#*ebbs not ends oop

[star-track]

anyone else entirely normal and not at all deranged about Star Trek: The Next Generation, Season 3, Episode 20, "Tin Man," dir. Robert Sheer, (1990), on this fine evening?

[its-avalon-08]

can u do a carlos sainz x reader, where reader forgets him birthday oop- he's is really hurt by it! thanks

let me dry your eyes (cs55)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x female!reader

✦ genre - major angst, alot of tears, happy ending

The smell of tears hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the tension crackling between Carlos and Y/N. Empty plates sat abandoned on the table, the remnants of a dinner that neither had the heart to finish.

"You didn't even remember," Carlos choked out, his voice thick with emotion. Y/N flinched, the color draining from her face.

"What? No, of course I did!" she sputtered, scrambling to mend the situation. Work had been a relentless beast lately, consuming every waking thought, but forgetting his birthday? That was unthinkable.

"Don't lie to me, Y/N," Carlos said, his voice barely a whisper. "There wasn't even a card, a stupid text... nothing."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "Carlos, I..." Her voice cracked. A horrible dread settled in her stomach. Had she truly forgotten? Memories flickered - a discarded calendar reminder, a half-written email draft... the mounting pressure of a looming deadline. Shame washed over her.

"You what?" Carlos snapped, his eyes blazing. "This isn't some random Tuesday, Y/N! It's my birthday!"

"I know, I know!" she cried, scrambling to her feet. "But work, it's been..."

"Work, work, work! That's all it ever is!" Carlos roared, his voice echoing off the bare walls of the apartment. "Is that all I am to you? Just some inconvenience in your never-ending schedule?"

Tears streamed down Y/N's face. "No, that's not it! You're everything to me, Carlos. I just..." Her voice trailed off, the enormity of her mistake hitting her like a physical blow.

"You just forgot," Carlos finished for her, his voice laced with a bitter resignation. "Because apparently, my birthday just wasn't important enough for the woman I love"

"No! That's not true!" Y/N reached out for him, but he flinched away. The hurt in his eyes was a reflection of her own carelessness.

"It's okay, Y/N," Carlos said, his voice hollow. "Don't worry about it. I obviously don't matter that much."

The finality in his voice struck a raw nerve. "Don't say that, Carlos. Please," she begged, desperation creeping into her tone.

He looked at her, a flicker of pain crossing his features. But then, his face hardened.

"I need some air," he said curtly, brushing past her on his way to the door. Y/N lunged after him, but he was already throwing it open.

"Carlos, wait!" she cried, tears blurring her vision. But he was gone, leaving her alone in the wreckage of their burnt dinner and a birthday celebration that never was. The silence echoed louder than any scream, a chilling reminder of the carelessness that threatened to tear them apart.

The sterile white walls of Lando's house offered a stark contrast to the warmth of Carlos's apartment. Lando, ever the friend, had found Carlos pacing outside his building, tears threatening to spill over again. Now, Carlos sat slumped on the plush couch, a beer untouched in his hand.

"And then she just... said work was busy," Carlos choked out, his voice thick with a mix of anger and hurt. "Like my birthday is just another meeting she can reschedule."

Lando, ever the calm presence, sat beside him, a sympathetic hand resting on Carlos's shoulder. "Mate, that's rough. Birthdays are supposed to be special, you know?"

Carlos let out a humorless scoff. "Special? Apparently, to Y/N, it's just another Tuesday." He took a shaky breath, wiping at a stray tear that escaped. "The worst part? I know she didn't mean it. She's been swamped at work lately, but..."

"But it still hurts," Lando finished gently. "It's the forgetting, the feeling like you don't matter. Trust me, I get it."

Carlos nodded, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. The anger that had fueled him earlier was starting to ebb, replaced by a bone-deep tiredness. "I just... I don't know what to do, Lando. We haven't been fighting much lately, but this feels different."

Lando squeezed his shoulder. "Look, give her a chance to explain herself. Maybe there's more to it than just work."

Carlos scoffed again, a flicker of the earlier anger returning. "What more could there be? It's my birthday, Lando! Not exactly rocket science to remember that."

"Easy there, firebrand," Lando chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual cheer. "I know you're mad, but blowing things up won't fix this. Talk to her, Carlos. But talk when you've both calmed down."

Carlos slumped further into the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're right," he muttered, the fight finally draining out of him. "I'm just... so fucking tired."

Lando gave him a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, well, birthdays can be draining, especially when they go sideways. How about we forget about the whole girlfriend drama for a bit and play some Call of Duty? My revenge skills are legendary, you know."

Carlos managed a weak chuckle. "Sounds good, mate. Just promise me you won't go too easy on me. I need to vent my frustrations somehow."

Lando grinned. "Don't worry, Sainz. On the virtual battlefield, there's no such thing as mercy for you."

As the familiar sounds of gunfire filled the motorhome, Carlos closed his eyes, the image of Y/N's tear-streaked face flashing behind his eyelids. He knew Lando was right; they needed to talk. But a part of him, the part that had been so excited to celebrate another year with her, couldn't help but feel a cold ember of anger rekindle. He was tired, yes, but he was also starting to feel overwhelming pain.

Exhaustion finally claimed Carlos. The emotional rollercoaster of the evening, coupled with Lando's relentless (but admittedly therapeutic) Call of Duty onslaught, had drained him completely. He slumped against the back of the couch, his breaths deepening into a steady rhythm.

Lando, controller still clutched in his hand, watched his friend with a mix of concern and amusement. He muted the game and pulled out his phone, a determined glint in his eyes. With a sigh, he dialed Y/N's number.

"Hey, Y/N," he started, his voice gentle. "It's Lando."

There was a choked sob on the other end, followed by a shaky, "Lando?"

"Yeah, listen," he continued, his voice low. "Carlos is here. He's pretty wiped, but…" He hesitated, gauging her reaction.

"But what?" Y/N's voice trembled. "Is he okay?"

"He's… hurt," Lando admitted carefully. "He's more upset than he lets on Y/N."

Y/N flinched at the nickname, a painful reminder of the way she'd let Carlos down. "Oh God, Lando, what can I do?"

Lando could practically hear the despair in her voice. "Look," he said, his tone firm but kind. "You messed up, big time. But Carlos cares about you deeply. He's just… well, he feels forgotten."

Y/N sniffled. "I know. I feel like the worst girlfriend ever."

"Don't beat yourself up," Lando soothed. "Here's the thing – you can fix this. But it'll take effort."

He outlined a plan. It involved a grand gesture, a little creativity, and a whole lot of groveling on Y/N's part. As he spoke, a slow smile spread across Y/N's face, a spark of hope rekindled in her voice.

"Lando," she whispered, "that might actually work. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"No problem," Lando replied, a genuine grin breaking out on his face. "Just promise me one thing – make it epic."

"Epic it is," Y/N vowed, a newfound determination hardening her voice. "He won't forget this birthday, not in a million years."

Lando hung up, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He glanced at the slumbering Carlos, a small smile playing on his lips. "Looks like we're in for a wild ride, mate," he murmured. He grabbed a blanket and gently draped it over his friend, a silent promise that things would be alright. (my carlando heart is sobbing brb)

The rhythmic rumble of the engine lulled Carlos further into sleep. Lando, ever the watchful friend, kept a careful eye on the road, a smile tugging at his lips. Y/N's plan, as he'd suspected, was a winner.

As they neared Carlos's apartment, Lando broke the silence. "Hey, mate," he nudged Carlos gently. "We're close."

Carlos stirred, blinking blearily at his surroundings. Memories of the argument and his subsequent meltdown flooded back. Shame washed over him, quickly followed by a pang of longing. All he wanted right now was to hold Y/N, to feel her warmth, to hear her apologize.

Sensing his friend's turmoil, Lando offered a playful nudge. "Come on, sleepyhead. Looks like your princess is in another castle... or rather, apartment." He winked, throwing a knowing look towards Carlos's building.

A jolt of energy coursed through Carlos. He sat up straight, a sudden desperation filling his eyes. "Lando, I just… I want to hug her and give her the biggest kiss. Right now."

Lando chuckled, a hint of mischief in his voice. "Well, looks like your nap is officially over then, Mr. Sleepyhead."

