reflection.

That was also the year you had lost your brother. The correlation between the habit and the loss wasn’t to be dwelt on.

“Huh,” Cleven let out one of him contemplative hums, “and how do we compare?” he asked surprisingly.

“How?” you laughed, daring to crane your neck back to see him in the early morning sunshine, pretty and sweet and arch in his expression. Dusk had not done his mama’s work on his face any justice, it made you want to pant he was so pretty.

“I dunno, in any way,” he laughed in turn, not even breathless as he sped the bike over the cobblestones, the village barely awake and mostly quiet, “how do we compare?”

“To the Poles?”

“Or the French. Or your own, the RAF ain’t no joke.” he amended, “Whoever is our competition.”

“So it is a competition.” you smirked -how very American of him. “Depends,” you hedged playfully, “Our boys are so very nice, familiar, they never run out the right coinage during a date either. But the French are better flirts while the Dutch are better dancers. But the Poles, they know how to romance. Lots of hand kissing and flowers, so many flowers there had to be rules made for overstocking the billet.”

“Sounds like we gotta step up our game.” he decided.

“Is that what you meant? How you compare? First impressions?”

“I-I- guess, yeah.” he now sounded confused, “I mean, what else? You got scores for aircraft?”

“I do.” you replied, as it was true, “But that’s unfair, you’ve only just arrived. I thought maybe you wanted to know something more -salacious.”

“Like?” His tone behind you was guarded and you doubted if the alcohol of last night were not still buzzing and fortifying your brazenness, that you’d ever go through with what you said next.

“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”

You felt his fingers flutter around the bars beneath your own, you gripped them tighter, not just because the stretch of old road before the air base was ancient and pitted but because you were in an agony of suspense as to how he’d take your forwardness.

“There’s a record of that somewhere?” he asked at last, a beat too long, too delayed for casualness, too morose for flippancy.

“In fact there is.” you responded carefully. “A little diary of rankings, actually, there’s multiple and whenever there’s a grand assembly of the WAAF or the WACs, they’re passed about and tallied.”

“Sweet Jesus.” he swore behind you, “And here I’ve been chalkin’ up railways and munition dump targets like they’re some achievement.”

“Oh it’s all a bit of silliness.” You assured, not intending to make him glum.

“Do-“ he hesitated and you prayed for strength for him to spit it out as the airfield came in sight on the flat plain ahead. He didn’t.

“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.

“Are one of these little tallies yours?” he asked miserably.

You grinned to yourself and felt the sunshine seemed brighter and the air crisper than ever before as it rushed in your face with the slowing speed of his bike. “No, not in the least. I merely keep track of Sally’s ledger. It’s all a bit too -messy, for me.”

You dared peak behind you again and he looked relieved, then blushed furiously at your observance of him. “Well, who does Sally say is winning?” he dared.

“Romania.” you chortled and he did too, in shock if nothing else. “But Egan’s caught wind of it, he’s quite determined to save your country’s dominance, you don’t need to sweat it.”

His frown was back and you had to focus on not falling off as he slowed the bike to a halt, momentum precarious as his long legs kicked out and walked it the last yard to the segregated barracks, you felt his hand again on your waist to steady you. “Does that bother you?” he asked earnestly, sorrow in his blue eyes.

He offered a hand for you as you hopped down and it was you who held onto it long after it was needed. “Bother me?”

“Yeah, him -consortin’…with Sally?” he pressed, hands quite engulfing your one, “Does it hurt you? Bucky, see, he doesn’t mean to hurt, he’s just so-“

“-Blimey, you are a dear.” you marveled and then amended your interruption as your amusement only further creased that sweet face, “If I am ever again in Major Egan’s company, it will only be to escape it just as quickly. I’ve had quite enough of…consorting.”

“That so?” The lackadaisical confidence he exhibited outside of the precinct was back again, a not unattractive smirk plastered on his vulnerable face, a scheme in his guileless eyes. “Had enough of holding cells?”

“Quite.” you smirked back. “A quiet family dinner is more my style, the occasional picnic, even a zip round Oxford as one must show the foreigners about.” you paused and squeezed his hand once more, “And I do enjoy a bike ride.”

You did not know if he cataloged your preferences for an ideal date or not, life was busy, after all, and the momentary frolics in the July sunshine and banter on the tarmac and evenings in the pub were the exception. Time went on. Most of life was spent in the air, in his case, and in yours, beneath the belly of his beast, wrench in hand. But ever after his gallant rescue of you, there was more than the passing “goodnight” paid to you, there were cheerful smiles on his exhausted face when he returned from a mission, as if you were the one face he was coming back to. With an old familiar dread you noticed the way you begin to take each hole and dent and damage to his plane personally, as if it had been exacted on something precious to you. You have begun to care, for him and for his men, and your tired heart could barely do more than dread what that might lead to.

Good fun. That’s what these boys were supposed to be.

Gale Cleven hadn’t proven much fun. And somehow that was worse. It was worse and also unbearably honoring to be the last face he saw before taking it off, flags in your hands waving in front of his hulking bomber, giving the old familiar directions for a perfect takeoff, one he executed sublimely time and again. His sober, purposeful nods to you before he engaged and taxied out for a mission of death was more intense and intimate than any bouquet or even, your thought, a kiss. It was true the donut dollies on the sidelines were often the last faces of home that many of those boys would see. But in the his cockpit, looking down at your shrimp sized figure on the tarmac, both Major Cleven and you knew that for him, it was yours.

Once, there was a scare, in the first days of august. More than a scare if you were being honest, your heartbeat about stopped and didn’t pick back up for a few hours until word came in. The rest of the base wasn’t much better.

Ten planes had not come back. -Among them, Our Baby. And Mugwump. For two officers, so crucial, so senior, idolized and beloved as they were, to not return, was a blow like none other. You weren’t alone in hovering around the control shack, taking license of your friendship with Dorace to get a play by play of any news. When news came, such as it was, it was both relieving and exasperating.

It would seem there was some problem, a defect or too great of a hit. Orders to land in enemy territory were ignored, however, by Cleven no less. He had doggedly pushed on, safely landing them in allied Africa, of all places. It took almost a day for this information to finally be pasted together, by the end of it you were sad, haggard and half useless in your coveralls, stupendously relieved for a man you were supposed to feel professionally about.

Instead, that night, tucked in your own bed after a meal with your parents and little brother, you thanked God for keeping him -them, all of them- safe. And found yourself pondering the tan on him when he got back from his African foray. Some jealous part of you feared he might be kept there but a week later the thunderous hum of approaching bombers buzzed the air overhead of Thorpe Abbotts and the satisfying thwump of wheels touching down brought them back. There was a frenzy of greetings, flight and ground crew eager to welcome them back, the radio operators, too, and even the civilians who’d managed to get on base.

Your little brother among them. Donald wanted to see them back safe and it wasn’t dangerous, and it wasn’t dire, not returning from a mission the planes wouldn’t be in such poor shape. They’d been repaired in Africa, enough to fly them all the way back to England. So little Donald was nearby and when the crowd parted and a bee-line for Cleven became apparent, he took advantage and gave the young man a firm handshake in greeting.

“Hey buddy, thank ya, who do you belong to?” Buck laughed while returning the firm grip.

“I’m her brother.” Donald pointed you out proudly among the dispersing crowd and you rolled your eyes at his expectancy for Gale to know or care about you, more than your most pertinent work on base.

“Oh are ya now, hers, huh?” he grinned at you, “Been talkin’ about me?” he greeted, there was a still healing scrape on his left temple that your fingers itched to soothe. How badly had he hit his head?

“Of course I have.” you defended, happiness bubbling under your lips and threatening to make you smile more than was professional, you could see Sergeant Lemmons observing you from the side and tried to keep some decorum. “We thought you’d died.” You stated plainly, it wasn’t any secret to Donald, as soon as the plane had gone missing and before radio contact had been reestablished, you’d rushed home and made the family pray over supper.

“We’ve been praying for you.” Donald agreed, and you saw Cleven startle, a gasped intake of breath between those lush lips and his eyes seemed to water as he searched first your brother’s face and then your own.

“You have?” he choked out, raspy and touched.

“Yes.” you whispered, mouth twisting in a ugly grimace to hold back your own emotion. It was of little use, something beyond War Effort investment in his well being had been admitted. “We thought you might be dea-“

-you didn’t finish your reiteration of your dread. Your face, a greasy and mist spattered face, was suddenly smushed into the padded leather of his bomber jacket, nose tucked right into the fleece apex where his pale blue scarf always rested on his throat.

He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.

“-even though it made the potatoes cold, Da insisted on prayin’ every night after she told us-“ Donald was waxing eloquent on his own sacrifices of having one added prayer request lengthening his mealtime but you were oblivious to more than the firm press of Cleven’s still gloved hand to the back of your scarf wrapped head, some strong emotion shuddering through his body against your own. A tremor of terror and pain, you suspected, emotions he’d been suppressing all week.

After all, the saved weren’t supposed to be shaken up. They’d been saved, what was there to be off about? You’d seen enough pilots after a close call to know it was every bit as bad or worse than actual disaster. They’d send him right back up again in days, and that was what was expected, demanded, required. He was tremoring against you and you gripped him tighter, sympathetic and aching to cure it somehow. Even for a moment.

“We’ll keep praying.” you assured, and you heard him clear his throat, snotty and rough. “Oh, blast, I’ve positively greased your jacket.” you mourned as he let you go, finally, and you caught sight of the mess your filthy hands and face had imprinted on it during the embrace.

He chuckled as he looked down at the imprint, “S’fine.”

After such an exchange of emotion the air felt charged between you two, without privacy or precedence, it felt unthinkable to linger in that mood. You turned to his plane and pet the fuselage with unstudied fondness, it had been horrid having the old bird absent. You were not above having favorites and the love he poured into his ship, somehow, like some old fairytale truism, made the hulking metal beast lovable, in turn. “How’s our baby, hmm?” you asked him, giving him a sly smile and he took your proffered out seamlessly, joining you in cataloging the damage that had not been deemed severe enough to hamper his return.

“Don’t crawl under here, sir!” you protested as you wiggled under the belly only to find him beside you in the plane’s shadow, “You’ll be a mess!”

“I’ve already got stains.” he brushed your worries off, and you knew it was true. Bloodstains in fact. He had lost a man, the report said, and apparently, judging by his trousers, Buck had held the poor fellow as he bled out. “And I wanna show you the spot I’m worried ‘bout.”

“Alright.” you conceded, allowing him to direct you to the nose. “Watch it Donald!” you had to reprimand your little brother who predictably followed after, “You’ll burn yourself if you touch that, this thing was just running.”

“Careful buddy.” Gale echoed gently beside you and pushed his little head down, more into a crawl. You refused to allow the gentle way he treated the brat to warm you, you refused. Or at least, you refused to let it show, the tingle and heat you felt being all too consuming to be denied.

He was lovely. But you already knew that. He was even more lovely when, upon crawling out from under Our Baby, he took his scarf from around his neck, silk decadently soft, flesh warmed and smelling strongly of his exertions, and swiped it across your greased cheek.

“You’ve got just a lil more…” he practically mumbled and wiped down to your chin, firm, gentle little rubs of the silk which required his other hand to grasp your chin to steady you. You weren’t sure when he’d taken off his gloves, but the feel of his skin on yours was heady.

“It’ll take a couple days.” You predicted regarding the repairs, “Which means you’ll have a few days free, if they don’t drown you in reports.”

“Oh they will.” he laughed, “But s’long as my days are free, means yours aren’t.” he pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.”

“We shoulda thought of that when we chose this line of work.” he joked and your cheeks flamed at the realization he wished to spend time with you. “But you’ll have your nights still, yeah?”

Coming from anyone else, the request for your nights to be reserved would strike you as suggestive indeed. But this was Buck, and when he mentioned nights you imagined nothing but taking him home for a tepid potato and rationed powdered milk supper and the warm reception of your family. His weary eyes suggested how badly he needed that. You could give it to him, and it made your heart glow.

“Yes, I’ll have my nights.” you agreed, “And you can have them, too.”

Sergeant Lemmons agreed with your estimation of Our Baby’s damage the following day and four long days after were spent patching up damage that suggested what a hellish ride that must’ve been. Someone else hosed the blood out of the bay but it turned the puddle on the concrete beside you sickly pink.

To and fro from office to barracks to observation tower, Cleven would stop by to see his ‘baby’ on these occasions. The heckling the ground crew gave you regarding this potential double meaning was agonizing and almost made his attentions not worth it. But then he’d be dropping to a squat to chat with you as you soldered metal, heedless of the sparks, or else bringing scones from the mess to refresh you and, again, wiping your face often with his fancy scarves despite your protests that it was futile.

