#me during (insert song here) series

[plutotown]

no one:

me during cardigan: BUT I KNEW YOU'D LINGER LIKE A TATTOO FUCKING KISS BITCH!!!!!!! I KNEW YOU'D FUCKING HAUNT ALL OF MY FUCKING WHAT-IFS BITCH!!!!!! THE SMELL OF SMOKE WOULD HANG AROUND THIS FUCKING LONG BITCH!!!!!!! CAUSE I KNEW EVERYTHING WHEN I WAS FUCKING YOUNG BITCH!!!!! I KNEW I'D FUCKING CURSE YOU FOR THE LONGEST FUCKING TIME BITCH!!!!!! CHASIN SHADOWS IN THE FUCKING GROCERY LINE BITCH!!!!! I KNEW YOU'D FUCKING MISS ME ONCE THE THRILL FUCKING EXPIRED BITCH!!!!! AND YOU'D BE FUCKING STANDIN IN MY FRONT PORCH FUCKING LIGHT BITCH!!!!!!! AND I KNEW YOU'D COME BACK TO ME BITCH!!!!!!

#i should make this a series #i’m REALLY going through it rn guys #taylor swift #folklore #cardigan #folklore love triangle #betty #james #august #okay i’m going to bed now #me during (insert song here) series

[precious-little-scoundrel]

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. 💋

#masters of the air #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #gosh is that a first tag? i don’t think so I know I’ve seen schemes at the very least on here #mota fanfic #austin butler #gale cleven #john egan #Major Egan #Major Cleven #buck cleven #Gale Cleven fanfiction #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler fluff #Austin Butler imagine #Austin butler smut #callum Turner fanfiction #callum turner #harry crosby #anthony boyle #hbo war #band of brothers #the pacific

[vixstarria]

My Fanfiction Master List

All fics can also be found on my AO3.

The following have accidentally turned into a series, although each can be read as a standalone.

Mostly Astarion x female Tav / reader, although other characters do make appearances.

Most are shameless reader self-insert, too.

To summarise: a take on Astarion's relationship progression with a hectic, unhinged bardlock Tav. Mostly humour and banter, fluff with light angst. And then there's the smut.

Ongoing series

Bloodbang Chronicles - post-game continuation of my bardlock series (see below), Astarion x f!OC [Most recently posted fic, to be updated regularly]

One-shot series:

Fluff

In chronological order, as they would take place in-game:

Where my nice, simple plan fell apart - scenes of Astarion x Tav relationship progression in Act 1 generally

Another Gift - Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion, reflections on vampirism / Astarion's past

Mark me as yours (Astarion POV) - takes place the morning after 'Missionary with the lights off' (filed below under smut) - a day of pining in camp in the life of Astarion

Down by the river (alternating POV) - 18+, takes place immediately after 'Mark me as yours' - Astarion and Tav spend a night by the river, away from camp

Something real (Astarion POV) - An evening in camp, Astarion and Tav are finally alone

Are you mine? (Astaion POV) - just flirty pillow talk and comfort

Gentle Warding Bond - short & sweet, Astarion finds the "true love's caress" and "true love's embrace" rings in the Shadow-Cursed lands and makes a decision

Admit that you love me - Act 2, Gale fucks around and finds out, Lae'zel becomes poetic and Astarion most certainly does not tell you that he loves you

Confession (Astarion POV) - title self-explanatory, love confession, tooth-rotting sweetness

The Morning After - short fic, follow-up to 'Confession', morning in camp - banter, humour, etc

Intimacy - Astarion's struggle with sex and intimacy, includes some fairly softcore smut

Communication - It has been nice, but it's time Tav and Astarion actually figured out what it is they're doing and what comes next [Most recently posted oneshot]

A night at the inn (part 1) - the gang gets a chance to let loose for a while. Humour, banter, and a lead-up to something smutty to come [Parts 2 & 3 under smut]

Smut

Also part of series.

Missionary with the lights off - Uh. Some really mindblowing sex here. No, really. Porn with plot, fluff to smut

Seeing stars - Astarion is jealous. What's more, he's eager to prove that no one could possibly compete with him.

A remedy for sleeplessness - porn no plot, Tav can't sleep and Astarion takes matters into his own hands

What do you want to do with it? - porn no plot, dirty talk, 'use your words', oral sex (male receiving) (kinda)

A night at the inn (part 2) - porn, Astarion x Halsin x F!Tav/Reader, dirty talk, oral sex, PIV and more

A night at the inn (part 3) - continuation of porn, Astarion x Halsin x F!Tav/Reader, vampire bites as an aphrodisiac edition

The Sheath of Frontiers - Wyll's never been with a man. Astarion and Tav decide this must be rectified. (and yes that was an anal pun)

Challenges, shorts and misc

'Erotic Misadventures' - my entry for the BG3 April Foolishness challenge: 'write something spicy that uses the worst possible terms for body parts, sex acts'. Reader beware.

Untitled - Ask reply HC, Astarion accidentally attacks Tav during a nightmare

A cut - Tav accidentally cuts themselves, and Astarion scampers over like a cat to a can of tuna

Untitled - Ask reply, bonus scene following Seeing Stars - jealous giddy Astarion enacts revenge on Wyll after his failed awkward dance seduction attempt

'Gentle Warding Bond' should rightfully be here also, but it's too relevant to the 'plot' if you can call it that

My OC bard (bardlock) headcanon

(the lady in all the above fics)

OC Questionnaire

OC more in-depth questionnaire

Another 'get to know your Tav' post

OC songs and outfits

Why my Tav fell for Astarion

Why Astarion fell for my Tav

Going strong and planning to do more.

P.S. I am a whore for comments, and nothing sparks joy and feeds further inspiration quite like a simple "HHHNNNNNG ASFKJAGJLKSJF" in comments or reblog tags.

P.P.S Feel free to leave a comment if you'd like to be added to a taglist. :) And if so, do let me know if there are any categories you would prefer to be excluded from.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion fanfiction #pinned post #I give you my soul #You can give me your HHHNNNNNG ASFKJAGJLKSJF

[httpknjoon]

can't take my eyes off you | jjk

plot | Sweet September surprises their fans with their own rendition of the classic song.

words | 844

genres | fluff, modern royalty!au, celebrity!au

pairing | rockstar!jungkook x princess!reader

note | -

main masterlist | drabble series

“Honey, attending such an event is not part of your itinerary…”

Your mom’s worried tone from your phone echoed in your hotel bathroom as you got ready for Sweet September’s concert tonight. After tying your hair in a half ponytail with your white silk ribbon, you tried to curl the ends of your hair with your fingers.

“I know, I know, mom. But the band personally invited me,” you replied before looking at the camera to see your mom sipping from her morning tea. “They are great performers. I and Astrid enjoyed their concert when they went there in Zafiro.”

Even though you are already a grown adult, with you owning a title and a long list of responsibilities, you still have to talk with your parents before doing something. And that’s what you are doing right now. You would usually go straight to your dad. He is strict but your mom’s stricter. You tried talking to him initially but he’s busy with meetings. So you reached out to The Queen to let her know about the concert.

She squinted her eyes, “A personal invite from the band? How so?”

You paused, “Oh… Uhm… I had a chat with their vocalist last night at the Gala. We already met before that.”

“And can I know the name of this vocalist we’re talking about?”

The image of Jungkook kissing your hand last night suddenly played in your head, unknowingly putting a slight smile on your face.

“Jungkook.”

Then, a noise from your mother’s background snapped you back into reality. A thin line formed on your lips as you waited for a reaction from your mother. But she just looked at you for a minute. Like she was examining you, you can feel her gaze on you even though she’s on the other side of the world.

“YN…” she called for you in a specific tone that made your shoulders tense up.

“Mom.” you sighed. “I’m not dating him. I’m sure I’m not the only one who gets personal invites from him.”

“That’s great to know, honey. I know you’re smart enough with your decisions, including who to date. You know how we would always want the best partner for you as you will be leading Zafiro in the future.”

Your jaw tightened as you tried to focus on running the mascara through your lashes. Your shoulders suddenly bore this hefty weight. The same weight you feel every time you put a crown on your head. You tried to ignore it, clearing your throat before you spoke,

“Anyway, Mom, I’ll keep my attendance lowkey. Okay?” You plumped your lips before smiling at her. “I promise, no one would even notice I was there.”

@/T4KEM3H0M3: OMGOMGOMG THERE’S A SPECIAL SONG

@/ot4sweetsept: y’all are so lucky!!! wdym they added a song to the setlist???!?

@/sweetseptfan bro stop flirting with ur gf ur literally on stage

@/woosungpiercing: lol jungkook keeps on eyeing the upper level during their concert tonight in new york

@/CARTERSBASS: louise chu should give her stylist a fucking raise! her dress looks so good!! #DenimJungleNY

@/swingingguitars: oomf said a princess attended tonight Replying to @/swingingguitars @/friskywhiskey: pics or it didn’t happen @/denimjunglesz: omg is it princess astrid??? I heard she’s a big fan

@/woosunginaday: im betting twenty dollars jungkook’s gf is in tonight’s concert Replying to @/woosunginaday @/woosunginaday: i mean he can’t stop smiling and walking to the right side of the stage tonight

@/PopCrave: Sweet September performs their own cover of Frankie Valli’s Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.

@/coldjeon: @.PrincessYNOfZafiro what r u doing here 🤔🤔🤔🤔 [insert video]

@/calliessong: omg louise is here again!! she’s at the vip standing

@/jkslouise: now we know why there’s a special song 👀

“Is everyone having a great time?”

Jungkook asked with his wired microphone and the whole audience roared with screams and cheers. The bright lights pointed at him made it hard for him to see you in the crowd. He offered you a VIP Standing ticket earlier but you declined, opting for a seat more secluded. 

“Now, is there anyone here up for a surprise?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

Every member smiled with the excitement from the crowd. They don’t really do surprise songs at every stop of their tour. So it thrills them too when Jungkook brings up a surprise song idea last night for them to play tonight. They only rehearsed the said song this morning.

