#I also do not need to read every single time the main character fucks in the 20 years the story takes place or whatever

[grandwretch]

man I love 90s fantasy so much they did not give a shit about sex in the only way i can get behind. the protagonist will drop two whole lines like "yeah I fucked during the time skip. it was a phase. I have more important things to catch you up on " can we bring this energy back

[bunnysbrainrot]

Blood Flow

Kinktober Prompt: Choking

Relationship: dbf!Joel Miller x Reader

Content: [i was going for something sensual and i failed.] Explicit sexual scenes, fingering, choking, squirting, praise kink, Joel’s kinda rough, teasing. No outbreak AU.

Summary: You curiously tread into the realm of choking, but you have no clue why people think it feels ‘good’. With Joel’s help, you realize that there’s simply a right way to do it.

A/N: pay attention to the last line. it implies exactly what you think it does. **ALSO! part 3 for this is out, it’s called Daddy’s Girl!

this scene is so weird, why is he choking her???

Your fingers flitted across your phone screen, texting as you watch a new show. In this scene, the two main characters finally broke their tension, and things were growing heavy. You watched the actor’s hand wrap around his costar’s throat, watching how her face contorted in bliss.

Cause it feels good, sweetheart, Joel replied.

Bringing your own hand to your neck, you pressed against your windpipe and choked, like really choked, but it didn’t feel like you thought it would. And your face definitely did not make those same expressions as the woman in the show.

Clearing your throat, you replied to Joel. A few years ago, this kind of conversation would earn you an intervention with your parents. This was your dad’s best friend, and you shouldn’t be texting him about being choked, of all things.

But fuck, was texting Joel a wonderful time.

A single message could have you squeezing your thighs together. Every baby girl, sweetheart, and honey was imagined in his voice as if he were there, whispering them into your ear. You would imagine his fingers dancing across your skin as he showered you with those sweet pet names.

tried it on myself, and i can confirm that it feels awful. coughing my lungs out right now

Joel read your text and let out a hearty chuckle, quickly replying back. He knew you were a tad… inexperienced with things like this, and that you wouldn’t ask just anyone about this. He had you wrapped around his finger, as you did him.

Baby doll, you’re probably pressing on your windpipe. It’s a little tricky to do it on yourself

You groaned at the text, still frustrated at your little mishap. The reply you gave him was rather bold, but you anxiously sent it anyway.

maybe you could show me

The two of you had flirted a lot more since you came back home from college. Four years of hard schoolwork had you taking a break back home with your parents to choose your next big step in life. At first it started small - little compliments on your clothes, on your intelligence, on how much you’d come into your own. Your glances at Joel lasted too long to be friendly, and it didn’t help when you ran your foot along his leg under the table at big family dinners.

In short, you were driving each other absolutely wild, pulling the tension taught between you, waiting for it to snap.

But Joel wanted to go slow. This was dangerous territory, and he needed to take his time.

Maybe I could

You stared blankly at the phone screen, reading over the message with a fluttering heart behind your ribs. A wave of warmth spread over you with a beeline between your thighs. You clenched your legs together as you texted Joel back.

right now?

J: Door’s unlocked, I’m just watching TV. If you want to join me we can watch that show you were telling me about

Like an alarm went off you shot out of bed, hurrying to your dresser and closet to find a more impressive outfit. Joel wouldn’t care all that much - he liked seeing you in anything. It didn’t matter how much or little you had on, you were always beautiful to him.

headed out now!

Joel have a swift reply that buzzed in your pocket.

Someone’s eager.

You trekked over to the neighborhood next to yours, practically skipping with each step up to Joel’s house. Thankfully, his daughter, Sarah, would be at a friend’s house this evening, leaving you and Joel all to yourselves.

Joel’s head perked up when he heard you knock. He, almost too excitedly, shot up from the couch and headed to the front door.

He was an effortlessly handsome man. And now, in a simple pair of sweatpants and v-neck shirt, he looked more stunning than ever. For you, it also didn’t matter what he wore - he always looked handsome.

“Hi,” you said, offering him a small smile.

Joel raised an arm and leaned against the doorframe. His lean muscles shifted under his tan skin, hardened by those years under the Texas sun, and caught the light from inside to accentuate his bicep. He caught you ogling, and laughed.

“Sweetheart, I’m not just eye candy,” Joel’s voice was soft after the long day he had, “You comin’ in, or what?”

Your smile widened as you stepped in, dipping under Joel’s arm to step in the living room. He had already closed the blinds preemptively to shield yourselves from any prying eyes. You sat on the couch and waited for Joel to join you.

He slowly made his way over, “So, what show were you watchin’?”

You sighed dramatically, “Well, now it’s just embarrassing. We can watch something else, instead.”

Joel shook his head at your offer, gesturing to the TV, “Not embarrassing at all. ‘Sides, I got a plan for it.”

He snatched the remote from the arm of the couch and chose a spot right next to you. After a series of questions, you began to play the show you’d seen, found the right episode, and played the scene in question.

Joel remained silent the entire time, glancing between you and the TV. His stare bore into you, but it was unclear as to what was going through his mind.

But the scene, to your relief, ended, and the shyness you’d felt could be over. Joel paused the show in the middle of the next scene and finally met your eyes.

“Alright, I think I know where ya went wrong,” he commented. You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“It’s all about controlling the blood flow, not pressin’ on the windpipe. That’s a one way ticket to the man upstairs,” Joel laughed and brought his hand to your cheek, cupping your face carefully. His thumb passed over your cheekbone before he shifted down toward your neck.

He placed his thumb and index finger on either side of your throat, right under your jaw. The pressure was uncomfortable at first, pressing into you in a way that sparked some faint nausea. You cleared your throat and swallowed to dull the feeling.

“Pressin’ here,” his grip tightened, “reduces the blood flow. It’s still a lil’ hard to breathe, but it doesn’t risk your safety.”

A lightness began to creep through you as Joel pressed into your throat. Blackness clouded the edge of your vision, blurring Joel’s features, though you could barely make out a lazy smile.

After a few long seconds, he let go, and you could freely breathe once again. The rush of blood back to your brain throbbed at your temples, though the brief headache was nothing compared to the rush of pleasure it delivered.

To your surprise, the rush went straight to your core, leaving you shifting your legs together.

Joel leaned forward and planted a kiss on your cheek, his voice was a low whisper.

“See? Feels good when someone does it right, don’t it?”

You nodded, still held securely by his hand around your throat. His lips traveled across your face, to your temples, to your jaw, and finally finding your own, flush and fluid with your own movements. Joel tightened his grip again, and the same rush came flowing through. It was tricky to keep kissing Joel at the pace he set. Instead, your mouth slacked open as a moan escaped you, swallowed eagerly by Joel.

He spoke slowly against your lips, nipping at them between his words.

“How is it, baby doll? Still feel good?”

It was wonderful. Had you not messaged him about this, you would’ve been completely in the dark about this whole new world of pleasure. So wonderful, in fact, that you could feel a new slickness in your sex, about to soak into your panties. Instinctively you ground your hips, pathetically pressing your aching pussy into nothing substantial.

Joel moved his other hand lower, raking over your shifting thighs, “Tell me, sweet girl, does it make you feel good down here?”

His hand cupped your clothed sex, pressing against your slit and slowly massaging your core. Your breath trembled as you gave him another nod - a small sign of permission to take things further.

“Joel… Joel,” you whispered, fighting against his grip on your throat. Amidst the rush going through your head you could barely hold onto what he was saying, let alone reply coherently.

His lips had wandered to your jaw, peppering a trail of kisses around his rough fingers, “What is it, baby girl? Tell me whatcha need.”

You choked out your reply, “In.. inside.”

A low laugh danced across your skin, “That’s my girl. Always needing something fillin’ her up. ‘Least when I’m involved, anyway.”

He pressed harder against your aching sex - the abrasion of the fabric turned you into a whimpering mess in a matter of seconds. You needed more. You needed him.

Joel groaned against your skin when you tugged his hand past the waistband of your pants, pushing him lower toward your core.

“Need me to make you feel good, sweet girl?” his voice thrummed through your chest. You nodded, urging your lungs to take in sweet, fresh air amidst the constriction. Joel loosened his grip ever so slightly, letting you catch your breath.

He hummed against your jaw as he adjusted his hand with his fingers teasingly at your entrance. A single finger played with your wet hole, swirling around carefully, not fully giving you what you need. Not yet.

You mewled a slurred version of his name, eyes rolling back when his grip tightened around your throat.

Joel’s fingers didn’t stop, but rather pushed further, sinking past your soaked folds and into your tight pussy. A small whimper from you made him smile, carefully eyeing you as he moved his fingers, curling them up to brush your sweet spot.

“Joel… fu-fuck,” you choked.

His fingers plunged deeper into your warm cunt, curling harshly to draw a long-awaited moan. Until now, Joel hadn’t had the joy of hearing you utter anything above a whisper.

You cried out, straining against his grip, but was sent back to fighting for that sacred blood flow back to your brain.

You brought your hand up to meet the one at your neck, tapping against the back of his hand. A beat passed before Joel realized the mistake. He swiftly released you and cradled your head, slowing his movements between your thighs.

“Sorry,” you rasped, “that was just a little too hard. I couldn’t really make any noise without coughing.”

Joel leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. He broke away with the softest tone you’d heard all night.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for, honey,” he replied, spreading his kisses to your cheeks. “Got a little too ahead of myself there.”

He kissed you until you were left breathless and panting. By now your lips were plump from the bites and nips Joel had given them.

“Maybe we could try a different position, whaddya say?”

After a beat of thought, you nod in agreement and follow his lead. He removed his hand from your pants, lightly sucking at his soaked fingers, and moaning at your taste across his tongue.

This was the closest he’d been to truly tasting you. Words escaped him as he tried to describe the feeling of heaven on his very lips.

You stood from the couch and watched Joel taste yourself on his fingers. He was completely entranced, and monitoring your every movement as you waited for his direction.

Darkness filled his eyes, “Y’might need to take those pants off, sweetheart. Need a good angle for this.”

Now right in front of his legs, you urged Joel to spread them apart and stood between them.

He took this as a silent request for his help. Joel gave you a smile and sat forward, letting his hands climb up your thighs, taking their sweet time to cover as much of them as he could.

Joel hooked his fingers on your waistband and gently tugged, unwrapping you like it was Christmas morning.

Your bottoms dropped to your ankles, and all was left was your soaked panties, the last barrier between Joel and what he’d wanted to see most. Joel leaned further, leaving a trail of kisses from your mid-thigh to your hip, alternating to the other side. Each touch of his lips set you ablaze. His gentle touches paled in comparison to the heat roiling through your belly, trickling right down to your aching pussy.

At long last he peeled your panties off of you, slowly sending them down your legs until they joined your pants. Your lower half was bare for him now; you were a gift unwrapped, the best present he could’ve asked for.

“Christ,” Joel muttered. His eyes scanned over your half naked form, giving you a curious look at your chest.

He wanted nothing more than to wander up there, letting his hands dip below the fabric and slide up to your chest. Your tits were selfishly hidden from him, with your perfect, perk nipples poking through, enticing him to search for more.

You wrapped your legs on either side of him, pushing Joel back against the couch so you could get into position. His legs stayed spread open, thus making you open yours across his.

Spread perfectly wide for whatever he had planned for you.

Joel cupped the back of your neck and pulled you in for another kiss, working his hands over your thighs in the process. You could feel a couple of damp fingertips from where he’d fingered you before. Those same fingers now crept toward your needy hole, teasing you ever so slowly.

You bucked your hips and positioned them over his hand, whining at the lack of touch.

“Joel, please,” you mumbled, keeping your lips in tandem with his own. Joel grumbled out a reply you couldn’t discern before a hand made its way to your throat.

Joel pressed down on either side of your windpipe to deliver that sweet head rush of elation.

“I’ve got you, baby girl, I’ll take care of you.”

And that, he did. His hands moved with pure greed at your neck and pussy, sending two fingers up into your tight cunt. You cried out against his lips as he slowly pumped into you.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Let it all out.”

You were relieved you could make at least a little noise. It was better than it was at home, where you’d spent countless nights touching yourself, moaning against your hand or a nearby pillow.

But here… here you could cry out as Joel touched you. You could freely show him how good he was making you feel.

You let out a soft whine, but it was not well-received by Joel.

“I wanna hear you, baby.”

A louder moan drew from your throat. Joel’s fingers curled inside of you, pressing into the spongy part right past your entrance. Your walls fluttered gently around his fingers, pulling him in further.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” said Joel, still mumbling against your lips. You offered him a smile, proud that your body was to his liking. It was all you’d hoped for, to be perfect for him.

“Not sure how this little pussy’s gonna handle me, though,” he continued in a cocky voice. “But I think you could do it.”

He curled his fingers harshly, causing you to slur your words together. Something about Joel, and harder, and please.

“Such a good girl. Bet you’d take anything I gave you, huh?”

You nodded slightly, constricted under his grip to move any further.

Joel pushed his fingers deeper, picking up his pace until the wet sounds of your ravaged cunt filled the room. Your juices flowed from your pussy and onto his hand, leaking down from his fingers to his palm, pooling your sweet slick before it trickled to the floor below.

His pace became relentless, though the grip on your throat loosened. You let out a shuddering moan as he furiously pumped his fingers, making your cunt squelch with the most obscene sounds you’d ever heard.

“Attagirl,” Joel praised, “Just keep still. I gotcha.”

The reassuring tone kept you conflicted - it totally contrasted from what he was doing to your body.

Fuck, if this is how it was with just his hands alone, you silently prayed that you could handle what else he could give you.

There was a new tightness in your abdomen, pooling around in your sex, but it was a deeper sort of pressure you’d never felt. It felt like…

“Joel,” you protested, “I think I gotta pee.”

He laughed against your lips, “Just work with me here, darlin’.”

You squirmed on his hand as this new sensation spread through your pussy. This kind of pressure wasn’t something you could’ve gotten from your own hand, let alone any toy.

No, this was the masterful work of Joel Miller’s fingers, unraveling you around him.

He struck deeper, twisting his wrist to get a better angle, curling each thick digit against your sweet spot. You choked on a gasp as the pressure in your abdomen built, threatening to break apart.

With a flurry of swift motion the tension broke, and a beautiful symphony sounded - the rush of your juices that poured onto his hand, the strangled moan that fell from your slacked mouth, followed by the pleased groan Joel drew out.

“What… hah… was that..?” you panted. Joel kissed your cheekbone as he worked you through your high.

“Did I just… did I sq-“ you could barely make out the word.

“You did. And you did such a good job, sweet girl.”

The praise roiled through your gut. A soreness flooded through your sex, trailing toward your cervix. You swallowed nervously at the thought of anything bigger, and what it could do to your insides.

Joel slowed his pace and released the hand that had been trained to your neck. You both worked through your climax, coming down smoothly to where you now laid slumped against Joel’s chest.

His hands still roved over your skin, gently kneading your ass and thighs as you caught your breath.

“How you feelin’, honey?” his Southern drawl intoxicated his words with a sickly sweetness.

You pressed your face into the crook of his neck a let out a small, content mmm, taking in his scent. The mix of his cologne and sweat sent something possessive through you, to have this all for yourself. It felt too selfish for that pining to be one-sided - for you to want him as much as you did, without knowing if he held the same ferocity about you as you did him.

“Thirsty.”