Finally, Lando pulled up in front of the building. He gave Carlos a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Go get her, tiger."

Carlos didn't need telling twice. He practically sprinted towards his apartment, his heart hammering in his chest. He fumbled with the keys, the door swinging open with a creak.

The sight that greeted him stole his breath away. Fairy lights twinkled in the darkened room, casting a warm glow on everything they touched. Carlos's favorite flowers, lilies and sunflowers, bloomed in vases strategically placed around the room. Simple silver streamers fluttered gently, catching the soft light.

A low hum filled the air – the familiar score from his all-time favorite movie. The scent of sizzling garlic and herbs wafted from the kitchen, a tantalizing promise of his favorite pasta dish. And then, there she was.

Y/N stood in the center of it all, a vision in a dress that shimmered like moonlight on water. Her eyes, though puffy and red-rimmed from crying, shone with an intensity that sent a jolt straight to his heart.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Then, Y/N's eyes welled up again, and she ran towards him, a sob escaping her lips.

Carlos met her halfway, engulfing her in his arms. The scent of her shampoo, a familiar comfort, filled his senses. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, his own tears threatening to spill.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I…" Words failed him, so he simply held her closer, letting the embrace speak volumes.

Y/N clung to him, her body trembling slightly. "Carlos, I'm so sorry. I was an idiot. Please forgive me."

He steps further into the room, his eyes searching mine. "Y/N," he starts, concern lacing his voice. "You didn't have to do all this."

"But I had to," Y/N interrupts, her voice gaining strength. "I messed up, Carlos. Big time. Work was a monster lately, but that's no excuse. You… you deserve to be celebrated. Every single day. But especially today."

Y/N stepped closer to him, the space between the two shrinking. "You see, Carlos, forgetting your birthday wasn't just about a missed date on a calendar. It… it showed me something about myself, something scary. That I, in my whirlwind of stress, could almost lose sight of what truly matters. And you, Carlos, you matter more than anything in this world."

Her voice cracks a little, but she presses on. "You're my best friend, my confidante, my biggest supporter, and the person who makes me laugh until my sides ache. You're the calm in my storm, the sunshine on a rainy day. You're… you're my Carlos."

She reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead "And I promise," she vows, her eyes pleading with him to believe her, "I will never, ever forget that again." A single tear escapes, tracing a glistening path down Y/N's cheek. "Can you forgive me?"

The silence stretches for another beat, then his lips curve into a slow, understanding smile. He pulls Y/N into a tight embrace, the warmth of his body chasing away the lingering chill of doubt.

"There's nothing to forgive," he murmurs against her hair. "Just… maybe a few extra birthday kisses?"

She laughs, the sound echoing through the room like a promise of a new beginning. "As many as you want, birthday boy." Tonight, with the flickering lights and the promise of a shared future, they celebrated not just his birthday, but the strength of their love, a love that can weather even the most forgetful storms.

He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "Just… no more forgetting birthdays, okay?" he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Y/N's lips curved into a watery smile. "Never," she promised, her voice barely a whisper. Then, she added, "The movie's just starting, and your food will be ready soon. Can we just… stay like this for a while?"

Carlos leaned his forehead against hers, a wave of relief washing over him. "For as long as you want," he murmured. And in the quiet embrace, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights and the promise of a new beginning, they knew this birthday, though starting on a rough note, would be one they'd never forget.

As they pulled away from their embrace, Y/N's eyes darted around the room, landing on a small table decorated with a single wrapped box. "There's, uh, one more thing," she mumbled, her cheeks flushing a light pink.

Carlos raised an eyebrow in surprise. "More surprises?"

Y/N nodded shyly, biting her lip. He watched with a growing smile as she carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a framed photo of the two of them, beaming at the camera during a recent vacation. The edges were decorated with tiny seashells they'd collected on the beach.

"It's for you to remember all our birthdays," Y/N said softly, handing it to him.

Carlos's heart melted. He held the photo close, the warmth of the memory radiating from it. "Y/N, this is perfect. Thank you." He looked at her, his eyes shining with affection. "You really went all out."

Feeling a surge of confidence, Y/N reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. "There's actually one more tiny thing," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos's eyes widened as she opened the box, revealing a delicate silver bracelet with a tiny race car charm dangling from it. "Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "It's beautiful."

Y/N helped him clasp it around his wrist, a shy smile gracing her lips. "It has your number on it," she explained, tracing the car charm with her finger.

Carlos's smile widened into a full-blown grin. He was about to say something when his stomach rumbled loudly.

"Oh my god," Y/N gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Dinner! I completely forgot with all the excitement."

Carlos chuckled, pulling her close. "Hey, it's okay. Birthdays are for celebrating, not worrying about schedules."

They decided to ditch the fancy dress and uncomfortable shoes, opting for their usual cozy sweatpants and t-shirts. As the delicious smell of garlic and herbs filled the room, Y/N set about preparing their plates, a newfound lightness in her step.

Curled up on the couch with the movie playing in the background, Carlos took a bite of his pasta, his face contorting in blissful satisfaction. "Mmm, Y/N, this is amazing," he mumbled, his mouth full.

Y/N, nestled comfortably on his lap, beamed. "I'm glad you like it. I put extra love in it after… well, you know."

A momentary shadow crossed Carlos's face. "Hey," he said gently, "about that… I'm glad you apologized. But honestly, I was more hurt that you were so stressed with work you forgot. It made me feel like…"

He trailed off, not wanting to upset her again. Y/N, however, anticipated his words. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "Like you didn't matter?" she choked out, her voice thick with regret.

"No, no," Carlos quickly assured her, placing a hand on her cheek. "I never said that. It's just… you're the most important person in my life. And seeing you so focused on work… it scared me, a little."

Y/N leaned into his touch, tears spilling over. "I'm so sorry, Carlos. I promise, I'll find a better balance. Work will never be more important than you."

She snuggled closer, burying her face in his chest. "I love you," she whispered over and over again, seeking forgiveness and comfort.

Carlos wrapped his arms around her, his heart overflowing with love. "I love you too, Y/N. More than words can say." He kissed the top of her head, a silent promise that he would always forgive her, as long as they communicated and worked together.

The rest of the evening melted away in a warm haze of movie magic, shared laughter, and whispered apologies. As the movie's credits rolled, Carlos leaned back, Y/N's head resting contentedly on his chest. He knew, despite the rocky start, this birthday would forever be etched in their memory – a reminder of the importance of communication, forgiveness, and most importantly, the power of love.

[aleisters]

the next nine matches. ebb and flow. the first ppv paint. for a while it becomes more grey than the tendrils of black. once white starts to impede the tendrils re-appear.

at the end of 2022, start of 2023 (bottom row), the white vanishes. the black is the darkest it's been and starts growing. start of 2023, it changes again.

oops, forgot the matches. they're under the cut.

27/05/2022 AEW Dark #145 Las Vegas, Nevada, USA House Of Black (Brody King, Buddy Matthews & Malakai Black) defeat Adriel Noctis, Gregory Sharpe & Matt Brannigan (3:50)

29/05/2022 AEW Double Or Nothing 2022 Las Vegas, Nevada, USA House Of Black (Brody King, Buddy Matthews & Malakai Black) defeat Death Triangle (PAC, Penta Oscuro & Rey Fenix) (15:35)

22/06/2022 AEW Dynamite #142 Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA AEW All-Atlantic Title Qualifying: Malakai Black defeats Penta Oscuro (9:56)

13/07/2022 AEW Rampage #49 - Fyter Fest 2022 - Tag 2 Savannah, Georgia, USA Kings Of The Black Throne (Brody King & Malakai Black) defeat The Dark Order (Alex Reynolds & John Silver) (8:18)

24/08/2022 AEW Rampage #55 Cleveland, Ohio, USA AEW World Trios Title Tournament First Round: The Dark Order (Alex Reynolds, John Silver & Ten) defeat House Of Black (Brody King, Buddy Matthews & Malakai Black) (9:03)

04/09/2022 AEW All Out 2022 Hoffman Estates, Illinois, USA Darby Allin, Miro & Sting defeat House Of Black (Brody King, Buddy Matthews & Malakai Black) (12:11)

14/12/2022 AEW Dynamite #167 - Winter Is Coming 2022 Garland, Texas, USA House Of Black (Brody King, Buddy Matthews & Malakai Black) defeat The Factory (Aaron Solo, Cole Karter & QT Marshall) (0:26)

28/12/2022 AEW Dark: Elevation #96 Broomfield, Colorado, USA House Of Black (Brody King, Buddy Matthews & Malakai Black) defeat Dean Alexander, Hagane Shinno & Rosario Grillo (5:20)

04/01/2023 AEW Dark: Elevation #97 Seattle, Washington, USA House Of Black (Brody King, Buddy Matthews & Malakai Black) defeat Ari Daivari & The Wingmen (Peter Avalon & Ryan Nemeth) (5:46)

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

GREENER THAN WYOMING - Clegan (Barbed Wire Hearts AU series) fic

Posted here on ao3

Part 5 in my BWH buck x bucky series, again wrote in a day and a half coz god I needed this installment so bad, I had so much fun writing this. Hope you guys love this one as much as I loved writing it!