“Seems like everyone is up for it.” Jungkook turned his head to his bandmates, silently signaling them to get ready.  He looked back to the audience. His eyes stopped at a specific spot, “By the way, I would like to greet the beautiful lady in–”

Cutting him off, Woosung began playing the drums for the song’s intro and so did Carter and Mingyu with their guitars. They all smiled when they heard a small “aww” of disappointment from their fans. Jungkook combed through his damp hair with his fingers before singing the first line.

“You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off of you.”

taglist rules

THE PRINCESS AND THE ROCKSTAR TAGLIST

@heartjiminie @rbrm094 @rjsmochii @jjkreblog @sugaslittlekookies @saintsugar @alpha-mommy69 @natalia-rmnva @stupendouscookiehumanmug @yoonjinhusbands @lilliankoo @gxtwllsn @snkyuv @canyon-lwt @hiii-priestess @jksgirlhere @bbtsficrecs @jnk-pop @jjeonjjk7 @tokkiggukie @kooliv @oopscoop @hani0407 @taebae19 @yunki-yunki-yunki

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@dunixxd​ @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21

#bts humor #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts series #bts established relationship au #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook series #rockstar jungkook #the princess and the rockstar jjk

[serenhoshi]

𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠 ���𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

I’m sorry I haven’t posted in a while! I was working for my finals, and now that I’m done I can post again! 

Here is the beginning of the “Ateez as your boyfriend” series, I haven’t done all the members of seventeen yet, but I’m working on it as well, it’ll come very soon!

So, Kim Hongjoong!

based on his mbti, the man is a lover of love

he is a hopeless romantic, and has a crush 24/7

he loves having a crush, daydreaming a bit about the person that attracted him

it kind of frees him from his busy everyday life

it inspires him for some of his lyrics as well?? (like i know ateez songs are about rebellion and stuff but i’m sure that this man right here has many romantic and cheesy songs about his ex-lover(s) or/and crushes)

anyways, so as I said, he has a crush on basically anyone

he never truly expects anything, like no relationship whatsoever, he really just enjoys the feeling of liking someone

so when he has a crush one you, he doesn’t expect much from it

maybe he saw you at a museum or in a shop or whatever

and he double-checked you like “oh- oh, they look great” (in his head ofc)

and maybe he liked your vibe, your outfit, whatever

he ended up giving you quick looks during your whole visit (if it’s a museum), like a shy kid

he knows he won’t see you again anyway because of his work, and [insert city name] is a big city, so he makes sure he memorizes you well

it really sounds weird but like

he WILL write about you, so he needs to remember details to talk about in his lyrics

As soon as he got home, he started writing his song, it was very quick lmao

so when he was done, he was satisfied and could go back to his work

until he saw you again, at the agency

his eyes opened wide and his jaw almost fell to the floor

he was clearly confused so he played it cool and ignored you as if he never knew you in the first place

like “damn, that not how it always goes”

but turns out you had to work together, because you were in charge of the production of some music videos, so you had to meet with the members to talk about the aesthetic and the mood of the songs, and what to tell in the video

the members quickly saw that hongjoong was acting weirdly around you

like during a meeting, anytime you looked at him he would look away from you, anytime he spoke up his ears would turn red because he knew you were watching him

so they mocked him lmao

and he threatened them back

but they’re ateez, they don’t really care, so they continued

until it got to you

you heard the members being like “hongjoong-hyung have you seen y/n’s haircut today? oh i’m sure you have right?”

“remember when he drew them?? in a cartoon-ish way, it looked cute tho”

“yeah, i want you to draw me too!- why not? is it because they’re your crush and i’m not??”

you were very confused and curious at the same time

so one time your curiosity took over, and you called hongjoong after a meeting with the members (ofc they mocked him when they heard you call him lmao)

you blutly asked if there was someting going on, because you heard stuff from the members, and you needed to know if you had done something wrong, or is they were mocking you for something. not even once considering he could actually like you

he would giggle shyly, hiding his face with his hand

and then he was fully honest with you

he said in a suprisingly confident way, that he hoped something would develop between the two of you, because he really appreciates you

and he asked you on a date btw

i know right

he couldn’t believe it either

the date went very well, you went to the cinema and then ate at the convenience store bcs you were hungry

it was very fun! and both of you started to get attached to each other

you got close very fast, you saw each other a lot at dates, your appartment, or his recording studio

you would just mess around a lot, laugh, eat, sleep, whatever

at some point he just HAD to tell you how much he loved you

you were both in his studio, you had drank a bit, hongjoong more than you, to give himself a bit of courage

he played the song he made after meeting you for the first time

the silence was pressuring to him, while you listened attentively to the song

then you looked at him, confused at what it meant (not really understanding that it was about you)

so he told you

his confession was a bit clumsy, he wanted to do well but he was too stressed, so stressed that he stuttered a lot

but it was also very sincere, his eyes did not leave you, the light reflecting in them made them look so bright and passionate that your heart started speeding up

when he finally said “i love you”, you smiled, and giggled like a child

his eyes were still on you, and you felt your ears burn and redden

you told him that you loved him too, in a quieter voice, shy to let the three words out

he smiled widely, he heard what you said, but he just had to tease you a bit

so he came closer, his face inches away from yours

“what did you say?” 

so you said it again, with a tiny pout on your lips

and he kissed you right after

Now, let’s see how the pirate king is as a boyfriend :D

i’m sure that even though he keeps showing his hate for physical touch on TV, he actually loves it

but only with you :)

when he gets home from work he comes to you and kisses you on the forehead, a hand holding your waist or caressing your back

will get grumpy if you don’t accept taking a bath with him >:(

while watching tv he either holds your hand or puts it on your thigh

same when he drives

loves spending special evenings or afternoons with you

like you both going shopping, taking pictures and enjoying the city

or discovering the new pet cafe <3

maybe an evening customizing some of your clothes, sat on the floor of the living room, with some 2000s songs playing in the back

or you dyeing his hair !

you also cook together at least 2 to 3 times a week

because you’re both bad at cooking but you want to get better

at first it was chaotic, now it’s better

having hongjoong as a boyfriend also means being a new parent for ateez

some of the members (like wooyoung and mingi) will call you mom as a joke

when they come to the appartment (randomly most of the time), you’ll have to handle them with your boyfriend, as much as you can

but hongjoong’s patience is so low you end up handling them yourself while he tries to beat up yunho in the back

hongjoong really has no patience, in your relationship its better

but he still gets angry easily

luckily, he doesn’t give you the silent treatment, he directly confronts you about what he thinks and what made him upset

very jealous, protective, and a bit possessive as well

at first it annoyed you a lot, so you told him and now he controls himself better

but he still always has a hand around your waist during social events, just so people know that you’re taken

i think that hongjoong “weak” side would be how shy he is when it comes to compliment you

he shows support through actions, he encourages anything you do in life and makes sure you know how proud he is of you

but its always hard for him to put it into words

when you’re not here he can describe you with the most loving words, and praise you as if you were a goddess (which you are for him)

but once you’re there he just giggles and smiles like a child

if you get prepared for an important event for example, and you arrive with a gorgeous outfit, beautifully done hair and all that

he’ll stop moving (maybe even breathing) for a while, his cheeks as red as cherries

and then he’ll hug you lovingly, maybe kiss you if you don’t have lipstick on 

it is very rare for him to put it into words

maybe if you get married he’ll finally praise you while you’re here, in front of him? ;)

anyways we’re done here :)

smutty part below!

I don’t think hongjoong ever had sex before you

or if he did it was with some one night stands he doesn’t remember

but still he was quite shy during your first time

he wouldn’t dare look at you at first, both because he thinks his face would go fully red, and because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable

he still touches you a lot, a bit awkwardly at first because it wasn’t the same with no clothes on anymore :’)

might stare a bit even though he tries to control himself so you don’t feel too oppressed lmao

moans a lot, he can’t stay quiet, even when you’re just making out

no matter what position you’re in, he likes having a hand in your hair, caressing it as if praising you for whatever you were both doing

he talks quite a lot too

saying how he feels, asking you questions to make sure you’re okay, it’s like he says each and every thoughts that goes in his mind

“woah,, again please”

“do you like it that way? should i go on?”

“moan again for me honey”

“you can’t keep your hands to yourself, huh?” 

ofc he has to be a tease when he feels the most confident

i feel like he’s a switch, but still more on the dominant side

like he goes sub mode when you ask him to, but the rest of the time hes dominant

prefers doing it in bed, in your shared bedroom

maybe sometimes in the living room or in the bathroom, but never out of the appartment, even for a quickie

(so making him horny outside of home is very fun to watch, because he cannot do anything on the spot, and just glares at you while hiding his bulge as much as he can)

even tho he is a dom, i think he likes it when you ride him

he loves watching you on top of him

but still orders you around with his hands on your hips, his fingers tracing on your stretch marks

overall he has a great stamina, he could go for 2 rounds easily, maybe 3 sometimes :)

#hongjoong #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #hongjoong fluff #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez drabbles #wooyoung #mingi #yunho #yeosang #seonghwa #choi san #jongho #kpop imagines #kpop reactions #kim hongjoong

[lipstickghoulie]

☕️Alex’s Masterlist ☕️

My fanfiction, puppet pictures and anything else that I find relevant. I am Ascendant Astarion friendly and do write fics for him.

Reconciliation: (Ascendant Astarion/fem reader. 4k+ words. Smut.) You and Astarion broke up during the final days of the fight against the netherbrain when you couldn’t handle how different he had become after the ascension ritual. Astarion has a plan to keep you with him though, even if our boy isn’t much of a planner…

Make Your Own Kind of Music: (Ascendant Astarion/fem reader. 4k+ words. Smut. Spoilers for epilogue party.) Maybe even vampire ascendants need a vacation? Just a bit of fluffy smut set about six months after the epilogue party.