“I bet. That’ll take a lot outta ya - let’s get a glass of water and getcha cleaned up.”

You worked your legs off of his thighs and stood shakily. After sitting in that awkward position and having your senses scrambled, your knees buckled beneath your weight, desperately trying to hold your quivering thighs steady.

“Hold on, sweetheart, I’ve gotcha,” Joel said, swiftly standing on steady feet. You pouted at the unfairness - his hands tore at your sex and left you trembling while he was perfectly fine.

“You better not laugh at me,” you snapped, though the drained tone in your words had Joel chucking slightly.

He held you steady with both hands and led you toward the kitchen, “You look like you got a hip replacement.”

“You’re nearing that age, aren’t you?” you quipped. Joel gave you a firm smack on your ass as his reply.

“Better watch it, I don’t do well with brats.”

hi y’all! thank you so much for reading and supporting, and happy Kinktober!

If you’re looking for the part 3 of this, it’s called Daddy’s Girl! I would love if you gave it a read

ily xoxo

[thepixelelf]

Oh Baby, You - svt smau

The birth of your son three years ago was what caused your breakup with Wonwoo, your longtime (and at that point, long distance) partner. Now, you're getting concerned that Orion is starting to look a lot like his dad, but that's not your only problem. Wonwoo is back… and he's living across the hall.

Genres: smau, romance, drama, comedy, angst, single parent au

Pairing: jeon wonwoo x afab they/she reader x mystery member(s)

Warnings: coarse language, conversations about sex, mentions of pregnancy, mama/mom/mother is used to refer to reader's parental status sometimes, infidelity, light alcoholism, miscommunication as a plot device, some of the teenies are not so nice at times, slut shaming, angst, everything is unrealistically dramatic because this is basically a kdrama in text/twitter form. warnings may be updated as they come, but I will label chapters properly if it's anything major

Note: unfortunately, I did have to make the mc for this series have female reproductive organs because, well... that's the plot. I couldn't find a good way around it :( if anyone reading this is discouraged, please know that pretty much every other fic I've ever posted is gender neutral. So, if you think you might've liked this smau, please check out my masterlist! hopefully there will be something you like there :) ALSO! if anyone makes fun of Orion's name just know that it's the name of a precious baby cousin of mine and if you bully smau Orion you are bullying irl Orion!! do not touch him!!!

(new!) Updates will post when I have the time and motivation

The taglist is full! Leave a comment under the post linked here if you're not on the main taglist to be notified when Oh Baby, You is completed.

Profiles I: Orion's Prettyboy(gn) Posse

Profiles II: Wonwoo's Famous Friend and the Other Guys

Profiles III: Gyu and the Rise of Capitalism

1. Everybody Loves Vernon

2. Tens Among Tens

3. Grown Ass Men

4. I Hate This FUcking Family

5. The Ones Keeping Secrets

6. A LITTLE Curious

7. You Go Girl Get His Ass

8. The Calm

9. The Storm

10. It's Been a While

11. Fucked Up Coincidences

12. Not... a BAD Guy

13. Still So Affected

14. Just My Type

15. Nothing to Hide

16. Fists Up

17. Act Natural

18. Girl, They Blocked You

19. Plot Relevance

20. Actually it is a Date

21. It's All Pretty Confusing

22. Scripted

23. All it Takes is a Smile

24. Yoon Jeonghan is Watching

25. Completely Surrounded

26. No Such Thing

27. What Does That Mean

28. A Name I've Heard Recently

29. Can't Risk It

30. Errand Day

31. One Day at a Time

32. Confrontation

33. Not Looking to be a Parent Any Time Soon

34. What if I

35. For This Little Guy

36. Get Blocked

37. I'll Take Care of You

38. Messed Up, Stupid, and Jaded

39. You Fucked Up

40. That's For You to Figure Out

41. Need to Try Something

42. Recovery Mission?

43. Your Everything

44. You're Cute When You're Like This

45. Not Sponsored

46. This is Nothing

47. Promise? Promise

48. Hhrk

49. A Busy Afternoon

50. Cherry

51. Don't Freak Out

chapters loading...

52. Bad Guys

53. Everything is Fine

OBY Ask the Characters Game

[ilygetou]

๑ 2023 KINKTOBER | MINORS DNI. ๑

⋆｡°✩ details. will be posting a total of (almost) 13 fanfics throughout the weeks of october with one bonus/special piece. I’ll only be writing the main c/w here, once you get to the actual post you’ll get the whole c/w list so make sure to read that as well. Some works would be highly suggestive & won’t be suitable for some. read at your own discretion.

⋆｡°✩ notice. please be aware that i might not be able to finish every single piece by time but let’s hope that doesn’t happen. </3 main note is under the cut.

⋆｡°✩ taglist. fill this up if you’re tyna’ get tagged whenever i’m about to post a piece from this masterlist. scroll to the end if you only wanna be tagged in specific ones/pieces. must be 18+ to get tagged!

๑ THE FOLLOWING CONTENT YOU’RE ABOUT TO VIEW INCLUDES EXTREME DARK CONTENT THAT MIGHT BE TRIGGERING FOR SOME PEOPLE.๑

๑ PLEASE PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION. ๑

NOTE: AAA HI GUYS!!! this year’s kinktober is going to be a bit different than last year’s kinktober, last time i did a “one kink + character” this year is going to be fully dark content fics with more than one kink, i’ll try & finish & post all of them right on time since i kinda gave up on last year’s kinktober–i’m hoping i’ll manage to post every single fic for this one–anyways!! i hope you guys like it!! (๑•́ ᎔ ก̀๑)

DARK CONTENT WARNING. PLEASE, READ THE TAGS UNDER EVERY LINK.

MET HER ON THE INTERNET. – Eren Jaeger.

c/w: noncon –> dubcon, online stalking, solo m! masturbation, lovesick! eren, possessive! eren, cheating, vaginal fingering, face/throat fucking, facial, brief after-care at the end.

HEROiN CHEERLEADER – Gojo satoru.

synopsis: You were like an addictive drug to satoru, he couldn’t get enough of you. Always coming back for more, that was until you told him that you had enough – that you two should stop messing around. You wanted to focus more on your cheerleading career while gojo satoru was furious with your sudden decision, he knew the whole “focusing on cheerleading” thing is a lie when he saw how swayed you were with the new captain of your cheerleading team. He won’t leave you alone until you willingly come back to him, you got him addicted to your taste so that’s all your fault.

c/w: college au, dubcon, voyeurism, male masturbation, jealous! satoru, degrading (like lots of it), satoru blames you for everything, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, creampie.

PACKRUNNER BiTCH. – Ran Haitian.

synopsis: You were in it for the money. Why would you waste all your young years dating a thirty year old man? Let’s be serious here, you still have so much to do with your life rather than wasting it on an old guy but you need the money. But dating an old man just for money wasn’t that worth it either, that’s why the man you chose to use was a gang member – he’s old but is a part of an incredibly famous gang in your city. You knew he had more than money and that was; drugs. You were in it for the drugs & money! This whole acting in-love thing was fun until you were found out. Do you think Ran Haitian will forgive you for using him? He’s much more arrogant than that.

c/w: age gap (reader is 22 ran is 36), spanking (he uses his hands and a belt), choking, throat fucking, cum swallowing, unprotected sex, multiple (when i say multiple I mean many, numerous) creampies.

UGLY MAN? FUN PLAN! – Toji Fushiguro

synopsis: you found toji fushiguro ugly, he’s not your type and you’d rather die than date a guy like him. On the other hand toji found you gorgeous, it was love at first sight, he fell so hard for you he’s willing to do anything for your love. Toji confessed to you many times and they all ended up with heart breaking rejections. Toji is willing to try one more time and if you reject him again then that’s also alright, he has a nice plan in mind to (forcefully) make you his.

c/w: noncon, babytrapping, forced breeder! toji :<, slapping, sloppy makeout’s, lots of degrading, choking, low-key manipulative! Toji.

WEBGHOST – Rintarō Suna

synopsis: You stumbled across an abandoned hospital and decided to go explore it, alone. You were a huge fan of horror movies & loved the “exploring haunted places” concept, it’s nerve-racking because you never knew what to expect. Once you stepped foot into the old hospital, you felt a chill run past your spin. You hoped that you may run into blood-curdling stuff so you could have something to talk about for the next week or so — but you didn’t expect to run into an actual ghost. And it didn’t seem to want to leave you alone either.

c/w: ghost! suna (don’t ask how cause idk either), mentions of blood, spectrophilia, you feel it but you can’t see suna, hair pulling, creampie.

EViL NiGHT, LOVELY NiGHT! – Jean Kirstein.

synopsis: An infamous burglar lives in your city, he somehow managed to break into 120 homes in total and still didn’t get caught, he was known for stealing valuable objects–if he broke into your house and found nothing worth stealing then he’s going to flee and find another home to rob. He never restores to violence unless the house-victim tries anything against him, he’d immediately pull out his gun and shoot. Everyone was advised to keep their doors locked until they eventually catch the burglar. And tonight was no different, double checking that you had both your doors and windows locked before heading to sleep.

c/w: non con, coercion, somno, slight degrading, gun-fucking, facial, slapping, bondage, creampie per usual.

GRAVE ROBBERY. – Getō Suguru & Gojo satoru.

synopsis: You couldn’t escape them. From middle school to highschool and all the way to college. They were there. Following you everywhere, wherever you went–those two were always there, they made sure they were always there. You haven’t escaped their bullying and harassment for the past 9 years, gaining both enjoyment & entertainment by your reactions to their heinous acts towards you. Both Gojo satoru and Getō suguru loved you despite their horrible treatment towards you, they loved you.

c/w: bully! suguru bully! satoru, noncon, blackmailing, non con recording, hair pulling, threesomes, ass + pussy slapping, clit stimulation, dacryphilia, blowjob, handjob, facial, creampie.

TU4N Y<3R PH0N3 0F5 – Sanzu Haruchiyo.

synopsis: the feeling of someone watching your every move never left you, feeling as if there were eyes on you all the time. To the point you were uncomfortable to do almost everything. Eating? Sleeping? Changing? You couldn’t do anything without feeling two eyes inspecting your every move.

c/w: stalking, noncon, hints of misogyny, semi-public sex, forced/noncon breeding, slapping, virginity loss, mentions of blood and impregnation.

RUSSIAN ROULETTE. – ft. Yuushi Totsumoto.

from lady k and the sick man.

synopsis: Yuushi took you in cause’ you had nowhere else to go. you’ve been living with him for almost two years now and he barely knows anything about you. Not only that but he almost never heard you speak, he was okay with it at the beginning. Thinking you were just a little shy. But it’s been two years and he never heard your voice properly–there were a few occasions when yuushi could hear you speak but those would be barely audible mutters.

c/w: voice kink (auralism?), pervert! yuushi, peeping, breeding kink, cunnilingus, ear licking, size kink, man handling, squirting, overstimulation, creampie per usual.

WiTCHBLADES. – CHILDE/TARTAGLIA.

synopsis: (this takes place after the fontaine archon quest), childe who ended up thrown into jail because that god awful machine decided that he was guilty. And you, you ended up being his jail mate. You wanted nothing to do with childe but he’s a literal chatter box, he never shuts up. Finally, you snap back at him, scolding him and telling you guys are literally in a jail cell right now. Childe didn’t like that attitude of yours so he decided to fuck some manners into you.

c/w: noncon, forced breeder! childe, lots of misogyny, ass + pussy slapping, no prep, size kink, dacryphilia.

F0UR L3AF CL0V3R. — Aoi Todo.

synopsis: your boyfriend was either in his room playing games 24/7, at the gym, or sleeping. Never giving you proper attention until you grew desperate so what’s better than teasing him? until he gives you the attention you’re looking for. <3

c/w: read has big tits😓, dubcon just in case, kinda modern au?, gamer! todo, lots of teasing, boobjob, face fucking/blowjob, possessiveness, size kink, manhandling, pervert! todo, panty sniffing, sumata (“A Japanese sexual term in which the female rubs her labia majora against the male's penis, without actual penetration.”), facial, cum swallowing.

⋆｡°✩ 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋/𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒:

DEVIL ON MY BACK./ REPENT. – Getō Suguru.

synopsis: After watching a movie about the so-called game; Ouija board, with your friend Anna, You couldn’t help but grow more curious about it. After purchasing the game, you ran to your basement to try out; the first thing you tried to communicate with was the infamous devil; Getō suguru.

c/w: religious themes, ouija board, non con → dubcon, slapping, hair pulling, spitting, pussy + ass slapping, anal play, dacryphilia, overstimulation, v light somnophilia, manipulation, multiple creampies, non con creampie, lowkey monster fucking??, suguru has two dicks, face fucking, cum swallowing, guilt tripping kinda, very aggressive suguru, he is mentioned to have red eyes.

© ILYGETOU 2021-’23. All rights reserved. DO NOT steal, translate, or modify any of my works <3

[temis-de-leon]

Shy gn!reader goes to their first date with the Demon Brothers

Characters: Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo and Beel (x reader, separately)

Main Masterlist

Part 1 , Part 2 , Dateables version

Romance Anon: Could I request headcanons for Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus and Beelzebub react to shy gn s/o who asked what he would like to do for their first date because he made them happy by accepting their confession so they want to make him happy?

.

A/N: I asked my brain, "hey, how about we write a little bit" and it answered "how about we fucking don't"

.

Mammon

He’s ready to turn every single one of your outings into a date, but he’s also excited to have the opportunity of organizing the best first date you’ve ever had.

He’ll make sure you won’t ever regret confessing your undying love to him.

It needs to be memorable and special, so going to the casino is a big no-no. You’ve gone together numerous times already and the image of losing every piece of gold in his pocket and his wallet in front of you on such a special occasion makes him shiver in fear and embarrassment.

A fair or a festival are good choices, but, as much as he’d love watching the city skyline on the ferris wheel or winning a plushie for you to cuddle and think of him, those aren’t available all of the time.

The idea of having dinner and a movie makes him remember the projector in his room, but his brothers could spoil that very easily and bile reaches his mouth at the possibility.

You could go shopping, but that doesn’t feel too intimate, does it?

He becomes desperate after hours of thinking and scratching his head and it’s not until he enters his car to go out for a drive and clear his mind that he realizes he has the perfect solution.

Having dinner together and watching the city skyline are romantic activities, but who says you have to do it at home or on top of a fair attraction?

It’s not even two days later when you find yourself sitting on his car’s hood with take-out ramen in your hands, patiently waiting for him to get a blanket out of the trunk.

The chirping sound of crickets and the distant city noises fill the cold night, but the only thing he can think of is the fondness of your embrace slowly warming his body and making him smile like a fool.

Leviathan

He’s already happy that you like him back and he kind of forgets about everything else, so your offer feels like a slap in the face. An enthusiastic reminder that you’re both now starting a relationship.

That thought makes him cry and yell in the emptiness of his room with non-contained happiness.

He fears you’re going to be disappointed with his ideas for your first date, though.

Going out of the house makes his heart pound in apprehension, anxiety quickly scratching his neck and prickling his brain with needles.

Reading through his manga collection, watching multiple shoujos and playing every otome game he has only make him feel worse and inadequate for you.

Why do you want to go out with someone like him? Reclusive, a bitter sad excuse of a demon who can’t get out of the house without an incentive or a pep-talk.

Do you still like him, despite all of that?

Or is it that… you like him including all of that?