Didn't realise I wrote 12k+ words for this. Oops

BE WARNED: there is slight smut in this one :p

@swifty-fox @trashbag-baby666 @moghraidhs (if you want to be added to the tag list when i add more posts about this story, let me know!)

There's still sand and grit stuck to the side of his face when Bucky makes his way through the back of the bull chutes into the direction of the announcer's box, sweat making the fine granules plaster themselves to his skin and get stuck to the damp ends of the dark curls falling messily across his forehead.

He can feel also the sand that had gotten lodged in between his vest and shirt, some of it having fallen in against the skin of his ribs, but nothing he hadn't felt before. It came with the territory, and he couldn't help but feel the adrenaline still ebbing and waning in amongst his limbs and muscles like a familiar friend.

Despite it only having been a practice run before the current rodeo they were preparing for at the end of the week, it was still a good run. The fact that he'd half face planted into the dirt on his attempted dismount from the practice bull was only schematics. Easily brushed off in the grand scheme of things.

Sometimes he managed to land unsteadily on his feet, other times he got a little bit flung or the dismount was a little less graceful than he would have liked. But no one really batted an eye at it. All the other boys were used to it themselves so it was just another day at the office.

As he turns the corner building, absentmindedly bringing his hand up to brush some of the dirt away from his nose with a sniffle, Bucky can't help the way his heart picks up its still already racing tempo when he zeroes in on the familiar line of Buck's back standing just outside the door of the sponsor's office.

The other cowboy has his back to him, blond hair flicking up at the back from underneath his signature black hat, arms folded across his chest, making his shoulders that were only marginally slighter than Bucky's own seem wider as he talked calmly to whoever was standing in front of him. The white Wrangler logo stitched across the expanse stretched out slightly on his black button down he had worn that day.

Letting his eyes linger on the other man's form, a few seconds longer on the shape of him in the well fitted blue jeans, John made his way closer until he was standing at Buck's side. He brought his hands up to rest against his own hips, shifting his weight between his feet and realised it was Chick that Buck was currently locked in conversation with.

The older man glanced at Bucky with a smile and tip of his hat, a silent acknowledgement between them before focusing back on Buck with barely so much as a pause in the conversation.

"Really think he'd be a good fit for you, Buck. He's been in the circuit down in Kentucky for a couple years now. Still a little bit of the amateur class but he's looking to rise up and play with some of the big boys,"

Bucky only took half interest in what Chick was saying, still hearing the rush of sound behind his own ears and the ebb of adrenaline start to fade to the point that his body was sinking into that familiar lazy afterglow. Could feel his left knee wobble a little bit under his weight.

"What are we talkin' about?" Bucky asked offhandedly, looking between Buck and Chick in question.

Buck turned his face in his direction slightly, bringing him into their conversation as easily as a shift in his shoulders.

"Chick was just-" Buck paused momentarily, a hitch in the flow of his words when he looked at Bucky's face, a frown knitting his brow as he reached up and absentmindedly brushed away some sand off of Bucky's eyebrow and forehead in one flick before resuming what he was saying like he hadn't even stopped.

"Chick was telling me about some of the new boys he was thinking of adding to our circuit. Some new ropers this time too, and he was asking if I'd be interested in taking one or two under my wing for a bit. Test drive 'em and see if they can hold some mick up to the rest of us."

"That so?" Bucky smiled, looking down at Buck and the blank expression on his face, like always. But he could see the excited spark behind his eyes, the telltale clink of a spur being toed at with the other boot down below them.

He had to stamp down the sudden need to reach out to curve one hand over the blond's hip and pull him closer into his side.

Chick chuckled, a deep and amused sound as he nodded at Bucky from underneath the brim of his cap. "Figured our Buck, here, would be better than any to put them through their paces. And we got just under a week to see if they'll make a good fit."

"I'd be more than happy to," Buck grinned, aiming the last half of that smile towards John. "Got some new bull riders wanting to start too."

Bucky raised a brow in question, his own teeth glinting in a smile as he looked at Chick. A hound being sicked on the trail.

"Oh, fresh meat?" he drawled playfully. It earned him a barely felt side kick to the ankle from Buck, that only served to make him smile wider. "I'm kidding! But also, not really."

Chick laughed at him, shaking his head slightly in the way of a father being exasperated by the antics of an unruly son.

"As green as they come." Chick told him. "Couple of boys from the Juniors who just turned 18 and wanna come sit the big dogs."

Bucky nodded, thinking on back when he was that age and first sat on the back of one of the proper bulls, all 1500 pounds of muscle and agile rage between his thighs. Thought of the way he shook like a leaf for a good hour once he had his feet back firmly on the ground, but an adrenaline fuelled smile that he couldn't wipe off his face.

He hadn't stuck that day, being tossed within a mere 2.4 seconds, but it slotted something in to place for him and confirmed then and there that there was nothing else he would rather do from that point forward.

His only thought was when he would do it again, already chomping at the bit like a little kid wanting to take another go on the roller-coaster at the county fair.

"I'll look after 'em," Bucky told him, smile turning a bit softer. "Don't you worry that big head of yours, Chick."

Chick eyed him and hummed with a smirk, slightly disbelieving but fond.

"Im sure, I'm sure." He turned his amused gaze back to Buck, an air of seriousness now amongst the familiar comraderie. "The new ropers are due to roll in tomorrow, I got the word that they were headed out yesterday, so they should be here by mid morning. Mid day at the latest."

"The guy you were telling me about, Rosenthal," Buck questioned. "You say he was a heeler?"

Chick nodded. "Heeler and Header. He's whatever you need him to be, Buck. Guy near had a coronary on the phone once I told him I was handing him off to you to take care of."

Bucky didn't miss the slight colour that rose to Buck's cheeks at Chick's words, blue eyes lowering in his usual gesture of bashfulness at any praise or hint of reverence that came with his name.

It was something that Bucky would never cease to feel absolute endearment towards the other man for, and he couldn't help the way his heart stuttered every time he saw it. Like Buck still couldn't believe he was a revered and well know name amongst the rodeo and its fans and competitors alike. And it only served to make Bucky fall harder and harder each and every day, the humble nature burying itself deep down in his soul.

"I'll make sure to have Ken on stand-by, then." Buck muttered, and Bucky couldn't help the laugh Buck's words pulled from his chest.

Chick looked between the two men with a small smile, an air of pride obvious in the way he straightened his posture with a small nod. "I'm counting on you two. Now go on, get outta here. I've got paperwork to settle and I'm sure you've got somewhere important to be, shit to get ready."

He eyed Bucky up and down, head to toe, taking in the still sweat slick hair and sand and dirt that was covering one side of him like an overgrown half-sugared donut, smile feigning innocence.

"And a shower." He tacked on as a last minute thought.

Bucky threw Chick a lazy salute in reply, grinning as the other man turned and wandered back into the office muttering under his breath.

He turned to look at Buck, plastering on a wide innocent smile. The blond could only look at him in exasperation, but the small smirk Bucky spotted underneath the black brim of Gale's hat took any serious bite out of it.

--

Just like Chick had promised, the new crew rolled in around 11am the next morning, a train of brand new Chevy pickups dragging along new and old goosenecks and trailers through the grounds to park in a polite and organised manner amongst the others across the camp ground.

