#fic trade!

[tearystarz]

Drew lil scene from @missylink 's dbh fanfic she's currently writing >:3 will link when published!!🫶

[thefreakandthehair]

grow where you're planted

written for ‘stuff’ | wc: 483 | rated: teen & up | tags: modern AU, no upside down, landscaper steve harrington, homeowner eddie munson, eddie munson & gareth friendship, confident!steve harrington, flirting, different first meeting @steddiemicrofic

“What is all that stuff?” Eddie mutters under his breath.

He’s alone in his shiny new shotgun house with no one around to hear his question but he asks it anyway because seriously— what is all that stuff? How much mulch does one Indianapolis front yard need?

A lot, apparently.

He keeps watching through the glass window in the front door as they slice open bags and pull plants gently from their pots. One of the landscapers, a lean guy who’s worked up a sweat with toned shoulders and moles that cascade from the side of his neck, runs his fingers through his hair. Dirt sticks to his temple as he bends down to plant something with yellow flowers beside the mailbox and Eddie wants to lick him clean.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers to himself, yanking his phone from his back pocket.

Eddie: landscaper is too hot help Gareth: you brought this on yourself Eddie: there’s a guy in the shortest basketball shorts i’ve ever seen. like, 80s pin-up short. i’m in over my head Gareth: then go talk to him? Eddie: good idea, lets get all the bad ideas out now Gareth: i’m serious! Eddie: i pre-paid online for a reason, i can’t even look him in the fucking eye

Eddie looks up from his phone, intent to watch Shorts Guy from a distance only to find himself face to face with Shorts Guy through the offending glass window.

“Fuck!” He blurts, dropping his phone in the process. Please don’t be broken, he thinks as he tries to discreetly slide it aside with his foot and opens the door.

“Hey! Sorry to scare you. We’re all set,” Shorts Guy says with a smirk as he glances up and down from Eddie’s phone to his warm, flushed cheeks.

“Cool! Awesome!” His voice is about an octave too high– he clears his throat. “Looks great!”

“Thanks! If you’re satisfied with the work, leave us a good review. Goes a long way. And uh…” Shorts Guy does that thing with his hair again and Eddie might actually be sweating more than him now. “Maybe you can give me a call if you’re extra satisfied? And if your phone’s not broken.”

Shorts Guy nods to Eddie's discarded phone and what the fuck is happening right now? Eddie blinks and then shakes his head, grabbing his phone to find it blissfully still intact.

“All in one piece,” he says, turning the phone around toward Shorts Guy as if he needed to prove it. “I’d– yeah! Totally. I’d love to. Y’know, since it’s not broken and all that.”

Shorts Guy takes Eddie’s phone from his outstretched hand and saves his number as Steve. He texts Steve immediately, exchanging numbers and names before Steve’s even left the driveway.

Eddie: hey, it’s Eddie. extra satisfied. free this Saturday?

Gareth is never going to let him hear the end of this.

doubling up with a microfic and a gift for @starrystevie! happy birthday, bee!! here's some confident, sweaty landscaper!steve harrington for you! <3 I've been thinking about it for days and couldn't stop myself. love you!! have the best day!!

[salemoleander]

In another dream, they ended the game together. The blood-crowned king lowered his head, and offered his Hand anything he could wish for.

Cautiously, the knight of Dogwarts said, "I wish for a kingdom," and the king smiled.

"You already have this one."

Bolder now, the shield of Dogwarts said, "I wish for your heart," and the king laughed.

"You already have it."

Quietly, so very quietly, the hound of Dogwarts said, "I wish we could both win," and the king died.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddie-week.

Seen Nothing, Heard Nothing

Day #4 - Prompt: Trade | Word Count: 833 | Rating: T | CW: Steve's S3 Injuries, Spooky Vibes, Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Canon Divergent S3, What If Eddie Crossed Paths With Steve and The Upside Down Sooner?, What If Steve and Robin's Run-In With The Russians Happened Just Bit Differently?

"Hello?"

Eddie freezes. Utterly fucking freezes. The stilted male voice that has come from somewhere around him sounds ethereal, floating. Like it's an echo. Bouncing through the trees. Like it might be right next to him, but also far, far away.

Ignore it. 

That's what his grandma always taught him. You've seen nothing, you've heard nothing. 

Mind your own business.

"Hello? Is somebody there?"

The voice is familiar, less creepy this time, but he can't place it. The familiarity doesn't mean safety, though. Mimicking known voices isn't at all unusual in the realm of weird, and it's best to not engage. Rule one: Do not invite anything of that world into your own world.

So, Eddie ignores it and keeps gathering up his stuff, acting like he's not in a hurry, even if his heart is hammering behind his ribs.

"I need some help."

Then he hears the rustling through the trees along the well-worn path, and his heart drops. It sounds like something is tromping towards him, getting loud and louder with every step. 

He slings his backpack over his shoulder, and takes three big steps away from the picnic table, away from whatever that thing is, without running. Not that he has anywhere to go. Not really.

That's the way out, and unless he wants to just stumble through the thick woods, getting lost, he's kind of trapped.

He's never felt scared here before, and he hates it.

So, he decides he'll just forge past whatever it is. Without acting like he's heard a damn thing.

He really hopes it's invisible. He can ignore noises, voices. But if he has to see something? He's gonna freak the fuck out and get himself disemboweled, for sure. He'll scream like a little bitch and freeze.

Then he'll run.

He just knows that about himself.

You've seen nothing, you've heard nothing. 

You've seen nothing, you've heard nothing. 

You've seen nothing, you've heard nothing. 

He keeps telling himself that as he walks up the path, trying desperately not to run. Hawkins is weird, but it's never been this kind of weird, as far as he's seen.

But this has scared the shit out of him.

"Eddie? Eddie Munson?" 

Eddie stills. That voice is closer, and crystal clear.

And definitely Steve Harrington. 

"Thank god. Dude, are you deaf, or what? I've been asking for your help for ten minutes. Goddamn."

Okay, not a monster.

Just a dumb jock.

Eddie wheels around, snarking, "What's the matter, Harrington. The big bad wolf take a bite out of ya?"

And the next words, the next bit of sarcasm, dies in his throat. 