Do you want to be seen holding hands with him? Do you want everyone to know that you like him, of all people?

He can’t set your first date in his room, that would be too pathetic; but, at the same time, going to a café like any other normie couple doesn’t feel like him at all.

What’s a place that combines the comfort and privacy of his room and the outside world?

He asks Henry and his beloved pet stares at him with unblinking eyes. Almost immediately, reality hits him like a train.

Of course! The Royal Aquarium!

The blue lights and the submarine life couldn’t be a better substitute for his room and you’d get out of the house! It’s perfect!

Plus, he gets the opportunity of showing off his knowledge of the ocean, something he hopes will impress you.

He wants to do more for you because you deserve it, but he needs time.

There’s a Ruri-chan convention in a few weeks. Maybe you could go together…

For your second date, perhaps…? No pressure, though!!

Satan

He’s a romantic at heart and he’s been picturing how your first date could go since you confessed to him, so you can’t imagine the happiness he felt when he was granted the opportunity to let all of those ideas become real.

A big gesture would feel impersonal and kill the essence of a newborn relationship, so, although he wants to impress you, Satan will not go overboard.

There are museums where he could show you his knowledge on Devildom’s art and history, but he doesn’t want to spend your first date speaking like a pedant scholar.

There are also high reviewed bookstore cafés, as well as his beloved cat cafés, where you could go to have a hot beverage in a soothing space, but that isn’t exactly what he wants.

He wants to talk to you, hear the nervous stammering in your voice while you blush and struggle to look at him in the eye, and going to a bookstore would quiet your conversations, so he keeps that idea for the future.

The cat café is his favourite, but you would expect that from him and he wants to surprise you at least a little.

He gets the perfect idea while feeding the stray cats behind the House of Lamentation.

Knowing where every single cat in the neighbourhood lives, as well as those who prefer the outskirts of town or even the countryside, shows him a part of the area that no one else has ever seen.

A few days later, Satan looks giddy and enamoured walking by your side while you both feed the cats you encounter, following a path full of flowers that lead you to an abandoned viewpoint.

You’re sitting together, surrounded only by the felines that know when to leave you alone, and, despite the beautiful scenery that displays beyond, Satan can only look at you.

Asmodeus

His first impulse is to go all the way.

Showing you around for his fans to know that you two are dating sends a shiver of excitement down his spine, eyes glowing in delight while he ponders which outfit he should wear so he can match with you.

His plans for your first date seem generic, but a closer look into it lets you know that he has it all planned to make you both the centre of attention.

Other’s and each other’s centre of attention, that is.

You’re colour coordinated, your orders in the café are trending in social media and the weather is so good that little to no people are staying inside their homes.

The both of you are being seen just as you deserve.

Beautiful, together, happy.

Jealousy and envy surrounds you, all of his fans photographing your first date with a mixture of admiration and resentment, wishing to be you; wishing to be him more than ever.

The combination of your company, the external flattery and his own satisfaction makes him think that there couldn’t be a first date better than this one.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

You’re not truly alone until the night comes and the residents of the Devildom have no other choice but to leave you to your own devices to continue with their lifes.

You walk close to him, bumping your hips with his until you both start smiling and giggling. Your voices are almost a hush and he finds the way you lean into him to hear his words better quite addictive.

He feels your breath on his skin, your eyes on his. His hands are itching to bring you even closer and never let you go and it’s not until you kiss under a streetlamp in an empty park that he understands why your first date is so perfect.

You’re with him and he’s with you. That’s enough.

Beelzebub

You already know what he’s thinking, although you may be misinterpreting his execution.

While, yes, he wants to take you out to his favourite dinners and restaurants, Belphie advises him to not go all the way. You don’t have the same stomach as him and ending your date feeling ill would leave a very bad impression.

He doesn’t want you to see him as a permanently hungry beast, anyways. It’s not what he wants you to think whenever he’s close to you, even if he acts like it most of the time, so it doesn’t take much convincing from his twin to agree and search for a more delicate plan of sorts.

He wants the full experience: drinks, starter, main dish, side dish and dessert, but why would you have all of that in the same establishment?

There’s a map in his head where every food related store is highlighted in bright neon colours.

A juice and smoothie bar to start the date followed by a true hamburger restaurant, not any of those fast food chains that only serve half of what is shown in the pictures. Far from there, a walk long enough for you to comfortably digest the food, is a stall specialized in fries. Made in a dozens different ways, they are the perfect last savoury treat to eat before ice cream or a pastry.

Asmo recommended him the retro ice cream parlor and Barbatos took him to the traditional bakery once.

If you don’t like burgers or fries, however, there are more places you could go, just tell him! Whichever you prefer, he’ll be fine with it!

His main goal is for you to have a good time with him, after all, and, although food is a necessity to keep his sin in track, he knows it won’t be what will make your first date perfect.

You being his date is what will make it perfect.

.

.

[gaoau]

would rather kms than make my only winbre post be about Suo's stupid ass, so it's time to talk about Nirei cause i love him. i read a post and my blood started boiling i dont fuck around so now i gotta defend him with my life. also cause im sick and tired of him not being deemed marketable enough to be included in merch and collab illusts when he's a whole—if not the most important—third of the main trio. (theres something to be said about Tsugeura too, considering they don't use him but love using Kiryuu, but that's a different conversation.)

anyway, on Nirei and the exceptionality of being ordinary.

manga spoilers btw also disclaimer im not eloquent at all i just say things.

there's something about Nirei that just simply isn't special and i think that's wonderful. not in a mean-spirited sense; Nirei is the most regular out of anyone in Furin, so much so that he had to buy an ugly shirt he didn't even like to stand out. he's just a kid with a notebook and a simple backstory trying to follow a hero's example. he's nothing extraordinary, especially seeing the people he's surrounded by. physically, he's very limited, which he knows and doesn't ignore at all, so he can't do much in fights. no one is more acutely aware of his own limits than Nirei. i was reading the first couple chapters again and it breaks my heart to hear his efforts be dismissed as "playing hero," because Nirei is the biggest hero in this whole manga.

it's true, yeah, he can't fight. he's more like another average citizen of Makochi than he is a Bofurin member sometimes. he lacks fighting abilities, his diplomacy isn't particularly the best, and he's two seconds away from going into cardiac arrest at almost all times. but it's not like he gives a shit. every single time he gets beaten into the ground, he picks himself back up immediately. he takes hit after hit, time and time again, because no matter how battered or defenseless he is, his drive to stay and protect the town is ridiculously strong. he does go down when he can't take any more (keel), but it's with improvement and training that he manages to throw his first—albeit useless—punch (noroshi or whatever this arc is called idk). improvement that, mind you, comes from recognizing his own limitations.

some have called him reckless (Suo), but i disagree, because Nirei is right. i know the kids would rather look out for him and have him uninjured by the end of a scuffle, but he doesn't need to be coddled. everybody else jumps into a brawl and gets a broken nose regardless of their fighting skills. Nirei isn't any different. he knows he's limited, he knows he can't fight, he knows he's nothing special. he risks it all anyway, because even though he wasn't built for fighting, he's more than prepared to try over and over again until his efforts are enough to make a difference. he's looked at Sakura's back and thought he couldn't match him, that Sakura gets back up even when he's almost fully tapped out, that he's not needed because Sakura's stronger and will be okay without him.

maybe he's right about this, too. i'm inclined to disagree, but i understand where he's coming from. Nirei chases, Nirei can't stop running because he'll fall behind all these phenomenal beasts that can hold their own. i'm so glad the conclusion he reached was "okay, i gotta step up my game," but i'm not really surprised. this is Nirei Akihiko we're talking about and, i think Suo put it best, he wants to become stronger more than anybody.

he's been at a disadvantage this whole time, "playing hero" rather than being an "actual" hero, but he has a goal. if he has to tear himself apart to stand next to Sakura, he will. he doesn't have to, of course, he's already more than useful the way he is, but when you're so ordinary that you get lost in the crowd, standing beside someone so exemplary makes you want more.

honestly, Nirei's fucking wild. lil bro's actually crazy. we've seen characters go apeshit, but no one in this entire manga is nearly as insane as he is. i appreciate Suo telling him to slow down and chill out, cause he was fully intending to kill himself learning how to fight with zero foundation. my guy was more than ready to actually fight Endo. he meant that. it's a good thing he's properly learning how to defend himself, considering he probably lacks the muscle to go on the offense. those are his limits and he knows that. it frustrates him, but it definitely does little to stop him, because look how big his back is. i hope somebody tells him, after all of this is over, that he's doing more than enough, more than great.

to be fair, fighting isn't even where he shines, and that's okay. he's not strong enough to beat anyone's ass and he doesn't need to be, either. he doesn't need to be a leader like Sakura or a devotee like Sugishita or mimic whatever the fuck Suo's got going on. in the words of my favorite pink curse, the real heroes are the ones who support from the back, and that's exactly what Nirei does. he's said it himself, he wants to guide Sakura all the way to the top and he can, because he thrives in being another citizen of Makochi. he's a regular person and i think that's what makes him so compelling and important.

there's something so fascinating about his simplicity. he really is nothing more than just an ordinary kid. put him in a normal high-school classroom and he'll pass his midterms with a 75. he recognizes what he's good at, of course, he knows the town inside out and it's very useful, especially to Sakura. he's amazing support. it really doesn't seem like it and people love to completely dismiss him, but i wanna be outrageous and call him the backbone of these kids. he was Sakura's first friend and he continues to be the one pushing and prodding to make sure he stands back up every single time. he's more necessary than anyone gives him credit for. i have no doubt in my mind that, if it weren't for him, Sakura wouldn't be able to do half the things he's managing. even Suo, who's out here acting like he knows the secrets of the universe, has to stop and reorganize his ideas when Nirei talks.

if Suo is the heart (debatable, but okay, whatever bro says) and brain, i'd like to think Nirei is the spirit and the soul. there's no chance the kids would work so smoothly without Nirei around—which, yes, arguably the same could be said of all of them, but i've seen Nirei be dismissed as a Zenitsu looking ass gag character and i've never had to hold back a kys so hard. idk for sure what the general consensus on him is cause i've only ever seen him used in the context of ships and never on his own, which honestly makes me a little sad. especially after seeing the popularity poll cause he didn't even make it into the top 5 with not even 1k points personal offense tbh i need a word with the voters. what i've gathered is that aint nobody gaf about his ass im devastated Suo has to fuck off (13k votes is crazy gang come on). which i don't understand. take him out of the equation and everything falls apart. Sakura's the sword, Suo's the strategy, and Nirei is the ambition, the desire, the force, the feelings.

there's much to be said about how he's treated, not only in-universe, but also by the people consuming the media and the pr team. i don't fuck with shipping, but when i'm scrolling through my timeline, Nirei only exists in the context of somebody's favorite ship. and don't fucking get me started on the mischaracterization. look me in the eye and tell me Nirei doesn't have more conviction than any of these dumbass kids. yes, he gets scared and he's fucking horrified most of the time, but motherfucker he's fighting. he's out there in the frontlines, making himself useful, biting more than he can chew and then some. i dare you to treat him like wittle baby that needs protection.

if not for his uniqueness, look at him for his regularity, because i find it endearingly wonderful. i think there's something so special about the ordinary. he deserves a lot more than what he's getting so these mfs better put him in all collab illusts cause if i have to see Kaji in his place one more time i will personally book a flight. okay thank you thats all i promise ill never come back here have day.

[satorugojjo]

The more I read the more I don’t understand the absolutely homophobic coded hate for The Sun and the Star. Nico literally shares a homophobic experience he experienced in the 40s that shaped the way he viewed himself, reflects on it, and then comes to the conclusion that’s what made him react to Cupid so badly, and THIS is something to hate??? Nico, growing, learning to share, learning to not impose isolation on himself, learning to feel his emotions and let them out, to be there for people, to miss Percy and Hazel and Jason, actually developing, and people are like “ugh so boring and unrealistic, they ruined my fav character”

Well, sorry he’s not the miserable little edgelord you all desperately want him to be. Sorry that Will actually has some very understandable flaws, sorry that Percabeth aren’t perfect, sorry that you’d read book about the experience of coming out for an Italian raised boy from the 1930s and think it’s boring, sorry that you’d read about the trauma of his Tartarus experience from HoH and go “OVERDONE”!!! This book does have flaws but it is not Nico and Will.

Every single interaction feels meaningful, the focus on emotion, growth, light, happiness, connection, love, friendship, and more is what is quintessential PJO to me. It’s not full of adventure after adventure and that’s perfectly fine to me. They’re navigating an emotional minefield. How the fuck can this fandom sit here and complain about the lack of emotional depth in Blood of Olympus and then when they do get it they’re like, “oh no no no this is the WRONG kind, I want him to stay miserable, I actually don’t want to read about his sorrow from his POV, I don’t want Nico to be MATURING” GROW UP?

Nothing about Solangelo so far feels OOC to me, and every time they do it’s actually even pointed out to us that it IS ooc, and we get to see how they feel about it. This is exactly what I expect from canonical middle school sunshine/darkness tropes.

Also, this is VERY IMPORTANT so pay fucking attention. THIS. IS. NOT. A. MAIN. PLOT. BOOK. IT DOESNT HAVE TO BE BREAKNECK PACING. If this was an anime, this would be a sweet little OVA arc. This is a side story, just the same way the Percy/Thalia/Nico story was. It’s a companion book about two side characters. Why are your expectations as high as a main series book? It’s a NICO AND WILL book, it’s not anything more or less. Another thing to remember? Canonically this is meant to be the year 2011. The RRverse is very anachronistic where current year elements feature in a timeline where it shouldn’t, but EVEN SO, it still feels at best 2015. More importantly? It’s only been a year since Cupid. A singular YEAR. For reference the pandemic started 3 whole years ago.

I can’t stand fans sometimes, you’ll jump on any bandwagon of hate without exercising a single shred of critical thinking or nuance, and then conveniently forget a whole bunch of things that are GOOD for the minor flaws this book has. This isn’t a 10/10 book, it’s probably a solid 7.5!!! Stop treating it as if it’s 3/10. And I stand by what I said before. We need more middle grade LGBT lit! Is this the BEST out there? No. Is this however bad? No. And before you guys come for me without having a molecule of reading comprehension, it’s OKAY to not like this book. It’s not okay however to make sweeping statements of hate as if everyone who enjoys this book is a blithering idiot.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - "Pour Toujours"

Masterpost Read on AO3 - Sous Le Ciel de Paris

Author's note: This will be the last chapter of the main story, but it's longer than the others :). I will add an epilogue when I can get around to it, and I might continue doing drabbles when I have the time because I love them so much. For now, thank you so much to everyone who has read and supported this little AU throughout this Olympic season. It's been a lot of fun, and I hope you've fallen in love with these versions of the characters as much as I have.

Let's get on with some much needed damage control!

---

Believe it or not, John knows he fucked up. And he knows he fucked up bad. 

So he doesn’t really expect anyone to pick up when he calls Marge the day after the equestrian team was scheduled to land back stateside. He called Gale twice last night and got no answer. He knows he deserves that. 

He also knows he deserves the irritated “What do you want” when Marge answers her phone, but he’s shocked to hear someone’s voice on the other end of the line at all. 

“I fucked up,” he stammers out. 

She laughs mirthlessly. “Oh you figured that out did you?”