And at night, on the second day, you made good on yours and Donald’s word and brought him to dinner. It was a quiet walk from the base to the end of the long main road, right to the outskirts of the village, where your family’s unassuming little thatched cottage nestled amongst mama’s victory garden, daddy’s aeroplane hanger and repair shop loomed ugly and dark behind.

The look on Buck’s face when you met him outside the base’s gate at seven in the evening in a dress and heels was worth capturing. But you hadn’t a camera with you and it wasn’t like you were liable to forget. His pure look of awe and appreciation for your cleaned up and girlish state was nearly comic if it weren’t so flattering.

“Darlin-“ he began in a rush but did not finish, only taking you lightly by the fingertips and spinning you slowly, his eyes wide like he was seeing a marvel, which, maybe he was, -your womanly form finally liberated from puffy uniforms and ugly coveralls. Wholesome as your intentions were for the evening, and indeed for him in general, it was some relief and delight to know he was capable of getting hot under the collar. His mama’s well drilled manners soon caught up to his unbridled appreciation and a deluge of charmingly proper compliments rained down on you next until you had to put a stop to his babble by tugging him down the road with the reminder of dinner as incentive.

“You’re sure they won’t mind?” he began his worries again, nervous to meet your parents.

If he’d been like the rest of the boys he’d know just how much mingling was already common. It wasn’t remotely odd to bring him home, not when you lived so near. “Don’t be silly, they’ve been begging to meet you and Donald has plans of torturing you with his plane models and Papa wants to show you his shop and mama thinks you're much too skinny, I’m sure she’s gone to the black market to grab something to fatten you-“

“-how’s she know that?” he interrupted in shock.

“Oh,” you flushed, realizing your misstep, “I’ve talked of you. And she recognized you, she and Violet are thick as thieves and -it’s not like you’re unremarkable. A physical description is rather easy to give when you, well, when you look like…you.”

“What do I look like?” he cried out but his cheeks were smiling despite his outrage, “Malnourished?”

“Like a lanky cherub.” you refuted and were pleased that the late summer sun was still bright enough at this long hour to show his pretty blush.

“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes.” you were firm, both in tone and the press of your hand in the crook of his offered elbow, “And as we’ve been commended to entertain angels unaware, how much more when we are certain of one?”

“Oh shut up.” he begged you and you two staggered into each other as you laughed your hearts out. It felt good to laugh, for the both of you, and a little too foreign, as well. It left a hollow melancholy in its wake that was soothed by the near and swaying proximity of each other’s body.

“They’ll be glad to have you at the table.” you dared go on, feeling you should prepare him, should the subject arise, “I’ve a brother, you see, an older brother. Rafe, he was stationed in Burma. We’ve not heard of him in over two years. There’s an empty seat at our table, it takes a certain sort of soul to fill it without it feeling like a sacrilege. But you fit the bill nicely, I think.”

“Burma.” he repeated with all the gravity of a man who understood, who knew the ache of almost hoping a dear brother, a beloved son, was dead rather than enduring the slow hell of a Japanese internment camp. How awful to almost wish for a decisive end for one so loved. “No word at all?”

“None.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, “And thanks for making it back, yourself.” you squeezed his arm jovially and felt his other hand fall atop yours there in the crook of his elbow and a sweetness filled you at the gesture, such as you’d never known before. It was peaceful and lovely and your little village suddenly looked as pretty and idyllic again as it was always supposed to, the routine route home was seen through his eyes, the eyes of a homesick boy with a soft girl on his arm, bound to meet her parents and inspect Donald’s plane models.

Your mother and father loved him, little surprise there, he was a darling and homesick and yours was a happy home, humble and wounded though it may be. Your mother was obnoxious in her delight the moment father took him out back to see where your expertise for welding first began, the little aerodrome, no longer fitted with pleasure craft but now fitted to scrap the more useless casualties. Mother pestered you as you helped clear the table, asking after him and whatever this thing was between you. When you assured her it was only dinner to fill that chair and some unfathomable knowledge that had grown each time you stood before his propeller and waved him off to death, she knew it for what it is.

War and the urgency of living that goes with it, shrinks long emotions into fast passion and steady hearts into foolish daring. Neither of you were the sort to tumble into the passing vogue passions that had seized hold of your friends and comrades. Yours was a quieter path. Even so, after the fourth evening of dinner rations and quiet fireside chatter and the patter of late summer rain on the roof, there was a kiss as he walked you back to base, his jacket over your shoulders, his shirt clinging to him and the sweetest intent etched on his misted features as his lips descended to yours.

“Thank you,” he had said so passionately yet so subdued, a wall of wisteria at your back and his honey blonde hair dripping into his eyes, “I’ve needed this bad.”

His words suggested the family dinners, his scorching lips suggested the molded flesh of your body in his large palms.

“So you’ve wanted this?” your breathed mixed, a hazy little cloud between you in the damp evening air, your little alcove of shelter from the rain under old Mosley’s shed was like another little world entirely, fauna filled and peaceful, even the ever present drone of machinery was drowned out by the downpour.

Your mother had been right, you should've waited longer till the clouds passed but you had both cited curfew -and maybe even subconsciously sought just such a predicament as the one that had you necking Gale Cleven in a wisteria claimed tool shed.

“I’ve wanted you.” he clarified, firm grip on the base of your neck punctuating his turmoil, his lips met yours again and whatever oath of abstinence he had chosen, it did not seem to include kissing. He was soft and persistent and all consuming, those restless hands migrating in an ever mapping caress, making every part of you thrum with butterflies. “Wanted you for a long while.” he spoke into your lips, “I think you’re just great.” And there was happiness then, untinged with anything temporal beyond the feel of warm flesh beneath cold, rain soaked cloth and lips that tasted of honeyed biscuits.

It was impossible to maintain the stoic propriety of behavior you’d once managed before, on base, after that. You knew now how he sounded when he moaned into your mouth and he his stare alone could make you blush, you had spoken to his mother on the phone and he had seen your childhood bedroom. He learned once, laying amongst sea grass on the beach during a cloudy Sunday, the silky moist feel of you beneath your swimsuit, his long, bashful fingers that were ever so fond of petting anything and everything, finally finding a place that responded to his swipes with jolts and gasps and sighs and pleasure. You peaked three times on that sand dune, Buck none the wiser as he had nothing to compare your little deaths to, you kept a firm grip on his forearm and told him he was doing marvelous and that’s all it took for him to be persistent. Persistent beyond what you imagined any other man could be due to cramp. He was getting freckles from so much sunshine, but it was well, the rains would be here soon come autumn.

These happy days had you risking your life to pause your work and watch his pretty form swagger across the asphalt to his next destination and he, ever so right and proper and by the book, became devil enough to lie in wait for you and catch you by the waist when you least suspected it and drag you into some abandoned corner.

Only to kiss you.

To kiss and to ask after your day, as if your evening was not to be spent sat beside him at table or the movies, lying on a picnic blanket with him near or in the back of a jeep on top of Mayberry Rise, the tallest point around where the stars ran into the sea on the horizon.

One of the first days of September, you made good on your promise to Harry and drove with him to muck about Oxford for a day and see the college, the library, too. It was a long ride and as you were at the wheel, Harry was gem enough to allow Gale along, too, and by the end of it, driving back late and in a rush before the headlights would be needed, you were quoting favorite literary passages to each other. As if you were all students, not misplaced youths in the business of killing.

You said as much and in the burgeoning gloom Gale’s rich voice asked if you knew any Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.

“No, I don’t.” You admitted, for all your chiding today of their not being cultured enough, you didn’t know your American writers as you should.

“He’s got a poem for that.” Gale said, “For what you said. Or at least, it makes me think of today -that verse, ‘member Crosby?- the one it goes:

-I remember the gleams and glooms that dart across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part, Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song, Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

The deafening silence for the rest of the car ride was filled with truth and your own heart was heavy when you bid them both goodnight that evening, headed to your seperate billets. You paused in you departure to turn back once more at the door and holler to Buck in the chilled September air, “That poem, is there more of it?”

“Lots more.” he’d spun round on his heel, pleasantly surprised at your inquiry.

“What’s it called?” you intended to search it out, though it was doubtful that a copy would be found near this remote place.

“How about I write it out for ya?” he suggested as if thinking the same.

“You’ve got a whole damn poem memorized?” you balked, incredulity warring with amusement that you should’ve guessed he’d be the sort.

“I-I-I might.” he stuttered before laughing.

“Then please do.” you grinned and threw him a kiss across the distance which he jumped up and caught from the air in a grand show of dedication. “Goodnight, cherub.” you wished him, “Sleep tight.” He had a mission in the morning, a daylight one.

“Goodnight old Bean.” He teased your accent and the door swung shut behind you blocking out the cold and the retreating sound of his footsteps.

If you’d have known that was the last time you’d hear them you’d have stayed an age out in the cold night listening to him go, memorizing the cadence of his gait, the sway of his shoulders disappearing into the twilight, the turn of his head as he’d throw a glance back at you, sweet and handsome and cheerful despite his ominous itinerary.

If you’d have only known.

It wasn’t like last time, like Africa. There had been no loss of contact. Dorace had heard every awful minute until the clock ran out. They’d been shredded, their precious ship turned into a raging inferno and Major Cleven’s gritted and garbled transmissions left only one hope that some at least had jumped out. Jumped out only to land in Nazi occupied Europe, it was a faint mercy to cling to.

The empty chair sat next to you again at the table and mocked you all. Mocked your hope and your resilience to dare love again. How foolish to bring home a man who belonged to a group they were calling “Bloody”, and not as a curse but an epithet.

The losses had been staggering all summer and now in September they hit close. You were confident that Crosby and Egan were every bit as dismal inside as you felt, Egan’s warm hand had clasped your shoulder like you were a fellow officer and told you he was sorry. You took the condolences and gave them back, a stupid little exchange that only highlighted how unspeakable some pain is.

Three weeks later, Egan’s plane didn’t come back either.

In your more fanciful moments you allowed yourself to imagine Egan and Cleven alive, somewhat whole and reunited. You could almost hear Cleven’s joking welcome, “What took you so long, Bucky?”

You’d indulged these fancies for Rafe, too, until years of silence suggested the worst.

However, this time, well into October and with an entirely new set of planes under your care, word came at last through the Red Cross, and the truth was exactly as you’d dreamed. There was only the paltriest letter back to command but it said they were well, they were alive, together indeed and being moved to the Polish border. Away from their own comrades' bombs. It was more than most ever got, and your family celebrated the news with the gratitude it deserved.

As October turned to November and your gloved fingertips froze as you worked, every sharp needle of chill reminded you of him, how much more awful it must be that far north, snow piled deep and muck everywhere and lice covered blankets and illness left untreated. As the holidays hurtled nearer, days of peace and goodwill you had planned to be spent with him, you were consumed by the dread of losing him to the elements since war had proven too clement. At night you lay abed and reread the one bit of handwriting you had from him, that damned poem he had written out, left under your door in the early dawn that had taken him from you.

My lost youth. That was the title of the thing. It cut like glass every time you read it, but Buck had touched that paper and looped those letters and dotted those i’s and it was precious to you. It became a prayer of sorts.

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Then, in January, as if prayers got heard, the most unexpected happened.

Major Gale Cleven, what was left of him after cold, starvation, murder and a treck across Europe, had returned. Things like this, seeing your lost beloved ride up to your workplace in the shotgun seat of a jeep, was the stuff of movies, hopeful propaganda or a woman’s mind that had finally cracked. You just stood there, welding helmet in hand, frozen rain spitting down at you, watching him jump out, watching Harry tear down from the observation tower to embrace him.

Dully, you could hear behind you Segreant Lemmons kind cheer of “so it was true, he got away from the bastards!” and a congratulatory thump between your shoulder blades. It was a moment of truth, to realize how far your faith had dwindled when the very answer to your prayers stood steaming with life in the cold air and yet you still could not accept it as reality.

“Baby.” his hands were warm compared to your damp cheeks and the span of them, so familiar and large, cupping your jaw with the calloused thumbs swiping at your temples, that was reminiscent of August and of happier days. Yet still, you had dreamed of him doing this, dreamed of a million different embraces and each time you woke up. “Baby, I’m back, I came to ya.” his voice was wrecked, from disuse and illness and whatever misery that had subjected him to. That, that was real enough, the rattling cough more so, you’d imagined his suffering in your worst nightmares too, this was something you could believe.