Loss of Innocence (Astarion/fem Tav. Set around Act One. Smut. Praise, dirty talk, manipulation, deflowering. Also listed on my Drabbles and One-Shots on ao3. Shorter, probably less than 1k words, though that’s an estimate)

Crimson Plots (Tumblr version is without breeding talk, AO3 link has version with breeding kink mentioned. Set around act one and a sort-of follow up to “Loss of Innocence”. Astarion/fem Tav. Menstrual talk, period oral, period sex, blood, cum play and cream pie, maybe some light spit kink, dirty talk, praise, Astarion being a manipulative little shit). “It’s that time of the month for Tav and Astarion ever-so-generously offers to assist her, out of the kindness of his heart and for no other reason whatsoever.”

Games of Love and Chance: A SFW short fic, fluffy, gender neutral tiefling Tav! “Astarion and Tav finally get a night to themselves after helping rebuild the city. What could go wrong?” Written for the lovely @carooosa for Creative Corner’s fic exchange and inspired by their ADHD Tav series!

Drabbles and One-Shots: (Both Ascendant and Spawn Astarion, Astarion mid-game, each drabble is usually under 1k words, some smut) This is a series of my drabbles and unconnected stories, mostly written for discord servers and collected here to find more easily.

Ribbons of Blood, AO3 link (Ascendant Astarion/fem!reader. Around 3k words. Restraints, dirty talk, light anal play, PIV, blood drinking). What kind of consort and lover would you be if you didn’t come up with a plan to help Astarion relieve some stress? It just so happens that this idea of yours involves you being tied up for his enjoyment.

And We Are All Merely Players: (Not explicit, Astarion/gender neutral reader, fourth wall breaking) What got me started writing fanfiction again! I actually had another chapter started for this that did have smut in it but I abandoned it since someone else did a better job with the concept! Still, it’s funny to list this one since it was my first attempt at Astarion fanfiction and it’s kind of different in tone from my other work.

Puppet posting: (Not smut, just pictures of my puppets) The inspiration for puppet Astarion, puppet Astarion photo dump

Alyx the Monk (self insert OC) posts: First one ever, Tav template game and Five Songs, Three outfits game.

Face reveal

#masterlist #navigation #astarion x female reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion smut #astarion x female tav

[shmothman]

Sef’s Fic Masterlist | AO3 | Writing Tag

figured it was about time I made one of these! most links go to my AO3 page, but I’ve cross-posted some fics to tumblr over the years, and there are some drabbles I’ve posted to tumblr that I never posted to AO3. I'll try to keep this up to date! Thanks for reading!

Rating Guide: G (general audiences), T (teen and up), E (explicit, 18+ only)

A Date With Death

the very mortal concept of “self love” (Casper/Reader) (E)

Internet Safety (Casper/Reader) (T) (Drabble)

Kekkai Sensen

Bacon & Eggs (Zapp/Reader) (T)

Mushishi

heart-tell (Ginko/Reader) (E)

Just a Little Rush (Ginko/Reader) (E)

One Punch Man

Connection (Genos/Reader) (E)

lovebug.exe (Genos/Reader) (E)

Happiness (Genos/Reader) (E)

Trigun

Vash/Reader Fics

Talk to Me (E)

Throwing Caution (G)

Triage (E)

Reputation (E)

Monsoon (E)

Vulnerology (T)

Bloom (E)

Wanna Be Yours (E)

Arms Tonight (G)

Dirty Little Secret (E)

Seven Minutes (E)

Nectar (E)

Throw Me a Bone (E)

you know, that one song by Jeremih? (birthday sex) (E)

Intense (E)

Stuck like Glue (E)

It’s the Thought that Counts (Part 2) (E)

Your Atlas (E)

Public Displays (G)

One Too Many (E)

Stampede (E)

Vash/Reader Drabbles

love, if your wings are broken (G)

morning, mayfly (G)

love, you're not alone (G)

hands (put your empty hands in mine) (G)

tits or ass (E)

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts:

"You don't have to be alone anymore"

"You have 5 seconds to tell me not to hug you"

"Tell me what I'm doing wrong! What's wrong with me?!"

"I love you. I'm sorry."

“I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Confessional (Wolfwood & Reader) (E)

To Have and to Hold (T)

Vash with his hair down (G)

Desperation (E)

Alloy (G)

Blossoming romance prompts:

Hugs that linger (G)

Clumsy attempts at flirting (G)

Not reader insert

Uncanny Vash (G)

Pokemon

Scarlet/Violet

Counting One, Two, Three (Hassel/Reader/Brassius) (E)

Solamente (Clavell/Reader) (E)

The Wig Stays On During Sex (Clavell/Reader) (E)

Lentamente (Clavell/Reader) (E)

Quiero Ser Tuyo (Clavell/Reader) (E)

Legends: Arceus

Judgement | Forgiveness (Volo/Reader) (G)

Judgement | Forgiveness Related Drabbles (Volo/Reader) (G)

Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (Volo/Reader) (E)

Denial's Not Just A River In Utah (Volo/Reader) (E)

Culture Shock (Laventon/Reader) (G)

Fireside (Laventon/Reader) (G)

Sword/Shield

Kiss Me Through the Phone (Leon/Reader) (E)

Hot Blooded (Peony/Reader) (E)

Sun/Moon

Bug Buzz (Guzma/Reader) (E)

The Stanley Parable

And Stanley Was Happy (Stannarrator) (G)

Just Like A Prayer (Stannarrator) (E)

The Sandman

Dream/Reader Fics

Enter, Sandman (E)

Another Taste of Heavenly Rush (E)

Dream/Reader Drabbles

Hurt/Comfort (G)

Who Dreams, What Dreams (T)

Nix Hydra (now Fictif? still don't understand all that)

The Arcana

The Warmth We Share (Asra/Reader) (G)

A Memory of Grief (Asra/Reader) (G)

Seeing Red (Lucio/Reader) (T)

Monster Manor

Soothes the Savage Beast (Casimir/Reader) (G)

After So Long (Casimir/Reader) (E)

The Adventure Zone: Amnesty

The Man, The Moth, The Lover (Indrid Cold/Reader) (E)

Can't See Me Lovin' Nobody But You (Indrid Cold/Reader) (G)

Pheromonal (Indrid Cold/Reader) (E)

Hindsight is 20/20 (but foresight is almost as good) (Indrid Cold/Reader) (abandoned) (G)

Boku no Hero Academia

Smile, Sunshine (Yagi Toshinori/Reader) (G)

Doki Doki, Todoroki (series) (Tododeku) (G)

But the Fire is so Delightful (doki doki Todoroki, part 1)

Much Ado About Shouto (doki doki Todoroki, part 2)

Feels Like Floating (doki doki Todoroki, part 3, tsuchako)

Cherry Blossom Season (doki doki Todoroki, part 4)

Cicadas and Sunshine (doki doki Todoroki, part 5)

Happy Valentine's Day, Todoroki! (Tododeku) (G)

The Magnus Archives

Employee Benefits (and I'm not just talking about healthcare) (Elias Bouchard/Reader) (E)

Mob Psycho 100

Oh, Your Love is Sunlight (Reigen Arataka/Reader) (G)

Voltron

It's a Process (getting two silly boys to realize they're in love, that is) (series) (Klance) (G)

#sef writes #fic masterlist #masterpost #hello hello pinned post because i felt like i should have one

[sardonic-sprite]

Since EPIC has been taking up 90% real estate in my head without paying rent, here goes a series of me ranting about each song <3

The Horse and the Infant

*Entire opening*

I absolutely adore how it starts so quiet, like they're in the horse's belly planning. In my head, that initial rushing sound is a single candle being lit. As Odysseus names people and gets louder, there's more and more light, until on ATTAAAACK!!! the whole Ithacan army comes BURSTING out and it's glorious

Backtracking though,

What do you live for?/What do you try for?/What do you wish for?/What do you FIGHT for?

I used to goof and end on *what do you DIE for* because that's intuitive, but Odysseus directly contradicts that intuition! You can debate or have it coexist whether he's changing the line in that vision of kindness he clings to during the first act or whether he's in denial over the real damage he's causing, but the fact that the line IS this way gives me Feels

And then--

Pe-ne-lo-pe! Pe-ne-lo-pe! And Te-le-ma-cu-us!

The way everything cuts out but but the light strings and ODYSSEUS' OWN FUCKING HEARTBEAT LIKE COME ON! He loves them so much I'm willing to let him commit atrocities.

*insert EPIC battle music*

You can feel the chaos of battle and I don't know how Jay did it but he did and I love it so much

AHHH! *screech*

The sudden shift. Is a new challenger approaching? Sorta. Again, though, almost everything has cut out, but instead of sweet strings and a heartbeat, there's this droning bass like some inexorable, heavy doom approaching, and then there's Zeus, who sounds so imperial and *unfeeling.*

A mission/To kill someone's son/A foe who won't run/Unlike anyone/You have faced before/Say no more!

The clever phrasing is on point, because it tricks us all. And then Odysseus' reply -- he's already so confident, even cocky. He thinks this is some superpowered champ and he's like HELL YEAH ZEUS MA DUDE LEMME AT IM!

*the fucking piano*

It's a lullaby. It's the sound of ice dropping down Odysseus' spine. It's a million memories spinning in his head.

It's just an infant... What sort of imminent threat does he pose...?

The shock, horror, and disbelief... Ow. Odysseus is completely in denial. And then there's almost a scoff to "imminent threat," like he's trying to make Zeus feel like an idiot for fearing a baby, like he'll change his mind.

If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save! You can say good bye to -- Penelope -- You can say goodbye to -- Penelope--

DAMN Zeus pulls the Penelope card. AND YET. They say Penelope twice, just like Odysseus did in the beginning... but it feels so intentional that Telemacus is left out. The gods don't dare put the image of Odysseus' baby boy in his head, or this child will have Telemacus' face and Odysseus will fail.