He tries desperately to explain what happened even though he knows it sounds weak. Even though he knows it doesn’t even begin to make up for the heartbreak he caused Gale. The heartbreak he caused himself. He tries to explain the way things ended in Paris, that he panicked, that he couldn’t think or breathe, that he felt paralyzed by the way everything crashed down around him and he was out of energy to hold it up. He tries to tell her, “It wasn’t just Gale. I wasn’t talking to anyone, Marge.”

That’s when she stops him, and he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s fed up with him and his stupidity or because those were the words that made her believe him. He knows the equestrians continued hanging out with the gymnasts long after he left. He’s glad for that, really. He’s happy that this ragtag bunch of Olympians found a lasting friendship with each other that would survive with or without him. He is. But he also wonders if they talked about him. He wonders what they said.

He wonders if he was simply the villain in this story, or if anyone came to his defense. He doesn’t know which possibility hurts more. 

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” she tells him. She’s angry, but he hears sympathy in her voice, and that gives him the smallest bit of hope for fixing the mess he left in his wake. 

“He won’t answer me.” Texts. Calls. Nothing. 

“I know.”

Bucky nods and bites at his lip nervously. Of course Gale tells Marge about it. She probably knows every single thing that happened. She’s probably the one that had to pick up the pieces, listen to Gale wonder whether or not he should keep trying or simply let Bucky go. 

“Can you tell me where to find him?”

“You did to him exactly what he told you he was afraid of,” she accuses, instead of answering him. The frustration rises in her voice once again, and Bucky knows all he can do is sit there and hear it. He’ll take the blows, because they’re entirely his to take. He knows he deserves worse. 

“You let him get close to you,” Marge admonishes him. “You let him love you. God, John, he was so in love with you. Then when things got a little hard, you asked him for sex one more time and then you fucking left. You left, just like he was so worried you would, and you told him you’d call. But you didn’t. You just fucking disappeared. Do you know what that did to him?”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. Because he knows. He knows. And it breaks his heart to think of Gale hurting and confused and blindsided like that. It breaks his heart to know he caused it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, but it comes out so quiet he doesn’t know if she hears him. 

“He was sitting there, wondering what he did wrong, John. Wondering why he wasn’t good enough. Not understanding why you left. Not understanding if any of it was fucking real.” Marge scoffs. “I saw you together. Even I thought you would be good for him. And then you fucked it all up in the blink of an eye.”

“I know,” Bucky says, stronger this time. He wonders if Marge can hear the way his voice is thick with regret, tight with pain, the way it shakes because he wants nothing more than to put the pieces back together like they were before he blew it all up in their faces. “I hate myself for it, Marge. I never meant to hurt him, I was just so… fuck. I… I love him, Marge. You have to believe me. I love him.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Why?

That question rings in Bucky’s ears, resounding through his empty apartment like a ghost knocking on his walls. Why did he do it?

Why?

He sighs and puts his head in his hand, because he’s trying to work through it himself. He’s been trying to work through it ever since he left, and he keeps coming up short because there’s just so much. Too much to put together into any coherent explanation. Too much to sort through in his anxious angry brain. And none of it is an excuse and yet all of it is a reason. 

He opens his mouth to speak, to try to explain, but before he can, Marge cuts him off. “Don’t answer that.” She sounds as defeated as he does, sad and angry and hurt. Tired. He wonders how much damage control she’s had to run in the last week. It makes him feel sick. “I’m so pissed at you,” she all but growls. “But I understand, too.”

Understand?

How can she understand when he barely does?

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut against tears that are threatening to break free. He has never in his life been a crying type, but he’s barely been sleeping. He’s eating like shit, his knee is killing him with every move he makes, and his anxiety is at a peak. He misses Gale so much, and he’s filled with so much regret that it threatens to tear him in half, and he thinks that might be better than sitting here in this depressed sludge of his mind for one more moment.

He takes a deep breath in a pathetic attempt to control the nervous energy coursing through him. He glances at the medal boxes just sitting on his kitchen table. He hasn’t figured out where to display them, yet, so they sit there and taunt him with the globally celebrated feats that he might never be capable of again. Sure, they called him the greatest male gymnast of all time. But if he goes out now, like this, he’ll be nothing but a washed up has-been who stood on top of the world stage for one golden moment. 

Beside one of the boxes is a photograph – a legitimate, printed photograph. The one of him and Gale on that last good night before his rings final, when they sat cuddled together on his bed in the Village with their friends gathered in celebration. They each have a medal around their necks, Gale’s arm wrapped around him, holding him close. They look so happy. Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever been that happy in his entire life. 

Curt, in dramatic fashion, had the photo printed when he came home after closing, and he left it here for Bucky to stare at, in hopes it would remind him of what he needed to do. 

It worked.

“Where can I find him?” Bucky asks again. He presses his fingers to his lips and sniffs quietly, hoping she can’t hear it. “Please, Marge. I need to find him.”

Marge hesitates for a long moment, and Bucky fully expects her to hang up on him. He wouldn’t blame her. But then she sighs. He can picture her pinching the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes, gathering all her mental strength. “I’m going to help you for one reason and one reason only,” she states. “He has never been as happy as he was with you. So I’ll give you one chance to get your head out of your goddamn ass.”

She gives him an address that he scrambles to write down, not even giving him a chance to repeat it back, like she’s decided that if he didn’t bother to listen carefully enough the first time then he’s not worth the trouble after all. He’s about to thank her profusely when she says, “Come today or not at all.” And she hangs up. 

He calls Curt immediately.

Curtis Biddick is the only person that Bucky has interacted with since coming home other than their coach and their team doctor. And that’s because Curt didn’t give him a choice. Because Curt knows he’s a goddamn self-destructive idiot that needs to be defused every hour on the hour so he doesn’t implode his own life. He stayed in Paris through closing, even though he did offer to go home with Bucky (to which Bucky said “fuck no” because he was not about to take this time away from his best friend). 

Curt texted and called him every day all the way from France, reminding him to eat or ice or heat or drink water. He sent him random shit to try to make him laugh, asked how he was doing, if he’d checked in with his therapist (to which he said no and Curt forced him to schedule an appointment right there and then). And if Bucky didn’t answer his calls, he’d call their coach to see if Bucky was in the gym. If he was, he’d insist on talking to him, and if he wasn’t he’d tell their coach to drop by Bucky’s apartment.

Bucky doesn’t think he deserves that kind of concern either, and he told Curt as much. But Curt looked like he wanted to slap him in the face through their facetime call, and he told Bucky that he may be stupid, but he still deserves someone to care about him.

His therapist says the same thing. 

Bucky can’t really comprehend that. He doesn’t see where in this equation he deserves any kindness. 

Even so, Curt was the one to confront Bucky about what he did to Gale. He was the one to tell him how much it destroyed the young equestrian, leaving him adrift and despondent. “He wasn’t the same the rest of the week,” he said. “Tried to hide it I think, but Benny said he was a wreck every night. Had to be dragged outta the room some days. Lost interest in a lotta things that he was used to doin’ with you, literally anything in the Village.” 

Curt was the one to emphasize the fact that everyone else was there to pick up the pieces of Bucky’s mess when he couldn’t be bothered. And he was the one to yell and rage at Bucky and tell him he was being ridiculous and selfish and flat out stupid. When he arrived home, the first thing he did was stop by Bucky’s apartment, thrust that photograph at him, and say, “John Clarence Egan, quit the goddamn pouting and call your boyfriend right fucking now.” 

So Bucky did. He called Gale right there while Curt watched. Gale just didn’t pick up. 

And why would he? Why should he? After days of nothing, in what world would Gale be won over by a single phone call? Bucky may not really know what to do about this whole love thing, but he knows it doesn’t come cheap. 

So now, even though he doesn’t owe Bucky a thing and Bucky probably owes him his life in exchange, Curt agrees to drop everything and drive Bucky the hour and a half to the address Marge gave him since the doctor wouldn't clear him to drive. “You don’t deserve me,” Curt tells him when he shows up at Bucky’s door for about the fifth time in two days. Bucky wholeheartedly agrees, and then Curt pulls him into a tight hug, and Bucky thinks maybe things will be okay. 

He keeps zoning out on the way there, thinking about all of it. The event finals, the sprain, the doctor telling him he might be done. He thinks about Gale’s face when Bucky said he was leaving, the way it fell even as he tried not to show how much those words hurt. He thinks about Gale trying to make light of the situation, and Bucky just… didn’t. He thinks about Gale texting him with less and less frequency because Bucky couldn’t dig himself out of his hole. The guilt hangs over him like a storm cloud. 

He thinks about Gale, and their time together in Paris, like a montage in a romance movie set to sappy music. Meeting him on the plane, seeing that beautiful blonde haired angel glance over at him so shyly. He thinks about the way they fell into each other’s lives like they were always meant to be there, like they were made for one another. He thinks about nights spent walking together under the beautiful Paris sky. Taking silly pictures and videos everywhere they went. Standing with his arms wrapped around Gale on top of the Eiffel Tower, looking out over a city of lights. 

He thinks about Gale’s arms around him, the feeling of his soft hair rubbing against his cheek when he buried his face in Bucky’s neck. He thinks about the sound of Gale’s heartbeat as they lay together in bed, little moments where nothing mattered but the two of them. He thinks about Gale’s little half smiles, and the times he let himself laugh so freely because of something stupid Bucky said. He thinks about the way he’d look at Bucky like he was an amusing puzzle he had to figure out, but also like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever set eyes on.

He thinks about Gale until it makes him want to cry again, because what on Earth has he done?

“You were right, Curt,” he says out of nowhere when they’re about 15 minutes out. “I think I made the biggest mistake of my life.” 

Curt reaches over to pat his knee. He tells him that all they can do is try. 

Bucky knows that none of it can justify what he did, but he was a complete mess after event finals. 

“It’s time to start thinking about what comes next, John,” the doctor told him that day in Paris, after he won gold on rings. He won gold, and in the same breath he fucked up his knee again. He was told his career might be over. Again.

“What do you mean?” he asked, even though he knew full well what she meant and it made him feel physically sick, the world tilting off-kilter around him, the ground simply falling out from beneath his feet.

“We have to see what the damage is, but we have to prepare for the possibility that your knee may never be strong enough to be competitive again. I’m sorry, John.”

Bucky felt like he was wading through quicksand after that, a ticking time bomb strapped to his back, weighing him down, counting down the seconds until self-destruction, except he didn’t know when that would be. He was getting kicked out of the Village anyways, since his events were over. The doctor told him he needed an MRI when he got back to the states, and he couldn’t stand waiting for it. He couldn’t stand the idea of trying to keep up with the energy of Paris when he couldn’t even walk and this possibility of an end was looming over him everywhere he went. 

He felt hollow.

Broken.

Scared.

He doesn’t like to feel scared. He doesn’t like to feel broken. He needed that MRI asap because he thought it was the only thing that could stop making him feel those things. 

Looking around the Village that day, he saw all the athletes celebrating and walking and running and biking and laughing… and he was stumbling his way back to his building alone, on crutches, trying not to fall apart. His swollen knee throbbed with every hobbled step. 

Who is he, if he isn’t a gymnast? What’s left for him to do?

The pain made him feel sick and the anxiety made him feel sick and the world swirling around him with the bright colors of the Paris Olympics made him feel sick. And then there was Gale. He wanted to see Gale, needed to see Gale. But his brain was all fucked at that point and he couldn’t think straight and he was so damn angry at everything.

At life. At the sport. At the doctors. At these other gymnasts and athletes who didn’t have to face a premature end to their careers for the second time. But mostly, he was angry at himself. He hated himself more than anything else.

What is he worth, if he’s not a gymnast? To the world? To other people?

To Gale?

So many people before only wanted him for his body or for his fame. So they could say they slept with World Champion gymnast John Egan, or that they went out with an Olympic medalist, like it gave them bragging rights to fuck an athlete that they didn’t actually bother to get to know. Like he was nothing more than a name and a piece of ass with a sweet smile and a few medals on his wall. 

He went along with it for a while. And over time, he started to believe that maybe that was all he was worth after all. Maybe he didn’t get that happy ending. Maybe he was married to his sport and everything else had to be secondary. Maybe he wasn’t worth getting to know. Maybe he didn’t deserve someone good, someone who loved him for him. 

Maybe he deserved all the bullshit he got. 

But that’s the thing: he knows Gale isn’t like that. He knows what Gale gave him was real and whole and for all the right reasons. He knows Gale cared about him in a way that no one else ever did. He knows it in his bones, better than he’s known anything in his entire life. Gale is the absolute antithesis of everything and everyone that spent years tearing Bucky down, and for the first time in Bucky’s life, he actually felt like he might get a happy ending after all. 

But after finals, Bucky was so lost in his own twisted mind, his own past, his own pain, that it didn’t matter what, rationally, he knew to be true.

As far as he could tell, if he wasn’t a gymnast, he wasn’t anything. 

It broke his heart to tell Gale he was leaving. It broke his heart to say goodbye. He had to walk away as fast as he could so Gale wouldn’t see him cry, hear the quiet sob that wrenched its way out of his chest. Because he didn’t want to leave. It was the last thing he wanted. But he’d already decided he had to.

When he made it home, he went to the gym once a day to see the kids there, talk to his coach, and check in with the doctor. Other than those few hours, he didn’t talk to a single person. He went quiet, just slipped away into the darkness. All his friends were still in Paris, living it up without him anyway. He answered Curt’s texts when he could stand the guilt, picked up the phone because he knew Curt would just send their coach to bang on his door if he didn’t. 

He stared at his phone every time he got a message from Gale, and he couldn’t bring himself to answer. 

And even now, he doesn’t know why. Everything just hurt too damn much and nothing made sense and maybe, somewhere, he really, legitimately thought Gale would be better off without him. He thought he didn’t deserve someone as beautiful and lovely as Gale Cleven. Because the truth is, not calling Gale hurt more than calling him would have, but maybe he deserved the hurt. 

He stayed alone in his apartment for most of the day every day. It’s a walk-up – not exactly easy to get in and out of on crutches. He ordered takeout for dinner every night because he couldn’t be bothered to cook and didn’t want to deal with the hassle of going out, and he didn’t eat much other than that. Mostly, he moped around, agonizing over his past and his future and debating over whether or not he should call Gale or if he’d fucked it up too bad at that point. All he wanted was to fall asleep in Gale’s arms, but he knew he didn’t deserve it. 

He slept a lot anyways, avoiding the life that tried to continue on around him. 

He got drunk one night as he watched the Olympics on TV and scrolled social media. Looking at all the posts about his re-injury and all the posts about his disappearance. All the posts wondering what happened and all the posts agonizing over a suspected “Clegan” breakup. He woke up sick the next morning. Didn’t do that again because, if nothing else, he refused to dip back into the way he went off the rails after losing his sister.

His sister. Who would be so disappointed in him, if she could see what had transpired in the last several days. His sister, whose death he still blames himself for. The only person other than Curt who ever knew how to ground him. Who made him so afraid of losing people he loved, so afraid that the people he loved would leave.

He also knows she’d smack him and tell him to get his act together. 

The day of closing ceremonies, he got his MRI results back. A full MCL tear. Getting that news helped Bucky to think clearly for the first time since he came home. It provided perspective on the situation, gave him something solid to wrap his head around after days of everything floating about as a “what if, what then.”

An MCL tear. Of the outcomes that were possible, this one is among the most manageable. The team doctor remains concerned that his knee may never be stable enough to compete. But she also told him that, if he lets his knee heal and sticks with a strict recovery regimen, it’s possible he’ll come back as strong as ever. Not guaranteed, but possible. 