Steve's face is wrecked. His body, too, Eddie suspects by the way he's limping along. Eye nearly swollen shut, covered in a dark purple bruise. He's missing a shoe.

And he's in a sailor suit. Like the ones from the ice cream shop in the mall. Does Harrington work there? Surely not.

Eddie drops his bag, and bounds towards him, "What happened to you? Who did this? Or what?"

Steve looks at him from his one good eye, and sways. 

"Robbin'," Steve says, and Eddie grips his shoulders, forcing him to back up until he can sit down on the bench of the old picnic table.

"Robbing? You were robbed?" Eddie asks, and Steve's mouth is swollen, too. Blood staining his front teeth, dried on his face where it came from his broken nose.

"No. Robin," Steve repeats.

"Who's Robin?" Eddie questions.

"Robin. Buckley."

"From band? Robin Buckley from band did this to you?"

Steve looks exasperated, and like he wants to cry at the same time.

"No. No. The Russians. She made a trade. I said no, I did, but she was scared, and I was…this," Steve says. "We have to go back. I just need help. They drugged me."

"The Russians?" Eddie asks, his eyebrows shooting up. 

Steve nods, "Under the mall."

"How'd you end up out here in the woods?" Eddie asks. Because he's a long way from the mall, even if what he's saying is true. That's on the other side of town.

"They dumped me," Steve says. "I think they thought I was dead."

"Well, you look it," Eddie says, and then regrets it. 

"We need to find Nancy Wheeler. She'll know what to do."

"Steve, are you sure this is really something that happened? And not just in your head after whatever accident you've clearly had?"

Steve sighs and holds his head in his hands. He's missing a fingernail, like it had been plucked right off. Like he was tortured.

Shit. Okay.

"Okay, okay. We'll go back. We'll find Robin."

Eddie isn't at all sure what he's agreeing to, but Steve can't do anything by himself. Not in this condition. They'll find Nancy Wheeler, and Eddie isn't sure what a little priss like her is gonna do, but whatever Steve wants, they'll try.

"Thank you," Steve breathes, and as sure as Eddie is that he'll regret this, he's in it now.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddie-week and follow along with the fun!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

im a Bit late to the "kill this guy meme w/ your comfort characters" but in my defense:

:]c

[tillytilli]

art trade with @pajulammas of his au Chivalrous Devotion!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! old man yaoi

[trek-tracks]

We found Spock in a Spockless place

[scarredlove]

Just a sleepy lil cuddle among the stars~

A trade with @justfangirlstuffs, with @venomous-qwille's pretty boy Misuta <3

[kucho04]

Art trade! It has two artworks. I will post one today.

[buckevantommy]

just woke up from a dream where buck was at the end of a grimey fire shift still sweaty in his uniform and Tommy shows up at the firehouse to pick him up for their date - which was supposed to be hours ago but buck's last call ran long so he just assumed their plans were off and he's dejected af about it bc he was really looking forward to seeing tommy.

buck is coming down the stairs and tommy appears out of the shadows looking like a wet dream wearing a smile and a white singlet low enough to show some chest hair and their first date shirt unbuttoned over top with sleeves rolled up and jeans and curls and-- buck double-takes bc for a second he thinks tommy is a hallucination--

tommy says hey and it's the sweetest sound and then buck is wrapping his arms around tommy's shoulders and burying his face in his neck and tommy chuckles and holds him firm and secure taking buck's weight easily.

buck pulls back and says with confusion, "i thought you had a shift?" bc their date was planned in their very little crossover time, nothing special just time spent together that was more than sleeping.

and tommy says that he traded shifts with a coworker bc he missed buck. and buck. buck half expected tommy to say he did it bc ge knew buck missed him, but there's something so good to hear that tommy is in the same boat, that he wanted to see buck just as bad as buck wanted to see him. buck smiles and kisses him.

and now they get to spend the whole night and next day together, where tommy floats the offer of evan moving in with him - which buck is so on board with he happy tackles tommy back into the mattress capturing his laugh in another kiss.

send post.

[essektheylyss]

Okay, I'm looking at rarepairs for the fic exchange nominations, and I need y'all to level with me: why does no one write Fjord & Essek (platonically! not even romantically!) when, despite their canon conversation being minimal, every SINGLE instance of it is iconic. They do admittedly exchange very few words, but that's because they do not need any further conversation to absolutely carry a scene.

Have we forgotten the Dungeon of Penance con? "So are you saying you want to date Fjord?" Fjord egging him further into a panic attack in the middle of the arctic? THE RANGER MOMENT? THEIR EXCHANGE AT THE END OF 140???

Fjord and Essek are an absolutely buckwild duo who should absolutely not have the bizarre chemistry that they do and are complete opposites on a lot of surface levels, except for the fact that they are both the type of person (pointedly restrained, skillfully manipulative, ruthlessness simmering under the mask) who Caleb is immediately inclined to distrust but also, unfortunately for him, so incredibly attracted to.

[liketheletter-l]

GUYS GUYS GUYS. ART TRADE WITH @bluesgras THEY DREW MY BOY!! LEO FROM MY FIC COULDN’T KEEP ANYONE FROM HARM (in which leo keeps logs in the prison dimension)

WAS SUCH A TREAT TO COLOR THEIR LINEART I LOVE DOING ART TRADES :DDD

Go check out blue’s page for the other half where i drew/they colored the incomparable lovely snapdragon leo!!!! WOOOOO

[fanaticsnail]

You are more important

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 2,500+

Synopsis: Myers Blythe is on her way to the graduation ceremony to receive her new commissioning as a lieutenant. Unfortunately, a small collision with a higher up halts her fussing over her uniform. Glancing up, she has no choice but to watch her superior officer take a tumble down a flight of stairs: the superior officer she had fallen in love with, Donquixote Rosinante. 

Themes: Donquixote Rosinante x Myers Blythe, canon x oc, set in the past, Rosinante is a marine, Blythe is a marine, fluff, silliness, almost confessions, almost kisses, fantasizing, angst.