John watched from afar, seated in a fold out chair lazily underneath the awning of Buck's trailer with Curt and Crosby while half a dozen unfamiliar faces filtered out of the trucks. Some boisterous and brash, loud young men who were obviously the greenest of the bunch, while two or three others leisurely surveyed their surroundings, taking in the arena not far off aways and the atmosphere that this particular ground gave off.

A couple of the men wandered back towards the rear of the trailers, swinging open double doors and Bucky could hear the thundering steps of horses banging in the back, obviously eager to step off and on to new soil after being holed up in the small spaces for hours on end.

Letting his head roll back loose on his neck so John could look back towards the closest end of the arena, he let his eyes settle on the familiar form of Buck perched up on Baby's back where he'd been for the past half hour, expertly turning her this way and that with barely a twitch of his fingers on the reins.

The mare went easily and obedient, golden coat gleaming under the not-too-harsh sunlight as she spun on her heels and started off at another lope in the opposite direction. They reached about half way before Buck made a low noise, eyes tilted downward at her neck and she planted her hooves in a dead stop, backing up a few steps before spinning and repeating it with a light squeeze from Gale's leg against her flank.

Bucky couldn't help the shiver that trailed up his spine as he watched Gale so expertly put her through the paces of a warm up, keeping her movements quick and agile and working as a perfect team that most other ropers on the circuit could only dream of accomplishing with their own horses, even after years of training and experience.

Riders that had been in the saddle for longer than Buck had been alive still struggled to mirror the air of confidence and partnership that the two had.

It made a coiling heat sit in the bottom of John's stomach as he took in the barely-there grip that Buck had on the long pieces of leather in his hands, delicate looking fingers only twitching here and there in practised commands that Baby could obviously feel against her mouth, no matter how light.

John had to swallow harshly against the sudden dryness of his throat. Images and flashes of memory of those same fingers threaded through his hair and tugging insistently in the throes of a quick bout of passion earlier that morning, tucked away in Gale's trailer as the sun was barely creeping its way up above the horizon invaded his mind.

When the rest of the campground's occupants were still dead quiet and lost to sleep. Bucky had rolled over still half asleep himself when Gale had elegantly climbed his way over him to start getting himself ready for the day, and he'd watched through the small opening from the bed loft into the extended living space of the trailer as the other had wandered naked and quiet gathering up jeans and a shirt from the wardrobe, pulling his belt from a hanger with a clink of metal.

It had only taken a few minutes of John watching him through half lidded eyes, taking in the sight of Buck's tanned shoulders, the small spatter of scattered beauty marks here and there that broke up the perfect expanse and the curve of the cowboy's toned and perfect ass before Bucky had felt his cock stir to life underneath the sheets.

He'd waited silently, feigning sleep until Buck got close enough to the loft's opening before he'd struck out in one quick movement like a rattlesnake and grabbed the blond by the arm, pulling him back in and up onto the bed with an answering surprised yelp that had Bucky grinning like a mad man despite himself.

Despite Buck's quiet protests that he had shit to do and he didn't have the time, it only took a few instances of lips pressed expertly to certain places against the taut line of his throat. John's large hand buried in the back of sandy toned blond hair to pull his head back to expose more of it, ripping involuntary and slowly growing rapid shaky breaths and sounds, that had Buck finally breaking and growling out a sharp frustrated shout like an infuriated mountain lion and flipping Bucky onto his back in one expert movement.

He couldn't help the self satisfied feeling that enveloped him when Buck surged up to kiss him, insistent and hungry, teeth sinking into the plush skin of his bottom lip. Proud and smug knowing that he could melt away Buck's carefully crafted resolve and self control with only a few words or touches of his hands or lips in certain areas, with certain pressures. Could have the other lose it and charge forward head first into Bucky like a captured wild horse that had just had the gates to freedom swing open right in front of him and out into the wilderness.

He had expected the usual, Buck pressing all the right buttons in the abandoned way he always did, driving John to near madness with starved yet soft kisses that would slowly begin to trail downwards, first over his throat before descending to his chest.

A prisoner to the way Buck would drag his talented fingers and lips over the sensitive buds of his nipples, looking straight up at him with those baby blues, clouded over with something dark in lust like a storm cloud when Bucky would have to lift his head just to get a glimpse of him that he would always be helpless to crave.

Just a quick look before it became too much for his melting brain to handle and he would have to let his head fall back against the blankets before it was over a lot quicker than he would like.

He would lose himself even more to Gale's ministrations, not long before the blond would open him up on those same talented digits while perfect lips enveloping his cock as he worked, leaving John a writhing mess of a man before feeling Buck sink perfectly into the warm wet heat of him.

But Buck had crawled back up the length of his body, studiously ignoring the heavy heat of his cock that was leaking in unrestrained want against the dark hair trailing against his stomach and grabbed his chin between thumb and forefinger.

He'd pulled Bucky's face back down to his own, making him focus on blue eyes that seemed far too bright and electric, manic, with so little light, and it had made John pause and just stare at the sudden vulnerability there that had mixed itself amongst the lust.

Gale had kissed him, sweet but still frantic, a whispered "Gotta be quick, we don't have long," before kissing John once more and then leaning back.

Bucky felt the cold shock of the air in the absence of Gale's warmth, thinking he had meant they had to be quick before the other boys started to stir awake themselves with the progression of the sun's rise.

But the thoughts had whisked themselves away into nothingness, swept away into just pure dumb want as he watched Buck reach in to one of the little side nooks around the edge of the bed, pulling out the small tube of lubricant they'd stashed away and then reaching back before working himself open on his own fingers.

Something in John's brain completely misfired, crackling into an exposed and heated live-wire, could only prop himself up on his elbows and watch helpless and open mouthed as Buck moved. The hand not currently moving inside himself reaching out to grip against John's knee, shaky and flexing without thought.

John's eyes had darted over every inch of Gale's body, the way his back had been bowed backwards slightly to accommodate the angle at what he was doing to himself. The expression on his face screwed up in pleasure but also with a timid far away concentration that had him make eye contact with Bucky for a few fleeting moments before he closed them and colour had risen to his cheeks.

It was that nervousness John could pick up on there, the vulnerability that had Buck's body trembling from it as well as the sparks of pleasure he was feeding into himself, a small broken noise sounding in the back of the blond's throat, that had Bucky finally break out of the melting hold his mind was currently suffocating him with and reaching out for Buck.

Pulled him into his arms, into his lap with hushed whispers of "C'mere, oh my god, Come 'ere" until the other had been positioned perfectly in the envelope of his hold, still shaky and trembling and pressing his forehead against Bucky's with eyes squeezed shut, arms draped over John's wide shoulders loose and careful.

It was a fleeting moment when Buck finally opened up his eyes to connect with John's, wide and shy but that little hint of courage John found there had him lifting his hands and fixing themselves firmly over Buck's waist, swallowed up by the size of his fingers and palms like a puzzle piece slotting perfectly into place.

He had gently lifted him, feeling Buck straighten up onto his knees from where they were sat at either side of John's hips, never breaking eye contact as the other man reached back with one shaking arm.

Bucky could only let out a small exhale, just as shaky as the vulnerable cowboy in his arms against similarly parted lips when he felt Buck's fingers wrap delicately around the girth of him.

Could only mirror the sound Buck made against him with a gentle frown, eyes still glued to Buck's as the smaller man slowly positioned himself over the still leaking head of his cock and lowered himself, panting at the stretch.

The arm still around John's shoulders flexed, pulling their chests together tighter, a whine escaping from the back of his throat as he sank down those last few inches until he was fully seated in John's lap again, filled to the brim with him.

John had brought one of his arms around the lower half of Buck's back, just holding him there as a silent support, not game enough to move in fear of scaring Buck out of whatever had made him brave enough to pursue the feeling, of allowing John access to the most vulnerable side of him.

It was a rare occurrence that Buck ever truly opened himself up physically to John in the same way he had emotionally. Too stuck in his own past of never being allowed his own thoughts and free will, being taught by his father from the moment he could step up into a saddle that emotions were worthless, they clouded minds and made you weak and that giving up any kind of control, be it physical or mental, was something to feel shame for.

Something to lock away behind reinforced walls with a key that you should melt down into a useless pile.