Having that news gave him something to focus on, something to hope for. It helped get his feet back on solid ground, shoved breath back into his lungs. It finally slowed the way his head had been spinning like a nausea-inducing carnival ride ever since he left Paris.

During closing ceremonies, he pulled out the Team USA outfit and put it on – that badass racing jacket that he’d really been looking forward to wearing as he walked with Gale and his friends into the Stade de France. He took a picture of himself in it to post on social media, saying he may be at home, but he’s still celebrating his country with pride. He even managed to watch the ceremony on TV, and he saw his friends walk out into the stadium in the exact same outfit. His whole team was there – Curt, Croz, Alex, Brady – along with Benny, Marge… and Gale. 

He froze, leaning forward to get a better look at the screen, when he saw Gale walk out, the camera focused right on him. He looked like an angel as he smiled and laughed, his hair messily styled and his eyes bright. That racing jacket fit him perfectly, and Bucky knew they would’ve been the hottest couple in that whole stadium if he’d stayed. 

He wishes he’d stayed. 

The whole world fell in love with Gale Cleven this summer, but not a single person fell as hard as Bucky did. 

Bucky thought about texting Gale, telling him he looked great and he was glad to see him having fun. But then he realized how long it had been, how long he’d spent not texting because he couldn’t get his shit together. And he realized that Gale looked legitimately happy out there without him, and maybe it was better for Bucky just to… not. Better for everyone to move on.

And then Curt came home and absolutely fumed at him over his stupidity. He told Bucky that Gale was heartbroken, that even though he made the best of the ceremony, he wanted nothing more than for Bucky to text. That he wanted nothing more than to make sure he was okay. That as much as he was hurt, he was so goddamn worried, too. And that bit of information made Bucky shatter again.

He fucked it all up, and he is painfully aware of all of it. He regrets every second. Not that any of it is an excuse. But that’s what happened.

“Bucky?” 

Bucky realizes that Curt is saying his name, and he blinks and shakes his head, trying to snap out of it. He realizes that he’s sitting in the passenger seat of Curt’s car, gripping his good knee so tightly with his fingers that his knuckles are bright white. He looks at Curt.

“We’re here,” Curt says. He motions forward, through the windshield, and Bucky follows his gaze. 

They’re parked in front of a massive horse barn with a sign out front that reads Harding Eventing. Underneath, in smaller lettering, it says A U.S. Equestrian Facility. Lush green fields stretch out across the Earth on all sides, lined with black wooden double fences. To their left is another barn structure with windows lining the walls from end to end. The doors are wide open to reveal an indoor arena, a few horses and riders working inside. Beyond that is a perfectly maintained outdoor arena, enclosed by a low white fence with a blue judge’s box at the far end. Behind where they’ve parked the car, there’s a cross country course that stretches out further than Bucky can see.

The farm is buzzing with activity, horses being ridden around the grounds or walked in and out of the barn, grounds staff doing maintenance work on fences or gardens, people shuttling equipment inside from the trailers that had yet to be fully unpacked after arriving home from the airport yesterday. Bucky spots Kenny, carrying a covered dressage saddle inside that he presumes is Gale’s. 

Bucky opens the passenger side door and steps out onto the gravel driveway, taking it all in with a deep breath that smells like hay and sweet grain. Curt comes around from the other side and hands him his crutches.

“John Egan,” a vaguely familiar – and very displeased – voice calls. “The heartbreaker.”

Bucky looks up in time to see Neil Harding sauntering over to them from the indoor ring, a scowl on his face. Bucky tries to hold his head high and stand up straight, but the crutches make it difficult. He doesn’t smile in greeting, because he’s sure Chick knows everything.

He would be right. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kick you off my property right now,” Chick says. He stops in front of Bucky, standing tall with his arms crossed over his chest in a way Bucky can’t. It makes Bucky feel small for once in his life. Chick glances at his brace and crutches, but there’s not a lick of sympathy on his face. Not that he was expecting any. 

“Marge told me to come,” he replies.

Chick works his jaw as he stares at him, then glances at Curt. “Gale’s not here. You’re gonna have to wait.”

Bucky frowns. “Where is he?”

Chick motions to the woods beyond the edge of the farm property. “Somewhere out there. Been gone all morning.” He narrows his eyes at Bucky, his voice pitching low. “That’s what he does, you know. When he’s upset.” 

Bucky nods, because Gale told him that before. Told him that when he can’t stand the world anymore, when everything hurts too much, he takes his horse, and he goes out into the wild unknown. Just like he did as a kid growing up in the mountains. Just him and his horse and the Earth beneath their feet. No worries. No pain. Just the breath in his lungs and the sounds of the woods.

He’s been out there all day because of Bucky.

“How long has he been gone?”

Harding checks his watch. It’s 1pm. “About five hours now.”

Oh. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Harding shakes his head and shrugs. “Never know with him. You can ask Marge. She might have an idea.” He points into the barn and watches as Bucky and Curt make their way towards it. “John?” He says. Bucky turns back around, resting his weight on one crutch. “I’ll let him decide, because I know how much he loved you. But know that if I had it my way, you wouldn’t step foot on this property again.”

Bucky nods tersely, meeting Chick’s gaze. He’ll fight for Gale as much as he can, but in the end, if Gale doesn’t want him, he’ll go. No matter how much it hurts. 

He turns to go into the barn. 

Marge is standing against the door of one of the stalls in the middle of the long aisleway, chatting with someone on the other side. She looks up when she hears the tell-tale clomping of Bucky’s crutches on the rubber-matted floor, and she walks down the aisle to meet them halfway. She offers him a weak smile, and he feels relieved to have someone here not acting like they hate him, even though he wouldn’t blame her if she did. 

“Hey, Marge!” Curt says excitedly, walking up behind Bucky. “Long time no see.” As in, a couple days. 

Marge smiles a bit brighter at Curt and pulls him in for a hug. Then she glances over at Bucky, and she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Come here,” she says. He swallows and frowns, looking at her skeptically, but she holds her arms out, waiting, and he hops forward. Awkwardly, he wraps one arm around her while trying not to hit her with the crutch. She doesn’t seem to care, though. She hugs him tight and whispers in his ear, “I’m pissed at you. But are you doing okay?”

“Could be better,” he whispers back, and she rubs his upper back comfortingly before letting him go. 

When she steps away, Bucky realizes that Benny has stepped out of the stall she’d been standing next to, and he’s watching Marge hug him with distaste. Bucky nods to him. “Benny.”

Benny glares back, looking like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what. Or like he wants to generally stab John in the neck. Who can really say. Instead, he looks at Curt. “Hey! What’s up, man?”

I deserve that, Bucky thinks.

Marge takes pity on him, though and pulls him aside so Benny and Curt can talk. “Gale’s been out all day,” she tells him. “Brooding.”

“I know,” Bucky says quietly. “Chick told me.” Then a terrifying thought pops into his head. “How do you know if he’s safe?”

For half a second, the entire planet is going up in flames around him. If he loses one more person he loves because he was caught up in his own shit…

Marge puts a hand on his shoulder, though, seeing his panic. She pulls out her phone and opens an app, waving it at Bucky. “We have a ride tracker. We turn it on when one of us goes out on the trails. It tells me his location, and it senses if he falls or something so I can get him help.”

“Has that ever happened?” Bucky asks nervously. 

“Once,” Marge shrugs. “He was fine, though. Fell off into the creek and broke a rib.” That… doesn’t make Bucky feel better. Marge points to Gale’s location on the app. “He’s heading home. I’d say 30 minutes, an hour at most, if he doesn’t decide to wander off somewhere else.”

—

Marge is kind enough to show Bucky around the immediate farm area – the barn and the indoor and outdoor arenas where they train and host the occasional event or dressage show. She even takes him into the tack room. “Basically that whole corner is Gale’s,” she says, motioning to a collection of saddle and bridle racks bolted into the wall in three-high columns. There’s two dressage saddles, two jump saddles, and even a western saddle. One of the racks sits empty, awaiting Gale’s return. Next to a cabinet full of saddle pads, polo wraps, and support boots, there’s an assortment of ribbons hanging on the wall, ranging in color and size, many of them pretty blue first places. 

“Whoa.” Bucky looks around, eyes wide at the amount of no doubt expensive equipment, meticulously organized and near spotless. “I didn’t know he had all this.”

“Not that you deserve to know,” Marge says behind him. “But Chick took Gale in when we were in college. Gave him a place to live in exchange for farm work. Horses to learn on. Prospects to train. Everything he could need to succeed. We all ride here, but the place belongs to the two of them.”

Bucky runs a hand across one of the dressage saddles, which he recognizes from that day Gale rode for him. “I’m glad he has someone like that.” A father figure. Someone to learn from and go to for help, someone who can show him the way after he spent so long fearing his own father and having to figure this life out on his own. No wonder Chick looked like he wanted Bucky’s head on a pike. 

As he looks at all of the ribbons on the wall, Bucky notices that, stuck to the cabinet of saddle pads and wraps beside him, there’s a number of photographs. All of them include Gale and one horse or another. One picture, newly taped up in the middle, is from Paris: Gale, Whiskey… and John. Together. Gale has a medal around his neck, and he’s laughing as Whiskey tries to play with it and Bucky kisses him on the cheek. It was taken by Kenny right after Gale's final jumping round. 

Bucky lightly rubs a thumb over the photo, and Marge watches him, but she doesn’t say a word about it. Gale’s only been back for a day. And yet he chose to stick this up there, where he can see it every time he gets his tack. Even after what Bucky did to him. 

Bucky feels so guilty, and at the same time, he feels butterflies in his stomach. 

When he steps back again, Marge starts to ask if he wants to see the beginning of the cross-country course, but then she looks at his crutches and thinks better of it. She asks if he needs to sit, but he says no even though his knee is killing him. 

So instead she takes him to Whiskey’s stall, which is marked with a brass plate engraved with the name “Hundred Proof.” There’s two pretty Olympic ribbons hanging on the outer wall along with a framed photo of Gale and Whiskey in front of Versailles. Someone, presumably Marge, taped two cut-out paper Olympic medals beside the ribbons, since Gale’s actual medals are no doubt being kept somewhere safe. 

The mare seems to recognize Bucky, the only other living thing here that doesn’t hate his guts right now, and he’s grateful for it. She stretches her head through the open top half of her stall door and nuzzles his arm, making him laugh and apologize for not bringing muffins this time. 

“Gale didn’t take her out with him?” he asks.

Marge shakes her head. “They all get a couple weeks off after the games. And Gale never takes her out in the woods for too long anyway. He wishes he could, but he can’t risk her getting hurt out there.”

Bucky tries to reach his hand up to scratch the mare’s nose without losing his balance on the crutches. When it’s just a bit too precarious, he carefully leans one of his crutches against the wall so he has free motion with one arm. Whiskey bumps his shoulder, as if to say, What the fuck did you do?

Bucky smiles sadly and closes his eyes as he pets the side of her face. “I’m sorry, girl,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.” He thinks about Gale, and the way he always goes to the horses when he’s upset. The way he tells them everything.

He wonders how much Whiskey knows, how much he’s told her, how many tears have been cried into that soft mane because of him. Or was Bucky not worth Gale’s tears?

Everyone keeps saying Gale was heartbroken when he left. Is that true?

Marge lets him stand there for a good while, just petting this horse that he at one point hoped would be a permanent fixture in his life. Gale once told him that horses are the best therapy, that they can absorb everything you’re feeling and just leech the pain away by their presence alone. It does make Bucky feel better, even as he feels the guilt enveloping him. I’m sorry, he thinks, over and over and over.

Then Marge tells him, “He’s back.”

They leave Whiskey’s stall and walk back out to the front of the barn, where sure enough, Bucky can see a horse and rider coming up the path from the woods beyond the outdoor ring. At first glance, he wouldn’t have known it was Gale, but as they come closer, a silhouette becoming real, he realizes he knows the set of those shoulders, the motion of those hips as the horse walks towards them.

Gale isn’t on a massive warmblood decked out in English tack. And he’s not dressed in the riding clothes Bucky is used to seeing him in – the tight riding pants and polo shirt cinched with a belt. Shiny black tall boots and a sleek Charles Owen helmet. Instead, he’s on a smaller gray horse in western tack with a saddle bag strapped to the back of the saddle, a water bottle jammed into the front pocket. He’s dressed in faded jeans, brown cowboy boots, and a white t-shirt that clings to his sweaty upper body. A  black cowboy hat hides his face in shadow.

In any other circumstance, Bucky would be absolutely drooling over this look.

Even through the shadow, though, he can see the way Gale’s eyes narrow, the way he hesitates when he sees him standing there with Marge. He can see the moment the surprise shifts to anger. When he hops down off the horse and pulls the reins over her head, Bucky waves awkwardly anyways. 

Gale looks at Marge. “You could’ve asked.”

She crosses her arms defensively. “You disappeared for the entire morning. He called.”

He looks at Bucky. “You called her?”

Bucky nods and opens his mouth to say something, but Gale puts a hand up to stop him. “I don’t wanna hear it, John.”

Bucky feels the little bit of hope that had been holding his heart together crack apart again. “Gale, I-”

“John, please.”

He hears the pain in Gale’s voice, and it kills him. He stands there, watching as this man he’s in love with walks right on past without a second glance, leading the little gray horse towards the barn. “Wait, can you…” But Gale won’t hear it, just keeps on walking. 

“Gale, please.”

Nothing. 

“I love you!” Bucky blurts out into the peaceful quiet of the farm, because if nothing else, he at least needs to speak that into the world. Gale stops, the mare halting beside him. Bucky goes on. “I love you so fucking much, Gale. And I-”

Gale takes his hat off and whips around. His face is angrier than Bucky’s ever seen in the few weeks they’ve known each other, and he points the hat at Bucky. “Don’t say that, John,” he warns. The mare jumps a bit beside him at the sudden motion, and the few people nearby try to act like they’re not watching them. Watching this train wreck, wondering what’s about to happen. “You don’t get to come here and say that to me. You don’t.”

“Gale,” Marge says calmly, stepping towards him. 

Gale turns on her, still full of anger. But something in his expression fades into pure hurt. “Why did you let him come here?”

Marge reaches out and pushes away the hat that he’s pointing at her, and Bucky watches him deflate the littlest bit. Gale takes a deep breath as he puts the hat back on his head, and he puts his hand on the mare’s shoulder. He mutters an apology to her and strokes her neck, calming her down.

“Cause you’re both idiots,” Marge tells him. She looks at Bucky when she says it, too. “You’re both being stupid. I know he hurt you, Gale. I’m mad as hell at him for it. But he was hurting, too, and you know that.”

Bucky… didn’t expect that. At all.

“He left,” Gale says quietly. He won’t look at Bucky. He won’t even look at Marge. He looks only at his horse.

Marge puts a hand on his shoulder. “He came back.”

“He threw me out like a piece of trash. Like he never gave a damn about me at all.”

Bucky might actually cry right now. He takes a deep breath and swallows against the lump in his throat to keep it from happening.

“I think you should hear him out,” Marge suggests. “Please?”

Gale glances back over at Bucky, who shuffles his feet and winces when he trips on a piece of gravel, sending a burst of pain through his knee that he’s momentarily worried will cause the tears to fall. Gale’s mouth does a weird thing where it kind of wants to smile at Bucky’s clumsiness, but he won’t let it, forcing it to frown instead. “Fine. It’ll have to wait until I get Lucy taken care of, though.”