Notes: This is my half of a trade for @queenmimi2817 who drew me my OC in the OC Discord Chat. I love Blythe, and I love Ultear, and I love Canidae. I hope you enjoy this little one! Divider by @/firefly-graphics

Smoothing down her uniformed dress-jacket with one of her gloved hands, and reaching the other to realign one of her golden brass buttons, Myers Blythe readied herself for another meeting with a few more of the favored marines for presentation of a higher rank. She was an easy pick: her upbeat and pleasant attitude paired with a logia devil-fruit ability was a deadly combination for someone to lead others. Each step she took towards the pale, marble steps of the Marine Headquarters, she fixed another aspect of her persons that she deemed out of place. 

While fussing about her uniform and fixing her gold, fluffy hair, she was wholeheartedly unfocussed on the approach of another who seemed to be doing the same. Of similar heights, ages, and lanky stature: another body nervously puffed at his cigarette while muttering incomprehensible gibberish. Whatever it was he was speaking halted the minute he sensed another person within his vicinity. Although he was aware of an approach, he had little to no reaction time to catch himself, far too focused on ensuring he was presentable for the selection ceremony.

Without much further warning, a collision between a bundle of lanky limbs and flailing hands made contact in a firm ‘whack.’ Blythe moved backwards, steadying herself on her boot heels and bracing her body by bending at the knees and squaring her arms. The other body was not nearly as fortunate. Everything happened in a slowed pace, first: recognition, second: reaching out, third: having no choice but to stand back and watch as those two aspects made no difference to the outcome of the clash. 

Donquixote Rosinante reached out to collect one of Blythe’s braced arms, his hands slipping twice as his eyes grew wide and panicked. Falling back onto his ankle appeared to do no good, as the ground grew unstable due to the large, marbled staircase. Swiping at air, Rosinante tumbled and fell down an entire flight of stairs with his cigarette flicking sparks of flint onto his dress-uniform jacket. Igniting the material in a light blaze, Rosinante focused on the fire as opposed to cushioning his rough landing.

Blythe stood for a few moments, eyes wide with shock as she gasped at the unfortunate sight unfolding before her eyes. After taking a moment to adjust to the scene, she shook it off and sprung into action: chasing after him as he continued to roll down the stairs. 

Landing on his back with a heavy thump, the wind was taken from his lungs upon impact. Winded and embarrassed, Rosinante’s hazel eyes sought out Blythe’s pale blue orbs as she approached him. While his body recovered slowly, he almost begged to the gods for some semblance of leniency. It was one thing to bump into something: Rosinante was a practiced clutz, and it was almost expected at this stage. It was another thing entirely for his dress uniform to catch on fire and trip down several flights of stairs, land, ass up with his legs over his head, in front of an underling. 

It was a worse thing that, that particular underling, was Myers Blythe. The person who he had become infatuated with the longer they spent training together. 

Friendships had been far thrown from Rosinante’s mind as a cadet: further still when he revealed to a few of his origins as a celestial dragon. None had managed to form meaningful friendships with the tall, lanky man, until another of similar happenstances joined the ranks as a recruit. And Blythe was spectacular. Rosinante fell first, and he fell hard. He attempted to hold his emotions at bay, thrusting them down in his chest to withhold them until he was done with his upcoming mission.

What he needed to do was easy, he had a plan. Accept a promotion as commander, slip quietly from the Marine headquarters, infiltrate the Donquixote Pirates, take down his older brother and his unhinged empire, return to the marines, pray to the gods that Blythe was still available, pray harder that she felt the same way for him, begin a short courtship, settle down with her as two marines and lovers, adopt a gaggle of children, and live off grid after retiring from their commands. It was simple, in his eyes. Foolproof. Even for a fool such as Rosinante. 

But when he looked up in those beautiful, blue, crystalline orbs, he was lost to them. 

“Are you alright, sir?” Blythe gasped, her voice and face knitting with concern. She stooped down beside him, dropping then to her knees and palming the cinders on his arm. The pale material darkened with the tint of ash, her face contorting with a soft sigh while she swipes at the cotton pattern. 

Rosinante’s eyes never left hers, his stupor silencing him without utilizing his devil fruit ability. Each motion of her hands meeting his jacket had him swooning. His heart rammed in his chest and breath caught in his lungs the more she lingered in attempting to pry the marks from his jacket. Her lips were moving, pouring strings of apologies through her lips and blaming herself for his tumble. 

He could barely feel the bruising, the scorches, or the grazes his skin picked up on his quick drop down the stairs. All he could feel was her, and he was hopelessly in love. While she fussed over his coat, all he wanted to do was reach up, hook his arm behind her neck, pull her against him, and show her how much he loved her with a long and time-stopping kiss. He yearned to press his lips to hers, tug her clumsily into his lap, and hold her securely against him. 

“-Sir?” 

Hearing his title drew him out of his fantasy, looking between her eyes and down to her lips as he attempted to process her question. 

“Sorry, officer, I was miles away,” he managed to recover himself, giving her a broad smile and beaming his hazel eyes up at her, “Would you mind repeating your question?” 

“Lieutenant Donquixote, sir,” she again repeated, reaching up and unbuttoning her jacket and hastily peeling it from her shoulders, “Just take it. I know this lineup is for choosing the next stations in upscaling ranks. You are a lieutenant, I am an officer. Just-,” Blythe hastily places her jacket on her knees, reaching up and beginning to unfasten Rosinante’s hastily, “-Just take mine, sir. Your promotion is of far greater importance than mine.” 

Rosinate’s startle was written on his widened eyes, which softened the longer the chipper woman spoke with him. He was too distracted by the way her hands moved over his broad chest, hastily ridding him of his marred uniform jacket with care for his skin. Rolling over his forearm in her gloved hands, she searched for any damage to his skin from the fire. Her hands lingering on his skin had Rosinante internally cooing and preening up at her, thoroughly enjoying each moment she gave him her undivided attention.

Until he realized what she was doing. 

“Officer! Officer Myers, stop,” he stumbled over his words, drawing up his hands and collecting her wrists within his grip. His face was serious, stern, and without compromise. Looking to his bare shoulders and to hers, he shook his head and attempted to stop her from giving him the shirt off her back. 

“Sir,” she uttered firmly, breaking away her hands from his and placing them over her kneeling lap, “You need to be presentable for the ceremony. I can skip this one. I can hide in the back and stand proud, supporting you while you’re promoted-.”

“-Blythe.” 