I COULD RAISE HIM AS MY OWN! he will burn your house and throne OR SEND HIM FAR AWAY FROM HOME! find you wherever you roam MAKE SURE HIS PAST IS NEVER KNOWN-- the gods will make him know

Odysseus offering all these TOTALLY REASONABLE AND WORKABLE suggestions because what the fuck is this command, it's a BABY there are so many other ways-- And every sentence, Zeus and the gods are shooting the idea down with increasingly ridiculous excuses. Ok sure, maybe adopting the kid would end in tragedy when the truth comes out. Ok I guess maybe he'd find out elsewhere and track Odysseus down, but like. BUT THE GODS WILL MAKE HIM KNOW? My dude, WHICH GODS? You want the kid to Not Do A Thing? Right? That's why you want Odysseus to kill him? WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU "MAKE HIM KNOW" IF HE'S ABLE TO LIVE IN BLISSFUL IGNORANCE IT WOULD SAVE ALL OF FUCKING GREECE A GOOD DEAL OF AGONY!

I'm on my knees for ya! I'm begging please! ... *thunder* *rain* PLEASE don't make me do this, don't make me do this!

He's so desperate. I want to cry. I am also on my knees begging. I just picture Odysseus shaking his head, tears falling, clinging to hope or delusion that Zeus will change his mind. And the rain... even the sky is crying

The blood on your hands is something you won't lose/All you can choose is whose...

This is. A statement of truth? A prophecy? A curse? It gives me chills, though, especially at the end when there's nothing but the last hiss... It feels *unfinished* like there's more to say, and part of it is how the grammar got rearranged to make the rhyme, leaving out a word or two, but since the meaning is still clear, it throws everything else into doubt. There's also the subtle emphasis Zeus puts on *won't*. What the fuck does that mean? Won't as opposed to can't? As though Odysseus could choose to wash his hands but ultimately chooses more bloodshed? Won't as in it's forbidden? Why? Won't as the future tense of don't? Does that mean it's a prophecy, that Zeus is telling Odysseus a neutral fact? WHAT IS THE EMPHASIS FOR?

Final remarks:

Never read the source material, so it was hard for me at first to get invested when there's all these names, but the pure energy and emotion draws you in no matter what, and in the end everything but Odysseus *literally* fades away.

The first MANY times.I listened, up until I watched this one animatic, I was convinced Odysseus turned away and spared the baby. Or better yet, adopted him (bc Im a Bat girlie first lmao). In my head there's a happy AU where Telemacus gets a new baby brother and meets his uncle Polites and everything is beautiful and shut up don't shatter my illusions I KNOW it has to happen bc *theme*

Is it my favorite song in the musical, no, but do I always sing/mouth along once the energy picks up? Absolutely. Overall, Imma go with 6/10

#sprite said #epic the musical #epic the troy saga #the horse and the infant

[capybaraonabicycle]

20 Questions for Writers

Thank you so much for tagging me @ravenlilyrose! I had way too much fun with this :D

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

55 :)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

249,677

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Doctor Who! 49 of those fics are for dw and all the other fandoms only have one fic to them each. Those are:

Le Visiteur du Futur

Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party

Fremvandrerne

The Penderwicks Series (Jeanne Birdsall)

Linie 1 (I've actually written the only fic in that fandom)

Die Känguru Chroniken (Marc-Uwe Kling)

Le Petit Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry)

Headless (A Sleepy Hollow Story)

36 Questions

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

A Family Wedding (Spacewives getting married and Jenny attending their wedding and meeting so many of her mum's friends, including her grandparents <3)

Come with me? (my second fic on ao3! Reader-insert with River, 11 and Missy squabbling over who gets to ask the reader out on a date. There is a lovely alien planet and species I made up and someone is stealing art. Also involves Bill, Nardi and 12 going to pride for some reason)

Fix you(r hair) (soft and sad twissy hairbrushing during vault time <3)

Take in one last sunrise (13 asks the TARDIS for a sunrise when regenerating and she takes her to Darillium. Tenteen falls right back into his old mannerisms and consequently hurts River. They talk it out and some hope is found in the appearance of the old-new body)

Night Light (Very sweet 12/reader reader insert. I wrote this to comfort myself when things were rough and I think (if you like reader-inserts) this is my most comforting, calming fic)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Always. There was like one that I had to delete but I adore comments and I always need to let the commenter know. I am also quite a self-indulgent comment answerer, the answers often turn out longer than the original comment

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think that'd be We've got to tell them. It's a Mels x Reader fic - which I guess is bound to be angsty. And the second chapter is already pretty bad with the reader getting her heart broken. And then the third chapter is Mels' inner monologue on her just losing it. So. Yeah.

(- I was going to put the ending here as a little snippet. But it is actually really dark and I decided against it. But, yeah, feel free to check out the angst?)

Runner ups are Forget Me Not (Or: Stealing a TARDIS and Running Away) and The One Time You Want to Say Goodbye, two fics that describe the same situation from two different perspectives. This one is between Mels and the fugitive Doctor. Mels is a rather tragic character </3

Finally, Mels turned back to the Doctor, leaning up and pressing one last, lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Goodbye, Doctor.” “Goodbye, Mels.” Ever so gently, the Doctor’s fingertips landed on her temple, taking her old life away.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

There are a bunch among my fics that are just pure fluff, so maybe let's choose something with a bigger development from angst to fluff.

A Bright Blue Box does that! It's a Jenny & fugitive Doctor fic and in the beginning, they're both on their own. But then Jenny fights for the Doctor to adopt her and in the end they fly away together.

“Come on, then” her mum said finally. “We should get you to the medic wing.” “In a second” Jenny murmured, savouring the hug. Her mum chuckled into her hair. “Alright” she agreed. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The woman who kills the Doctor also has an extreme development from very angsty to very lighthearted in the last chapter. Mels assassinates the Doctor in chapter 2 and in the last chapter she is off to university, ready to grow into River Song. There is a little bit of sadness here because she is leaving but mostly it is so hopeful and uplifting after all the heavy load you read before. So I feel like I need to mention it here:

“Don't make me late” she winked while [the Doctor] fiddled with the coordinates. “First impressions are important.” “Oh, you’ll leave an impression, alright” he murmured as he passed her. “Luna won't know what hit them with you as their student.” He smiled at her fondly, saying her name with such reverence it made her heart flutter. “They’ll be so lucky to have you, River Song.”

There's a storm coming tonight is also worthy of a mention. This one is pure fluff but has such a soft, almost cheesy, ending when canon wouldn't give them softness <3

[Alfhildr] felt the first drops of rain landing on her skin and Tore’s warm hand in hers. Heard the howling of the wind increase and drown out the affectionate insults Urd was shooting at them. Saw the dark, bulky clouds gather over their heads, right before they entered their house, shutting the storm out. And knew that, whatever might happen that night, they were ready. Because they were together and that was all that mattered.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really, no. I had one incident where someone thought it appropriate to tell me they'd rather I had used another incarnation of the Doctor because they disliked the regeneration I wrote for. Which I deleted after some consideration. Because - what? That is my decision to make and also I happen to like this Doctor, please keep your hate to your own space and out of my comment section.

But I have never received hate for my fics themselves, so this far I have been very lucky

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No, not as of yet. I write some more sensual kissing sometimes and quite often smut is implied, but so far I have never actually written the smut itself. I don't think I could write that very well tbh.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Yes! Nothing crazy, really. I have written 3 dw crossovers so far, with Headless, with The Little Prince and with The Kangaroo Chronicles.

The craziest is probably Gallifreyan Rules, just because the kangaroo is a rather unhinged character by itself. And the Doctor in its role has got to be a little intense.

“Do you want money?” the Doctor asked, grabbing for the bank and throwing some notes at her. “There’s plenty of money here, take all you want.” “You can’t do that” Clara said calmly, inwardly grasping for the last remains of her patience. “Of course, I can” the Doctor chuckled, reaching into the bank again. “Do you want some more?” This time one of the notes got stuck in her hair. “That’s against the rules.” “No, it’s not” the Doctor stated. “This is Gallifreyan Monopoly.” “You said it used the same rules as the Earth one” Clara sighed, detangling the banknote and carefully placing it back into the box. “Yeah, but someone just made those up” the Doctor shrugged. “And I just made up some new rules.”

(most of the fic is directly translated from the chapter "New Rules" with names and details exchanged - I actually talked to the ao3 support about plagiarism issues and they said it was okay like this)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so? I had someone copy-paste a comment I wrote once though 😅 which was strange, but well, I think it was mostly uncomfortable for the author

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I translated my very first fic on ao3, The Responsible Thing to Do! There is a German version here.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I tried once, ages ago. It didn't go very far. I would definitely be interested in trying again though.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Let's have a look, shall we?

[ID: screenshot of the ao3 relationships filter, showing the top 6 relationship tags: The Doctor/River Song (9), The Doctor | Ruth Clayton/River Song (6), The Doctor | Ruth Clayton/Mels Zucker (6), Twelfth Doctor/River Song (4), Amy Pond/Rory Williams (3) and Thirteenth Doctor/River Song (3). end ID]

Well.....that must be Doctorriver, then 😅

Funfact, I did not tag every Doctorriver story with that exact tag (but using incarnations instead), so if you filter for Doctorriver, you'll end up with 25 fics!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh God, definitely Dancing with the Doctor. I watched Dancing with the stars again some time ago and thought to myself "It would be really lovely to continue that fic some day, wouldn't it?" But tbh, I don't think I will. Human AUs are not really my thing to write, long fics aren't really my thing, either, and this idea is already way too complicated. But it is so cute, putting them all in this little (very queer) dancing community <3

There is Bill & River and Jack/River and Yaz & Ryan and the Paternoster Gang and Donna & 10 and Jackie & 13 and Dan has a dog called Karvanista and Swarm is busy pissing everyone off and it is just very, very sweet and so much fun to write. Just like, look:

[Jack] pulled lightly on River’s hair – which got him a deadly stare – and grinned to himself. “On second thought, you’re right, Billy” he decided. “I am out of River’s league.” “Everyone knows I’m a league of my own” River smiled, reaching for his hand to intertwine their fingers. “But it’s cute how you’re trying to talk yourself up.” “So, you’re properly married?” Bill asked again. “For real?” “What do you say, hon?” Jack asked, tilting his head. “Are we married?” “Heavens no” River grinned. “Then we would have shared income! I can do better than the scraps you make.”