It was something that Buck had come to expect a closed fist against his cheek or against his ribs for if he showed anything that could be named as vulnerable.

Bucky had felt a sense of awestruck wonder, staring at the man he was holding safely in his arms now, feeling the reach of what felt like forbidden pleasure coil low in his abdomen when Buck had slowly started to move.

Another sense of privilege mix in when he was subject to the primal sounds of slightly restrained rapture escaping between Buck's parted lips and whisper against his own.

In the aftermath of it all, when Buck had painted the space between them without so much as a brush of John's hand against his own neglected need and left it dripping down the planes of both their stomachs, had held him so tightly as he shuddered and trembled through his release in a strangled cry against John's throat, John had been helpless but to follow suit.

Had filled him deeply and reverently with every single ounce of raw emotion that had been coursing through him with his own low groan against a shivering tan shoulder.

Both ended up laying together, sweat dripping over warm skin and breathing harsh but satisfied, and John had gathered Gale back up into his arms to hold him through what he knew was probably an incredibly daunting and scary thought process.

Yet judging by the relaxed muscles he could feel underneath the tips of his fingers as he stroked them up and down Gale's arm in thought, the blond letting out a long winded sigh against his pectoral, he didn't feel as if the other was freaking out as much as he would have expected at having given himself over to being vulnerable and controlled.

He had felt a strong sense of pride at being something Gale would gladly give himself over to when his courage allowed it.

The quiet chuckle he had let become audible, as well as the comment that 'I didn't think Champion Rider extended over to me, too, Buck," had earned him a bony elbow to the ribs in reply, but also the feeling of a grin being pressed to his side.

Curt's hand slapping in to his chest from beside him brought Bucky's thoughts back to the present like a well aimed cattle prod, and he jerked slightly in his seat from where he was still looking over at Buck to face the smaller brunette questioningly.

Curt had a knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, but he nodded in the direction of where the new cowboys were still unloading their horses and gear. One of the tall ones, who John could only just make out had dark hair underneath an off-white cattleman hat, was walking in their direction.

Looking back to where Buck was still working Baby, John let out a high sharp whistle in his direction to get his attention, and the blond's head snapped up, alert and questioning.

John gestured with a wave of his hand out towards the line of new trailers and the newcomers, and saw the barely there nod Buck sent his way with a tip of his chin in acknowledgement before spinning Baby with practised ease and walking her up the length of the arena leisurely towards the gates.

When Bucky focused his attention back towards the approaching new cowboy, the man had stopped near Crosby just under the edge of the awning, hands coming up to rest on his hips and tipping his hat in greeting.

Piercing blue eyes scanned over the three of them, but not in a judgemental way, just in a gesture of taking them in, curious and friendly. He hazarded a glance around, tongue darting out to swipe over his lips in a nervous gesture underneath a neatly trimmed moustache.

"Gentlemen," he said brightly, small smile beaming. "Figure this is the right place. I'm Robert, Robert Rosenthal, but just Rosie's fine. I'm with the new bunch of ropers, Chick said you knew we were comin'?"

Crosby nodded at him, leaning forward in his chair to reach for Rosie's hand in a friendly greeting and introducing himself before Curt and John copied and did the same.

"Sure did," Crosby smiled, all typical cowboy friendliness turned up to a full ten. It was a move John knew well, watching the barely veiled curiosity and calculated observation in both Cros and Curt's body language, taking in the new guy and if he was as genuine as he was giving out in first impression. John couldn't help the small grin from tipping up one side of his lips. "Right on time, actually. Hope it wasn't too hard finding the place."

Rosie smiled even brighter at the welcoming air he was receiving, a small weight lifting off of his shoulders.

"Nah, just followed the signs. Was easy enough even after the GPS in the truck conked out on us halfway here."

Crosby chuckled at Rosie's words, the last of his demeanour softening, and in turn John felt his own reservations melt away about the man as he shifted further down in to his seat and shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie comfortably.

"Say," Rosie suddenly piped up, expression turning just that touch of sheepish around the edges. "Chick was saying when we got here I was meant to go see Gale Cleven? Said he'd know where to point us to get us settled?"

As if on queue, the distinct sound of a horse sidled up to Bucky's left, and he turned his head just in time to see the gold sheen of Baby's distinct coat come around the corner of the trailer, said Gale Cleven seated up on her like a king astride his steed.

The blond shot Bucky a quick fond little private smile from above, using his tongue to move the toothpick currently sitting between his lips from one side to the other before he looked up and focused in on Rosie. The classic friendly Cleven smile painted itself on his face in a matter of moments.

"Howdy," Buck drawled, tilting his chin in greeting and oozing with unintentional charm, and John snorted in amusement like he was witness to an inside joke. Gale leaned forward with an air of ease and leaned his elbows on the horn of his saddle. "You one of the new boys, I'm guessing?"

Rosie stared at Gale for a moment, eyes widening and jaw going slightly slack before he sputtered and collected himself with a shake of his head. He reached up and removed the hat from its perch above somehow perfectly styled near black hair and stepped up to Baby's shoulder, hand reaching out to shake Gale's hand.

John saw the telltale signs of worship and respect from a mile away, a slight tint rising to the new cowboy's cheeks as Gale reached down and gripped Rosie's hand in greeting.

He didn't know why something started niggling against his gut like an insect buzzing for the pure intent of irritation, but he swallowed it down, eyes flickering back and forth between Gale and Rosie like a hawk, a frown threatening to crease his brow.

It wasn't the first time another cowboy had been star struck by meeting one of the top ropers in the country, Gale Cleven. He was the golden child of the rodeo world and had a famous last name spanning back three generations to prove it. A downright western nepo-baby but with the talent and good nature to keep that good name going and do it justice instead of just relying on the name alone to garner the fame.

And with looks like that as well as the humble disposition and talent on top, Curt had quickly learned not to make bets with Bucky on how many buckle bunnies sidled up to Gale at each rodeo, all sickly sweet smiles and daisy-dukes paired with bedazzled cowgirl boots and low cut tops trying to tempt the rider into their beds.

Only to be shot down politely with a charming smile. Much to their disappointment. And Bucky's sharp, self satisfied dangerous grin that usually followed them from over Buck's shoulder as they turned away with dramatic pouted botox lips over said cowboy.

Rosie looked like he'd just met a damned God, expression bashful and eyes diverting every few seconds from Gale's gaze as he brought a hand up to nervously run through his hair before sitting his hat back atop his head.

"Yessir, Rosie Rosenthal. We just rolled in," he glanced back at the trailers in the direction he'd come from, Gale's eyes flickering to the same direction before focusing back on each other.

"Yeah I thought so. Chick mentioned you yesterday, said you guys were comin'. Hope the trip wasn't too hard on you and your boys."

Rosie scoffed dismissively but friendly. "Ah we did alright. Took a bit of-"

"Hooooly shit, you're Gale Cleven!"

All five cowboys looked up at the same time to see a kid no younger than 20 years old come jogging up from the direction of the new trailers, breathless and wide eyed. Bucky didn't think he'd ever seen a greener roper in his life, bright eyed and overly confident in his steps and the line of his shoulders.

He stepped up next to Rosie, who suddenly had an expression of fond exasperation, looking down at the ground with a slow shake of his head. Like a big brother tasked with having to look after a younger sibling and slightly embarrassed to be associated.

"When Rosie said we were gonna be riding with the Gale fuckin' Cleven, I honestly woulda believed him more if he said pigs fly," the kid smiled. "The name's Nash."

When he walked up to shake Gale's offered hand, the blond still smiling with the greeting charm turned all the way up to ten on the dial, Bucky couldn't stop the smile from breaking out onto his own face at the way Baby turned her head with an evil eye, ears pinned back slightly and teeth bared as she attempted to nip at the kid's shirt.

Gale didn't even react besides picking up the reins and secretly forcing her mouth in the opposite direction without anyone being the wiser or even noticing. She huffed out a sharp breath, nostrils flaring and shifting her back feet in disappointment.

Bucky had to bring his hand up, pretending to brush his fingers along the hair of his moustache to hide his amused smirk from the others.

"Nash from Nashville?" Curt leaned over and whispered behind his hand and Bucky nearly palmed his face away with a slap. He was barely hanging on to his composure by a thread from watching Baby.