Hearing her name caused her to hastily suck a breath through her teeth. Gazing down at the man who held her heart, she blinked rapidly to recover from her frozen stature. Rosinante was everything to her: not just her superior. He was so similar in their shared history as severed links to the celestial dragons, defecting to serve as a marine to suit a higher purpose. While she would never admit her heritage to him, or anyone, just her knowing how alike her and Rosinante were was enough to give her the energy she needed to rise up through the ranks. 

Rosinante was important to her. She wanted him to succeed. He was her friend first, her respect for him only multiplying as he continued to showcase his abilities and prowess through basic training and afterhours treats. Blythe was not a drinker, and Rosinante respected that choice by joining her for sweets rather than alcohol. Sampling baked goods together, paying the patrons their respect alongside their berry: few shopkeepers assumed they were dating due to the sheer number of times they had been seen together. 

“Rosinante,” she spoke firmly, returning to her former display of fussing over him. Drawing up her jacket onto his shoulders, she dragged him by the collar to a sitting position. Making quick work with every button, she thumbed over the blunt surfaces to ensure they shone brightly, all while chastising him. 

“You are more important, sir,” she gulped back her sentiment, hardening her resolve, and dressing him firmly. “You are important to me. I want to see you succeed,” she tugged down the dress jacket, using her hands to smooth over his stomach of creases, “I want to be in the grandstand, cheering you on as a freshly decorated commander. I want to be there to support you, and if that means giving you my dress jacket right now, so be it. So just sit there, look pretty, and take it, you hear?” 

With a curt nod down at his jacket, she returned her blue eyes up to meet his below her. Rosinante’s cheeks were tinted with the softest shade of pink. His widened, brown eyes peered up through his lengthy, blonde eyelashes, as he nodded in silent, hypnotized, agreement. 

“Good,” Blythe nodded with a grin, rocking back on her knees before standing up on her feet. Extending her gloved hand out to him, she nodded for him to take it. Reaching up, he clasped his grip around her wrist, her automatically doing the same to his, and walking backwards to aid him to his feet. As he rose to stand, he towered over her frame by a measly four inches. 

Taking a moment in the silence, Rosinante looked down at Blythe and offered her a rare, soft smile. Releasing her wrist from his grip, he slid his digits down and gently caressed her gloved hands with a soft and delicate touch. 

“So,” Rosinante straightened his black and retracted his hand completely, “How do I look?” Gesturing down to his body, a few tufts of his soft, blonde hair fluffed up into coiled curls off to the side. Blythe hums, taking him in before stepping closer and smoothing down the unruly mops that hastily flopped back into place beneath her ministrations. 

“You look,” she desperately wanted to finish her sentence with, ‘like the man I fell in love with’, but she instead chose, “Ready to become a brilliant commander, sir. I will follow your orders, and look forward to them thoroughly.”

Rosinante chuckled at her, shaking his head and placing his hands on her bare shoulders. Gently reaching up, he dipped his index finger beneath her chin and held her gaze beneath his. In lieu of finally saying those three words that were made to be spoken, that simple confession of ‘I love you’ on the tip of his tongue, Rosinante expressed them with his eyes while he uttered a completely new set of three words instead. 

“Thank you, Blythe.” 

“You’re welcome, Rosinante.”

Thumbing over the singed uniform arm in her wardrobe, Commodore Myers Blythe hummed thoughtfully at the memory of the man she adored in her youth. She never received that promotion all those years ago, but she did as she suggested she would do: stood in the stadium and cheered Rosinante on when he was christened beneath the fresh title of Commander. 

Removing the material from the coat hanger, Blythe placed it over her shoulders as she hunched over her writing desk. The scent of stale smoke still lingered with Rosinante's cologne in the collar, a fragrance that seemed to last on the jacket no matter how long she kept it with her. Opening her specialist stationary, she unfolded a blank page and began to articulate all of the thoughts she so desperately wanted to share with the man who still ruled her heart even in his death. Her corazon. 

“Thought of you today,” she began, smiling down at the page and neatly curling her lettering in a way she knew he would like, “Saw the boy and let him off the hook. Even supplied him with some rations when I caught his bow-wearing underling attempting to steal some from my ship.” Blythe continued, her lettering becoming more stretched and more firmly pressed against the page. 

“He’s grown into a man you would’ve been proud of, Rosinante,” Blythe spoke aloud alongside articulating her calligraphy. “A pirate, but his heart is as large as yours was. He honors your memory, and I have been proud to call him an acquaintance through all these years.” Lifting her pen, she noticed a few drops of water appearing to leak onto the page. 

Blythe cocks her head hastily to the side, assuming she'd accidentally activated her mizu-mizu no mi fruit and blotched the page with her ability. Placing down her ink-pen, she rose from her desk and briskly walked over to her bathroom to peer into the mirror. 

Expecting to see her hair or ears dripping again, she was stunned to find her eyes leaking with heavy tears. Standing in silence, Commodore Blythe hardened her expression and gazed darkly at her reflection. Blue eyes now swollen with a puffy, red waterline, she took a long, shaky breath in and rose her wrist up to rid the drops from her cheeks. 

“I should’ve told you then,” she shook her head as she scolded herself, “I should’ve held you longer, gone with you - hells, I should’ve kissed you.” She chuckled without humor, tucking the jacket firmly around her shoulders and engulfing her body beneath its hefty shroud. 

In another life, a better life, a life where Donquixote Rosinante was successful in his mission, he would’ve returned to her. He would've asked her to be his, bending the knee and asking for her hand. They would have settled down in an island and make it their home, supporting the young Trafalgar Law to follow in their footsteps as a marine, likely. More likely, the young boy would be a pirate in any life, and they would have no choice but to hide him from the law as high ranking marines while laughing about it.

But in this life, she is Commodore Myers Blythe: a logia fruit user, who locks her heart away in letters to her departed love who was never hers. Her heart would only ever be his, and she was happy to live with that. She would write to him, love him eternally, and continue to make his memory proud.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - Village Shenanigans Collection

Masterpost

Author's Note: Don't worry, I'm working on Event Finals Part 2 and plan to have it out early next week at the latest. But in the process of taking drabble requests, I accidentally combined them all into this little series of drabbles about the boys doing random shit around the Village and Bucky recording it all for TikTok (cause of course he does). I watched a lot of Athlete Village tiktoks for the sole purpose of writing this.