Bucky nods hurriedly. “That’s fine,” he insists, cringing at the way his voice goes all high and desperate.

Gale nods once, turns on his heel, and starts heading for the barn again. Bucky scrambles to follow, tripping over the gravel on his crutches, and if Gale notices, he just keeps right on going without so much as looking over his shoulder to see if Bucky’s okay. Marge reaches out to steady him instead. “I’m gonna go meet Benny and Curt in the ring.” She points to the outdoor, where Benny is walking around in a circle on a horse that Bucky doesn’t recognize, chatting with Curt, who stands in the middle. “Don’t… say anything stupid.”

Bucky holds back a scoff. He’s the king of saying something stupid.

By the time he finally manages to hobble into the barn, Gale already has the gray mare, Lucy, hooked up to the cross-ties in the wash stall at the end of the aisle, bridle replaced with a leather halter. He’s heaving the saddle onto a saddle rack attached to the wall outside the wash stall. The saddle bags lay in a pile on the floor beneath it, empty water bottle discarded and tipped over on the rubber matting.  

Bucky leans against the wall, peering into the wide open wash stall with its temperature-controlled hose, overhead heating lamp, and cabinets full of supplies. These horses really are living in luxury. He looks at Gale again, taking in this rugged western cowboy version of him. “Didn’t know you still rode western, too.”

“Mmm,” Gale nods as he runs his hands all over Lucy’s body, checking for anything abnormal. “More comfortable for long rides.”

“You really just… go out there for hours at a time?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t you need food? Water?”

Gale motions to the saddle bags. “Snacks. Horse treats. Water. First aid. We take a lot of breaks, too. Wade in the creek to cool off.”

Bucky stares at Gale’s hat, which is admittedly a really great look on him. “Shouldn’t you wear a helmet?”

Gale doesn’t so much as glance at him. “You don’t get to lecture me about safety.”

He walks around Lucy to grab the hose and adjust the water temperature. He sprays his hand first, waiting for it to get cold enough in this summer heat. Then he aims the stream of water at the mare, washing off the sweat and the dirt from the trails. He ignores Bucky as he does so, working his way down one side from Lucy’s neck to her back to her hind end. Then he moves to the other side to do the same. Bucky watches his every move.

“So, who’s this?” He asks.

Gale finally glances over at him, if only for a second, and it makes Bucky’s breath catch when those pretty eyes meet his. “Her name is Lucy. Lucy In The Sky. She’s an off-track thoroughbred. Little side project for me.”

“Side project?”

Gale frowns, like Bucky is a pesky fly that won’t leave him alone. He really doesn’t want to be dealing with him right now, but he doesn’t have a good reason not to answer questions about the horse, at least. He sighs as he wets a rag and starts using it to wipe the sweat off Lucy’s face, which she wholeheartedly protests against by throwing her head up higher in the air. He shushes her and gently guides her nose back down as he wipes around her ears. “She came through a local rescue after she came off the track last year. I’m entering her in the Thoroughbred Makeover in October. A competition for retraining retired racehorses. We’re doing eventing, but she’s been good with western tack, too. Been taking advantage of that I guess.” 

Before Bucky can say anything, he goes on. And that’s okay. Bucky’s heart feels light when he sees the way Gale smiles a little bit, playfully rubbing at Lucy’s nose the same way he does with Whiskey. “She’ll never be Olympic level. She’s already seven years old and needs too much work. But she’s a good girl. Sound mind. Adaptable. That’s why I take her on the trails. She’ll go far for the right person.”

“Not you?” Bucky asks. 

Gale shrugs. “We’ll see. Thinking of selling her. A lot of the makeover horses are trained to sell. But I don’t know if I can bring myself to.” Not after Apollo, goes unsaid. 

Bucky holds tight to the sound of Gale’s voice, feeling calm and safe just listening to him talk even though he knows, if he doesn’t manage to make this right, it might be the last time he ever hears that beautiful sound. They continue in silence after that, Gale using a sweat scraper to get all the excess water off the mare while Bucky stands there and bites his tongue. Finally, unable to hold it in anymore, he sighs and says, “Gale, I-”

“Not yet,” Gale cuts him off.

Bucky nods and bites down on the inside of his cheek, trying not to bounce or twitch with the anxiety running through him.

It’s another ten minutes before Gale so much as speaks to him. Kenny comes by and asks if Gale wants him to take Lucy to her stall, but he shakes his head. “Can you get Whiskey ready for the farrier?” he asks instead. Kenny nods. Then he waves awkwardly to Bucky, who awkwardly waves back, and he slips away without making eye contact. Because apparently everyone here knows that something bad happened last week in Paris. 

Gale walks Lucy back to her stall without another word, and Bucky follows. It’s the stall next to Whiskey’s, where Kenny is picking the other horse’s hooves out, and the two mares nuzzle each other as Lucy walks past. Once inside Lucy’s stall, Gale grabs some colorful bell boots that he straps over her hooves to protect her shoes, then sprays her all over with the bottle of fly spray hanging on the door. 

With one final scratch on the forehead, Gale tells Lucy to be good, closes the door, and he walks away again, putting a hand out to signal that Bucky should wait. He comes back a minute later with Lucy’s saddle and a small bucket of water. After he sets the bucket on the floor, he smoothly flips up another saddle rack by Lucy’s stall and slides the saddle onto it. A western saddle is a whole different beast from the English saddles Bucky saw in Paris. Bigger and more ornate, with patterns carved and stitched into the smooth leather. 

Gale looks at Bucky as he points to the tack box in front of the stall. “Can you open that up and grab the saddle soap sitting in the tray?”

Bucky nods, glad to be helpful, and does as he’s asked. When he opens the box, there’s a small tray laying across the top filled with various treats, grooming supplies, clippers, and whatever else Bucky can’t identify. Beneath it is all sorts of equipment. Lead ropes, a folded saddle pad, rolled up polo wraps, a grooming kit, a collection of various medical supplies for both horse and rider, a helmet. It takes a second to locate the little jar of saddle soap in the tray, but he does. He hands it to Gale, who unscrews the lid to reveal a small sponge, which he dunks in the water bucket before rubbing it around in the soap. He sets to work scrubbing the saddle.

“I threw some jolly ranchers in there this morning,” he says. “You can give them each one if they’re not melted.”

Bucky can’t hide his amusement, not that Gale’s looking at him. Muffins. Sour patch kids. Now jolly ranchers. Gale adds, “Whiskey likes green. Lucy likes red.” Because of course they have favorite flavors. 

Gale reaches a hand towards him, making a grabbing motion. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Color?”

“Blue.”

Bucky searches for the candy in the tray, picking out the correct colors and unwrapping them. He drops the blue one in Gale’s waiting hand. Both mares stick their heads out of their stalls when they hear the crinkling, and Bucky smiles as they pluck them out of his palm, lips twitching. First Lucy, then Whiskey, who shoves him in the shoulder again after she’s done. Kenny chastises her as he clips a lead rope to her halter. Bucky thinks he sees Gale smile the littlest bit, too. 

The groom opens the stall door and leads Whiskey out, down the aisle to the other end of the barn, and Bucky just stands there quietly on his crutches, watching Gale work. After a minute, Gale pauses, shifting the candy to one side of his mouth and biting down until it breaks in half. He looks back up at Bucky and motions to the box in exasperation. “You can sit down, Bucky. I know you’re in pain. I can see it all over your face.”

Bucky doesn’t know if he should smile or frown, but he nods. He closes the box and sits down, sighing in relief now that he can get the crutches out from under his arms and rest his legs – one in pain because it’s ruined, the other in pain from compensating.

He thinks about the fact that Gale just called him “Bucky,” not “John.” He wonders if that means anything.

They’re silent for a while again before Gale says, “I trusted you, John.” He doesn’t look up from the saddle, but his hand slows down as he says it, like admitting that fact takes up too much bandwidth in his brain.

“I-”

“No.” Gale puts a hand up. He scrubs at the saddle hard with the other, making soapy water dribble down across the leather. “I’m gonna talk this time. And you’re gonna listen.”

Bucky nods, shutting his mouth.

“I trusted you. I don’t take that lightly. I told you I wasn’t a fling kinda guy. I told you I didn’t just wanna mess around. I told you everything, John. Maybe I was naive to do that. But I… I thought we had something. I thought…” he shakes his head, and the hand holding the sponge drops away from the saddle. He lets the sponge fall into the bucket of water as he stands up straight again, hands on his hips. He takes the cowboy hat off his head and sets it on the box next to Bucky, and he wipes his arm across his sweaty forehead. 

He looks Bucky in the eye. “You said you were in love with me on national television. And then you left. You fuckin’ ghosted me. Do you know how much that hurt?”

“I know,” John says, his voice rushed and tight, panic rising up in him again as he’s faced with the very real possibility that he broke this beyond repair.

“You ended up being exactly who I wanted to avoid,” Gale says sadly, and that… that is a knife to the heart.

Bucky shakes his head, biting his lip as he takes a quivering breath. He reaches a hand out before he thinks better of it, and it drops lamely back into his lap. “No,” he says. “No. I’m not. At least, I swear I don’t want to be. Buck, I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you how… God, it was the biggest mistake of my life, leaving you that way. I knew it when I left, but I felt like I had to. I have felt awful every single day, but…”

He runs a hand over his face, frustrated at the way his eyes feel wet again and his face feels hot. He looks at Gale desperately, and Gale stares back, waiting. So Bucky takes a deep breath, and he tells him everything.

He tells him about the doctor in Paris. About the potential for his career to be over. He tells him everything that was going through his mind then, the fear and the worry and the dread and the self-hatred. Self-deprecating words pounding around in his brain, screaming at him that everything was over. He tells him about going home, feeling sick with anger and regret, and the misery he felt every time he so much as thought about Paris or the Olympics. He tells him how he ghosted everyone, hiding away in his apartment. He tells Gale how he thought about him every single day, wondering if he should call or if it was too late. He tells him about Curt finally trying to talk some sense into him.

He tells him how much all of it hurt, and he couldn’t process any of it anymore. Couldn’t hold himself up. Couldn’t live under the expectations and the pity of a sport so focused on John Egan and his comeback. He couldn’t cope with the fear of losing Gale, along with everything and everyone else, so he pushed him away instead. 

“I’m not… the most emotionally well-rounded,” he admits meekly at the end. “I… I blew it all up, huh? That’s what I do, Gale. I self-destruct. Ask Curt, he’s been dealin’ with me for years.”

Some of the fight has gone out of Gale’s stance in the time it took for Bucky to beg and plead and sort through all the fucked up emotions he’s been feeling in the last week. Bucky feels like he’s been talking for hours; he doesn’t know how long it’s actually been. A good ten minutes at least. “I wanted to be there for you,” Gale says. “I loved you.”

Bucky nods and rubs a hand over his face. He tries not to get stuck on the word “loved,” past tense. Not present. “I know. Now. I couldn’t really understand that before.”

“I was a wreck after you left.”

Bucky looks up at that, and he feels a wave of emotions crash into him when he sees the pained expression on Gale’s face. Pity and sadness and betrayal. But also love.

“The others held me up. I tried to have a good time, and I did. But I… I was a mess. Couldn’t think straight. Marge and Benny probably had to pull me up off the ground a few times. Whiskey probably got sick of me cryin’ on her.” Gale looks embarrassed to admit it, and it pains Bucky to hear it. But he’s glad that Gale is telling him, in a way. “And even then,” Gale chuckles, shaking his head as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Even then, I just kept worryin’ about you. Hopin’ you were okay. All alone here.”

Regret sinks deeper into Bucky’s chest. He knows he should’ve called. Should’ve at least told Gale he was alright.

Except he wasn’t. Neither of them were. 

Because the moment they met, they became parts of a whole. And Bucky went and ripped them apart in a way that would never let them be whole on their own again.

Bucky scoots over on the tack box, dragging his crutches around to lean them against the wall of the stall beside him. Gale hesitates, but he grabs his hat, puts it back on, and sits down. Their shoulders press together. They can hear each other’s breathing. Uncertain. They both stare at the floor below, avoiding eye contact again. “I really, really didn’t mean to hurt you,” Bucky says quietly.

“You told me you didn’t know how to do this,” Gale recalls. “Relationships.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Bucky insists. He never thought it was an excuse, even when he couldn’t get his head on straight. 

“No,” Gale agrees. “But you have to learn somehow.”

Bucky glances over at Gale’s knee, where his hand is resting, palm up, waiting. He looks up at Gale’s face – the way he’s biting nervously at his lower lip like he’s the one that needs forgiving – then back at his hand. Carefully, Bucky twines their fingers together, and he closes his eyes in pure, unfiltered relief at the feeling of Gale.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he thinks aloud. 

Gale shrugs. “That’s not for you to decide.” Then he admits, “I missed you at closing. We all did. Even other athletes kept askin’ me about you.”

“Looked like you were having fun.” All the athletes seemed psyched for the celebrations at the end of the Games, decked out in their closing ceremony uniforms, many of them wearing their medals. All the countries were hanging out and having their picture-perfect moment together in the Stade de France, celebrating each other with breathtaking musical and dance performances to wow the world. It was a whole massive party over there, Paris style. Bucky is still disappointed that he made himself miss it, but he isn’t sure if being there would have been better or not.

Would Gale and his friends and the magic of Paris have pulled him out of his little mental storm cloud? If he’d stayed?

Gale shrugs. “It was fun. We had a great time.” Then he looks at Bucky, and Bucky looks back. Blue on blue. “I still wished you were there every second.”

“I wished I was, too.”

Gale swallows and nods, letting that sit. Then he motions to Bucky’s screwed up knee with his free hand. “What’s the verdict?”

“MCL tear.” Bucky presses lightly on the joint, feeling the sharp twinge of pain. “Shouldn’t need surgery this time.” He sees the question in Gale’s eyes when he says that, and he smiles weakly, but it doesn’t hold. “If I’m lucky, and if I behave myself, it’ll probably heal well enough to keep competing. Big ifs, but I’m gonna give it all I’ve got.”

“Give it enough time to heal this time,” Gale advises. 

Bucky nods. “I plan to. I’ve got four years this time instead of one.”

Gale hesitates, flicking his eyes away, then back to Bucky, away again. “I want you in LA with me,” he finally says. “We’ve both got more medals to win.”

Bucky’s heart swells, and he smiles, for real this time. “I want that, too.”

When Gale’s eyes find his once more, he squeezes Bucky’s hand. “Can you say it again?” 

Bucky furrows his brow. “Say what?”

“That…” Gale bites his lip. “That you…”

Bucky’s smile goes crooked in that cute, dorky way that Gale first fell in love with. He reaches his free hand up to take Gale’s hat off his head, so he can see those perfect blue eyes. Then he strokes back the strands of sweaty hair stuck to Gale’s forehead, and he rubs his thumb across his jaw. “Gale Cleven,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I love you. I love you so much. Je t’aime pour toujours.”

Gale quirks an eyebrow, surprised at the french. “Pour toujours? That’s a long time.”

Bucky squeezes his hand. “I will love you for as long as you let me. If you’ll take me back.” 