Familiar flesh was gaunt under your touch, gray cheeks where once there’d been freckles and the sinful pout of his once ruby red mouth was a dull violet, as if the vitality had been leached out of him. “What’d they do to my cherub?” you mourned, worst nightmares and wildest hopes blending into this one moment.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry f’me, I’m back. I came back.” he cooed to you, rough and sad himself, and your face was buried again in the placard of his coat, a great woolen overcoat this time, no fleece or any vestige of the swanky finery that got the flyboys ribbed for being soft, fancy, spoiled.

Nothing soft about these men, nothing gentle about their lot, nothing glamorous about being hurled down from the skies in a ball of fire.

“We kept praying for you.” you realized, it seemed important to tell him that however hopeless you all had felt, you’d gone through the motions anyway.

That was faith, wasn’t it? The hope of things not seen?

“I felt ‘em.” he said. “How else you think I managed it?”

It. -had managed it, that tiny word represented a host of terrors and miseries and unforgettable incidents that ricocheted in his brain like the lead fired into his boys head’s when they couldn’t manage a forced march, barefoot and underfed, in the snow.

Christmas had passed but January was not so very advanced, that evening your family turned back the clock and it was a matter of guessing as to who was celebrated more, baby Jesus or Buck Cleven. The two seemed intertwined at this point and in the warm glow of gas lamps and rationed toddy, with Buck’s hollow cheeks beginning to bloom and his dull eyes starting to animate, some part of you finally understood why so many felt worshipful on the holiday. The shit war rations felt like a feast, mama’s canned vegetables being the freshest thing he’d eaten in ages and with him sat at table again, empty chair filled, his hand creeping into your lap to lace with your own, there was peace.

Even the airforce, hard driving and high demanding though it was, took one look at his battered condition and admitted a period of conveyance was due. It wouldn’t do to send up a shoddy pilot, lose another plane, yet another crew or a hero of the hundredth. It’s not every day one of your squadron leaders escapes a POW camp and marches over occupied Europe and fordes the Channel to get back home.

A month was set aside. And you took as many weekday passes as you could during that month, happier than anything that he had been permitted to stay in town, to lodge with one of the locals. Rafe’s room was now occupied by him and mama’s broth was poured down Gale’s throat twice daily and his days kept busy with paperwork and Donald’s math problems. The ticking clock, the passing days, like the evil crocodile gobbling up time, was politely and britishly ignored in favor of enjoying what was. You no longer slept with the tear stained and crumpled poem clasped to your throat but his head lay there often enough instead. The thump of your heart helping him sleep, because exhausted and sick as he was, sleep and solitude were not comforts.

He was wracked with guilt for leaving Egan and his men behind, it had been every man for himself during that brutal forced march, he knew that and yet he’d left a friend behind. Buck waited for news of Egan like you’d waited for news of him. Nameless and senseless guilt ruining much of his own success and peace.

“He’d have expected nothing less of you.” you had taken to reminding him, “He’d be angry if you hadn’t taken the opportunity like you did.”

“I know.” he agreed miserably.

You admitted to him then, the horrid guilt of feeling that somehow, some missed defect or some lousy flaw had been the reason he’d been downed. Your work somehow not sufficient to keep him in the skies. When you’d admitted as much, Sergeant Lemmons had looked at you with all the censure such moronic introspection deserved: “Cleven got bombed to hell. He expected it, daytime raid and all. Blame the Nazis.”

“Blame the Nazis.” you suggested now to Gale as he lay sprawled in your arms, sweaty and feverish but his color was back and he looked pretty as anything so alive and near.

He looked ready to dare something, his face hovering nearer yours and the heavy weight of his limbs suddenly feeling full of intent but then his sparkling eye caught sight of something in the doorway and his lips quirked and his body shifted away.

“Whatcha doin’ sulkin’ out there Donny?” he addressed your brother and sure enough the little scamp emerged from the shadow of the doorway and joined you two on the bed, comic book clutched in his hands. They had a routine, apparently, Papa was no longer the chosen one for bedtime stories. It made you want to wince in anticipation for when Buck would move back to base and things would become full of dread again.

That day came sooner than you’d counted on. A month is not so very long, after all, and it was filled with so much work and business, stolen moments at home hardly being the norm.

“It’s an easy mission.” he’d said at dinner, as if arguing the point to you all. You knew he was trying to convince himself more than anything and so you all let him specify just how easy, how routine, how utterly unworrying tomorrow's flight would -should- be.

If it’s hard to get back into the saddle after being bucked off, how much worse to climb back into a plane after being tossed from the skies.

That evening he lounged on your bed instead of Rafe’s, the house emptied as your mother and father took Donny to the movies, the appeal of a new film finally showing cited as being too alluring to resist. He was lost in his thoughts, watching you go about your little evening routines that you tried to maintain when at home. It was domestic and cozy, warm where the world outside was cold and then there was Buck, golden as anything in the low lamp light, utterly unaware of the figure he cut lying on his side.

“I’ve missed it.” he told you, “Flying, I’ve missed it.”

“Of course you have. You were born for it.” you murmured.

“Ya know,” he reflected, “I signed up for the Air Force before it all got hot, before Pearl Harbor. I was gonna fly no matter what. I remember grittin’ my teeth durin’ training and tellin’ myself it would all be worth it. Just hang in there and it would pay off. I just felt something important would need me. Hell, guess I got more than I ever bargained for, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did.” you agreed.

“I couldn’t do this if I didn’t believe in it.” He insisted and you knew he was talking to himself again, until his face turned towards yours and the softest look of fondness crossed features turning them almost pained when he said next, “I couldn’t do it, get back up there, if it weren’t for love. The rightness of it but -love, for my boys, my family. For you.”

“I know, and we’re terribly lucky to have your devotion. -And…and I love you, too.” you vowed earnestly, then giggled at the absurdity of this being the first time to admit it.

“I’d had my suspicions.” he grinned back, some of that old cockiness returning along with his vigor as he snagged your wrist and pulled you down beside him.

“Do you know why my parents have gone?” you asked him pointedly, turning on your side to face him.

“To see a movie.” His face was so innocently perplexed you almost lost control of yourself and ruined the game right then with something terribly forward.

“My parents aren’t in the habit of seeing movies.” you corrected him soberly.

“No?”

“No.”

“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.

“Oh they’re at the movies.” you smirked, “But they’ve gone for us.”

Gale’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, if not of you then of his own naïveté. “For us.” he repeated and his voice had dropped an octave in the interim.

“Yes. Something about wanting us to have a goodbye.” you quoted.

“I’m not dying tomorrow.” he pointed his finger firmly in your face and it made you smile to see him so fiesty again.

“No,” you agreed with his prophecy, “but I wanted to give you some incentive to hurry back.”

“Oh?” those lips of his puckered again in confusion before his smarts caught up with him and the pink corner tugged up in mischief, “Ooooh.” he repeated, suddenly very close, his energy, his body, his heart, inches from being one with you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, oh yes.” you confirmed, slotting your lips against his gently only to be met with eager, desperate need in his own kisses.

Your childhood bed was narrow and the counterpane below you familiar and dear, stitched by your mother in colors you’d once wished to update upon entering maturity. Now, laid out in perfect security and familiarity, you watched Buck Cleven dangle a toe off the abyss before diving in, pausing to caress the blanket beside your hip, smiling to himself.

“What?” you were breathless to know every thought in that dear head.

“My mama made me one, looks lots like this.” his eyes were watery soft yet his smile was glad, his hips narrow and sharp in the cradle of your own, stark hipbones not yet padded by your mother’s cooking pressed you down into the bedding, grounded and right. “You’ve made me real at home here.” he whispered and it pleased you ever so much. “Do I dare take this last liberty?” he muttered as if to himself, even as those blue orbs bore into your own, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt and you ached from need long deferred and the weight of remedy lying heavy between your thighs.

“It’s no liberty,” you whispered, catching his dog tags and bringing his face to yours, the size of the man so very apparent now he was hovering above you, “it’s yours.” you watched his pupils blow out at the statement, his ragged breath fanned minty across your face, even angels wield swords. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.” he concluded.

With that exchange of truths something snapped between you, like a ribbon cut, gone was the hesitant cordiality and deference that had marked your courtship. Here now was fierce possession and the gloated satisfaction of those who possess something cherished and are no longer kept from partaking of it, buckles and garters snapped in the quiet room and the rustle of sheets and shirts wafting to the floor made your breaths hitch with anticipation. Precious flesh came into touch with every brush and it was enough for many minutes merely to cling and grasp, imprinting desire into the back and the arms and the throat of each other, like an armor of love against the decay of death.

“Yours, yours.” you swore as his finger played you once more, his breathing hard and rough in your ear, harsh commands for you to say it again and again, reminding you he was fearsome when he wanted to be.

“Don’t look,” he begged when you realized through a haze of joy what he was about, pressing in with all the finesse of a cricket bat knocking at the wicket, hoarse and doe eyed above you, there was only the whine, “please, darlin’ don’t look, just, my eyes, please.”

It was a fumbling entry but nature and pleasure prevailed, as it had since the first couple. And dear boy that he was, he knew you had indulged in a leg up, one or two at least, before he came along but still, he could not bear it for you to see more, not this time. He wanted it just to be the kisses and the sight of your precious face contorting at the fullness of your belly and the force of his hunger for you. All the rest were vulgar details left somewhere under your skirts, and, unbeknownst to him, reflected in your childhood mirror situated on the wall behind his plump arse.

“Oh god.” he had choked out, winded and in awe as his body shook at the feel of you accepting him deep, “You’re a slice of heaven, heaven that’s-that’s what you fee- oh god, oh god.”

He had giggled at the absurdity of this dance and then broke off with a moan that made you giggle in turn and back and forth it went as his body jerked into yours as if he’d no control over it, led quite literally by the part of himself buried inside you. He knew it was foal-like and a poor showing as a lover and he also knew you didn’t care a bit, your eyes wide at the size of the intrusion and captivated by the sight of his newly enlightened face.

“You alright?” he asked urgently, as a sudden and familiar feeling took over his body. The feeling of his brakes giving out, his flaps malfunctioning, the hydraulics failing -it took over him, his spine tingling and his vision beginning to blur and only your punched out gasps and sweet smile wavering on his horizon as the frantic, masculine, natural need to drive in deep enough to puncture your heart seized him and propelled him in you, against you, above you with such force you forgot to breath. For all Egan’s teasing of Buck’s hatred for athletics, the man wasn’t shabby when it came down to it, even after months of internment, or maybe due to that stolen time, his life force seemed to pour out in a torrent and your belly buzzed at the sweet abuse.

“I’m perfect.” you managed at some point, “You’re perfect, so perfect.”

He shuddered at the praise and as if terror struck him then, he was suddenly pulling away and moaning “I should- I shouldn’t -I’m gonna, darlin, I’m gonna lose it-“ and young and sweet and clumsy as anything he rutted against your slick frantically, mouth pressed to yours until the hot gush of his satisfaction spilled out and added to the mind fuzzing feel of him sliding against your little pearl.

You encouraged his shaky limbs to collapse on you, the lanky frame of him a sweet weight, sweaty cheek pressed to your breast, you could feel the dopey curve of his smile against your plump flesh. His hair curled at the nape from the sweat of his exertions, all winter chill forgotten in this bed. War and missions and bombs, too. You petted each other for a while before he raised his head and, gazing at you adoringly, he murmured “thank you.” his nose nudging yours and the steadiest of kisses lingering in the tingly aftermath.

“Darlin?” he broached the subject a while later, cheek again pressed to your chest and his fingers sliding in a hypnotic caress over your thigh.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Later,” he prefaced, tentative and raw, “when -when the war’s over, and when, well, when I can make my own promises…”

Your heart hammered beneath his ear and you squeezed your legs around him, as if to shore him up enough to say what you wanted him to say so very badly. “Yes?”

“Would you marry me then?” he begged and somehow you knew this, what you had just indulged in, was never going to happen without that hope for him.

Perhaps that’s why it felt so strong, like a communion of souls more than anything else. “I’ve half a mind to make you wait and get my answer when you come back tomorrow.” you teased and his head reared up with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Don’t you dare.” he warned, grin breaking out despite himself.

The sound of the front latch grating on the door startled you both but he pressed you down when you went to scamper and clothe yourself. “The door’s closed anyway,” he argued in a whisper but you knew he felt as nervous as you at being caught, if not more so, yet still he was a stubborn one. His hand was firm and large clasping your cheek, expression arch and expectant. “Promise you’ll be a good little girl and say yes when I do ask.”