This all takes place before Bucky's event finals.

---

Gale Cleven doesn’t do social media. Not by choice, at least.

He posts on instagram semi-regularly because US Equestrian begs him to and Benny and Marge force him to. Even then, mostly it’s pictures of Whiskey. Many of them include him riding her, decked out in tack and clothing from some sponsor or another. Very very few posts exist, though, of just Gale. It’s not often that people get to see what he looks like or who he is outside of horseback riding.

Tiktok is a whole other beast that he refuses to approach. He has an account, sure. But there’s only a handful of videos on it, almost all of them from at least two years ago, and most of them posted at Marge’s prodding.

This is a problem for the newfound Gale Cleven – ahem, equestrian – fans of the world. After opening ceremonies, seeing Gale in all his beautiful, adorable, humble glory alongside America’s gymnastics darling, John Egan, people wanted to know who this man was. They flocked to his social media accounts, sharing what little they could across platforms and obsessing over every detail. Every hint of his lovely personality and every glimpse of his perfect body. But there’s just not enough Gale Cleven content out there. 

John has made it his personal mission to give that to the world.

For all that Gale doesn’t care for posting about his life on social media, Bucky documents his own Olympic experience like a second job. Everywhere he goes around the Olympic Village, he’s posting to his story or recording a short video, showing them his life as an Olympic athlete or giving tours of the amenities. “It’s my duty, as an athlete,” he tries to explain to Gale.

“To show them everything?” Gale asks skeptically, when he catches Bucky making a video of the food in the dining hall.

“Yes,” Bucky says.

All the gymnasts, really, are like that. Marge and Benny, too. And they’ve ganged up on Gale to the point that he has a social media presence even when he barely posts a thing.

—

One of the things Gale does bother to post on Instagram is the pictures they all take together in front of the giant Olympic rings. There’s a nice shot of Gale alone, looking like a goddamn model with his hair styled all messy, one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing absently at his chin as he poses in black jeans and a thin, navy blue USA sweatshirt. “When did the equestrians get so hot?” people will comment.

Adding fuel to the fire, there’s a sweet one of Gale, Benny, and Marge standing with their arms over each others’ shoulders in front of the rings. They all smile brightly at the camera, three young, attractive equestrians that America is falling in love with.

There’s several of Gale and Bucky together that find their way to the internet via one equestrian or gymnast or another. One of them standing side by side, Bucky’s arm around Gale’s shoulders like they’re just good bros. Then there’s the ones that aren’t very bro-like at all. Like the one where Bucky is kissing Gale on the cheek; the one where Gale is hiding his laughter by burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck; and the one where Bucky is holding Gale by the waist and they’re looking dreamily into each other’s eyes because they forgot there was a camera. 

Finally, there’s one of all of them together – three equestrians and all five male gymnasts. The cross-over that America never knew they needed but now can’t get enough of.

Gale simply posts the photos with a vague caption about making friends at the Games. Bucky, on the other hand, posts a whole tiktok documenting the series of events that transpired for each photo.  There’s a clip of Marge directing Gale, once again, like a model, having him put his hands in and out of his pockets, turn this way and that, run a hand through his hair. Gale pouts and tells Marge that this is ridiculous. Marge tells him that people will love it (she’s right). 

Bucky can be heard calling out to him from off screen. “Lookin’ good, Buck!” 

Cue the fangirls freaking out about Bucky calling Gale ‘Buck.’

There’s a clip of Bucky turning to Gale after their little photo session and kissing him right on the mouth, making Gale blush. 

Then there’s several clips of the gymnasts climbing all over the rings in every way possible, standing on them, hanging from them, trying to do different gymnastics holds on them. In one iconic photo that will be shown during their Today Show interviews and circulated across various Team USA accounts, Bucky manages a near perfect Maltese inside the green ring on the right while Curt holds himself up in a straddle on top of the black one in the middle. Croz and Alex hang from the red and blue ones on the ends while Brady does an awkward L sit, having to duck his head, inside the yellow one on the left. In the background of the video, Gale can be heard saying “Please don’t fall!” And Bucky, still in a maltese, yells back, “It’s fine, doll.”

Cue the fangirls freaking out about Bucky calling Gale ‘doll.’

—

Gale watches Bucky with an eyebrow raised as he pans the camera over to him. They’re sitting at one of the tables in the Village dining hall, and Bucky has recorded most of their experience here this morning.

“You got a muffin, Buck?” he exclaims. For a second he’s so excited about it that the camera tilts and Gale goes half out of frame. 

“I did,” Gale says slowly. Bucky pouts behind the camera and Gale stifles a laugh. “I can get you one if you want?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m tryin’ to be good.” 

“Have you had one yet?”

“No,” Bucky whines. “I’m waiting until after all my events.” He stares longingly at the muffin over his phone, practically drooling as he zooms in with the camera. The only gymnast on his team who’s had one already is Croz, and he hasn’t shut up about it.

Gale smirks as he slowly, teasingly, unwraps the chocolate muffin. “A shame. They’re really good.”

He bites into it and closes his eyes, making a whole little show of how good it is. When he swallows, there’s a bit of chocolate stuck to his lip, and Bucky leans over to wipe it away with his thumb.

“You gonna post that?” Gale asks.

“You bet, babe. The people deserve to see it.”

Cue fangirls freaking out over Bucky calling Gale ‘babe,’ and Gale moaning over a chocolate muffin.

Gale rolls his eyes, but takes another bite, making eye contact with Bucky as he does so. “Really fuckin’ good,” he insists. Like teasing Bucky is some sort of payback for putting him on TikTok.

Bucky groans. “That’s it.” He leans across the table and grabs the muffin from Gale’s hand. He flips the camera as he bites into it, and practically moans as he gets his first taste of this cake from the fuckin’ gods. “Oh my god.”

Gale can be heard laughing in the background. “You’ve got chocolate on your mouth.”

The video stops right after Bucky says, “Well you better come help me get it off, then.”

—

“Oh look, it’s Mr. Silver Medalist, Buck Cleven.”

Bucky stands over Gale, who is laying on his back on the floor of the bedroom he shares with Benny. Gale looks up, unamused, when he sees Bucky recording. “Everyone’s calling me that ‘cause of you.”