(the joke here is that they're both working the same job btw. also, no, they aren't married but they basically are; they're best friends at the very least.)

“I’m Jenny”, she answered. “Welcome to the Paternoster Realm, Ma’am. We’ll be making sure you're looking great in the shows.” “Not that that’ll be much work with you” Vastra chimed in, gliding towards them in one of the opulent black gowns she liked to wear. “My, you are gorgeous! Breath-taking, I’ll say. Who will you be dancing with?” “That’s Vastra” Jenny said and added rather pointedly: “My wife.”

“Jo, I won’t be dancing with you” Yaz said and her voice was too earnest for it to be a joke. “You will have another partner.” “Oh” she said softly. “I assumed…” “I know” Yaz said. “But I didn’t really have a choice. And even if…I think it’s better that we’re not dancing together. The show can get tough and you might need a friend. One who is not forcing you to repeat that stupid pirouette for the hundredth time.” “I’d have Ryan” Jo said stubbornly, even if she knew there was no point. Ryan looked surprised and very happy to have been called her friend already and Yaz smiled as well. “You’ll have Ryan anyway” she promised. “And me. Plus, a mighty fine dance partner, if you ask me. You’ll love them, I just know.”

Sorry if that were too many extracts (actually, I am quite sure you're not even supposed to put extracts into this questionnaire at all but anyway) but there are 20k of this fic existing that I fear I will never do anything with.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I am good at dialogue? Like coming up with quips and making a conversation flow between two people or even more (although more than three people is tough, like it must be for anybody). I also like writing introspection, characters reflecting on their feelings, and I have gotten some compliments for this :) I have also gotten compliments for general characterisation which make me giddy with happiness even though I sometimes find them hard to believe.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Finishing stuff :) Also anything long and plot-y. I have trouble making the story work as a whole and have a dramatic arc. Sometimes it feels more like different short works smashed together than one fic.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I have never done this? I think? I speak like three languages that would be useful for this, but I think I would always rather write that someone was speaking in a language the narrator doesn't understand or just translate it directly in a "[English sentence]" they said in [language that isn't English] - way, if the narrator does speak the language.

I do love it in books when something is in French or German though and I understand it :D

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Hp.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

This is so difficult 😅 Maybe The Rose? It's the only one of my fics I've made fanart for and I love the art a lot as well (it's the header on my blog). I love 12 and I love The Little Prince and the rose was so much fun to write. The whole ambience of the fic is delightful, so calm and contemplative and sad and hopeful. And it was written for the Love is in the air writing challenge for Valentine's day specifically to be a platonic fic. Idk, I like that one a lot.

Okay, so I'll be tagging a bunch of people who I know write because this was fun and I would love to hear about your fics! But feel free to ignore this <3 And if I should have missed your blog, and you want to be, please consider yourself tagged anyway!

@marvellouspinecone, @trekkingaroundasgard, @jennyandvastraflint, @pia-writes-things, @riversofmars, @thembosupreme, @songofdefiance, @none-ofthisnonsense, @frogsmulder, @spacewives-in-spacetime, @spacebetweengalaxies, @gender-snatched, @helennorvilles

#thank you so much for the tag!! this was so much fun to contemplate on :)

[arcielee]

Interview With a Writer

Here is part 3 of my Interview With a Writer series. You can go to this post to review the other amazing authors I have spoken with ♥ Just a BTS of some of the talented minds on Tumblr and ao3.

Name: inthedayswhenlandswerefew

Story: North to the Future

Paring: modern Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Rating/Warning: Sexual themes, substance abuse, acts of violence, and there is a serial killer, so murder.

So when did you start writing?  I can remember working on pieces of stories as far back as elementary school, but I never thought of myself as wanting to be a writer. Then in 2010, when I was 15, I got my first vivid, all-consuming, lightning bolt of an idea. It took over my life in the best possible way and I wrote a novel over 9 months. 

Now, to be clear, the novel was very bad. But you have to read a lot and write a lot before you start getting good at it, and that experience was absolutely transformative for me. 

I had a lot of chaotic life situations and a bit of a crisis of confidence, and I wrote only sporadically during college and for several years afterwards. Then in 2018, I saw Bohemian Rhapsody and it became my only personality trait for a while. 

As I was reblogging a million gifsets on Tumblr, I stumbled across fanfiction for the first time, and I was like…wait…other people make up self-insert stories every time they get obsessed with a movie/show too?! It was so exciting, I finally felt like I had an outlet to put my ideas and characters out into the world. I’ve been writing pretty consistently since February 2019, and I would consider that the point when I really became a writer.

I think it is safe to say every writer has that first, all-consuming novel. Does it still exist? Oh yeah, it definitely still exists! I have a Word Doc, and also a paper copy that I had printed and bound at Staples back in the day. It’s a dystopian story about a man who has to pretend to be a true believer in an oppressive regime in order to rise to the top and change it from within, but by the end of the journey he’s become sort of genuinely evil. I keep the paper copy in a box under my bed. Poor quality notwithstanding, it has a lot of sentimental value.

Okay, where did the plot for North to the Future come from? What inspired the story? Towards the end of writing my Aemond fic—Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep?—I started feeling this fascination with Aegon as a character, and I could kind of sense that there was a story about him ready to be excavated from wherever ideas wait to be discovered. 

I kept picturing him in an unassuming little bar filled with Christmas lights as snow fell outside: sad, drunk, wearing all black. But I didn’t have a story yet, just a vision. And the songs I kept hearing when I thought about this tortured modern Aegon were 90s songs: Everlong, A Long December, Drive. 

Then one day out of nowhere, the plot showed up. 

The first real idea I get for a story is always the very end, and I saw Aegon and the protagonist barreling down the Pacific Coast Highway in a red convertible. I knew that Aegon was sober and going back home to face some terrible past, and that the girl he loved was experiencing California for the first time, and that they were both finally free of demons they’d been running from their whole lives. Once I knew the ending, the rest of the details started falling into place, and within a few days I had an outline and chapter list.

Explain your interpretation of Aegon. What drives him? Why is he the way he is in NttF? Aegon is a talented and intuitive person, but he’s clearly not suited for running a venture capital empire or corporate work in general. So his earliest, most formative memories are of his parents (and grandfather) being disappointed in him. He experienced abuse, both emotional and physical, and developed extremely harmful coping mechanisms that at a certain point he no longer knew how to function without. He was suicidal in part because of his self-loathing and the futility of his situation, but also because the only time he received even vague compassion from his parents was after he had swallowed a bottle of pills or stabbed himself with four of his mother’s EpiPens. 

Of course what Aegon overlooked was that he did have people back in Miami who cared about and wanted to help him, although they were too young to effectively communicate it: Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron.

After the accident that claimed Aemond’s eye and three innocent lives, Aegon can’t cope with reminders of what he’s done because he’s fundamentally not someone who ever wants to hurt others. He directs his destructiveness inwards, not outwards, and even when striking out in self-defense he runs away as soon as the opportunity presents itself. That’s the real difference between Aegon and Jesse. When Dadtini talks about Jesse, he mentions bruises and kicked down doors. That’s not Aegon. Jesse gives bruises, Aegon gets them.

Was there anything in specific that inspired your Reader portrayal? I didn’t consciously have anyone in mind when I was writing Appletini, but most of my Readers tend to be snarky, studious, and guarded (yet reluctantly hopeful), so that’s probably my own personality bleeding into the characters! I envisioned someone who was well-intentioned and ostensibly responsible, yet under the surface struggling in a way that she felt she couldn’t share with anybody else. I think most people have felt like that at some point in their lives, so it’s just a matter of being able to take the essence of that feeling and shape it to fit with the story’s narrative. Honestly, the most difficult part of writing Appletini was her relationship with her extremely supportive and functional parents, as that’s not something I have much experience with. I was really relieved when people connected with Momtini and Dadtini as characters because I wasn’t sure if I was doing them justice. In what ways do you feel your Reader compliments Aegon? The defining characteristic of the Aegon/Appletini relationship is that she wants him to become the best version of himself, and truly believes that he has the capacity to if he’ll work for it. She knows he’s brilliant, she knows he’s a genuinely good person under all of his issues and mistakes, she knows he’s fine af, and she knows she loves him. But none of that is enough if he’s not sober.

Someone like Heather or Joyce wouldn’t see value in Aegon, and someone like Kimmie wouldn’t push him to change. The story is in the war that Appletini fights to prove that Aegon can and should conquer his demons. Similarly, Aegon wants Appletini to break free of her suffocating obligations in Juneau, and it causes him genuine pain to see her not living the life she wants. They really want the best for each other, even in their worst moments.

Was there another character (OC or canon) in your story you enjoyed portraying? (And why?) Firstly, I really enjoyed writing Kimmie because she’s a twist on the trope of the attractive, overtly-sexual, not terribly intellectual girl always getting killed in horror movies. Kimmie is the “hot friend” and she loves to party, but she’s also deeply loyal and affectionate, and she notices certain things that other people don’t. I wanted the readers to underestimate her, and then hate her, and then come back to realizing that she wasn’t a villain after all. She could use a better sense of boundaries, but she’s a good person. I feel like by the end of NTTF, it’s clear why Heather, Joyce, and Appletini are friends with Kimmie despite all her…peculiarities.

Secondly, Trent was a super fun character to write, because he’s unnerving without being completely unrealistic. He reminds me of a lot of the frat boys I went to college with…superficially pleasant yet entitled, less malicious than willfully ignorant about anything that doesn’t fit with what he wants in life. He’s a product of the “boys will be boys” era that he grew up in, especially with Alaska being more old-fashioned than the rest of the country, so the 1990s there feel like the 1960s or 70s in some ways. Also, I can’t lie, I loved all the dumb horse boi jokes.