That horse would be the death of him, right alongside the cowboy still perched up on her back. Gale had leisurely hooked his left leg up and across the pommel of the saddle in front of him, all the air of a calm and cocksure cowboy if there ever was one. And Bucky knew he didn't even do it on purpose. Didn't even have to try.

"Well, it's good to have you boys joining us. Needed some fresh new faces to join the ranks." Gale grinned, toothpick bobbing.

"Where you boys from, anyways?" Crosby piped up, asking as if Curt's offhanded joke had sparked some genuine curiosity.

Nash turns to Crosby, suddenly aware that there are, in fact, more people privvy to his starstruck excitement, and Bucky sees the moment the kid's eyes widen even further and wonders if maybe they should have brought Ken in for standby medical attention.

"Oh lord, you're Harry Crosby!" Eyes pan over to Curt, zipping between him and then to Bucky, mouth agape and sputtering. "The John Egan, and Curt Biddick!"

Curt leans over to Bucky, eyes watching the kid like he wasn't sure if he should be moving backwards in case he spontaneously combusted on the spot. "He knows who I am?"

Nash looks shocked at Curt's words, hand flying up to palm his forehead underneath the red flat cap he was wearing. "Oh man, of course I know who you are! I've seen those tiktoks of you backflipping over those bulls like it's nothin'!"

Curt gets a satisfied smile lighting up his face at Nash's enthusiasm, propping his left ankle up on his knee in an air of nonchalance but doesn't say anything further as Nash focuses in on Bucky.

"And you! Man, you're the reason I nearly changed my mind from ropin' to bull ridin'. My sisters love you!"

Bucky chuckles, suddenly gaining an air of fondness for the kid, like a little brother who can at once annoy the ever-loving hide off of you, but one you'd also show up at 2am for when they call drunk saying they needed your help. Has a feeling if the new ropers stick around and fit the bill that at some point he'd end up having to do just that.

"Texas," Rosie suddenly pipes up, answering Crosby's earlier question before Nash got them all side tracked. "Me and Nash are from Texas. Other boys are a mix of everywhere."

Gale nods in acknowledgement from his perch on Baby, demeanour still interested and warm. "Texas, huh? Heard it gets awful hot down there, can't say I've been too often, not during the warmer months anyways."

Rosie laughs, a hearty sound with still that hint of shaky nervousness, no doubt from having Buck's attention back on him. He rubs in a bashful gesture at the back of his neck, smile small but no less bright.

"Yeah she does get a little warm. Me and Nash did most of our first shows down there, did a few roping clinics as well in the beginning."

"One time we practised for twelve hours straight!" Nash piped up, bouncing on the balls of his feet, excitement still at the forefront. "Ended up stripped down to nothing but our underwear it got so damn hot, near fell off my horse at one point!"

Bucky looked between the two men, eyebrows climbing up towards his hairline. He didn't have to glance at Buck to know the blond wore a similar expression, calm facade broken for a few seconds.

"You boys… rode in your underwear?" Bucky slowly asked, a smile crawling onto his face as he pictured it with ease but also with a feeling of sympathetic discomfort. Saw Buck grimace from the corner of his eye, no doubt thinking on how uncomfortable that would have been on their privates, saddles digging in with the rough motions from the horse's movements.

Rosie had the sense to look embarrassed, cheeks heating up into a bright hue of red and eyes diverting from the boys for a moment or two as he chuckled nervously. They glanced up at Buck like he was about to be reprimanded by the horseman.

"Ahh, yes sir, that we did."

But Buck didn't have a cruel reprimanding bone in his body, not unless you were downright abusive to your horse or an idiot to the point you put yourself and your men or your horse in danger, and that amused smirk coloured the cowboy's expression once again as he watched Rosie with something akin to fascination.

It only served to bring light back to that uncomfortable coiling burn still perched in Bucky's stomach and chest, irritating to the point he had to bring a hand up and rub questioningly at his sternum with a confused frown. He could feel Curt's eyes currently searing a hole into the side of his head, but chose to ignore it.

"Can't say I envy you on that," Buck laughed, straightening up in the saddle with a stretch of his torso and a small groan, muscles probably aching from the morning warm up with Baby. "How about I come on over with you to meet the rest of your boys, make sure you lot get settled in okay and help out a little?"

Rosie looked lost on words, eyes raking over Buck quickly that John managed to catch easily, frown finally shaping his brow above sharp eyes and pursed lips.

"Yeah, yeah! Sure thing, we'd all be glad of it. I'm sure the other boys are busting their asses to meet you." Rosie stuttered, turning his body but his head still turned back to keep his focus on Buck.

Gale urged Baby forward with a nudge of his spurs and a barely audible click in his throat, the mare tossing her head as she was finally pushed in to moving. She walked along for a few steps before being pushed up further into a trot, going along happily as Buck directed her over towards the new trailers and the line of men now visible standing with their horses tied up against the sides of them.

Bucky watched as horse and rider got further and further away, the blond cowboy rising and falling in the saddle perfectly in time with Baby's gait like he was part of the horse himself, Rosie and Nash following behind at a more subdued pace.

Noticed Rosie watching Gale's form in the saddle as well as the other moved ahead of them.

John couldn't help the way he turned his head to Curt, the other man still watching him with no shame, icey blue eyes focused on him like an accusation, chin propped up in the palm of his hand. One eyebrow raised slowly as John looked at him, a smirk curving one side of his mouth.

"I ain't sayin' nothin'." Curt drawled slowly, never breaking his stare with Bucky.

John sighed and looked away, extracting his pack of cigarettes out from the pocket of his hoodie where he had his hands rested, pulling a single white stick out with his lips and teeth to light with a more aggressive than necessary flick of his wrist with the lighter.

"Nothin' to say, Curt."

--

After the new ropers had been officially settled in, horses finding a place and getting their programs from Chick at the office, the rest of the week was a long winded process of practices and warm ups from sunrise to sundown.

Along with Rosie and Nash, there were a total of two others out of six that had travelled in with them looking to recruit themselves in the the current circuit alongside the roping greats that were Gale Cleven and his team.

Each and every one with hopeful smiles and talent as quick-footed and sure as Chick could have ever hoped for. A lucky draw of a bunch, and with them came high hopes as well as pre-drawn contracts ready and waiting for after the rodeo set to play out at the end of the week.

Rosie's main crew consisted of the pre-mentioned Nash, the youngest out of the lot, still singing praises of each and every cowboy he met with a pep in his step and bright smile as he followed John or Curt or Crosby around like a new puppy at his master's heels.

The main header who Rosie said was a spitfire of a man with a roping hand as sticky as molasses was Winifred "Pappy" Lewis. A stout young fellow just as eager and fresh as the rest but with an air of maturity to him that had him quickly gain favor with Buck.

He took in every single thing that Gale told him and every pointer and piece of advice he got as if he was a sponge, and Bucky could tell that Gale had nothing but respect for the kid and knew he would go as far as he wanted if he put the effort in.

Pappy often had his best friend, another bright and intensely eager man who went by nothing other than Speas, which made Bucky smile with amusement at the information in a quaint understanding, noting that even Pappy would always and only refer to him as such.

It reminded him fondly of him and Buck and the nicknames that they often only teased each other for in the beginning when they first met before that mutual respect was earned.

As such, most of Gale's and Bucky's days were filled with either practice of warm ups leading up to the main rodeo event, leaving little one on one time between the two of them. But it was to be expected. And it wasn't something either men were new to, especially having brand new charges under Buck's wing that he was given full responsibility for, and the task of having them all ready for what was ahead.

In the few moments in between being behind the chutes and the rare scant moments of free time he had, Bucky would often perch himself up against the rails of the arena and just observe Buck and his new little team of amateurs with a fond smile.

The blond cowboy looked right at home out there, voice clear and authoritative as he ordered them around and through their paces, keeping an air of respect about him that kept that respect well received continuously amongst the newbies.

He never got angry, never lost his temper no matter how stupid Nash or Speas sometimes got when exhaustion started gripping them towards the day's end. And John knew that alongside Buck's more often than not kind and calm demeanour, it was also a conscious effort to keep the teaching mellow but firm, not violent and dismissive, not too strict, like his father.