Bucky shrugs innocently. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Gale shifts a little to get more heat on his upper back and grimaces. “You gave me your name,” he grunts.

Bucky waves a hand dismissively. “What are you doing, Mr. Silver Medalist Buck Cleven?”

Gale sighs and looks away from Bucky, back up at the ceiling above him. “Laying on a heating pad.”

“Why?”

Gale works his jaw and looks back at Bucky like a petulant child. “Cause my back is messed up and I can’t move.”

Bucky nods thoughtfully behind the camera. “And why is that?”

“Cause I screwed it up during cross country and then did two rounds of show jumping.”

“And?”

“And then I did a weight workout the next morning anyways.”

Bucky makes a go on motion with his free hand. “And?”

“Went for a run around the village.”

“And?”

Gale’s look turns into a glare, but it doesn’t have any malice behind it. “And you told me not to do any of that.”

“You’re damn right I did,” Bucky says. He flips the camera around so he and Gale are both in the frame. “See, people? Even someone as perfect as Gale Cleven can be an idiot.”

He sets the phone down and props it against the wall so it will continue recording without him holding it. Then he sinks to his knees and crawls over top of Gale, laying on him with his head on his chest. A moment that will be screenshotted and shared a million times over

Gale turns his head and gives a long suffering look to the camera. That moment, on the other hand, of Gale staring, unamused, straight at the camera like he’s on the Office while Bucky clings to him, will become one of the most popular memes from the Games. “This isn’t helping,” he says.

“Shh. It’s fine.”

—

Gale is standing outside the dining hall where Bucky told him to meet them, but they’re a good ten minutes late. Gale would be debating whether or not he should text, but he’s been kept busy. In that time, just standing outside, he has traded pins with four different athletes. He now has Serbia, Great Britain, Ireland, and Austria, which he’s been looking for all week since it’s Whiskey’s birth place. 

He also has the phone number of an Irish diver with a sweet smile who Gale kind of thinks he might’ve flirted back with if he wasn’t already standing around waiting for the most beautiful guy in the world.

He’s waving goodbye to the cute redhead when he sees them approaching: three idiots on bicycles. Bucky is steering with one hand and awkwardly dragging along a spare bike with the other. He’s singing Blue Skies by Frank Sinatra, very off key, and he breaks into a wild grin when he sees Gale looking at him.

“Was starting to think you wouldn’t show up,” Gale says as they approach. “I almost went off with that Irish guy.”

Bucky’s jaw drops and he gasps as he slows to a stop. “You wouldn’t!”

“I’m still here aren’t I?”

Bucky frowns, wondering how serious Gale is being. But he shakes it off when he sees the way Gale is smirking at him. “I got you a bike!” he exclaims. He smoothly hops off his own bike, but the spare one falls over in the process with a loud clatter that gets some looks from the athletes wandering in and out of the dining hall. He rushes around to right it again as Curt, Croz, and Benny come to a stop beside him. “Did you know the Village has bikes?”

Gale nods, eyebrow raised. “I did.”

“Well come on then, we’re exploring.” Bucky shoves the extra bike forward and waits for Gale to take it. Gale shakes his head and chuckles, but he grabs the handlebars and swings his leg over with ease.

They spend a good couple hours biking through what feels like the entire village, past the athlete house of probably every single country. Bucky and Curt call out random things to people they pass just to see who will respond. They yell “USA! USA! USA!” as they pass the USA house, starting up a chant on the sidewalk as athletes walk in and out. They stop here and there to say hi to someone, trade pins, grab snacks, or whatever else one of them deems important enough to pull over for. Even if, on one occasion, Bucky insists that they need to stop to watch two birds fight over a lonely, forgotten potato chip.

Bucky and Curt record periodically, showing their surroundings. Bucky at one point zooms in very close on Gale’s ass, but he’ll never even know because he won’t ever watch the video. From the back, Curt records as Bucky swerves in close to Gale and reaches out to tap him on the hand. Gale glances over at him and Bucky pouts until he lets go of the handlebar to twine their fingers together. They continue on like that down the road, biking hand in hand. 

“You two are gross!” Benny calls out.

“You told me I needed to be social!” Gale yells back, looking over his shoulder with his hair blowing in the breeze and a legitimate smile on his face that will make viewers swoon.

Benny throws a hand up in the air and motions to John. “I didn’t mean for you to get yourself fucked by the hottest guy in the village!”

Curt laughs so hard he falls off his bike, the video showing a rapid and discombobulating tumble to the ground as the phone falls out of his hand and skids across the pavement.

It’ll be one of his most watched TikToks of the week.

—

Giving my boyfriend baguettes until he asks wtf I’m doing

That’s it. That’s the video. 

Gale is sitting on one of the chairs in the living area of Bucky and Curt’s suite, reading some book about the history of space travel because he’s a nerd and Bucky loves him for it. Curt is sitting across the room, trying (probably failing) to be inconspicuous about recording as Bucky hands Gale a whole baguette. 

Gale looks at Bucky with an eyebrow raised, but he hesitantly takes the baguette. Bucky smiles and nods like a puppy bringing their person a stick, and Gale gently sets the baguette on the small coffee table in front of him, eyes still on Bucky with an expression that says are you good? He goes back to his book. 

A few seconds later, Bucky hands him another baguette. 

“John?” Gale gives him a look somewhere between amused and annoyed. 

“Shh,” Bucky says, nudging Gale’s hand with the end of the loaf.

Gale sighs, takes the baguette, rips a small piece off to pop in his mouth, and sets it on the table with the other one. 

By the third baguette, Gale looks up at Bucky, sets down his book, and crosses his arms. “What are you doing?”

“Baguette,” Bucky insists, shoving the bread forward at Gale. 

“You’re not a penguin, hon,” Gale tells him. 

Cue fangirls obsessing over Gale calling John “hon.”

A pause. Bucky stands there, baguette in hand, and squints in confusion. “What?”

Gale motions to the baguettes accumulating on the coffee table. “Quit giving me baguettes like a penguin giving their mate pebbles.”

Bucky blinks, trying to recall when in his life he should have learned about such a thing, but comes up empty. He shakes his head. “Penguins do that?”

Gale nods, and Curt breaks out laughing behind the camera because that’s kind of exactly what Bucky is doing. 