Finally, I absolutely adored Aemond as a character and I was just as impatient as the readers were for him to finally show up in Chapter 11. He’s so stoic and fierce, but he has a tremendous amount of love for Aegon and this blind faith in his ability to change for the better. Aemond’s personality is a lot like Appletini’s, which is why they end up having this tacit respect for each other. I think they end up as close friends eventually, probably even closer than Aemond and Aegon.

Was there an OC character that reflects the author? Out of all the NTTF characters, I am definitely the most like Heather! I’m that friend who is snarky and judgmental on the surface, but also ferociously protective…which can be tough when you’re watching your friends make questionable decisions, like our poor beloved Heather was forced to throughout the series. I know she was thrilled to see that everyone ended up happy. That’s all we really want, us Heathers of the world.

You mentioned your retirement from fan fiction, so what is next? What’s next is writing a novel, which I am super excited about! I’ve had the plot figured out for a few years now and have written bits and pieces of it already, but now I’m determined to dive in without any creative detours and get it written, hopefully within a year. 

I do have some trepidation about the project—What if the idea isn’t good? What if I can’t do it justice? What if I can’t keep to a schedule now that I don’t have an amazingly wonderful audience expecting weekly updates?—but I’ve come to realize that if I never try to be a “real” writer, I’m going to regret it my whole life. I’m trying to be logical about it and tell myself that even if my first book isn’t perfect, I can always write others, so it’s not like my whole future is contingent upon this one project. I’ve had the idea for so long that the characters feel real to me, and I just want to tell their story well.

#interview with a writer #iwaw3 #bts #of their brilliant writing #i hope you all enjoy #♥ #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #biiiiiiitch

[legendoftortor]

I would like to know more about your characters but I can’t think of anything specific to ask about

so tell me a fun fact about each of them

ahh tysm for asking about my mc’s 🥹 I’ve been wanting to make a longer separate post about each of them but work has kept me too busy lately! Will eventually get around to it but to answer your question (and elaborate just a tad on their backstories)…

Fun Facts about my MC’s 💜

Estelle Frye:

She was my first MC (and my only for many, many months!), so has the most detailed and fleshed out backstory by far. Her first name is inspired by the lead character from one of my favourite series of games (Trails in the Sky), but her nickname Este is also a subtle nod to Taylor Swift’s song ‘no body, no crime’.

I also decided to throw in a bit of a crossover with my last fandom by making her the daughter of the AC:Syndicate protagonist Jacob Frye.

With that in mind, her fun fact is that she is able to use Eagle Vision and was briefly trained as an assassin prior to starting at Hogwarts. She tends to prefer a stealthier approach to combat, even when using magic.

She is also the MC most inspired by my own appearance & personality, so much so that eventually I just decided to cheekily self-insert a much cooler version of myself as her mom (because technically I did create her, right? 😂)

Evie Morgan:

My newest MC, so I’m still solidifying her character and backstory so apologies if this one seems a bit bland compared with the rest!

She is a distant descendant of Isadora Morganach - I know it’s not implied that Isadora had any children or family other than her brother & father, but my imagination was hard at work with this one 🤭

Fun fact - She is the younger cousin of Elsie Morgan, one of the other students who compete in Imelda’s time trials. I’ve decided that Elsie is the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team too, because why not?

Her name is also another gentle nod to AC: Syndicate (Evie Frye) - there’s a pattern emerging here 🤷🏻‍♀️

Leila Greene:

She is my one and only muggleborn MC (technically…will elaborate more on this in the future!). She’s quite artsy and has a green thumb, and I consider her to be my most cheerful & outgoing character by far.

Fun fact: Her mother is a lover of all things literature & poetry and named her after the characters in Lord Byron’s works ‘The Giaour’ and ‘Don Juan’.

She’s also technically the only MC whose name isn’t directly inspired in some way by another form of media - I only found out about the Lord Byron connection after choosing her name!

Thalia Blackwood:

Another MC whose first name was inspired by a favourite character of mine from the Percy Jackson series. She is a descendant of Eunon Blackwood, the creator of the hedge mazes that appear around the highlands, which technically also makes her distantly related to the Black family (again, imagination working overtime on this one!). She is completely unaware of this until she stumbles upon the mazes during her fifth year.

As for her fun fact, like her namesake, she is terribly afraid of heights, and Astronomy & Flying class are two of her least favourite classes for this very reason.

(Sorry that ended up being so long but am always happy to answer questions about my MC’s! ☺️)

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy mc #Estelle Frye #Evie Morgan #Leila Greene #Thalia Blackwood

[plutotown]

no one:

me during august: BACK WHEN WE WERE STILL CHANGING FOR THE FUCKING BETTER BITCH!!!!!!! WANTING WAS ENOUGH BITCH!!!!!!!!!!! FOR ME IT WAS FUCKING ENOUGH BITCH!!!!!!!!!!! TO LIVE FOR THE FUCKING HOPE OF IT ALL BITCH!!!!!!!!!!! CANCEL FUCKING PLANS JUST INCASE YOU’D FUCKING CALL BITCH!!!!!!!!!!! AND SAY “MEET ME BEHIND THE MALL” BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!! SO MUCH FOR FUCKING SUMMER LOVE AND SAYING “US” BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!! CAUSE YOU WEREN’T FUCKING MINE TO FUCKING LOSE BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#happy august guys <3 #shoutout to all my augustines #convinced taylor wrote folklore for me #taylor swift #august #folklore #me during (insert song here) series

[stormyoceans]

what's the song that plays during glasshouse also is it possible to share a list of songs/music that's not known much in the series

NOBODY MOVE THIS IS MY TIME I HAVE AN EXCUSE TO MAKE A MASTERPOST OF THE VICE VERSA SOUNDTRACK AKA THEE BEST SOUNDTRACK IN TELEVISION HISTORY SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO HERE WE GO!!!!!!!!!!

OFFICIAL OST

have i found – sea tawinan

the key – jimmy jitaraphol, sea tawinan

complicated – indy thanathat

by my side – jimmy jitaraphol

madly in love – jimmy jitaraphol, sea tawinan

INSERT SONGS

miracle – sofa [it’s the one that puen sings at the bar in episode 2 and that talay sings back to him at the beach in our skyy episode 2]

love – paradox [talay sings an acoustic version of it to puen in episode 6]

city – three man down [hourglass hug in episode 12] (SORRY BUT THIS WILL ALWAYS BE A PUENTALAY SONG TO ME)

INSTRUMENTALS

actually let me just say something real quick before moving on: this is by no means a comprehensive list as 1) i’ve decided to leave out the upbeat tracks to focus on the more emotional and meaningful ones, 2) i’ve put only the ones that were recognized by two different music identifier apps, and 3) there are genuinely SO MANY instrumental songs in this show and they can change SO QUICKLY (only in the glasshouse scene at the end of episode 4 they used 5 different tracks ;;;;;; [AND YOU CAN BET I PUT THEM ALL IN THIS LIST]) so it’s hard to recognize every single one of them. i definitely missed a lot and i also didn't specify all the scenes you can find a specific song in, but hopefully this still can be a good starting point.

speak without words – we dream of eden, christopher galovan [puen wearing the bucket hat in episode 1]

the echo of you – at the end of time, nothing [‘what if i have a problem one day? who should i go to?’ ‘me.’ in episode 2 // 'don't tell me after spending time together, we turn out to be each other's portkeys.' 'if it's you, i'm okay.' in episode 3]

beautiful days, faraway – itay kashti [drunken kiss in episode 2]

i love clouds - rymdklang soundtracks ['to be my wife, you must endure.' in episode 2]

once every 20 years – at the end of times, nothing [talay and puen meeting at the park in episode 2 // nivea bathtub scene (my beloved) in episode 3 // greyllery kiss in episode 8 // beach kiss in our skyy episode 2]

shooting star – rachel meyer [puen repeating a line from the movie to talay in episode 3 // talay under the rain in episode 4 // ‘do we get along well?’ in episode 7]

elusive dream – at the end of time, nothing [shy puen in episode 4 // snow falling in episode 5]

distant echo - jakob ahlbom [puen and talay drawing on each other's back in episode 4 // talay saying what he missed about puen in episode 6 // 'where there's you, there's me.' in episode 8 // puen giving talay the friend credits folder and shirt in episode 12]

wind land – TURPAK [‘so? will they fall in love?’ ‘i guess they will.’ in episode 4 // puen directing talay in episode 8]

holding on to hope – christopher galovan [‘are you hitting on anyone right at the moment?’ in episode 4 // puen and talay recreating a scene from their movie in episode 9]

flight of the inner bird – yehezkel raz, sivan talmor [‘how about we fall in love with each other?’ in episode 4]

pulchra – at the end of times, nothing [‘been waiting for you’ in episode 4]

and they call me daddy - christian andersen [puen apologizing to talay at the glasshouse in episode 4 // talay learning puen's past from pang in episode 9 // talay remembering puen singing to him in episode 11] (DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE THAT PUEN SAYS 'sleep on daddy's lap here' WHILE THIS SONGS PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND AND BY HATE I MEAN I WANT TO KISS PìX ON THE MOUTH)

love - ben winwood ['there's one more thing about the characters that i don't understand.' in episode 4] (GOES INSANE)

the ground after a summer rain - at the end of times, nothing [glasshouse kiss in episode 4] (GETS DRAGGED INTO A PADDED ROOM)

materialising – of water [puen asking talay to move in with him in episode 5 // puen hugging talay to sleep in episode 6]

glimmer light – amaranth cove [‘i freaking missed you’ in episode 6]

distant shores – amaranth cove [puen massaging talay's ear to sleep in episode 6 // talay reaching the secret island in episode 11]

you are the reason – francis wells [almost kiss in episode 7]

everything comes to an end – of water [talay leaving friend credits in episode 7 // 'where is the person who promised to go back with me?' in episode 9]

heavy clouds drawn back – be still the earth [talay meeting puen on the way to the secret island in episode 9]

the sky is no limit – at the end of times, nothing [bucket hat reveal in episode 9 // talay reading puen's 'wish' in episode 11 // 'without work, i can survive. without him, i can't.' in episode 12] (NEEDS TO BE HEAVILY SEDATED)

telekinesis – tellsonic [bathtub kiss in episode 10]

any given place – of water [talay at the glasshouse in episode 11]

#SORRY FOR THE LATE REPLY ANON I HAD TO GATHER ALL THE LINKS AND STUFF #BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING THIS YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY IT MADE ME #hope this can be helpful and that you're having a wonderful day!!!!!! 💜 #vice versa #m: ask #i love being insane about this show so much #even if it's just for myself and one other person #happy sobs

[floralcrematorium]

I don't know if youve answered this before, but what made you come back? I'm not that old in the fandom, maybe half a year and it's so interesting how that fandom changed and how it used to be.