Gale’s eyes flutter closed, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile. When he opens his eyes again, Bucky knows for certain that everything is going to be okay. Gale’s fingers play with the soft curls behind his ear, and he looks at him like no one has ever looked at Bucky before – with deep, dedicated love. “For forever?” he asks. 

Bucky nods. “Pour toujours,” he repeats. His pronunciation is a bit off, even though Gale can tell he spent a long time practicing, and that makes Gale smile.

“Ever the drama queen,” he teases.

“I mean it, doll,” Bucky insists. He leans in and kisses Gale gently, softly. With love and care. A promise. Everything that the kiss before he left Paris wasn’t. When he pulls away, he says, “Meeting you on that plane was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Gale rests his forehead against Bucky’s, then he untangles their fingers and stands up. Bucky watches, worried for a moment, but Gale extends his hand towards him. Bucky takes it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Gale steadies him, making sure his knee is okay, and then he closes any remaining distance between them. He wraps his arms around Bucky, nuzzling against his neck like the shape of it was made just for him. Bucky’s hands instinctively move down to hold Gale’s waist, like they belong there. And they both just rest against each other, holding each other up. Putting each other back together, right in the middle of one of US Equestrian’s greatest training barns.

The summer heat is suffocating, and it smells like hay and grain. Gale is sweaty against him. Birds chirp in the overhead rafters. Lucy is stretching her head out as far as she can over her stall door in an attempt to nuzzle at Bucky’s hair, and she knocks his crutches over in the process, momentarily scaring them all. Bucky can hear voices and the clip-clop of hooves as Curt, Benny, and his horse walk back into the barn. But he and Gale stay right where they are, and Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I love you, too,” Gale whispers against Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m still mad at you, just so you know. But I love you so much it hurts.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and buries his nose in Gale’s soft hair. “It doesn’t have to hurt anymore. I’m here. I’m not leaving. I promise.” 

He wants to stand here and hang on tight forever. 

Pour toujours.

And for the first time, he really, fully believes that forever with Gale Cleven is exactly what he wants. Not only that, but it’s something he deserves. It’s something they both deserve. And it’s something that they can have, if they choose.

Paris was only their beginning. This, right here, is the start of their future.

[utilitycaster]

@notstinglesstoo replied to your post “The thing is, and I haven't gotten a chance to...”:

I saw someone not long ago say cr has always felt like a product to them vs D20 feeling organic and I protected my peace but I did want to ask them if they were brain dead

​Oh man I wanted to address this at length because I feel this. My posts have been centered, again, specifically on published journalists picking Daggerheart aprt critically and applauding themselves for doing so despite it being within a couple of hours of its release and therefore any analysis is necessarily going to be based on at best, a skim, when they just as frequently will claim D20 seasons/Kollok are flawless works of genius based on only a partial read, but man D20's got a fandom problem too. (and all of the following comes with the caveat of "I really enjoy D20, and Dropout, and while we're at it WBN and NADDPod which both are half D20 Intrepid Heroes cast, and think Brennan is a particularly brilliant GM, and also it's obvious that the D20 and CR casts are on great terms, and wish the fandom for D20 were more welcoming and enjoyable because I feel it wasn't like this when I first started watching, as a CR fan, in late 2019 and has since curdled into something really weird and bad.")

The first point is the obvious one: technically speaking these are both products. These are performers doing an art form; it is also a portion of how they make their money with which they can buy goods and services. Believing that art is inauthentic when the artist gets paid and acknowledges that is a thing that happens is a fucking libertarian position at best. Like cool, you think only people who are independently wealthy by other means can make art, because it's not real labor, my kid could paint that, etc etc.

The second point is also pretty obvious. I have pushed back pretty hard on the "uwu CR is just watching friends! it's like we're in their living room" mentality among the fandom, which has decreased, thankfully, but like...it did in fact start organically as a private home game, and they decided, when invited, to make it A Show For An Audience. D20 was created on purpose as a show for an audience. This doesn't make it bad or fake - reread the previous paragraph - but in terms of "this is an group of people who really played D&D in this world together even before the cameras were rolling," Critical Role literally is that, and D20 is not.

I think beyond that...my biggest issues with the D20 fandom are first, the level of discourse is abominable. The tag is almost always just shrieking praise and the most surface-level readings possible. I keep bringing up the "Capitalism is the BBEG" mug but it genuinely sums up so much of how I feel; people who want their existing beliefs fed to them as surface-level no-nuance takes. I mean capitalism is fucking terrible but I do not need every work I watch to have a character turn to the camera and say "capitalism is bad" to enjoy myself, and indeed it makes it harder due to the lack of subtlety and grace. For all D20 fans complain about how unhealthily parasocial CR fans can be (and some can be), I find that a lot of the most unhealthily parasocial "how dare they BETRAY my TRUST by having a ship I don't like or not speaking up about every single societal ill" ex-CR fans move over to D20 and then pull the exact same shit; it simply doesn't get called out. Every time D20 fans are like "we don't want to become the CR fandom" it's like "your toxic positivity and unhealthy parasocial behavior exceeds the HEIGHT of what I've seen in CR; the main difference is that CR started in 2015 when D&D was still shaking off the raging bigot dudebros and so in the early days it acquired more of those fans, whereas by the time D20 came around the landscape of who played D&D and watched Actual Play had shifted wildly, and you need to judge September 2018 D20 fans in parallel to September 2018 CR fans, not September 2015 CR fans."

I also feel, and I alluded to this in the post about journalism, and other people have said this better than I have, but the pedestal people have put D20 on does feel like a single...not even misstep, but just, difficult choice that doesn't capitulate to the loudest fans will bring a good chunk of that fandom crashing to the ground. And that includes the journalists. For all the fans of CR can still be obsessed with the cast to an unhealthy degree? The cast and company have put up pretty strong boundaries and have not budged. D20 hasn't, and I think the second they do - and I think it will be for their benefit as a company and a channel - a big chunk of their most vitriolic CR-hating portion of the fandom will viciously turn on them.

[phantomrose96]

hi your short story is giving me absolute brainworms it’s DAMN good. I don’t have anything of real note to add so I’ll just ask: is there anything you really want to say about the story but haven’t yet (like trivia or whatnot)?

(938 Seconds Per Second)

Probably that I'd very nearly abandoned it!

The idea started from an article I was reading about time dilation - the gist of it being "okay but what's to stop you from accelerating infinitely? Up to and past the speed of light?" and the conclusion was kind of "you sort of can... from YOUR frame, from YOUR perception of time, potentially. but from a resting frame, you will appear to only ever approach the speed of light." So even if you could perceive yourself traveling 100 light years in a month... to every resting body, 100 years have passed.

So I was like cool! Fucked up potential! I really liked the concept of "you can notice your mistake after 5 minutes and already be 100 years too late to fix it."

I toyed with a few ideas and ended up gravitating towards "what if one shipmate intentionally leaves another shipmate behind... and by the time this is discovered days later, the left-behind shipmate is long dead." I also settled on "what if your shipmate sucked so bad that he causes you to snap and leave him behind"

So I started writing with that as the core idea. Main character Mendoza has the Worst Coworker in the World Universe, and he snaps and leaves Carson behind on a planet.

...But then I was a little lost. I was struggling with the substance. The "what makes this interesting" and the "what ties this all together." Sure I could just write Carson being an ass for 3,000 words and then... Mendoza leaves him behind the end?

I was even struggling with the first draft because part of me was like "what's even enjoyable about reading about a completely insufferable person...?" Even Mendoza himself is no peach. Maybe the whole concept was just unpalatable. I kinda just... ditched it where it was.

Then I came back to it this weekend and decided to kind of rethink it, fresh. And the absolute biggest difference between the early stumbling draft and what I ended up with was Sampson. He actually solved so much. (He existed in the early draft, but not importantly.) He introduced the character stakes and the tying thread to the story I was missing.

Now it wasn't just Carson annoying Mendoza. Once Sampson's tome enters the story, the stakes change. Mendoza is now in the middle of Carson actively destroying the thing Sampson is even alive for. Mendoza is now in a position of actively needing to make choices--he could intervene and try to save Sampson's tome. He could tattle. He could do anything--but he doesn't. Because "not letting Carson win" is the single most important thing. Mendoza doesn't need to be any kind of hero. He chooses not to be.

And now the reader is captive to this conflict, privy to everything Mendoza knows, and does not act on, as Sampson unravels in the background.

And now we have a thread that leads to Carson and Mendoza ending up on-planet together. Carson isn't out there for shits and giggles, he's out there because the plot point about Sampson's tome led to this. Now Carson knows about the cargo, and now he's offering Mendoza the chance to not just be passive witness, but be accomplice to Sampson's destruction.

And it's enticing. It's unimaginable wealth, and it's getting off the shitty ship, and it's never seeing Carson again. Mendoza has the chance to stick to his every-man-for-himself ideals and go along with Carson. And it's interesting to explore Carson's reasoning for why they deserve this! They're the ones who sacrificed 300 years for this journey! Don't they deserve this over some fucker who wasn't even born when this mission started?

And then it reaches one pivotal moment--Carson's gleeful declaration that Sampson will totally kill himself once he discovers what they've stolen. Because now there are consequences to this action. If Mendoza follows through with this, it's with the knowledge that he's gotten Sampson killed. (And maybe he shouldn't care. Maybe it doesn't matter. As he's asserted this whole time.)

Mendoza doesn't do it. He pulls up the ladder after Carson.

He doesn't let Carson win.

And then the ending... the ending where Sampson very much was witness to Mendoza following Carson out of the ship. If Sampson were every-man-for-himself, he could just comply and tell Major Kensington what he saw. Mendoza knew Carson was outside the ship. Mendoza came back. Carson didn't. The ship took off. Sampson knows this all.

But, Sampson has an idea of what, may, have happened. He knows he accidentally revealed too much to Carson. He knows Carson stole the tome which contains information about the cargo. Sampson, maybe, knows what decision Mendoza made.

So Sampson lies to Kensington. Sampson will swear on his life he never saw Mendoza that evening. No one will ever know.

And just!!! It was delightful to find the piece that ties the WHOLE story through. It's not just "your coworker sucks and you booted him to live out 40 years on a planet for your next 2 weeks". It's character-driven now. It's about choices and consequences and the fucked up implications that the time-dilation travel throws in.

[7nessasaryevils]

Things that made me scream during ep 5 of Wandee Goodday

- Dee can remember every single person's birthday but he hadn't memorized Yak's yet

- Yak pouting when he realized Dee didn't know his birthday

- YAK COUNTING THE FUCKING SECOND OF HOW LONG HE AND DEE HAVE BEEN TOGETHER (read: TOGETHER, not fucking/ FWB)

- that whole fucking interaction with Cher and Yei (yes babes! Complain that you haven't gotten fucked for a while you deserve to be dicked down!)

- Kao being the King he is and offering valuable suggestions for Dee and Yak on how to improve their lives (and sex lives) using his furry accessories ♥️

- Dee offering good fashion advice... sir thank you for your service in getting Yak out of those (delectable) elephant pants - but... Taem is probably better at putting him in clothes that work

- grammammamamamamamana I love her and she is now the communal granmama

- DICK PLUSH TOY (seriously where can I get one??)

- granmama knows

- STEPPING OVER THE LINE!!! THE GASP I GUSPED (also wandee my precious my baby protect your heart please yak is gonna be a little stupid I know it)

- brb screaming crying throwing up because NEITHER of them can sleep without holding each other

- the pouting, cuddling, "need you to recharge me" YORYAK!! GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR PERT ASS YOU DUMB JOCK! This is boyfriend level behaviour!

- Dee's smile as he curls into Yak 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

- the only time I screamed in rage: how dare you ask Dee if Taem would like while you hold motherfucking Wandee in your arm- I'm going to snap a boxer's neck (what did I say about yak doing something stupid?!)

- FUCKING WHEEZING GRANMAMA YOU ABSOLUTE QUEEN

- ... he took Yak to see his parents... I'm fine gwenchana gwenchana

- SJAXHWKZNKSJXNWKSW YORYAK YOU BUFFOON- don't you want to introduce your BOYFRIEND to your parents?! someone hold me back before I smack this idiot

- Cher doing the sneaky sneak and failing 🤣 also Yei not taking Cher with him because he knows his boyfie doesn't like the macho assholes 🥹♥️

- Yak dressing the way Dee told him to... fucking hell

- yak showing up to help his boyfriend thanks I wanna throw up

- Dr. Wandee using his and Yoryak's furry sex personas to help tell children a story was not on my 2024 bingo card 👀

- yak wanting to celebrate with Dee rather than his friends... this idiot

- I CAN EAT YOU WITHOUT WAITING- YORYAK PLEASE

- domestic food fight my beloved (also yak refusing to let Dee do anything cooking wise because he doesn't want to poison Granmama 🤣)

- I do so love an aptly placed song that perfectly explains the conflict of our main characters ♥️♥️

- sir. Yoryak. For someone who claims they like Taem, you sure do lean in to kiss Dee a lot 👀👀👀

- THAT CAPTION... gonna go yeet myself off their building thanks

-... couple toothbrushes... COUPLE TOOTHBRUSHES

- wandeeyoryak vs. Yoryakwandee... help me

This show is everything to me right now and I will hold onto it with my dying breath

[anystalker707]

Anything? Anything.

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x [gender neutral] Reader Words: ~ 1 200 Summary: It was a simple request for Sanji that turned into an absolute teasing mess. Tags: Very boyfriend content / Sanji using lipstick / Lots of affection

A/N: idc if this shit is out of character, im dumb. pls enjoy.

MASTERLIST

Sanji had developed such a devotion for you that it was even weird for the others not to see him simping for every woman that crossed his way, but it was also comforting seeing him receive back all the dedication and love he expressed. Though, it was annoying how he wouldn’t shut up about you sometimes; every single thing managed to remind him of you, and send him into a spiral of chaos. In fights, it would be rather good that someone brought your name up—he would do whatever he could not to leave you alone at the end of the day—, Zoro could already see their enemy dead whenever they happened to mention you.

With all of this taken on account, it was no new Sanji would do absolutely anything for his lover. His boundaries weren’t exactly clear, that way. A lot of conversation was needed to solve this and reassure him that you wouldn’t leave just because he told you that he wasn’t okay with something, and thankfully evolved into the harmony you had today.

Nonetheless, it was still a little difficult to offer new things to Sanji without always knowing clearly if he would accept it because he really wanted it or because he just wanted to make you happy. He could notice something bothered you every single time, on the other hand, of course; Sanji read you like a book. It was the main reason you were sort of avoiding him today—avoiding handling his sad worried face trying to figure out what was wrong with you, even more when it was a stupid situation. Like today.

The idea was very fucking good, though it was maybe just a little awkward, in your mind. You weren’t ready to have your little mental imagines killed down so easily. Why did he have to be so hot, anyways?

Sanji suddenly showed up on the deck, looking around until his eyes softened at your sight, and waltzed over with his hands clasped together. A kiss was pressed to your cheek once he was close enough. “(Y/n), baby, what’s wrong? Are you falling sick? Are you hungry? Do you need a hug? I’ve barely seen the light of my life today!” He took a seat next to you on the stairs.

“Sorry, San!! No, no, there’s nothing wrong at all!” You shook your head frantically, pulling him for a tight hug he immediately melted in—he didn’t deserve to feel bad because of a stupidity of yours, a tempest in a teapot. “I’ve just... been thinking.”

There was a short moment of silence before he sat up properly to look at you, taking both of your hands in his. “About what? Did I do anything to hurt you, mon amour?”