“Why do you have so many baguettes?” Gale asks. 

Bucky points to Curt, and Gale narrows his eyes when he sees Curt recording. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs in acceptance. “Ok… Why do you have so many baguettes?”

Curt shrugs. “Keep buyin’ ‘em from the cafe.”

“You’re supposed to eat them, you know,” Gale deadpans. He’s bought a couple things from the little shop Curt is talking about, which serves fresh-baked bread every day. Because… Paris.

“Why would I eat that many baguettes?” Behind the camera, Curt gives a what the fuck kind of look.

Gale stares at Curt for a long few seconds. Then he asks “Why would you buy that many baguettes?”

“Why not?”

Bucky rips a big bite off the end of the baguette he’s still holding as he watches this interaction.

Gale rubs a hand over his face in exasperation. “So you just buy a baguette from the cafe every day and never eat it?”

Curt nods and motions to the three baguettes that have been offered to Gale. “You can have one if you want. I have more.”

Gale looks up at Bucky and rolls his eyes at the way he’s trying not to laugh, his mouth full of bread. Bucky swallows, leans down, and kisses him on the cheek.

—

So far Bucky has given his followers, and all who care to watch, tours of the dining hall and cafes, his suite, Gale’s suite, the Team USA House, the gym, and much of the Village grounds. Up on the list today, among other amenities, is the mindfulness zone.

“Are you feeling mindful, boys?” He turns the camera to look at Gale and Curt, who are walking beside him. 

“Oh I’m always mindful,” Curt says, nodding thoughtfully.

Gale glances at Curt and scoffs. “You’re the least mindful person I know.” Even when they were in college, Curt was… Curt.

Curt points a finger at Gale. “I’m gonna practice some mindfulness right now and not say somethin’ snarky back.”

The wall outside the mindfulness zone reads “Strength comes from within. Enter here to train your mind.” Bucky pans over it dramatically before shifting the camera to Gale. “Are you feeling the strength from within?”

“No.”

Inside, the mindfulness zone is lit entirely in blue light with large chairs scattered about that look like they’re meant to be comfortable but probably aren’t. Fluffy, tufted things that more than likely are stuffed so full that they’re stiff as a board. Quiet, soothing music is playing, and there’s a few people scattered about. One guy in the corner is just laying on the floor with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled down over his face, dead to the world.

“Look at those wild-ass plants!” Curt exclaims, pointing towards one corner of the room. Big, spiky-looking potted plants sit in between some of the chairs. A village staff member tells Curt to please keep his voice down, but he’s already walking away towards the plants to touch them and all she can do is watch, at a loss. “I wanna know if they’re actually pointy,” he says, quieter this time.

Gale sits down in one of the chairs, which has a seat that’s entirely too deep and a back that’s entirely too short. But he curls up on it like a cat, bringing his feet up and pulling his knees close to his chest. “That can’t be good for your back,” Bucky points out.

Gale flips him off – and the phone he’s recording with. Bucky tells him that that is definitely going in the final video. Gale shoos Bucky away, closing his eyes.

Bucky wanders around for another minute, checking out some of the decor around the room – weird drapes and beads hanging from the ceiling, abstract statues of nothing, more plants. But, inevitably, he stops back in front of Gale again. 

Gale opens his eyes. “Can I help you?”

“I’m bored,” Bucky complains, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

The corner of Gale’s lip quirks up. “We just got here.”

“It’s too quiet,” Bucky insists.

Gale squints at him. “It’s a mindfulness zone, darling.”

Cue fangirls freaking out over Gale calling Bucky ‘darling.’

“Let’s go to the game room or something instead.” Bucky perks up like a literal lightbulb went off in his head “Oh! Or the USA House.”

“We’re going to the USA House later,” Gale reminds him. Just like they went the day before and will likely go the day after. It’s Bucky’s favorite place to meet people, drink, and be generally obnoxiously American.

“Game room then.”

Gale sighs. “I’ve changed my mind. You’re the least mindful person I know.” He motions to Curt, who is still standing next to a plant, mindlessly stroking one of the weird leaves. “At least he’s having a moment with that thing.”

Bucky is bouncing from foot to foot now, buzzing with too much energy for this place. “It’s boring here,” he complains again. 

Gale tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at him. “You take your ADHD meds today?”

Bucky shakes his head and shrugs. “Ran out.”

“John, what the hell?”

Bucky ignores him and instead reaches down to grab Gale’s hand, tugging on it. “Come on, Buck.”

The same staff member from earlier gives them a look and opens her mouth to say something – presumably that they need to be quiet – but Gale puts a hand up. “Don’t worry,” he tells her. “We’ll go.”

Bucky smiles and kisses Gale’s knuckles before pulling him up out of the chair.

—

“What are you doing?” Gale slumps his shoulders with a heavy sigh, watching Bucky with an eyebrow raised as the gymnast shoves his phone into Curt’s waiting hands. Croz and Benny are off to the side, pretending to be Olympic boxers while they wait for whatever is about to happen. 

It’s been a week and a half of Bucky forcing Gale to have an online presence, and he’s resigned himself to being a prop in the social media series of Bucky’s life. He won’t admit that he’s kind of flattered by the attention people seem to be giving him, but he’d be just as fine being a nobody around here. 

“You just stay there and look pretty, angel,” Bucky says dismissively.

Cue fangirls freaking out over Bucky calling Gale ‘angel.’

“Right here?”

Bucky looks over his shoulder. Gale is standing awkwardly in the middle of the broad sidewalk, which is lined with the flags of all the countries represented in the Games, at the front of the village. “Yeah. Put your hand in your pocket or something. Act like you don’t hate life.”

Gale rolls his eyes but straightens up, replacing the scowl on his face with something more relaxed. He shoves one hand into the pocket of his blue jeans. As is protocol, all of them are decked out in red, white, and blue USA wear. Gale is wearing a form-fitting white t-shirt with “USA” printed in red and blue across the chest, showing off shoulders that are broader than anyone would think at first look when they see his slender frame on horseback. Bucky’s barely been able to keep his hands off him all day.

“Better,” Bucky calls out. “Stay like that!”