You laughed at his gall, to make you wait, to make you promise when he wasn’t even proposing. But then again -you had said you were his, and he was yours. It had already been done. Sometimes life was as simple as Gale Cleven made it out to be.

“I promise.” you whispered happily, bringing him back down to your embrace and willing away thoughts of tomorrow and flagging him out to danger.

One day he’d come back for good. One you could make promises again. Until then, there was hope.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writers lifeblood, I’d adore hearing your thoughts. 💋

[booreadsbooks]

Clockwork Angel, Cassandra Clare, a Reread Review

Review: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (and additional 6th ⭐️ because this is a reread of one of my favorite trilogies)

So once again, this is less review and more gushing because I've read these books before, and I'm rereading them now because I missed them.

The Infernal Devices is set in Clare's "Shadowhunters" universe, I used to refer to it as a prequel to TMI, but now there are so many books that I'm not caught up on I don't know what the timeline looks like anymore. REGARDLESS, I know entering this series of books can seem intimidating because of just how many books there are, but I promise that Clockwork Angel is entirely beginner friendly, and the Infernal Devices Trilogy can be enjoyed on its own.

Clockwork Angel takes place in a Victorian London filled to the brim with Demons (and their hunters), vampires, warlocks, and more! Tessa, possessing a one-of-a-kind magic, is forced to learn dark truths about herself and the world around her.

Tessa is such a lovely character. She's taken aback by everything going on, but she adjusts quickly and has a quiet strength about her that I really admire. She is kind to everyone, incredibly smart, and does her best to make sure those around her are okay. While I'm not usually the biggest fan of love triangles (and not the biggest fan of Will in the first book regardless) I think it's done well here, and I really love the way Tessa has so much love to give.

Jem, one of the shadowhunters she encounters, is the loveliest man to ever exist, and nobody will convince me otherwise. He does his best with the shit hand he's been dealt by life and never backs down from a fight, even when he probably should. He's soft in all the ways that matter, and strong besides. I genuinely look forward so much to the rest of the series, as I know he gets to shine a bit more. Clockwork Angel is a great introduction into all that makes Jem wonderful.

Will is our "tortured bad boy", cruel as a front and painfully misunderstood (In classic Cassie Clare fashion). He does as much possible to push everyone away from him, due to a deep festering secret (that will have you aching to learn the truth, just as I did when I realized there was so much more than his sharp exterior). He cares incredibly deeply, even though he won't display it. Even though I hate him a bit at first, I promise he grows on you.

The other side characters feel fleshed out and alive, despite not taking as much spotlight, which I adore. Charlotte and Jessamine, taking much of the forefront for the larger cast, are opposite sides of the "female character struggling in a historic patriarchy" coin. Charlotte is considerate to all, whip-smart, embodying that women are more than the stereotypical feminine ideal. She's badass in fights, which is a plus (women with weapons are hot). Jessamine is hot-headed, pretty mean, but she knows what she wants and she stands up when it counts. ALL OF THIS RAMBLING TO SAY each character is unique in their goals, ideals, and dreams, but they are each equally endearing and intriguing.

The world feels alive with magic and danger, and the battles are well written and fast-paced. I've always felt Clare sets the perfect balance between detail and tempo. I'm always on the edge of my seats when things pick up in her novels, and this book is no exception. The plot itself is a perfect mystery, with clues and red-hearings scattered throughout that will leave you guessing, and going "HOW DID I MISS THIS" when all is finally revealed.

At the end of the day, I feel that Clockwork Angel is a perfect introduction into an action-packed world, and the beginnings of a story that has managed to sit with me for years, never losing my admiration and favor.

[fuckyeahaudiodrama]

✨APRIL/MAY LISTENS✨

hi i’m back, i’ve just finished my degree and do not have enough of a brain to write an in-depth of anything. but! here’s some of what i’ve been shoving in my earholes for the past month, in no particular order.

The Magnus Protocol — (season 1 ongoing) continues to blow my fucking mind. the sound design/music combo for this series is of particular note, it really just… mwah. elevates the text so much for me. i also continue to be impressed by how well this works as both a standalone series and as a delicious trail of candy for those of us who loved Archives. we’re halfway through s1 now and all i can think about is alice dyer.

Beef and Dairy Network — (ongoing @ 109 eps) a partially improvised absurdist comedy pod set in a world that is bizarrely obsessed with beef. my qpp listened to one episode and called it “distilled british humor” which feels… correct. i’ll be real, i’m actually mad at myself for not getting into this one sooner, but on the other hand having a long binge of it has been divine. i would kill to go to one of their live shows.

The White Vault — (5 seasons, 10 eps apiece) not including goshawk because i’ve barely started on that. but the main series… woah! god, i totally didn’t think this was going to be my thing but i could not put it down? the first season is definitely slower than i usually prefer but the characters kept me hooked and by season 3 the narrative completely took over my brain. i also love how well they sold the found audio format, it WORKS. gold fucking star, highly recommend.

Jackie the Ripper — (3 seasons, 5 eps apiece) put this one aside for a rainy day and binged it all at once. deeply wish there was more of it. it’s a raunchy crime drama with a downtrodden detective at the helm who i SWORE i wouldn’t root for but ended up doing so anyway. do recommend! if it sweetens the pot, the protag has the same VA as watson in the currently popular Sherlock & Co.

The Mistholme Museum — (6 seasons, soon to be complete) people have been recommending this to me for years and i just never got around to it, but on the bright side — it was an incredible binge. anthologies aren’t my strong suit but i found the framing device really strong and, crucially, it develops a meta plot that balances really well. biggest strength for me was the narrator, but i can’t explain why without spoiling some key plot developments. just trust me.

Wake of Corrosion — (4 seasons, final ongoing) very cool apocalyptic suspense/horror. i initially loved this show for the dynamic between the two leads, who are brothers trying to reconnect on a solitary camping trip when the world decides to go wonky. i ended up loving the worldbuilding as well. final episode drops very soon.

Neon Inkwell: The Pit Below Paradise — (miniseries, ongoing) this one has a bit of a western vibe and heavy religious/culty overtones, which isn’t my favorite genre. but i think each of the main characters has been developed really well thus far. + many fun cameos from members of the production team, those are really fun to try and spot :)

Twits: A Steampunk Distraction — (2 seasons, 5 eps apiece) very silly comedy of errors from the pov of a bumbling aristocrat. can’t say too much without giving the end of s1 twist away. i highly recommend it if you’re looking for some lighthearted listening. the ending credits are also very cute.

Planet Arcana — (ongoing @ 71 eps) i’m so bad at TTRPGs but this one has such a unique setting, i’m just captivated. tarot-flavored sci-fi adventure for anyone interested. i’ve made it through the first arc and the party has already experienced a crazy amount of development; stoked to see what happens next.

Selene — (ongoing) anthology about a spooky little town with a vintage vibe. single narrator, quite talented. i’m not always easily invested in anthologies but the narrator here really sells it for me, and (!) i think he writes children — both their thought processes and dialogue — very realistically. which is my grandest compliment.

Camp Here & There — (s1 complete @ 33 eps, hiatus?) i put off listening to this for a rainy day because i’d heard nothing but rave reviews and they weren’t lying. this is quite literally the ONLY pod i’ve come across that completely captures the same magic that WTNV did for me on first listen. the creator is kinda going thru it so idk if s2 is going to happen but i really hope so. even if not, s1 is very worth listening to. it’s wacky and sinister and i just love the narrator, it’s hard not to.

We’re Alive: Scout’s Honor — (8 ep miniseries, complete) imagine WA from the perspective of some awkward tweenagers. what’s not to love? the gore is really heightened by each characters’ stage of emotional development. i especially loved the conclusion but i won’t spoil it here ;)

Among the Stars and Bones — (2nd season ongoing) sci-fi drama with a solid first season, really nice narrative tie-up, but the second season was SUCH a glow-up nonetheless! + the most memorable karim kronfli performance of all time IMHO.

[snowyfrostshadows]

Wind Spoilers under the cut

Well.

That was certainly a book.

The prologue was kinda funny with Splashtail deciding to reject the nine lives from Starclan and using Curlfeather's choice to receive them as one of his reasons to kill her making him one of the stupidest villains in the series.

They can do as they always have and give a leader their nine lives regardless of that cat's actual morality or actually do something interesting for once and refuse to enable an antagonist.

He gets ahold of all this power but one good hit or sickness and he's dead. Alright. Great planning skills there bud.

But then I realized that Splashtail's decision frees Starclan from having to make that choice.

This way they can stay the wise (yet somewhat powerless) spirit cats the clans can turn to for guidance.

Speaking of Starclan giving out lives, I hate how everyone knows Nightpelt's story despite it never actually being public knowledge. Hell I don't think Fireheart found out and he figured out everyone's secrets.

But no. Since readers know every single trivia bit and history of the clans, the cats get to as well which is so....boring.

It takes out some of the awe and way histories can be changed and retold to fit certain narratives or having characters actually do some digging and discovering things out for themselves.

I know this is primarily a series for children but Erins I am begging you, give your target audience some credit. Kids are smarter than most people give them credit for and actually you know. Enjoy a good mystery here and there.

Another thing that was frustrating to read was having cats ask permission to move the plot along or sit around in a circle discussing stuff and judging each other for it. I. Can kinda see what the Erins are trying to do; make things more of a group decision and have older characters/past povs part of the story but man. In actuality, it just makes things drag on and characters flatter.

I miss the days when cats could sneak out and move the plot on their own and show off their own initiative. With Nightheart and Sunbeam waiting around for permission it just. Makes them feel...... incompetent? Like they literally can't do anything with being told to?? And this makes their chapters a slight pain to go through because nothing really important happens in them or they're just there to observe Frostpaw 's plot and comment on it I guess.

On another tangent, I. have no idea what they're doing with this arc's villains.

The first few books set them up as cunning and clever cats whose strengths are in being subtle but now... they're kinda all over the place.

Curlfeather was the mastermind but apparently just. Did this all on a whim because her mate died and picked a random apprentice to share her plans with but couldn't bother keeping up a pretense of even pretend respect around him and just. Spoke down to him. Okay

Berryheart wasn't happy over the new rule allowing cats to swap clans and was willing to start up a evil book club and set up a sort of rebellion of sorts but then....they just...don't really follow through with that? She gets exiled, curses out the clans, and then....joins a clan she hated to the point of accepting a co-leader ship position from an unstable teenager openly stating his plans to attack her former clan and she's just okay with it because I guess she's just.......an unreasonable woman...

Alright.

And then there's Splashtail.

On one hand, I'm a lil disappointed on how far off the deep end he's gone but absolutely fascinated at the decline in his mental state.

He got his power.

He exiled Frostpaw.

Managed to convince nearly every cat around the lake she's the insane liar and then.

He just. Loses it.

Makes his clan fight each other with claws out, doesn't bother to allow the camp to be cleaned, kills his own deputy and appoints a cat who by all logic, would maybe be the first to kill him given the opportunity as deputy and he's portrayed as the biggest threat to the clans.

Him. One, singular cat that the leaders of the other clans know only has one life.

That any one of them could kill proving to Riverclan that Splashtail wasn't approved by Starclan and was actually lying about Frostpaw.

But no. We get yet another book with everyone sitting around talking about what should be done and why they can't and basically holding Tigerheart back by his tail to keep him from cutting this arc's runtime in half.

The poor man sees the problem, has a solution, wants to end problems before they impact literally everyone in yet another clan wide war but gets called the Real Villain for most the arc by everyone.

Frostpaw and Tigerheart are the real MVPs of this arc in terms of story and literally keeping me invested in this thing.

[artistic-mathematics]

my 2am analysis on Dwangela

okay I really don’t know why I decided to write a canon compliant Dwangela fic spanning the entire show like

I don’t even know how I’m gonna begin to write season 4′s stuff. like every time I even think about it I just want to vomit bc HIGHKEY if Dwight had just fed Sprinkles the medicine Angela told him to they probably would’ve gotten married in season 4 and all would’ve been fine but nope it took them eight whole seasons to even get engaged afterwards and then we got almost 0 content of them actually being in a healthy relationship again and it’s just like 3u5irefwngkjej54

this all stemmed from the fact that I genuinely think to this day, Dwangela is still misunderstood by the majority of the community. actually, Angela as a character is still misunderstood, which is crazy considering that this show ended over a decade ago and my first watch was like two months ago.

before anyone says anything YES, Angela was still a horrible person and I don’t really think I need to cite why, but I do think her motivations and eventual progression arc are just completely slept on (and also, season 9 finale Angela is a much, much better person than she was during the rest of the show).