“I— No, of course not, you never did!” You brought your hands up to give his knuckles a little kiss. “Sanji, y’know you can always refuse to do stuff and let me know how you feel about anything, right?” The little pout you received in response had you raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

“Yes, my love!” Sanji squeezed your hands. “I know you’re very understanding of everything! I couldn’t be luckier!” Reacting to his pampering was a rollercoaster—sometimes you’d feel your ego burst, sometimes feel like you didn’t deserve it, but you’d never give it up, no matter what.

Your eyes flickered over his form for a long moment, watching Sanji throw his nose in the air with a grin, an expression that was exchanged for a curious one at how you let go of one of his hands so you could reach into your pocket. “Would you try it on?” In your hand, there was a tube of... of what? Sanji furrowed his eyebrows before he reached for it curiously, uncapping it. Oh. Dark red lipstick—it almost sent his cheeks burning in the same tone. “You can always say no—”

“Of course I would, mon amour! Anything for you!” Sanji had that stupid smile on his face as he put his cig aside and rolled the lipstick until just enough pointed out, and looked at himself through the small mirror on the top of the cap.

Well, shit. Was he just being impulsive or did he really mean it? “Sanji, you don’t need to...” Your words faded at the sight of the blond just putting on the lipstick. He smacked his lips together before turning to you with a smirk. That really was... something. It wasn’t a sight you were used to, of course, so it would take you a while of observing so you could finally decipher whether you liked it or not. “It is... Um, you look...”

Sanji chuckled lowly, letting his strands fall more over his face. “Well, my love, I’m not quite wearing it for the looks, no! It’s for a much more honorable reason!”

“And that would be...?”

His lips met your cheek before you could even finish. He didn’t even stop there, continuing to press kisses to your face until his lips crashed against yours, a desperate kiss that demanded more from you. You could taste the sweet lipstick on the kiss.

“Sanji...” You sat there dumbfounded while he ran the lipstick over his lips again. What the hell was that? Not that it was bad, no—it hard your heart skipping beats and your mind all fuzzy.

Sanji pressed kisses all over your jaw, trailing down to your neck, and even daring to stain the collar of your shirt. “Hm? What, mon chéri? Cat got your tongue?” His lips ticked against your skin, but all you could do in response was to spill out some incoherent words breathlessly, barely able to even hold onto his shoulders for support, looking at the sky, though staring at the nothing. He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes and blinked with an innocent air that would trick anyone who didn’t know him any better, and also those smeared lips—you wouldn’t be surprised if he just straight up killed you at some point. You were just collapsed back, with edges of the higher steps of the stairs digging into you back, and his arms wrapped around your torso, and you didn’t even fucking know when that happened.

A chuckle came from Sanji before he could continue what he was doing, his lips pressing butterfly kisses up and down your neck before they started getting longer, lingering over your skin with sucks and nibbles. It felt as if he couldn’t be close enough to you, as if he’d never get enough of you. His mouth reached a particular spot that compelled your hands to wrap around the fabric of his shirt tightly whilst you fought against the sound that threatened to escape your throat, pressing your eyes shut.

“Where is he...” A voice said, a voice that didn’t belong to you nor to Sanji, but it wouldn’t be a problem, right? They— “What the fuck are you two doing?! Don’t you even have enough decency to get a bedroom?!! You’re even letting the goddamn food burn!!!” Zoro stood there, having you jumping and pulling away from each other the moment he started fucking shouting.

Not like you could get your thoughts straight properly to react in time, hence you sort of sat there, blushing at how you were caught, but also at how you kept replaying the recent events in your mind in an attempt to process everything.

“Mon Dieu, the food!” Sanji gasped, immediately pushing himself up to his feet. “I’m sorry, mon amour! I’ll be back later!”

“Look at your state!” Zoro continued shouting. “What do you think you’re doing to let food burn just because you want some kisses, you ero-cook?!”

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

[izzyshandz]

I swear if i see one more mf say izzy has been 'redeemed' or needed a 'redemption arc' im literally going to scream into my pillow until i lose my voice.

redeem is such a black and white way of looking at his entire character and dismisses everything hes gone through and yall (izzy haters and others) are just so fucking snob nosed and ignorant to sit there and think hes a villain because of how he acted. theyre fucking pirates. theyre not perfect, none of them are. eds a villain, stedes a villain, if youre doing it like that. ed has killed so many people, stede literally left his wife and kids and also had a hand in killing people; it may be easier for them to change because of the perspective the show gives them and they had love but izzy did not. everyone hated him, ed, his own crew, stedes crew.

normalizing peoples reactions to things as something other than villainy and heroism is so god damn important in a show that's trying to accurately involve our perspectives in this day and age. its a tale as old as time, making someone 'completely in the wrong' because their perspective isnt the one you aligned with as much.

like the rest of the crew izzy had his own bad things hes done, he didnt need this 'redemption' everyones blabbering on about. he needed to be fucking heard, to be seen, and acknowledged-- not thrown aside and abandoned because of a whim. you all can ride up blackbeards ass because oh hes so hot, hes so pretty omg wow; but that wont ever change the fact his character is a fucked up person... youre allowed to love him anyways, why not izzy? we didnt see blackbeard before screen but how hes mentioned it shows he was a shit awful person, the only reason no one cares is because on hes fuckin gay for stede or whatever so the main characters get a free ride. ( i agree they all get a free ride, im just tired of this izzy isolation man )

why does he need to be redeemed in your eyes? just because youve seen what hes done? he was literally a product of his environment in season one he was a product of blackbeard's leadership. only with the loyalty and solidarity of the crew did he really begin to find himself, thats fucking hard to do that late in life. instead of calling it some bullshit black and white redemption arc, lets just celebrate izzy being himself and being fucking loved for once in his god damn life.

hes also way more fucking mature and put together than people give him credit for. love you izzy.

edit: thank you all for the reblogs and insights in every single one, i read them i promise i do. im just so mf heartbroken we have to tag things as discourse when its really just about people not being compassionate. (as a couple people have pointed out) i will said id reblog and comment on every single tag but this is my side </3 EVERYONE PLEASE READ THE REBLOGGED TAGS TOO / / theyre so real ! ive also opened up that ask box thingy i havent been on tumblr in yrs and have 0 clue how any of that works if anyone wants my perspective on anything izzy related. *or otherwise ofmd related

[polyamorousmood]

Hello! Im poly but not as much in touch with the community so I thought id ask someone more experienced in a way instead of overthinking for weeks lol hope thats no issue since its not rlly a irl thing

Im making a comedy comic and I want there to be a joke where the main cast travels alot and anytime they say "we'll need help In x location" one of the poly characters keeps on saying "don't worry guys I have a girlfriend in there, she'll help us" and through the comic he has like 20+ girlfriends in all these diffrent locations, while its suppoust to be a lil joke i want to make sure it's not going into harmful territory so I thought id ask someone more in the community since while i am poly i also do recognize that im not above making stupid mistakes like that

Ah the overthinking and comedy are a duo i fear ToT

I personally fucking love that.

I can't promise no one else could conjure something to make it ✨️Problematique✨️ in their head, of course, but I think it's funny and cute for a comedy comic! I'd say go for it! Couple considerations below the cut that come to mind if you're trying to make "good poly rep", but these aren't hard and fast rules

Okay first thing for "good poly rep" is when we see the girlfriends, I'd show them being cutesy together😍!! They should be excited to see each other! Depending on the woman, maybe have pet names, inside jokes, etc. You don't have to belabor the point by stopping the action for eight pages every time we meet a girlfriend. I can think of several pithy ways that work well for a comedy comic (every time we meet a girlfriend, a shot of him exclaiming increasingly bizarre pet names and running into each other's arms, for example).

Secondly. I think it's fine if you leave the bit as it is, but if I were reading as a poly person, I'd be hoping for some other little indication all these girlfriends actually still matter to the character when they dont matter to the plot. Even just another throw away gag. He's going out Christmas shopping and comes home with an actual pack mule full of presents because he has so many partners to buy for (or vice versa, he has dozens of presents under his Christmas tree that are all covered in hearts and signed by different names. Or both). Or something like that. Maybe we see his phone calendar and it just COVERED in "phone call with Emily" "video chat Monique." He ends upbin the hospital and there's a line out the door for his visitors. Whatever. Even if it was a single-frame thing, I'd LOSE MY MIND. Totally optional, but it's something I would squee about 😁

Basically, it boils down to, make all these girlfriends... girlfriends. Otherwise it feels not super distinct from womanizing.

Hope that helps!! Good luck!! I'd LOVE to see this comic, please shoot me a link!

[breezybeej]

The Verity by Colleen Hoover Post

I want to put some of my highlights and notes here so I can reference them without needing the images on my phone. Warning: this book sucks and you will see some really stupid and weird shit in here.

This is the description of blood splashing on Lowen (the main character) after she witnessed a man get run over. I've seen some car accidents. I don't think it's very common at all for someone's head to pop like a water balloon in these circumstances.

What is cryptic here? He (Jeremy, the romance option) has seen worse than a man getting run over. I think it's pretty straight forward, babe.

This is from Verity (jeremy's wife, a comatose woman). Most of her stuff should be taken with a grain of salt for plot reasons but some of these are so ridiculous on their face that you can't really save them

Unlikely.

Licking someone's thumb like a postage stamp is just so FUCKing SExy

I cared, I heard, and I minded. Please don't talk about getting fingered at steak 'n shake

Meeting Jeremy makes you want to jump off a cliff????? Well, to be fair, me too, girl

Why is this how you describe it, Lowen. You are reading her autobiography but you are thinking about her underwear.

Okay, I love this one because there's a lot happening. 1. He walks backwards A LOT in the first half of this book and I don't know why. 2. He was on his way to the kitchen to heat up leftovers but they were already done when they arrived? 3. He pulls out a plate of pizza. So in one very short paragraph we have pizza said three times. I think this book wasn't carefully edited.

So what does that mean. If someone has a plate of peas and they do this, I imagine them poking and prodding and scooping but pizza? Is he like... picking it up and putting it down? Sliding it around the plate?

It's just SO weird to go with your wife to her first pregnancy appointment for the baby you squirted into her, isn't it.

So this is again Verity writing from opposite land but like. They very much do have sex constantly so does she feel this way or not.

This one really bugs me just because she flubbed the parallel structure on "with a broken wrist" and "covered in blood" like the reason we have mechanics for parallel structure is that the sentences feel clunky without it.

I lost count, I didn't highlight every one, but I think this is in the book at least 10 times. Colleen does NOT trust you to remember this.

Lowen, why is this a dammit. Why is that messed up. What.

Just like Layla in the other book, Layla, Lowen is a girl who knows how to eat and she's quirky for eating tacos

So why didn't she just list the vegetables. It would be faster. "He grabbed cilantro and onions." or "He grabbed onions and peppers." Like... Colleen, you live in texas and you write about tacos in your books more than once.

People hate me for suggesting Lowen is bi but..... i mean.... she was diggin through Verity's drawers too, you remember.

Why did anyone let her say epic burn in a book. Why does she use epic again moments later.

Ope, I got this one though.

Thankfully Verity has two breasts.

That's how I felt reading this book. You DO get a feeling that Colleen partially wrote this to call out her haters.

Don't say that

Here's another line that gets repeated like 6 times. I don't even know why. It doesn't play into the plot or the themes really.

God isn't that insane. Who does that. Also this is Verity Opposite land so... does she wear lingerie often?

Babe. What.

Someone pointed out that license picture are usually the worst pictures of you possible. That makes this so much funnier imo

When you say "He groans" as a single clause, it makes it sound like he's disappointed. "Ugh, babe you forgot your bra AGAIN?"

[thefloatingstone]

Not to be like "haha I'm better than you guys!!!" or elitist or anything because that very sincerely is NOT the point of this post.... but I never really understood people extremely love for Harry Potter.

I read them as they were coming out. Most of the time they came out soon enough that I was the same age as Harry. I liked them. They were cool. Goblet of Fire was my favourite and I was always happy to see what story the next book would bring but that's all it was. Interest to see the next story whenever it came out. Like a sitcom you enjoy but you didn't set your tv to record for you in case you missed it.

And then the word "Chosen one" was uttered and, just like that, I fucking lost all interest. Honestly there was "Chosen one" talk in the 4th book and already I was like

Honestly I think I liked Goblet of Fire the most because there was no friggen Quidditch. And there was less focus on the SCHOOL part of Harry Potter and more this weird Video game Quest setup which just appealed to me more.

In retrospect, I think that might be a big part of why I enjoyed it but never LOVED it like other people.

Like

"Oh boy my absolute biggest most favourite fantasy! THE BRITISH EDUCATION SYSTEM!!!!"

The fact that the books take place in a school seemed like a default to me because, well, most teenage focused cartoons and shows I watched had the main characters at school. Because they're teenagers. But the school wasn't why I enjoyed the books. The school was just a location. No I didn't want to go to Hogwarts. No I didn't want to get attached to a specific school house (although I feel it worth mentioning that when I was 13 I did the online house quiz thing on the official site and it said I was Hufflepuff so make of that what you will).

I really disliked whatever the one was that came after Goblet of Fire. So much so that it completely killed any and all enjoyment I had in the series. Which, considering I was only mildly entertained by them wasn't a massive loss or anything.

I know I read whichever book it was where Dumbledore died but I very genuinely cannot remember one single thing that happens in that book whatsoever. I read half of the Deathly Hallows after coming back from College and gave up because I wasn't enjoying any of it and I never picked the book up again.

I saw the first movie in theaters when I was 13 and I did not like it. It was visually very very dark and gloomy and just... extremely uninteresting to me. Idk how to explain it. The first book just felt so much more vibrant than what I was watching on screen.

I know I saw the 2nd movie although I have no memory of where or why. And I... THINK I saw the third one??? I think??? I'm actually not sure. But that's about where I just stopped and completely lost interest.

Because it wasn't very good.

They just weren't very good books.

They weren't TERRIBLE or anything like that but they were just so.... blah. The earlier ones 13 year old me enjoyed the one time I read each of them but I don't think 13 year old me had the best taste considering I also disliked the Princess Bride at this age.

But I was reading other books because I was a kid with ADHD in high school who desperately needed something stimulating to stop myself from going insane. And frankly, there were just far better books out there. Books I actually re-read. Books I borrowed from friends which ere just... so much better and more interesting.

So I just don't understand this insane appeal so many people have for it, even if they have severed that connection due to Jowling Kowling Rowling's bufoonery and showing herself to be a withered old crone with a shrivled heart and mind every time she opens her mouth.

I grew up with these books the same way as a lot of people. I was the exact age to go through the series' highest popularity and I just did not click with them despite reading them.

So seeing so many people my age or a little younger try and do their best to re-analyse and de-tangle what the books actually are and that... maybe.... just maybe.... they might not have been very good?? Maybe?? is very weird to me because I'm just like.

"Yeah they're overrated as hell and not that interesting."

It's a very weird thing to live through because it's like looking into a bizarro version of the world you remember living through... but not like THAT. I remember the Pokemon craze and yes, it was like that. I remember when anime started to become big and yes, it was like that. I remember DBZ airing and yes, it was like that.

But this insanity around Harry Potter while it was releasing?

Yeah I don't remember it being like that at all.

They were just mediocre books I read because I needed something to occupy my attention and eventually they got worse and worse and I just stopped reading them. That's all.