Knew Buck recognised that being a friend as well as a mentor got the younger ropers further and more willing to listen to him and have that information stick, rather than hold them under an angry hand with a cuff around the back of the ear for not listening well enough.

He found gentleness and conscious effort and time was more productive in the long run, much like the training of a young horse.

You couldn't whip a young horse for making a step left instead of a right and expect the horse to know what it did wrong from the violence alone with little to no feedback. It didn't work like that.

It had Bucky's affection for the other cowboy continue to grow and grow until he felt like he would fall to knees under the weight of it.

Often having to find the strength not to slip through that arena fence and march right up to Buck, perched high on Baby and grab the other man and pull him down in to a crushing kiss every other moment. Often keeping that affection pent up until the two found a few seconds alone like they'd always done and slip between trailers to steal a kiss in privacy, or in the quiet moments in Buck's trailer they were all but lucky to have at that point in time.

Those moments seemed to get further and further in between though, with the amount of time training and practising took up for the rodeo lately.

And now with Buck having his new charges, Bucky often would enter Buck's trailer for the night to find the blond already dead to the world face down on the trailer's loft bed, face peaceful and once or twice only having managed to take off one boot before sleep took him under.

It was something Bucky didn't mind in the slightest, understood on a different level because they were in the same boat. And on those nights he'd quietly remove Buck's other boot and put his hat up on the hook by the trailer door before climbing into bed, careful not to disturb the other, before pulling the smaller man into his arms against his chest and letting himself drift off to sleep to the smell of Buck's hair and horses under his nose.

The only problem that had arisen, as well as that uncomfortable burning sensation against Bucky's chest from the day the new ropers pulled up, was that the quiet moments or scant few minutes Buck and him were able to achieve were getting less and less.

Especially when every waking moment that Buck had was filled with the other ropers and their attention, or Rosie. Who very quickly came to be who Buck started to fill most of his time with.

The new roper had all but become Buck's shadow, following the blond around either on foot or horse-back, that ever growing reverence and smitten expression intensifying with every word or look Buck offered him.

The man practically had hearts for pupils, and Bucky didn't know if Buck was stupid or ignorant, or just that damned innocently clueless that he didn't realise that Rosie had the biggest damn crush this side of the equator, but it was really starting to rub Bucky the wrong way.

It left a sour taste in his mouth, especially when he noticed more and more the answering soft smiles or laughs Buck would direct right back at Rosie.

That burning feeling deep in the core of him started eating away, until his heart started constricting in a valiant effort to protect itself from the flames, until his thoughts were swallowed with it every waking moment.

It only seemed to drive the flames further that very morning when for the first time in a while, Bucky had woken up to the realisation that Buck's side of the bed was empty, already cold from the amount of time that the blond had been vacant from it.

It had taken him a few groggy moments to blink the sleep away from his mind, frowning in confusion as to why he hadn't woken up to the smaller man being tucked into his side and waiting for him to wake before he started to get ready for the day.

He'd stumbled out of bed, yawning wide with a stretch and walking over to the small kitchenette to flick the kettle on, intent on making coffee, when the familiar sound of Buck's laugh had reached him from outside the trailer.

Bucky had walked over to the small trailer window that was faced towards the arena in the distance, and had managed to notice the two figures by the rails in the early morning light.

Buck was standing beside Baby, the mare fully tacked up with her head down managing to slip in a quick nap, his arms rested up on a higher rail, his posture relaxed and easy going. He had his back to the trailer, but John would be able to pick that cowboy out among a crowd of a million.

He would have also been able to pick out Rosie, who was standing on the other side of the fence, his own horse pawing lazily in the sand behind him in boredom as the two men talked in a low murmur into the early morning air.

Bucky watched in silence, breath catching in his throat as Rosie smiled, all timid but flirtatious, and reached out to put his hand on Buck's arm where it was leaned against the rail.

Buck laughed, face tilting down to stare at the dirt below, and didn't move his arm out from underneath Rosie's touch.

Bucky made himself look away, something horrid and hurtful squeezing his chest and throat.

He reached for the kettle which had started squealing at him as if it was mocking his misery.

--

The night before the rodeo, the usual tradition of beers and bonfire gets amped up in to full swing, a pre-rodeo celebration as well as a late welcome party for the new ropers before the big day.

The fire is bigger than just a measly fire pit this time, Curt and Ken having convinced Chick to call in to the owners of the current rodeo grounds and get permission to build a bigger bonfire in one of the designated spots on site.

It only takes a couple of hours to have the permission texted back, and even less time for the group as a whole to have built up a fairly decently sized bonfire that crackles and whooshes to life to the answering manic cackling of Curt like some mischievous gremlin in the echoes of it.

Brady and Hambone had gone into town in Brady's pickup to get the alcohol, and promptly returned soon after with enough cases of beer of several different brands, as well as a few bottles of stronger stuff that in whole could satiate an entire army and still have a fair portion left over in the morning.

By the time the sun has disappeared behind the distant hills, a familiar lull of some random country playlist murmuring behind the voices of the boys from a Bluetooth speaker, Bucky had already meandered his way past Brady and a few of the others to pluck two beers from the crate on the fold out table and flop himself into his usual camper chair.

He observes the others in a calm disinterested silence as he pops the top off his first beer and takes a heated and long pull from it, relishing in the sharp taste as the cooled liquid slips down his throat.

It settles on top of the burning pit that had become a permanent fixture in his abdomen, soaking it up and dampening it a small amount once the alcohol finally starts digging its fingers in.

In a good turn of events, the newer boys, Nash and Speas and Pappy had all but been accepted rightfully and instantly amongst the league of the others, all fanning off into their respective little circles to talk and make good atmosphere.

They melded in like they'd always been there, and it did make Bucky happy that Brady and Cros and all the other boys had ushered the others into those circles like long lost brothers.

Rosie had been accepted just as easily too, the man's good nature and kindness earning him the same back tenfold amongst the boys.

But as Bucky's gaze comes to rest on the man in question from across the fire, standing close with Buck, smile soft and direct as he lowers his head closer to Buck's ear to be heard over the roar of the fire and the music, Bucky can't help the possessive jealousy that instantly cuts into his very soul at the sight.

Feels even worse when Buck looks up at the other roper through his dark blond lashes with an answering soft smile, and tries to dampen the feeling again by taking another aggressive mouthful from the beer bottle in his hand.

He can feel the jealousy spark and rip up into him when Rosie obviously tells Buck something that has the blond throwing his head back in a laugh, Rosie's eyes trailing over the expanse of his throat, and Bucky toys with the idea of getting up and waltzing over there to plant one very giant possessive and territorial kiss onto the cowboy's mouth in a show of dominance.

Knows that he can't, though, just in case.

Knows that none of his boys would bat an eye at it. But he doesn't know the thoughts of the new boys, of Nash and Speas and Pappy, enough that he would risk him and Buck being shunned because the new men were the same type that would have crucified them where they stand and then proceed to slander his and Buck's names through the rodeo circuits like a disgusting curse, all because of bigoted religion.

The way that Rosie is currently staring at Buck though, all wide eyed and giddy and adoring, has Bucky half ready to do exactly what his invasive thoughts are screaming at him to do, let that festering possessive emotion culminate into acting on it.

He's just about to rise from his seat, thighs tensing when Curt's voice sounds from right beside him, close enough to his ear that it has the larger cowboy startle and nearly lose the the death grip of a hold that he has on his beer.

"The wind changes too quick and your face is gonna get stuck like that,"

Bucky whips his face around to the smug grin of Curt's right next to him, but the shorter man's eyes are currently looking over to where Buck and Rosie are still standing. Still talking close and soft.

Still ripping at Bucky's insides in a dangerous game.

Bucky lets a long winded sigh rush from his lungs, making his body settle back into the chair at the feeling of Curt's hand coming up to rest on his shoulder and squeeze from where he's bent over to talk to John.

He pats John's shoulder in a good natured gesture before taking the empty camp chair beside him, throwing himself into it with a grunt.

"Your boy's been making new friends, huh?"

John snorts, a cruel, sharp sound, and takes another sip from his beer. "Somethin' like that."