Gale looks around as other athletes pass, a few sending questioning or flirty looks his way. One comes up to him, congratulates him on his team and individual medals, and asks to trade a pin. Gale smiles and nods, handing over a USA pin in exchange for New Zealand. Bucky gets a little lost in the way Gale blushes a bit and excitedly adds the pin to his lanyard after the other athlete walks away. Gale won’t know until later that that was caught on video, too.

“Go,” Curt says, snapping Bucky out of it.

He jogs away from Curt and the camera, right towards Gale, who looks up in confusion and alarm. He reaches out towards Bucky, but Bucky grabs Gale around the waist and sweeps him off his feet, spinning him around in a circle. Gale can’t help but laugh as he’s swung through the air, eyes locked right on Bucky. When his feet hit the ground again, the gymnast is tugging at his hand, and he follows, stumbling a bit to catch up. They run together, laughing, back towards Curt, and Bucky blows a kiss at the camera before the video cuts off. 

The title is Meeting the love of your life at the Paris Olympics

—

“Buck!” 

Gale looks up from his phone to see Bucky walking up to him, phone in hand and already recording. Last Gale checked, Bucky was going to get a second coffee, but that plan seems to have gone by the wayside somewhere between leaving two minutes ago to stare at the menu and coming back now. 

“The world wants to know what pins you have and what you still need so they can get them to you.”

Gale laughs with a sweet little smile and sips his coffee. They’re sitting at one of the cafes in the village early in the morning, and Gale’s hair is still a bit messy from sleep (Bucky totally started recording now for that very reason – everyone loves it, including him). Gale pulls his lanyard up over his head and lays it down on the table.

“Holy shit, Buck,” Bucky laughs. Bucky, the charismatic and hot-as-hell men’s gymnastics all-around gold medalist, is a popular figure in the village. He talks to just about every single person he comes across and makes friends everywhere he goes, but not even he has as many pins as Gale. “You need another lanyard! How’d you even get this many?”

“Dunno,” Gale shrugs. “People just come up to me.” Bucky is going to point out the fact that it’s because everyone thinks he’s hot and wants to talk to him. But before he can, Gale is proudly showing his favorite pins, including the Dominican Republic, Fiji, Mexico, Costa Rica, Australia, China, and of course, the Beacon the Good Boy pin.

“Oh that one’s nice,” Bucky says, pointing to the pin from Puerto Rico. As he scans over the others, he stops with a finger on one of the most infamous pins of the games. “How the fuck did you get Snoop Dogg’s?”

Gale glances up at him, like it’s obvious. “Bumped into him at dressage finals.”

“Of course you did.”

“He came by the stables after and I introduced him to Whiskey.” Bucky’s speechless. But Gale glosses over that fact like it’s completely not a big deal at all and continues talking about the pins.

“I’m still lookin’ for Sri Lanka, les Seychelles, Hong Kong, Tanzania…”

Bucky shifts the camera to himself. “He really wants the Tanzania one, guys,” he says. “He won’t stop talkin’ about it.”

“It has a giraffe,” Gale mutters, still looking through his pins to identify which he’s missing that he still wants. “Oh, Tonga.”

Bucky laughs. “Hear that, guys? Buck and Tonga Man, the crossover this world needs. Let’s make it happen!”

Somehow, Gale finds himself running into an athlete from each of those countries within the next 24 hours alone, and he proudly adds the pins to his collection. The world even gets a picture of him and Tonga Man together, looking very seriously at the camera as they hold up their pin-filled lanyards.

Afterwards, Bucky grabs the lanyard around Gale’s neck and pulls him close. “Now stop flirting with other hot men and kiss me instead.”

“I’m not flirting,” Gale protests. But Bucky’s lips are on his before he can say anything else.

[arthurpendragonsass]

yk there's a lot of talk about the way merlin is practically a god but lives as an unassuming servant, and seeing this surprises druids/other magic users. i wanna see kind of the same thing happen to arthur with the people of his kingdom. we know arthur so intimately, from merlin's pov, but i wanna see him as a living legend. stories of his valor spreading across land, blown out of proportion and missing details. “the prince slayed the great dragon and gifted its head to the king!” “some say the goddess blessed him when he was born, when she took the queen back. how else does one survive an attack by a questing beast?” “he held out his hand and the sword stuck in solid stone flew to him! iwan says meredith’s aunt saw it herself!” “the word has come, king arthur defeated annis’ champion—a giant of a man!” old men discussing arthur’s policies, comparing them with those of previous rulers, and being glad that it's him on the throne “finally, a good fucking king.” people having faith that their ruler is generous and fair and can be approached in times of need, and having the comforting knowledge that he would do his best to help because that's what he did with the other village last year! young boys dreaming to join his army and young girls daydreaming about a fairy tale ending with him (or vice versa, obv). just... arthur of his people.

what I'm saying is i want an outsider pov character study of arthur pendragon king of camelot. hope that helps

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

sometimes I see David Tennant's face in Doctor Who as he monologues about time travel/immortality/the eternal loneliness and I go...that's him. that's my rotten lil guy. my wretched wreck of a dude. wreckage in humanoid form. the lonely divine corrupted by himself forgiven by himself made by himself made by his companions made by the universe. horrible and horrifying and far too human and not human enough. the worst thing to ever happen to so many (Martha, Adelaide, Astrid, everyone else who flashed through that whole montage thanks to Davros). a corrupter. a corruption. a cleansing. a man carved out of grief and love and pathos and hatred and grudges and forgiveness who can only make the worst decisions with the best, most selfish of intentions. a man who loved until he lost everything. a man, more than any other doctor, who should never be left alone, and yet he dies alone, with the shortest regeneration speech of any doctor. desperately lonely, desperately tragic, a disaster of a man who is too careless with everything and everyone around him.

And yet I care about him so much, because he is also the man who at the end of it all, after he lost everyone and everything he held dear, after he lost rose and donna and sarah jane and jack and martha and mickey left him and he was more alone than he's ever been, he does the right thing. the kind thing. he stops the time lords from descending on the earth. he once again gives up his people because he understands that the Time Lords Victorious cannot and should not ever be the way to go. he steps in and he saves wilfred mott. he lets himself become the doctor once again. he doesn't want to go, but instead of taking that one final step into godhood, he gives his next self a chance at being a better doctor than he ever could be.