I think the biggest thing I’ve seen from people is like “why did Angela end up with Dwight?” and they just tend to forget that Angela went through an entire character arc in literally just the last half of season 9. would it have been better if the show actually like shown more of it? absolutely. but it’s pretty obvious that Angela from S9E20: Paper Airplane is a completely different Angela from S9E22: A.A.R.M. is she still the greatest person? oh absolutely not, but I do think that her actions in this last half (starting from S9E16: Moving On) show enough growth and maturation that she deserved her own happy ending with Dwight.

(ALSO YES, IT’S A HAPPY ENDING. people who say that Angela is going to cheat on Dwight clearly misunderstood this entire plot line. I’ll get to that later.)

she hits rock bottom in S9E21: Livin’ the Dream and even then we can see a huge difference between this episode and S9E20. in the previous episode, she refused to accept help from Dwight (and by extension, Esther), but in this episode not only does she try to go out of her way to help Andy but she also accepts help from Oscar and actively reaches out for his hand, something that she’d deadass refused to do since season 3 when he was outed as gay. by accepting she needs help and then finally, FINALLY admitting out loud that she loves Dwight (something that she pretty much skirted around when possible, even back in seasons 4-5), she’s shown that she’s finally letting down the walls that she’d constructed for years and years. she’s finally letting herself be vulnerable, and that shit takes strength, especially from someone who’d spent so many years letting pride dictate her life and practically pretended to live a life that wasn’t hers just to save face.

(yes, she did it because she hit rock bottom. but then again, she literally didn’t even have to do that. she could’ve just kept digging a deeper hole for herself anyway, blaming Oscar and the state senator and still refusing to admit anything. would it have helped her? no lol, but at least she was able to analyze and recognize that her own actions were her downfall instead of continuing blaming others for her issues, which she had no problem doing throughout the show.)

another thing I’ve noticed is that people were like “she continued lying to Dwight about Phillip” and I’ma be real with you, I think that lie is the most ethical lie she told throughout the entire series.

let me explain.

actually, let Angela explain, because she outright explains this during Dwight’s proposal that she wanted him to marry her because it was her he wanted to marry. I don’t think this was selfish at all. sure, she probably should’ve told him -- lying about it is still shitty -- but what does she even gain from lying about it? she literally gains absolutely nothing here. she already admitted to Oscar (and by extension, herself) that she loves Dwight. if Dwight were to propose to her because of Phillip, there’s no world where she’d be unhappy in that relationship since she knows she loves Dwight.

but she doesn’t know if Dwight still loves her (yeah, they did make out like five episodes ago BUT remember he’s in a committed relationship now) -- and she was literally just in a loveless marriage. she was also in a loveless engagement, with Andy (and oh my god I might make a post about this at some point but I HAVE SO MANY GRIPES OVER THIS ENGAGEMENT. not at the writers, but just like how did this even??? like?????).

in S9E21, she makes it very clear that she’s accepted that Dwight and Esther are a thing. S9E22 happens some time afterwards (around a month or so according to Dunderpedia) and it’s probably long enough for Angela to realize that it’s genuinely serious, and I mean. just look at Dwight in that episode. he looks so happy.

when Dwight calls Angela into his office to propose that business marriage, I think all of these things came to her mind -- and let’s be honest, the last time they tried to make some business out of something that clearly should be romantic (cough cough sex contract cough cough) it, uh, didn’t go well. and so she lies. she tells him that Phillip isn’t his son, and that lie was enough. it sent his emotions into turmoil, enough so that he ends up calling Jim in and talking to him about it makes him snap to his senses -- that he still loves Angela, and now that Angela is actually available again he needs to go for it.

and of course Angela accepts. you can see her anger from Dwight almost running her off the road completely ebb away when Dwight yells “I love you!” she pauses and processes.

oh also for the people who think that marriage is terrible and that Angela is just gonna cheat on Dwight? the entire point of Dwangela was that Angela couldn’t commit to any of her other romantic relationships because she still loved Dwight. from seasons 2 through 9 she was still very much in love with Dwight, and only cheated on people with Dwight.

also I don’t think Dwight ever stopped loving Angela, either. I mean like, he seemed to really like Isabel and went through an entire talking head where he compared Isabel and Angela to each other but as Jim said to Dwight in S9E21, “you just have to forget about all the logic and fear and doubt” -- and the thing is, I don’t think love ever made sense to Dwight after he broke up with Angela in season 5. it also makes sense as to why Dwight broke up with Isabel so brutally as a result, treating her like absolute garbage the day of Pam and Jim’s wedding.

also I think people forget that like, Dwight was very in on the cheating??? Angela knew she was engaged to Andy in season 5 and knew she was engaged (and eventually married) to the state senator in season 8, like he obviously was a part of this too lmao? and there was a whole episode where people shat on Michael for dating a woman who had a husband and how he was a horrible person LIKE. he knew she was in a relationship and still chose to do what he did. I’m not saying that it’s his fault entirely bc it’s still like 95% Angela’s fault but Dwight buddy, come on, idk what you expected

anyway I go sleep now I just had to get this out before I passed out lol

[skalidra]

Fic Writers Showcase Game

@there-must-be-a-lock tagged me!

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason.

~~

First fic published on Ao3: That would be The Other Side of the Mirror, an Earth-3 continuity mess with a JayDick main pair, featuring Roy as a 3rd PoV. First chapter was posted in September, 2014, currently 200k, 20 chapters , and as of yet unfinished, though I think as it stands it ends on a decently hopeful note. I do still recall the main plot points of where it goes, and would like to finish it someday.

Last fic published: I posted the first chapter of Five Finger Discount just yesterday, which is the 5th piece in my Worth Counting series, an alpha!Slade/alpha!Jason series exploring a variety of kinks but with a focus on non-formal dom/sub vibes, competence/strength kink, and mostly-play fighting. (The last finished story was Shifting Into Fourth which is the 4th piece of that same series, so, I'm a little bit on a theme here.)

Fandom/ship I only wrote once: I uh. I wrote Hamilton/Jefferson/Madison room-where-it-happens porn. For the Hamilton musical. It's called Do Whatever It Takes and I think it is still the thing that makes me feel the most sinfully dirty of all the things I've ever written. So there's that.

I also have Let's Be Clear, which is my only fic set anywhere in the MCU, and is a Daredevil oneshot of an asexual!Wesley being invited to join a Fisk/Vanessa relationship, as I vibed real hard with Wesley as a character and never really got over his unfortunate demise.

(Honorable mention to my four stories that are technically fandoms of their own, but all fall under the 'DCU' umbrella, being for the Arkham games, two shows in the CW Arrowverse, and the Teen Titans cartoon.)

Favorite fic in most popular fandom/ship: This is a little hard to quantify. Technically 'DCU (Comics)' comes in at 93k in stories, which would make JayDick the most popular pairing, which makes my favorite story Captain's Privileges. It's a Star Trek mirror!verse fusion with Captain!Dick and Engineer!Jason and so many unhealthy relationships everywhere, and I love it.

However! 'DCU (Comics)' is a very broad umbrella and it's not really fair to say it's my biggest fandom, since the slice I belong to is much smaller. Which means the more accurate winner is Voltron, at 85k stories. I technically have a Klance story but given that it is a big poly clusterfuck dark!fic I really have to actually give this to the second most popular pairing by stat, Sheith. Out of those, I think my favorite is I'm Not That Man, which was an early false-memories/brainwashed!Shiro fic set just before the wormhole split them all up.

Fic I wish more people read: An Extra Shot, hands down. Come read my gen, Wilson-family-focused exploration of what happens if Adeline dies during the attack on Joey! Come read Slade Wilson being forced into confronting the fact that he is a terrible dad and also now a widowed dad of three kids! Come read Billy trying his best to bludgeon all the terrible communicators of this family into actually working things out! READ THIS. THERE'S A SEQUEL IN PROGRESS. IT'S GOOD I SWEAR.

Fic that was hardest to write: I think the award for this has to go to Me, Not Her, a CaptainPan/CaptainSwan piece which I was apparently so frustrated with at some point that I straight up deleted the file. Four years later (no I am not kidding) I had the vague memory of it. Some sketchy thing I could maybe expand, now that I was having thoughts about OUaT again. I pull it out of the (then eternal) trash of Google Drive. It is five thousand words long and needs no more than pretty basic editing and a little padding at the end to round it off. I don't know what the hell was happening with me when I deleted it, but wow, lesson learned.

Fic that popped out fully-formed: I don't recall any that were explicitly like this, but I also don't tend to write like, neat little packaged stories all that often. If I'm writing oneshots they're usually for events. So my best answer to this is probably Fucking Androids? It's a Reed900 relationship origin story that blazed its way out of me during NaNoWriMo one year, named entirely for the sex pun and then in the end absolutely refusing to have any sex in it, so it won that fight. I remember at least most of it coming really, really easy.

Fic I'm proud of: Pulling out a weird little one, here. I'm going to say Take a Ride. It's a JayDick, Gotham City Garage story that I wrote for Firefright's birthday one year, and on reread I actually still really, really like it? It's just a neat apocalyptic-desert vibe relationship building thing, set in the criminally under-explored and rushed GCG world, and I really like how I put Dick together in this one. I recommend it.

~~

Not tagging anyone specific, but if anyone would like to do this as well, feel free!

[mk-wizard]

Top 10 Media that deserve a reboot

Now, this list might be controversial to some, but hear me out. As an artist and storyteller, I don't believe in bad ideas. Just badly executed ideas. I am going to list 10 media that I do believe had potential, still have potential and had great plot ideas as well as characters behind them, but could have been better. In fact, I believe they deserve another chance because the medias themselves were not bad. They were just done bad, but as the remake of Resident 2, 3 and 4 have shown us, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again.

Note that there are also spoilers ahead and I will not include the Acolyte on this list because it still ongoing and I will not list a media that isn't finished yet. That isn't fair.

1- The Mummy (2017) - This adaptation of the Mummy had potential as it was frightening, it had a good plot and the idea of it being the doorway to a bigger universe was good buildup. Also, this take on the Mummy was the stuff of nightmares in all the right ways. I mean, even visually, she was frightening especially with those trademark eyes. I loved that. However, I find they did too much, too fast with hinting at a bigger universe and should have focused solely on the Mummy. With that said, if you just fix that and clean up the other mistakes, it could succeed where the first try failed. Maybe even succeed at finally opening up the door to that bigger monster universe we never got to see.

2- The Star Wars Sequel Trilogy - I have not given up on Star Wars nor shall I because it still giving us new stuff that is that is good or at the very least, has good potential such as the Clone Wars, Rebels, Andor and The Bad Batch. In fact, even the sequel trilogy itself had potential, but it's biggest mistake in my opinion was that it chose the wrong character to be the hero. It should have Finn not Rey. In fact, I think Rey should have gone down the path of the Sith with Kylo Ren being a red herring big bad. It's second biggest mistake is was the choppy storytelling. The three films did not feel cohesive and the lack of respect for legacy characters was not very nice. I would not have killed off Han, split up Han and Leia, and so on. It needs a reboot with some tweaking.

3- Spider-Man 3 (the Raimi films) - This one makes me sad because it was not bad, but the forced inclusion of Venom really did leave a mark on it (no pun intended). Even Sam Raimi knew that including him in the film was a bad idea, but his hand was forced. In all fairness, the characters acting out of character didn't help either especially when Peter kissed another girl for publicity. Peter Parker would never do that especially when intending to marry Mary Jane. If this film was rebooted the way Raimi really wanted it to be, it would not only be great, but give this series the jumpstart to continue onto the plans he had for his Spider-Man film series.

4- Marvel's Spider-Man (2017 cartoon) - I have another article that explores in detail everything wrong with this cartoon, so to keep it brief, it introduced many great fresh ideas that I loved such as turning Harry Osborne into a hero, making Doc Conners into a bad guy from the get-go, the first cartoon introduction of Miles Morales, great story arc ideas and more. However, I find that the story's downfall is that was too watered down and kid friendly. This cartoon should have been aimed at older teens, Peter Parker should have been the focus and the ONLY Spider with crossovers being put to a minimum, taking its time with the storytelling, less humor, more grit and seriousness, making Doc Ock into an adult, and eliminating that gifted school altogether. Spider-Man needs his own cartoon more than ever, but one where he is shown as a hero not a clown.