Thanks for the ask! I'm gonna be real with you, it was an accident. This is about to be a loooooooong ass post so I'm putting it beneath the cut:

It happened steadily in July. A very slippery slope.

I left in or around 2018 just because I lost interest. A friend in 7th grade introduced me to it in early 2014. I had been running my Instagram account since Summer of 2014 with my best friend (who at the time had been my partner, and by 2018 we had broken up) and our other friend. We'd all moved on and the account became dead. It wasn't a good account, but we'd amassed 1.1k followers during our tenure. Those were the days of if you wanted to post a comic, there were no Instagram slides. You had to post it all individually. The account was deleted in 2021? I think? 2020?

So come July 2023, I was poking around in my old Google Drive and found some of my old Hetalia stuff. Which included a fic with the aforementioned friends. It uh. Is not good. I reread it and oh boy is it a product of its time (we were probably 13-15 when we wrote it) and it was a 3 way POV that we all wrote with self insert characters. It was basically Heta characters get thrown in the setting of Outlast but with the plot of FNAF. Yeah. So uh. Not much to defend there. I jokingly went to my friends like "Hey, what if we rewrote this but not horrible" and we genuinely thought about it! For a night.

But for me it wasn't one night.

I kept thinking about it.

And one thing led to the next, I was revisiting old Youtube videos I liked and reread a fic I used to like.

I think what really did me in was listening to the character songs again and a couple of hetaloid covers. I was doing artfight and listening only to Hetalia music while I drew.

I genuinely did not really use my normal Tumblr before floralcrematorium came to be. I have an entirely separate account for personal stuff and art (I will not be sharing it) and it got to a point where I was seeking so much Hetalia stuff that I figured, why the fuck not, and eventually made an account. I also eventually made my first A03 account (I was on Wattpad and FFN back in the day) because someone wrote a CanUkr fic where Mattie had overexerted himself and was in the hospital and Katya and Alfred were going to kill him because he kept insisting he could work (I CANNOT FIND THIS FIC AGAIN, I FOUND IT ON TUMBLR ORIGINALLY, PLEASE HELP IF THIS RINGS A BELL!!).

And uh, so here I am!

I draw Hetalia stuff on occasion (I should... draw more considering that's what I went to college for but whatever) and have a couple of ideas for illustration series in my head.

I've got a lot of fic ideas I want to write. I have a literal list on my phone. I think about it in bed, at work, and little things remind me of Hetalia all the time.

I've gotten back into RP (I used to use Shamchat and Kik).

I've met so many cool people and I've been having a wonderful time being back so far. When I was originally in the fandom, I consumed a lot of content, but as far as mutuals went it was just me and my two friends. Meeting so many new people has been absolutely wonderful.

Hetalia is really the only fandom I've been in. I've liked other media and consumed fics/enjoyed art/bought prints (COUGH RWBY), but Hetalia is the only media I've ever had fan accounts for. It's the only media I've so deeply entrenched myself in that I feel comfortable writing fics. My walls used to be covered in Hetalia -- both official wall scrolls and shitty art I'd made myself (I have pictures I can attach at the end of the post). I had... so much merch. When I was 14 I only asked for Hetalia related things for my birthday. Every now and again I get that "am I doing the right thing?" ick because of the negative fandom reputation and reactions I'd get from people when I would admit to having liked Hetalia in the past, but I don't care about that now. Genuinely, fuck that. I like this piece of media whether I want to or not. I'm not going to be a self-hating Hetalia fan like I was in 2018-2021/22. I've come back to the show with completely different... motives? Idk what the right phrase is here -- I'm here to explore the characters of these little freaks (looking at you, Francis), I love all of the fanart I see, I like the exchange of historical and cultural information/resources.

Sure, I'd consider my fandom niche to be humanverse Francis and FACE fam, but I genuinely enjoy exploring outside of my corner of the fandom. I try to spread myself out -- I want to consume everything. I want to be exposed to everything.

Hetalia is one of the single most impactful pieces of media in my life. Without it, I wouldn't have my best friend, who broke up with me for APH Austria in 2015. The friends I ran the Instagram account with and I are all still in contact. I talk to one much more frequently than the other, but they are both so near and dear to my heart and I can't believe that this silly show is what got us to where we are. The youngest of us is about to graduate college a whole year early. I met her when she was 11 and I was 12 or 13? I couldn't be more proud of her, of the three of us, and it's been so fun to have these occasional nights where we (okay, just me) get tipsy and go through old fandom media/watch the dub and go ooooof. I was in a really bad place when I was originally into Hetalia. Coming back now feels like coming full circle.

The old fandom had plenty of its own issues, and the fandom now certainly isn't devoid of issues, but now that the fanbase has shifted to an older audience and I actually have like. Social skills. I love talking to other people. I like creating. I like thinking about these stupid characters before I go to bed.

My single favorite thing about the Hetalia fandom now is the care put into historical work as well as the exploration of portrayals of the characters. Because Hetalia lacks a plot and Hima is constantly retconning things, everyone has their own interpretations of everything. Everyone has their own version of Francis Bonnefoy, Yao Wang, or Alfred F. Jones. And that's so cool!!! You don't see that anywhere else.

I know I'm typically a pessimist on main, but I'm genuinely glad to be back. It's weird to be back. I've had mixed reactions from irl friends that I'm back.

But who the fuck cares?

I'm having fun, I'm making friends, and I can't believe there are still people here.

I genuinely hope I'm here for a while. I have so much I want to write. I want to draw all of the things my skill level was too low for back when I was a teen.

CRINGE IS DEAD AND I AM FREE.

The following images are certainly about to destroy any cool perception anyone has of me, if they even do. I was... certainly a teenager, is all I have to say! I am,,, thankfully not like this anymore. I hope.

Here are those pictures of my bedroom circa 2015 I promised:

DO NOT ASK ME ABOUT THE LIVE LAUGH LOVE.

That drawing of Russia with Neko-Talia Russia? Yeah. Uh. I did that for an art project in the 7th grade for class. I also did a ceramics piece with the mochis, that I've since lost. These images scream "I'm 14 and like Hetalia in 2015."

I used to have little hearts with all the ships I liked in them (I think that's AusHun in the picture on the left?). I also had "I love you" written in like 20 languages on index cards taped above my headboard.

Also a literal timestamp I found in my old emails with the friend who got me into Hetalia:

Being a young teenager in the old fandom certainly,,,, was something. I would not relive that, but by god would I do ANYTHING to get my favorite pieces of fan media back from that time. There was a video called "Hetalia What Did You Do To Panda" which was a bunch of clips from the anime with Katie Herzig's "Hey Na Na" playing in the background. Every now and then a dub audio clip would interject with the song.

I also really miss this one very specific Character Theme Songs video that had Poland in the thumbnail. Mein Gott would play between each song and I could tell you most of the songs that had been assigned to each character.

I would do ANYTHING to get those videos back. I miss them so much.

Anyway, if you read this whole thing, thanks for reading??? I am very Cool And Normal about the things I like, unfortunately. It's nice to come back to Hetalia and like... be a normal person about it.

All I've got to say is, when I like something, I like it a lot.

#floralcrematorium ask box #floralcrematorium is so normal and cool #ne ne papa echoes in my nightmares #soph's public diary

[pocketramblr]

We should give All Might a younger brother so he could match with AFO and while we're at it we should make AFO an orphan to match with All Might

Oh very easily done. AfO is super already an orphan so all I got to do it focus on Toshi. Here you go, I had to write it.

"Toshiniichan, will you watch Hero Beyond with me?" Airou asked as Toshinori rinsed their breakfast dishes in the sink.

"Sure." He said, turning off the water. He had some math homework to do this weekend, but he could do it later. Sunday mornings were to be enjoyed. Even if he did always wake up a little bit earlier than he'd like to so they didn't miss the start of his younger brother's favorite show.

He settled on the little couch, and Airou curled up next to him, tucked under an arm. Toshinori might have complained another day, but Airou was warm against the sharp February chill.

Airou hummed the theme song in anticipation as the news segment on a recent city election wrapped up. Toshinori wondered if they'd talk about it in class the next day. His history teacher had quit two weeks ago, and while a replacement hire was being looked for, they just had a sub that gave them packets of newspapers articles to read and answer questions about.

Actually, he usually finished the history work early, maybe he could just get his math assignment done after that, and not worry about it today...

"It's starting!" Airou hissed, excited.

Captain Hero 2500: Hero Beyond's actual theme song began to play, over clips that referenced the original series from a couple decades ago, and introduced Captain Hero's protege who continued his fight against demons infiltrating the futuristic city of Dystokyo. Toshinori half watched as he began to comb through his brother's hair with his fingers.

It was always a pain to get him ready on school days, but watching his favorite show was the best way to get him to sit still and not complain as Toshinori did what he could to tame his wild hair. It was a bit lighter than his own blond, and longer; Airou didn't like his bangs styled how Toshinori kept his- easily curtained and not covering his face- and instead preferred bangs that went over his eyes while the rest of his hair went everywhere else.