5- The Walking Dead TV Series - I have great memories about this show and I was cool with it not following the comic. In some ways, that was its strength, but after season 3, the show lost its way. It stopped being emotion driven, the human element was gone and character development as well as relationship development was gone. Not to mention, the seasonal rot (pardon the pun) began to show. I think this show's greatest downfall was that it went on for too long and should have stopped while it was ahead. With that said, it deserves a reboot where it can retold and remain polished and well written from beginning to end.

6- The Incredibles 2 - I love the Incredibles in general. However, the sequel... it's a mixed bag. I like that the story was continuing, I liked Screen Slaver and I liked that the world was being explored further, but I did not like that it was just a sub-par retelling of the first film while featuring Elastigirl instead of Mr. Incredible. Don't get me wrong, I love Elastigirl/Helen Parr, but I think the way the Incredibles should have continued (as mentioned in another article I wrote once) was as a TV series where the characters age and develop. I mean, who wouldn't love a family sitcom-superhero TV series? Continuing the story is a must, but with new plots and having the story actually progress.

7- Every Pirates of the Caribbean film after the first - Like the Incredibles, the first film was perfect and having the story continue was a genius idea, but it should have continued as a TV series. I love Davey Jones and Jack having his own adventures, but I did not like how the character unlikable especially Jack Sparrow. I admit he is a pirate at the of the day, but he was one with a good heart. By the end of the series, he was a horrible person and I didn't like that. In many ways, I wasn't even sure if I liked any of the characters with how they became in the end. Moreover, Barbossa should have remained dead. Period. That doesn't mean this franchise doesn't deserve a reboot. It does and the characters should have developed in a way that makes them likeable. Maybe even have Jack grow up a little. There are so many things you can do with pirates.

8- Every Robocop media that came after the first film - Hear me out please with this one. I find that all of the sequel media of Robocop had great idea and concepts that could have worked, and still would work. Even the remake had some good points. The problem is, all of them could have been better. Even the video game was a lot of fun, but from a storytelling point of view, it too had the same problem all of the other media did. The plot was not progressing and Robocop/Alex Murphy would keep regressing as a character back into acting like a robot. Robocop needs a reboot sequel where the story actually goes on and all the progress he made as a man in the first film gets carried over to the next chapter. A good example are the comics, but even them too... they fall into the trap of the story being stuck. I want to see a sequel where the world of Robocop actually moves on and where things happen beyond Robocop just saving the day. Most importantly, I would reboot the sequel media as an episodic TV series. Not a film. Alex Murphy's journey is too complex and long to be told in just one or two movies.

9- Batman Beyond - I can't say there was much wrong with this series. I think it was pretty flawless and Terry McGinnis did indeed come into his own as the next Batman. My only complaint about it is how it ended. Terry McGinnis does not need to be the convoluted genetically modified son of Bruce Wayne. It defeats the whole purpose of him being his own Batman and own man in general. I think Terry should remain unrelated to Bruce and for their bond to just spiritually be foster father and foster son. It was just fine like that. If I also had to find another thing wrong with this series is that... it ended too suddenly and too soon. I would love to see Terry don the Batman identity again. He was cool and I miss him. Plus, there is still so many things that remained unresolved.

10 - Spider-Man: One More Day - It is quite obvious what went wrong with this storyline. It not only retconned Peter and MJ's marriage and family, it retconned their adulthood and character development. After that, the story of Spider-Man in the comics has just never been the same. While presenting a story where Aunt May was dying and Peter was faced with the choice of saving her at the cost of erasing his new life or keeping his new life while accepting Aunt May passing on was a good idea... having Peter choose to save Aunt May and give up his new life he worked so hard to build was a mistake. Rather than retconning this comic, I think rebooting it with a much better message would fix everything for Spider-Man and the Spider-Man community in general. Just when Spider-Man is about to make the deal with Mephisto, Aunt May herself catches wind of what Peter is going to do and, like in the video games, stops him from making the selfish decision of only saving her. She explains to Peter while getting ill is not ideal, she is old to begin with and even then, got to experience many wonderful things and got to see him grow up and get married. Plus, erasing his life with MJ wouldn't just negatively impact his life, but also MJ's and the lives all those he touched around him. Aunt May would convince Peter that her life alone is not more important the many lives that would get changed without consent. She has accepted that her time has come and that both Peter and MJ must accept it too with grace and not let any devil tempt them to do otherwise. In the end, Peter and MJ turn down Mephisto's deal which does result in a fight which Spider-Man wins with help. It also ends with Aunt May succumbing to her illness and dying, but her soul is at peace and as much as everyone is heartbroken by her passing, Peter and MJ see all the friends surrounding them in their time of mourning and accept that allowing this to happen was the right thing to do. Aunt May was important to them, but so is everyone else who is still here with them, everything they made together and everything that is going to happen after. It also ends with MJ discovering that she is pregnant which drives the point home all the more.

And that's my list. What do you think?

[adamwatchesmovies]

Leave the World Behind (2023)

Leave the World Behind grabs you with its initial scenario, builds up the tension to a critical point, and then leaves you with a… mostly satisfying ending. I say mostly because the film is so well acted and raises so many complex emotions that your expectations rise to an impossibly high level. That sounds like a much harder criticism than intended. It just means the film is the kind you thoroughly enjoy during your initial watch but are unlikely to revisit.

During an impromptu weekend getaway at a luxurious home near the beach, Amanda (Julia Roberts), her husband Clay (Ethan Hawke), their teenage son Archie (Charlie Evans) and younger daughter Rose (Farrah Mackenzie) narrowly avoid an oil tanker than runs ashore. Soon after, they notice the TV no longer works and the internet is unavailable. When the home’s owner - George (Mahershala Ali) and his college-age daughter, Ruth (Myha’la) arrive unexpectedly - an already uneasy situation becomes even tenser.

One of the film’s biggest strengths is the way it keeps its cards close to its chest. Aside from a couple of brief messages on Amanda’s phone, we have no idea what’s happening. Some of the strange events seem unrelated and if they are connected, you have no idea what could be causing them. Hackers could be responsible for disrupting the television, Wi-Fi and cellphone networks, but why would that affect the nearby wildlife? Things only get spookier as more conflicting information about what’s happening trickles in. Even when theories about what’s causing this proposed, you’re unsure if you can trust the source, which offers you no comfort, whatsoever.

You’ll sweat plenty from the prospect of the world shutting down for mysterious, likely nefarious reasons and if you aren’t, the character interactions will. There’s something wrong with Amanda. It’s understandable that she’s nervous about the situation, but the moment George and his daughter arrive, something about them sets off a series of irrational alarms inside her head. You wonder if she would react the same if they were white, and George’s daughter wonders the same thing. With a greater disaster surely on its way, these people need to cooperate and stay cool. For the most part, they do. Clay is doing his best to defuse the situation, so is George but you know one false move and the polite harmony will crumble.

The characters help an already engaging scenario become the kind you can’t look away from. There’s a part of you that strongly dislikes, maybe even hates Amanda. She’s coming so close to ruining everything so consistently… but she never becomes a caricature. She’s too real. It’s easy for you to recognize a part of yourself in her. Julia Robert’s excellent performance helps. You could say the same about the entire cast. There are so many great character moments. Kevin Bacon has a small but critical role, Ethan Hawke is perfectly cast, same for Mahershala Ali and Myha’la. All the characters have flaws. So much that I’m not sure you could say you “like” any of them but you also understand how upsetting these events would be, so you can't help empathize.

There’s one plot thread I’m unsure what to make of. At the film's beginning, Rose is about to finish the TV series Friends. She’s on the last episode when the Wi-Fi gives out. At one point in the story, she wanders away from everyone, determined to find a way to finish her show. It’s not surprising, considering her mother has repeatedly chosen to shelter her children from the severity of the situation. Her obsession with a trivial matter - the lives of a bunch of fictional characters whose story ended in 2004 - sets off a chain reaction that has nearly everyone running and panicking. On the other hand, we see people who - rather than try and live their lives as normally as possible until things blow over - take these events as an opportunity to do what they wouldn't have been able to under normal circumstances, and that leads to a disaster of unimaginable magnitude. It makes you wonder what screenplay writer and director Sam Esmail thinks of Rose.

Leave the World Behind makes its 2hr+ running time fly by like nothing, creates one nail-biting situation after another and its conclusion will have you thinking for a while. There's a lot you could say about it, even if it isn't exactly pleasant or the kind of movie I think you'll feel the need to ever revisit. Considering you'd be watching it "for free"/as part of a subscription, it's an easy recommendation. (January 4, 2024)

[thelastwitch]

Katarina Claes, the analysis of the character

Today I propose you to evaluate the strengths and weaknesses of Katarina Claes, in My Next Life As A Villainess. The analysis will proceed as follows:

NB: sorry for the gramatical errors that there may be, I am French so please be lenient.

-” the list of qualities and why I think they are positive for the plot

-” the list of his defaults and why I think they give relief to the character

-” A global summary where I weigh the pros and cons to evaluate the character.

REMINDER: This analysis is based on my opinion, I do not think I hold the universal truth, you are free to think what you want from the characters.

The qualities of the character:

Katarina’s main quality is undoubtedly her altruism. Katarina always helps others to the end, without ever judging them. She also forgives very easily, so she easily manages to make friends (or in most cases other people for her harem). This allows us to explore several new characters, and the way they are «interested» by Katarina, which adds suspense to the plot because we always wonder with whom she will end. In addition, most of the characters have «Arcs» that greatly evolve the plot thanks to Katarina (at the same time as a main character it is necessary that this is the case. She also protects her friends whatever the price, which shows her nobility of soul.

-She eccentric, for a girl of the nobility Katarina is REALLY very original and even «bizarre» in her way of acting, which gives her a certain charm, which can also be useful. Katarina never hesitates to get her hands dirty or simply ignore the rules of decency. This touch of creativity adds humor and reduces the tension that revolves around Katarina’s targets, which is basically positive, so that it avoids the whole story being focused on Katarina’s heart stories.

-Katarina is determined. She always follows through with what she does if she is sure it is for the good cause. This trait is deeply linked to his great kindness, and it allows to better understand the character, to avoid constantly twisting the story and to show that Katarina is a totally positive and frank character in his way of acting and speaking.

The character’s flaws:

Like any good character, Katarina is not perfect, so she has her own flaws. And in most cases… his qualities are his weaknesses. This character style is already explored in several movies and genres, and I think it gives a lot of depth to the character, so here is (still in my opinion) the list of its main flaws:

"She is naive. Katarina’s kindness sometimes blinds her and she always tends to trust people, making her extremely gullible." Moreover she remains anchored on the idea that she will die and be exiled, while remaining convinced that her life will unfold as in the video game, she does not even really pay attention to the way the characters evolve around her and she remains anchored in her ideas… So the problem also comes from her determination. But it shows that she always follows her ideals.

-She is sometimes a little too greedy. This defect goes hand in hand with her naivety. It is very easy to trap it by pairing it with food (which is still problematic), but it adds a really «cute» side to the character.

-She has difficulty adapting to society. This line goes with her eccentric side because indeed, in a mundane evening, Katarina would not be able to behave properly, but she always compensates with her incredible kindness. This somewhat rustic side that she has shows that deep down she still remains this high school fan of otome game, and that the change of milieu does not prevent her from staying herself.

In a nutshell:

Katarina is a character whose qualities are his biggest flaws as well as his greatest strengths. The character is very positive, and adds humor and lightness to the story, preventing it from focusing solely on the otome game aspect. As the main character, Katarina has this offbeat side that is quite rare in series and therefore sets her apart from the others. Her character is quite predictable though, in her way of acting even though she is still completely wacky.

There you go! I hope you enjoyed my analysis, I did my best to express my feelings on the character without focusing on my personal tastes. I remind you that this analysis is entirely subjective and that if you do not agree with me I will be happy to have your opinion in comment. If you are interested in other analyses do not hesitate to like or comment to let me know.

[iamnotcoolaboutit]

questions girl!

my brother used to make me watch some mha stuff but i only really know three of the characters. this stuff seems really important to you so please explain it all to me!

i want to understand and let you talk about your interests but i just lack an understanding of the show. write as detailed as you would like and just introduce me to it!!!

i love you questions girl!!!

if it wasn’t obvious i’m a massive fan! i have been for like six years at this point and the manga is actually ending in a weeks time! i’ll try and give a brief description since i could definitely go on for ages!! (and also, my favourite character is ochako uraraka !!)

essentially 80% of the worlds population has varying types of powers, ranging from something like being able to make things float or being able to talk to animals, or even being able to regenerate/disintegrate things! mha follows the story of a boy who’s from that 20% who doesn’t have any powers, or ‘quirks’ as they’re called in the show. also, due to the range in power and use of these quirks, there’s a need to have heroes to protect people from villains. after a turn of events, he ends up inheriting the power from his biggest idol who is the top hero! after training vigorously for months, he gets into the top school, and meets all sorts of people in his class! although, as he starts school, his idol, the top hero, has to step down as he’s getting older and his power is getting weaker, which inspires a group of villains to try and kill him! there’s loads of things that happen inbetween, but i’ll skip towards the end of the series! especially, the quirk the main character inherited, called one for all, is special as it can be passed down through dna, and it’s origin was to destroy its opposing quirk, all for one. one for all builds in strength as it’s passed down, and pre-existing quirks from other people who have had it get added into the mix, making it more complex and stronger. all for one on the other hand, is a quirk that allows the user to steal other people’s quirks! this ends up in a war that the main character, and everyone else, have to fight through. i won’t spoil too much in case you’re interested in finding out more on your own but there’s so much depth and just really cool characters and plots that i love!! like i mentioned on my blog earlier (albeit through a good few posts of me freaking out) the second last chapter came out this morning and the last one is due to come out next week! the anime is also about 50 chapters behind the manga so it’s catching up slowly!!

[thelreads]

There's a lot I would want to change, not even because it's bad, but because I think it could be interesting. I haven't written down those ideas because I'm not sure I want to commit to it even before the story ended, but some of the ones that do come to mind would be, without getting into too much details because I'd be here all night:

Tweak the main trio dynamic. Be Koichi keep being the slightly cynical and jaded person who had his dreams crushed in the past and the other two being the whacky weirdos that keep crashing in his place and dragging him to do shit

Have knuckles not be an ex-hero that had his quirk stolen but an actual quirkless civilian that had to fight tooth and nail to learn how to outsmart and take down larger foes with only his brain and strength. Not necessarily remove O'Clock, but make him a separate character that perhaps Knuckles knew, and who got killed.

Focus more on the actual aspect that Vigilante proposed. It was supposed to be about the darker side of society, out of the spotlight of the main series and away from the heroes sight, so have the vigilantes actually do some vigilantism. Fight crime, save people, help others in need that are ignored, touch more on that quirk discrimination that was talked about exactly once then forgotten about.

Hell, let us add more vigilantes to the story as well. Stain's cameo was incredibly cool, and have Koichi encounter other people that are fighting crime on their own way and reflect on what he agrees or not depending on the actions they take. This can open a debate about what Vigilantism actually means, and if Koichi is right or wrong about sticking to the rules of a hero or not.

Have Phelps be an actual threat to the story. We can have him latter break out of it and be more accepting of koichi, but by god let us have him actually do something to show he wasn't talking out of his ass back when he first showed up.

I'd probably remove the whole AfO and Nomu program from the story until the very end. Have the Factory be about other person with other objectives distributing drugs that are dangerous due to their boosting effects, and after it is taken down AfO realizes that there's potential on the research and steal it for his own ends.

Also, McBee? Not whatever the hell he is now. He can still have O'Clock as his quirk because we can make his the son of the new O'Clock, and he can even be an actual pro hero, but he's neck deep in corruption and the crime world and pretty much working for the Factory, while still trying to lie to himself that he has his reasons and he's just getting his hands dirt so he can do more good eventually or something. This can make McBee wishing to be O'Clock more poignant, because he can't escape the shadow of his father and be himself because he'll always be "O'Clock's son and successor" but at the same time he keeps getting told he is nowhere as good as the original one and that they preferred the older one.

Soga and his gang would probably change as well. Them sexually assaulting Pop in the beginning was fucked up, so it either needs to go and have them, I don't know, try to murder her instead, or if it stays have it be acknowledged and not used as a joke (Sending Furuhashi the biggest hate-filled psychic blast I can muster). Also give him more reasons to actually want to become a Vigilante, that could be a cool sup-plot and he and koichi could end crossing paths and coming to blows because of this.

Make better use of Captain Celebrity. He starts like a womanizer asshole that was violent then next thing we know it turns out he was just misunderstood and was used. Some nuance is nice, but I'd prefer if he was an asshole that learned to be better, or if he was the poor wittle meow meow then have him showcase that more at first (AKA not hit on Makoto). I think having him agreeing to Makoto's ideas because he wanted to improve and can't back down if he wants to be a better person is more interesting than the gag of "yeah makoto has blackmail on me, I need to do what she wants)

Please remove Endeavor from the story.Full stop. All matters of his family in the main series aside, having him in this story is counterproductive because he is the number-two hero, and having koichi outsmart him doesn't make koichi looks cool, it just makes Endeavor looks like an incompetent idiot. Add a new hero to the story, one not so high ranked, and have him be an antagonist to Koichi during the pop arc. This one can actually mix with the previous point, and have CC come back to fight Koichi, it would be far more dramatic.

HAVE THE PERSON THAT CAME UP WITH COMPASS KID EXECUTED TO MAKE AN EXAMPLE

Those are the most important ones that I can actually think about. There's a lot of minor stuff I'd probably change to make this fit, and some just for fun and to explore new possibilities, but those ones are pretty much a must.

And trust me, this is me not getting too much in details, I tried to actually write out the first topic in details and it became half as long as the current post lol

But this is all hypothetical, of course.

You know, now that I'm approaching the end of vigilantes, that wish to rewrite it in a fanfiction grows stronger.

Not even in a "I could do better" way, more in a "there was a lot of potential that wasn't explored there and I want to see what I can do with it and if it could work." Just tweak a few personalities and plot points, perhaps expand on some periods where nothing important happened, minor stuff with long-term ramifications.

Of course that remains in the hypothetical, I still haven't delivered that Spy x Family fanfic I was planning, but that was because I was planning on doing it cannon compliant and mix it with the theories I had, like that Henderson was a troublemaker that learned elegance with a teacher who he admired and that Martha and him were married or at least dated before they broke up.

I now need to find a new non-confirmed story plot thread to focus on.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

[eremin0109]

So I just watched KGF 2 and while it's a great fucking action film, the plot is solid and OHMYGOD YASH IS SO AHHHHHHHHHHHH (in short my ovaries were very pleased Ahem) but it is so clearly a film by men for men because the female love interest is oh my god SO FUCKING USELESS and she hates the dude for like one and half of the films and then when she gets to know his sob story she conveniently falls in love with him, dances for him (after he'd VERY CLASSILY called her his "entertainment" earlier on) and sleeps with him ALL in the span of one fucking song before she's ultimately *spoiler* killed for his manpain, just like his mom was like Ugh give me a break.

Honestly that was such a put off for me that it made me cheer up for the people trying to kill Rocky Lmao. No really, his character really rubbed me the wrong way and the only redeeming aspect of him is that he's played by Yash. That's it.

(i know that I'm probably being too harsh but like if you WANT to make token female love interests in today's day and age then atleast do it respectfully like RRR did and add in the homoromantic element to balance it out instead of fucking shoving nonsensical romance into the audience's faces out of nowhere.)

[fruitsofhell]

     "...You are all about to perish, do as you wish! (I'm so sorry...)" is one of my favorite moments of Revenge of MK's dialogue, it's so damn rich. Cause Meta is obviously beyond stressed and furious with everything that's happened and he just wants his closest crew to leave so he can deal with the shame alone by battling Kirby as his dreams literally nosedive into the sea. But his crew aren't thinking of this as Meta Knight's personal failure, to them it was a group effort they all failed at and should have a last hurrah together, which is incredibly sweet. The problem is just that things are hectic and Meta Knight is emotionally constipated AF, so his response just comes out as an IDFC, which he INSTANTLY regrets. Even with that horrible response his crew decide to go fight Kirby one last time out of nothing but pure respect for their leader. It's only once they fail for the 3rd time they realize that he was right the first time and they leave him be.      It's especially interesting contrasted with Revenge of the King and how Dedede treats his right hand man, Bandana Dee. By the time he asks Bandee to go fight he's also just as stressed and cornered by failure as Meta Knight was, but here he openly shows his compassionate side. He doesn't snap at Bandee for being scared to go out, he understands and spares him because he wants to take responsibility for Kirby. This is actually exactly what Meta Knight was trying to do, but the canyon of difference between how he and Dedede expressed these wishes is obvious. And because of this compassion poor Bandee is inspired to go fight Kirby, even if he was no where near as skilled and determined as the Meta-Knights were. They were immediately willing to put their lives on the line before Meta even said anything, but Dedede’s words and actions being able to invigorate a scared little dee into doing his best is really amazing.      I think this parallel shows a really wonderful dichotomy between the way these two approach leadership. Meta Knight is more calculated and organized - having led the building of a ship, assembly of an effective army, and staging of a coup - but he lacks good emotional communication skills. But even with that flaw his followers have a deep respect for him due to his skills and intellect, and I like to imagine they've become aware that deep down he does really care. Dedede is far less technically skilled in leadership - his army is untrained, he's always on the defensive, and he's shown panicking a lot when things don't go right - but he is very charismatic and a lot more open than Meta. I think canonically its said that he got his army of waddle dees by feeding them which can be read as bribery, or you could read it as him being good at taking care of them and their needs. He’s depicted as lazy but that seems to just be the culture of the land, which means that Meta Knight was coming in and trying to rule people that he simply didn't understand the lifestyle of because he couldn't relate. But he clearly outclasses the King as someone capable of protecting the land through strength and action, its only Kirby’s meddling that ruins his takeover. They've both had their moments of poor judgement and selfishness, but I don't think it's meant to be that one of them is a good leader and the other isn't, just that they had strengths and weaknesses they needed to work on. This is clear with Dedede who is now the same laid-back king he always was, but has stepped up to taking his role more seriously. And with Meta Knight you can infer from his friendlier nature he has learned to be less controlling and more respectful of Dreamland (though I really wish we saw him interact with his crew more :[ ...).       Meta Knight and Dedede are such cool fleshed out characters for a series that could've been fine repeating the same "Meta is invading!"/"Dedede is stealing!" plot for every platforming adventure. And as the two biggest antihero-to-companion characters of the series I think it's really fun they've built them up to be interesting foils of each other, all coalescing in the Sworn Partners plot in KF2 which is built on all these deliberate moments of parallel. God these characters are so good!

[fireemblems24]

Azure Moon Review

My final review! I saved the best for last.

FYI AM, CF, VW, and SS were all my first route since I played them back-to-back one "in-game" week at a time.

Before I started playing, I was the least interested in Azure Moon, but to say it came back with a vengeance is both a pun I'm proud of and an understatement. If asked to rank all four routes, I'd struggle choosing #2-4, but #1 I'd write as easily as my own name - Azure Moon. AM takes the best advantages of what Three Houses excels at while minimizing its weaker areas, uses 3H's narrative structure to the best advantage, and avoids issues other routes run into. It's not without fault, though, so I'll start with those first.

Like Crimson Flower, Azure Moon bit off more than a Fire Emblem game can currently chew. The genocide of Duscur is not given the attention, resolution, or weight it deserves. Like Fire Emblem Elibe series's genocide of Sacae, it takes an incredibly serious topic and uses it as a background tool for plot and character backstory rather than treating it with the seriousness such topics demand. With Duscur, things get even stickier and ickier because one of the "good countries" rather than the war mongering one did it. At this point, I think FE should quit including genocide in its storylines unless they hire the Tellius team to write it.

Permadeath also kept AM from living up to its fullest potential. AM has the most tightly knit group of characters, but those bonds are limited in their narrative potential because of FE's (in)famous permadeath feature. This forces the plot to revolve around a small handful of characters and has hamstrung the storytelling throughout the franchise's history. It's felt the hardest in AM, though, because of how intertwined the cast is.

The portrayal of Dimitri's mental illness has also received mixed reviews. I've yet to see a mentally ill character get universal praise, likely because mental illness is such an intensely personal experience. There are valid critiques like the harm of associating mental illness with violence while others praise AM for not romanticizing mental illness and not giving Dimitri a happy ending because he's "cured" but will achieve happiness and success despite his ills. Narratively, some claim his turn around happened too quickly. Here I both agree and disagree as AM did lay down the proper narrative beats to set up for the plot-turning point for anyone paying attention, but I do think it could've been improved. 