Toshinori would grab the brush later. For now he felt the soft hair between his fingers and tried not to pull too hard.

On screen, the villain Devilia bemoaned how her mother, Demonia, had never been able to win the Demon Lord's heart before Captain Hero defeated him so long ago. She bragged about having her plan to get everything she wanted: a husband, a kingdom, and the revival of the Demon Lord.

The show was interrupted by a news announcement of an attack at the beach.

The next scene, where NeoHero discussed a series of robberies with Captain Hero before running off to stop another one, was interrupted twice by news inserts. One about a dead political candidate, the other about an attack the destroyed a school three hours north of them.

At least the school hadn't been hit on a weekday.

One of Toshinori's teachers had complained about the state of TV these days. Said it was ridiculous to stretch a 22 minute block out to fill a whole hour with all the extra ads and news. Toshinori wasn't really sure what else they could do.

By the time NeoHero stopped most of the robbers, one slipping away mysteriously, Airou had moved to fully sitting in Toshinori's lap as the brush smoothed down his hair. It had started to rain outside, but they were warm.

Really warm...

Suspicious, Toshinori leaned over and moved some of Airou's bangs to check his eyes.

As he through, they were going red and bloodshot, darkening his indigo pupils.

A sure sign he was getting sick again.

NeoHero tracked down the mysterious figure, who had glowing green eyes and mismatched horns, but always got away again.

During the next ad break, Toshinori got up to get them both water and check the bathroom for Airou's medicine. They were out.

NeoHero told Captain Hero about the figure, and he got sad at hearing the description, clearly lying as he said he knew nothing about it and directed NeoHero another way.

At the next news insert, Toshinori asked how Airou was feeling.

"I'm fine, Toshiniichan."

NeoHero spoke with Angelia, one of Captain Hero's former love interests, who pointed him to a new address he didn't recognize.

Toshinori and Airou's father arrived home from work. Toshinori gently slid Airou over on the couch, but he complained about it anyway.

"Hey Dad, how was your day?" He asked, quiet, as his dad shrugged off his raincoat.

"Long." The man yawned. "Holding things down here, Toshi?"

"Mostly." Toshinori glanced at his brother on the couch. "I think Airou is getting sick again."

His dad frowned. "It is that time of year... did you give him medicine, or did he not want to take it?"

"We're out."

"Shit. Ok," their dad looked even more exhausted. He usually worked night shifts, but today he'd had a double.

"I can go out and get some for you." Toshinori said quickly.

The man's shoulders slumped a little. "Thanks. Take my coat, it's better than yours. You know where the cash is."

"Sure. Breakfast is in the fridge."

It was just rice and miso.

His dad shook his head. "Thanks, no. I'll eat after I get some rest. Don't stay out to long, ok? Don't need you getting sick too."

Toshinori agreed, and their dad ruffled Airou's hair as he passed, shuffling straight to his room.

Toshinori went to get the money and count out how much he needed, shoving it in the pocket of his dad's coat.

It was nice and warm.

"You missed the ending." Airou accused, arms crossed on the couch. "Where are you going?"

"Out to get some medicine. I'll be back soon." Toshinori pulled on his shoes. "Why don't you tell me what I missed? Then we can turn off the TV, Dad's trying to sleep, maybe you could color until I get back."

Airou pouted, but quickly forgot the offense as he told every detail of the rest of the episode and the reveal that NeoHero had been sent to get help from the person who had once been Sidekick Kid.

"Can I come with you?" He asked. "Please, Toshiniichan?"

"Maybe next time. When it's sunny." Toshinori promised, then headed out.

When he'd return, there wouldn't be an apartment there anymore. There wouldn't be his little brother or father. But Toshinori didn't know that then, all of twelve years old and unable to remember much of his mother or his grief from losing her at Airou's birth.

But he'd remember this new grief for a long time, as he'd remember the eager yearning for some kind of hero, as he'd remember the exhausting terror of living in a place with even less hope to lose with each additional breaking news insert.

#do you see. the parallels. i write this at six am it's hardly subtle lol #pocket talks to people #anon #my writing

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Bob Dylan - The Power & The Glory (A 2022 Touring Year Story)

Bob Dylan kicks off another leg of the Rough and Rowdy Ways World Wide Tour this week in Osaka, Japan. Will he playing a totally revamped set? I'm guessing no, but who the hell knows? Meanwhile, I'm going to start spreading the rumor that Bob will almost certainly be releasing an album of new material in 2023. I have nothing, absolutely nothing, to back this up, but I'm just going to try to manifest it. Manifest with me, people!

To get psyched for more live Dylan, check out this very very nice compilation of audience recordings from last year's shows, gathering some highlights and rarities — like Bob's Jerry Lee Lewis tribute in Dublin or the very rowdy "Friend of the Devil" in San Francisco. And is that a little Twin Peaks theme I'm hearing inserted into "Key West" from March 6??? Prove me wrong!

Another way to get psyched: check out James Adams' new episode of the Pretty Good Stuff series on Aquarium Drunkard. This latest hour features some of Bob's finest performances in Japan from over the decades. I was particularly blown away by the 1994 rendition of "What Good Am I?" — a truly outrageous and amazing vocal on that one.

One more thing! Last year, I wrote a review of the Dylan show I caught in San Diego, which for one reason or another, was never published. Here it is, plus a recording of the show, as an incredibly special treat for you Doom & Gloomsters.

Bob Dylan - San Diego Civic Theatre, San Diego, California, June 17, 2022

You couldn’t count on much over the past 30+ years, but you could usually assume that Bob Dylan was somewhere out there, still on the road, perpetually headed for another joint. But the bewildering pandemic year of 2020 brought it all to a shuddering halt, causing the longest break in Dylan’s relentless live performance schedule since the mid-1980s. Bobcats across the globe had to ask themselves that tough question: Was the Never Ending Tour finally … ending?

Of course not. Or at least not yet. In late 2021, Dylan kicked off the Rough and Rowdy Ways World Wide Tour, which promises to stretch into 2024 — an ambitious span of time in an increasingly unpredictable decade. What keeps him going? One can only assume that, at this point, Bob doesn’t need the cash (if he ever really did). In his own eccentric way, he must still be interested in connecting with audiences, sharing his songs, reveling in the power that this music delivers. And maybe, just like the rest of us, the various COVID-19 lockdowns made Dylan a little stir-crazy.

Whatever his reasoning may be, there was a tingling sense of anticipation in the air when the lights went down at the San Diego Civic Theatre this past June. The songwriter’s advanced age (he turned 81 in May) and the still precarious nature of live shows these days makes Dylan’s continuing presence feel all the more precious. And to be sure, when you got your first glimpse of the man — looking a little frail, a tad ghostly — your first thoughts were of his (and perhaps your own) all-too-human mortality. As he sang later: “I’ve already outlived my life by far.” But Dylan refused to let us wallow. Instead, he kicked off the show with a long, occasionally shambolic, guitar solo over a sweet, bluesy shuffle. As it rambled on — and on! — you couldn’t help but grin. Never mind mortality — this Nobel Prize winner still just loves to jam.

“What’s the matter with me? I don’t have much to say,” were the first words Dylan growled this evening — the opening lines of 1971’s “Watching The River Flow.” But they were sung with a wink. As proven by his 2020 masterpiece Rough And Rowdy Ways, Dylan still has plenty to say. The San Diego setlist (which rarely changed from night to night during this spring/summer jaunt) was dominated by numbers from the album — the only tune missing was “Murder Most Foul” (which Dylan likely thinks of as a separate piece altogether). It’s a daring move. Bob has never been of the McCartney school — you’re never guaranteed to hear the hits at a Dylan show. But he hasn’t played shows so heavily tilted towards new material since the “born again” days of the late 1970s and early 1980s.

The gambit paid off. The Rough And Rowdy Ways numbers were captivating, from the hushed majesty of “I Contain Multitudes” to the deep blues crawl of “Crossing The Rubicon,” each moment filled with drama and gravitas. Dylan’s vocals sounded magnificent and clear; those Sinatra records from the last decade seem to have made him rethink his approach, with fantastic results. The sweet croon he slipped into on a ravishing “I’ve Made Up My Mind To Give Myself To You” was positively breathtaking, as he held dangerously long notes, the music breaking down beautifully behind him. On the other end of the spectrum, “My Own Version Of You” was a harrowing ride, Dylan relishing the song’s increasingly grotesque imagery. And even though the new stuff is relatively fresh from his pen, Dylan typically couldn’t help toying with an arrangement or two: “Key West (Philosopher Pirate)” was reinvented entirely with a curious chord structure and bewitching vocal that traded the studio version’s apocalyptic dread for a more open-ended playfulness.

The band here (stalwart bassist Tony Garnier, guitarists Bob Britt and Doug Lancio, multi-instrumentalist Donnie Herron and drummer Charley Drayton) deserves special credit. There was rarely a lead voice breaking out in the mix — save for Dylan’s nervous, Monk-ish piano solos. Instead, there was a cohesive collective synergy, instruments interlocking, rising and falling in unison. The result was a kind of richly textured minimalist blues rock, free of cliché, zero fat on the bone. Occasionally, Dylan would pick out a hypnotic riff and his musicians would circle it patiently, adding subtle colorings around the edges. Occasionally, they’d drop out entirely, as with the almost a capella intro to “Gotta Serve Somebody,” which gave Dylan plenty of space to play around in before the song kicked into a full-tilt boogie.

Bob’s chatter was limited to a brief but hearty band introduction towards the end, but he wasn’t entirely uncommunicative. Several times in-between songs, he’d step out from behind his upright piano, put a hand on his hip, cock his head and fix the crowd with a quizzical stare. Was he soaking in the applause? Trying to get a sense of who his audience is in 2022? Just letting us all get a good look at him? Maybe all of the above — but most of all, it seemed as though Dylan was silently asking, once again, after all these years: “How does it feel?”

#bob dylan #baby shark