However, AM is still, overall, the best written route. There are many, many subjective reasons this route ended up my personal favorite, but I'm going to stick to somewhat more objective (though still debatable) points. So I could endlessly gush over how the Blue Lions are all my babies, but I won't do that here. And for anyone reading wondering if I see AM objectively the best because of subjective reasons, I can only ask, what came first, the chicken or the egg? (I don't know) The strength of AM's writing let its characters flourish in a way other routes did not. Because of that, did I like them better? Going into this, Dimitri was my least favorite lord - but boy did that change once I actually engaged with the game's writing. Personal preferences are what they are, but there are undeniable aspects of AM that are superior in terms of pure story construction compared to the other routes. 

AM emphasizes what Three Houses excels at while minimizing the weak spots. It's widely agreed that character-writing is one of FE3H's biggest strengths. Every character in Three Houses is both unique and reads like a natural result of the world and situation they lived in. Supports are often engaging and varied, adding layers of interest to even the most minor of characters. 

AM takes more advantage of the characters than other routes. Character conflict and development drive story beats in AM far more than the other routes. Dimitri gets the most fleshed-out and focused-on character arc among the various leads, the Blue Lions have the most connected cast and thus have the highest number of complicated and complex relationships, minor Blue Lions get the spotlight in various chapters (Ashe and Sylvain in the pre-timeskip), and just about everyone has some piece of the overall plot tie-in to their personal arcs (such as Mercedes dealing with Jeritza or Annette with Gilbert). Because it's the most "personal" and intensely character-driven story, AM takes the best advantage of the game's strong suits. 

This character-driven focus extends to the route's antagonists too. The poorly written and cartoonishly evil TWSITD are side-lined and killed off almost by accident. Instead of them, a mindless zombie, or Rhea randomly going evil, Edelgard is the main villain, and is far more interesting. Her dispute with Dimitri is ideological, personal, tragic, and compelling. Because of this, she's humanized in a way the other routes' antagonists are not, making the conflict with her more engaging in comparison. 

It's a pattern AM continues to follow through on - making the best of what's there. AM is the only route that utilized the Flame Emperor reveal and the time-skip. In the other 3 routes, these two story aspects fall flat. No one really reacts to the Flame Emperor reveal or seems to care - even Byleth and the Black Eagles. In AM, it's an emotional highlight that greatly impacts important characters. AM also takes the best advantage of the time-skip, as it's the only route where things actually happened during the 5 years Byleth wasn't around rather than seeming like everyone inexplicably hit pause until Byleth came back.

Byleth also functions as a character and a self-insert well in AM. You, the player, are allowed to express frustration with the cast - unlike elsewhere. There is plenty of romantic teasing with Dimitri, but Byleth also functions just as well as a mentor. It gives the player some choice in how they want to view the relationship while maintaining an emotional and important relationship between the two. Byleth is also a bit more active here than elsewhere, taking direct actions that help flesh them out as a character. 

While all of this is part of what made AM's story so strong, the biggest success AM had was its willingness to engage with negative emotions and take risks.  Three Houses often seems at war with itself - wanting to be both a serious war story where things aren't black-and-white, but also unwilling to make the player question their choices. This results in some odd emotional dissonance and mood whiplash. AM took risks other routes shied away from by prioritizing telling a story rather than making the player feel good. This escalates the conflict and allows for greater character development. 

While far from perfect, AM ended up the best-written route in Three Houses because it uses 3H's narrative structure to the best advantage and avoids common pitfalls other routes fall into. While it may have started out as the route I was the least interested in, it ended up my absolute favorite.   

[nuppu-nuppu]

What helped me be less distressed about the whole manga situation is like... How many themes are left if Bakugou doesn't make it? Save to Win/Win to Save is literally one of the biggest major themes in the series, and that's only possible with Bakugou.

From the very beginning, Bakugou and Midoriya have been used to show the neligence of Hero Society and Hero culture, which really sucks for him, sob because he's always in danger and always getting shit. Which like, I know I got pretty upset the past two weeks at everyone cheering for Midoriya to come and help Bakugou, just because he's been helped so many times. He deserves to stand on his own and fight this battle-

Especially given the fact that Shigaraki was the one who kidnapped him.

Another reason why he's not going to die, because that would just be so severely underwhelming on so many parts; in addition to just... genuinely not adding anything to the plot. What? Midoriya sees him dead and rages against ShigaAfO? Ignoring the 'control your heart' thing he's got going on (also related to Bakugou, as it came up during Black Whip's reveal) AND the "Don't go playing Hero on your own" line (also said by Bakugou and brought up again during his apology).

Horikoshi has been so careful interweaving Bakugou into things from the beginning- and like... I won't say they've been good to our boy, because seriously the dude can't catch a break (which is so astounding when antis say he hasn't suffered enough, because he is like?? Literally always suffering sob), again, another reason why it doesn't make sense to kill him off.

What? Is the message supposed to be that if you try your hardest and do your best, that you will still fail always?

One of the other main themes in the series is redemption and atonement- it's about not judging people by their past actions, and killing Bakugou off before he finally gets that atonement recognized... Again, it kills one of the major themes.

None of the villains can hope to be redeemed if Bakugou doesn't make it out of this (also Shigaraki can kiss his redemption goodbye because there's literally no way that Midoriya would forgive him after that, possesssed or not). Bakugou is the foreground, the basis of all redemption. If they don't redeem the dude who was kind of an asshole in middle school, how are they going to redeem literal murderers?

Not to mention the sheer work put into his character- what author would willingly throw all of that away? For no reason, even, like??? What would Bakugou's death add... to anything?

The Heroes failed to protect an innocent person yet again, Midoriya loses his inspiration and closest person, Bakugou's narrative is forever incomplete and staring lamely into the void.

There are things to worry about. I worry that Bakugou's moment will get overshadowed, yet again, because he's written as and displayed to be strong; but most of the time he fights it's with someone "out of his League" or his strengths are immediately washed out by some other character.

I'm honestly tired of him always needing 'saving', because it's been ages since he came to terms with his own weakness. The War Arc seemed to be a turning point in his relationship with Midoriya where Bakugou took the lead. Bakugou saved Midoriya. Bakugou hunted down Midoriya to take him home.

I'm worried about this comparision being stuck in canon (Bakugou's only worth being Midoriya, the fact that he's compared himself to Midoriya from the beginning, and I'm not sure of the connotation behind 'Can I reach you' (whether it's a call to their childhood and his regrets over not taking Midoriya's hand or him comparing himself to Midoriya again), but, even as excited as I am for these BakuDeku crumbs, I don't want all of Bakugou's hard work and dedication to just be attributed to Midoriya. HE'S the one that put in the hard work to and to be better. Even if Midoriya inspired it, the only one guiding Bakugou's redemption and his journey was himself.

A lot of the fandom seems to have forgotten just how double sided BakuDeku's relationship is now that we're finally getting Bakugou's side of things (over Midoriya's, even), but Bakugou has been such a huge inspiration for Midoriya- yes, he is Midoriya's closest person, but we tend to forget why, how much Midoriya cares about Bakugou even in non life threatening situations.

Bakugou and Midoriya both believed in each other when no one else did...

It's reasonable to feel distressed or upset, but Horikoshi has put so much time and effort, love and care into these characters... Why do all that work to rip them away?

At least, these are the things that I remind myself as I try to avoid the echo chamber that is the fandom right now. Seriously, it's either get rid of all Bakugou/BakuDeku conent from my dash or see leaks and 'he's dead' posts everywhere. There's no winning.

It really is up to you on what you want or need in the future, but it's important to step back and realize where this distress is coming from. If you need to step back from the fandom do it. Try to dig up some old conetent you used to enjoy.

Only you can tell if thinking about him More or Less would help (if you can break away from this distress, do so, but only if it won't make things worse)..

Woah I’m speechless please everyone read this!!!!!!

First of all your analysis makes so much sense and you’re like a god with all this writing you’re so smart

I also feel like it would be a disservice to Bakugou’s character if they killed him off now and so many things would be left hanging

He is occupying 90% of my mind right now I can’t stop thinking about him

I think after all he’s been through it would be cruel to just kill him. He deserves kindness and gentleness ;;;; my babyyy

[dailycass-cain]

Batgirls #12 Review

Batgirls #12 capped off the series' third arc. Did it actually stick to its landing, did it fumble the ball like the first, or botch it completely like the second?

The answer is, yeah this series actually delivered its first arc when it focuses on Cass/Steph than the spotlight fully on Babs. That's not to say this issue has a few flaws.

For me, the biggest was something felt off with the coloring this issue than say the prior ones. I mean Oompa Loompa Maps notwithstanding. The Cass stuff by Neil Googe feels different than the prior issues.

Rico Renzi is the colorist for this issue like the last. But something of his Cass (along with Officer Brooks) just feels different than the last two.

The stuff with Stephanie vs. the Riddler is flawless by them. Yes, Steph has a pinkish tone to her skin again but I'm chalking it up whenever we see it as her flustered or in rage mode (which she is in both during this fight).

Speaking of Steph vs. Riddler, I loved it. Even if this series didn't tip the full hat to their prior encounter waaaaaaaaay back in Robin #93-94.

Steph isn't the only one having her own renewed rivalry as the main focus for Cass this issue is fighting the slasher they've been searching (or hearing about) since #1. Said obscure Batvillain Mr. Fun.

Cass encountered him in Batman: Family #7 and was one of those rare times she lost due to well, his calmness. It's also a loss she never really got back. In Batman: Family it's Black Canary who takes down Fun.

Likewise, Fun never really popped up as much with Family, I know Robin later had him and Tim easily took him out. One of those usual cases of a new character being introduced and then tossed to be a mere jobber.

Mr. Fun's old profession of being a mob assassin/enforcer is mentioned in this issue. Though as well this issue doesn't go into detail that these two have crossed paths prior. I'll give the narration allusions to this encounter with how the fight is described.

It's kind of surprising in one of those rare instants of the past (compared to now) of Cass (and Dick) being Worfed to Mr. Fun.

I fully confess it is a highlight more than her prior fight in #10 with KGBeast to see Cass fully unleashed here. The series finally does a better job of showcasing the past Batgirls' lives and what forged them to be who they are now.

Again, that's another strength this issue holds than the prior earlier stuff. At long last, the series is digging into both Cass/Steph's origins. But on the other hand, this does reveal a few things.

#1 Bendis's Young Justice seems to have been tossed into a lockbox and discarded. As Stephanie found out her father was alive in that and spent that entire series hunting for him. Here, it's teased to her that he's alive. Along with teasing what will come in January.

Overall, this arc was the series' strongest yet. It still had flaws, but it felt like Cass/Steph story without Babs (or Dick) taking away from them or their villains in the arc (#7-8 I'm looking at you for spending WAAAAY too much time on Babs/Dick than on Seer or the Saints).

I highly enjoyed this arc and loved the twists this story took. I love the "SURPRISE!" Riddler inclusion (nice job on hiding this) and a bit shaken when rereading stuff I didn't pick up on prior (namely Eddie out of costume with it being nearby).

Plus after One Bad Day: Riddler #1 with Eddie's monologue in that, this felt like satisfaction watching JUST Stephanie hand Eddie his ass.

Further, this arc did a better job juggling it's guest stars and supporting cast than prior. I still am not fond of Babs being Batgirl and feel like they should tone that down for more Oracle moments instead here.

Save the Babs as Batgirl moments to be more epic here and leave that stuff for the Nightwing ongoing. Really Babs is the weakest link of this series. I'm glad that Cass/Steph cracked the case here, and Babs didn't deus ex machina her way into the plot like in the first arc.

Likewise, the appearances of Maps, Kyle, and Alysia were pretty good.  They each served their purpose. Truthfully though the other highlight of this arc besides Cass/Steph? Was this goof:

Was this goof. I just found Killer Moth to be kind of refreshing a villain. He wasn't an assassin or edgy for edge's sake. He was just a minion doing stuff cause his boss asked. Plus Googe gave him a good design.

Add that to the way Conrad and Cloonan portrayed him. He was the unsung guy you were rooting to survive and sure enough he did. Like Tutor before him. I enjoyed him just being different than the main bads.

I hope they return to pester the Batgirls further because the idea of Moth flying around with a goo gun is fun fight idea. Even though I kind of dig Cass getting upgraded batwings now to fly.

Only because I kind want a criminal to be criminaling and suddenly Cass flies in they're all like this now.

So yeah. This series FINALLY delivered an arc that was fun from start to finish. It feels like they're only gonna get stronger with the next one having Mad Hatter, Cluemaster, and-- wait... does someone hear Wu-Tang Clan? .... Oh no. OH NO!!

Mom is coming to Batgirls annual coming out at the end of the month! I am terrified yet excited to see Cass/Shiva actually together and hope this doesn't de-evolve but continues the threads established prior.