He's focused back on Rosie and Buck, surprised neither of them can feel the heat of John's stare, but he can see Curt glance at him from the corner of his eye. Can see the way the other observes him, running his eyes up and down John before sighing and clasping his hands together in contemplation.

"And.. how do you feel about it?"

John forces his eyes away for a moment, looks at Curt in a questioning way, before looking back across the fire. "He can do whatever he wants. 'm not his keeper."

Curt lets his head loll back in exasperation at John's words, disbelief as he looks up at the dark night sky above them before looking back down at Bucky.

"True. True, but, you are his man. His whole world, if you wanna put it bluntly I 'spose."

Bucky flicks his tongue out to lick his lips, the heat of the fire leaving them dry and uncomfortable. A complimenting feeling to the one in his chest.

"Seems his orbit has extended a bit," Bucky remarks, and isn't prepared for the feeling of Curt's hand cuffing him up the back of the head in a rapid strike.

His hat flies off and falls into his lap, and he can't help the affronted noise that makes its way out of his throat as he turns to Curt with wide, shocked eyes and a slack jaw.

Curt's staring him down with a look of disbelief and barely concealed annoyance, light blue eyes cutting through the very recesses of his soul and down to the bone. It makes Bucky want to shrink down into the collar of his coat, like frightened turtle hiding itself away from a predator.

"The fuck y' do that for!?" he yelps, rubbing at the back of his head tenderly at the still smarting impact that Curt made. It was more shock than anything, barely something resembling actual hurt, but he rubbed at it all the same.

Curt pointed his finger at him, jabbing in his direction, face still impossibly hard and serious. "I know you're a bull rider, but god, you can't actually be that dense."

Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but Curt shushes him, making him snap his jaw closed.

"That man over there thinks the goddamn world of you, John Egan. I've seen and heard things I wish I never did, but by god if there's one thing I do know, is that he only has eyes for you, no matter what your dumb mushed up brain is telling you. Or how much better Rosie's moustache is than yours,"

John looks at Curt with feigned hurt, an affronted scoff falling from his mouth but before he can retort, Curt cuts him off again with another well aimed jab of his finger, this time straight into Bucky's chest.

"I may have known you since highschool, Bucky, but I've known Gale a long fuckin' time too. Long before you showed up in our circuit. That man is the sweetest, most loyal soul in existence, and if you ever think that he'd give you up when he looks at you the way he does, I'll bury your body myself and leave a fuckin' note on his trailer door."

Bucky swallows, letting his eyes wander from Curt's back over to where Buck is standing with Rosie, still talking, and feels his heart stutter when Gale's eyes finally find him over the flames.

They lock on to him, and his expression and smile softens into something so adoring and beautiful that it steals John's breath right from his lungs.

He doesn't have the chance to smile back before Buck turns back to his conversation, Nash having joined him and Rosie, and John forces himself to look back at Curt again.

The other man is staring at him, no less intense, but there's something understanding there now too. He looks between Bucky's eyes, sitting back when he finds whatever he was looking for, and plucks Bucky's beer right from his hand to steal a swig.

John doesn't even try to protest, just glares un-bitingly in disapproval as he takes the beer back with a swipe when Curt offers it back.

"All I'm saying is, think for a minute or two for me, yeah? Before you go ripping Rosie to pieces over something that's not even there. You'd be surprised." Curt tells him softly, reaching out to Bucky's knee to pat it before hoisting himself up and starting to walk around the fire to where Ken is sitting with Douglas and Everett on the tailgate of Brady's pickup.

He watches as Ken's face lights up like the moon sitting high above them, letting Curt fit himself in between his legs dangling over the edge of the tailgate and leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Curt's lips.

Everett wolf whistles in a quiet tone as Curt pulls Ken's arms around his waist with a smile, before Curt turns back around to Bucky, fixing him with a pointed look before bringing two fingers up and making the telltale 'I'm watching you' gesture between his own eyes and John's several times.

Bucky sees Ken look up to him too, a knowing smile aimed pointedly at him and Bucky feels like he's being judged over information he's not at all privvy to.

--

The rodeo the next day goes off without a hitch.

John absolutely decimates the lineup of bull riders with a near perfect score that has him throwing his hat off into the crowd with a well aimed toss as the announcer praises him name over the loudspeakers, just barely audible above the sound of the crowd and their exuberance.

He even landed on his feet this time, granted wobbling just that tiny bit and nearly face planting in to the sand as Curt rushed past him in his rodeo clown get-up to distract the bull, before he managed to catch his balance and sprint up to the chutes and leap his way out of the bull's raging war-path.

He had felt the heat of the bull's breath over the denim on his thigh as it had brushed past him, but it only kept that adrenaline rushing through every vein in his body, ramping it up to that next level as he'd been grinning like mad man, laughing at the rush.

After he'd calmed down and made his way into the alleys behind the chutes to get a better view of the arena, sweat damp hair falling into his eyes, he'd waited patiently while the officials had raked over the arena with the tractor for the ropers.

Felt the rapid thundering of his heart in his chest speed back up in anticipation of watching Buck take his run, only giving the thought of him partnering with Rosie as his heeler a momentary allowance before the speakers crackled back to life and the crowd started filtering back into the stands after a brief intermission.

Speas and Pappy went first, nailing their run and managing to heal and head the steer in almost perfect form, the two men smiling wide and giving each other high fives from where they were seated up on their horses as they rode past and then back into the alley to make way for the next pair.

It was a waiting game for Bucky, three more pairs of riders having their goes before finally he spotted Buck trotting a very eager Baby up to the starting pen.

The mare was bobbing up and down in excitement under him, nostrils flaring and tail swishing while Buck checked his rope, one set held between his teeth as he coiled the excess into perfect loops in one hand, giving no mind to Baby's barely contained energy.

Bucky couldn't help the smile from spreading across his face, bringing one boot up to rest on the bottom rail as Buck and Rosie finally squared up into their positions.

He kept his eyes resolutely on Buck, seeing the moment he glanced down at the cowboy manning the steer chute and giving that telltale nod.

And then they were off.

It barely felt like a blink in time as John watched, seeing the two riders move perfectly in sync as they took off after the steer, hot on its heels and lassos twirling with practised ease.

Buck had cast his out into a perfectly aimed arc and roped the steer's horns in a matter of seconds, shortly followed by Rosie capturing its heels and then it was a quick flurry of the two pulling their respective horses into the normal halt.

The horses knowing exactly what they were supposed to do and making everything look so easy Bucky wondered if they could have done the maneuvers without their riders, just memory alone.

John was expecting it, knowing that the fluid movements both Rosie and Buck had worked were the picture perfect dream team, but even as the scores were tallied up at the end of the event, he couldn't help the way his heart raced at hearing Buck's name spoken out in victory, letting out a loud celebratory whistle in the blond cowboy's celebration.

Seeing the way the other man had looked up into the crowd, taking in the fact that they were cheering for him and Rosie and the wide, bright smile that had lit up his face in turn lit up Bucky's entire soul, and he couldn't help mirroring it.

But he also couldn't help the way that the sinking feeling returned to his stomach when he watched Buck and Rosie ride up to each other, clasping hands and pulling each other in to a quick one armed hug, smiles beaming.

So when all was said and done, he turned his eyes away and decided to make his way back to Buck's trailer to strip off his gear and start to settle himself down in the adrenalised aftermath.

He resolutely ignored the tight restricting feeling crawling its way up his throat.

He had only been in Buck's trailer for a matter of minutes, hands fumbling with the straps of his protective vest in anticipation of stripping himself of the heavy material, when the trailer door had slammed shut behind him and startled him in to turning around.

Buck was standing there, but was very pointedly staring at the trailer floor, hands on his hips over the leather of his chaps and taking a long, deep breath out from his nostrils, face blank and unreadable.

Bucky took a small step back when he felt the sudden tense air fill the small space of the trailer, taking in the hard and trembling line of Buck's shoulders, heaving slightly with what John could only discern as barely concealed rage.

He didn't dare speak, just standing there with his fingers still paused in the movement of undoing his vest straps, and watched the way Buck's eyes still wouldn't meet his, the steely blue gaze hard and unflinching but flickering back and forth with silent thoughts.

Both cowboys stood there for what felt like an age, neither daring to move lest the other lash out like a snake at any sudden move, and Bucky could feel his heart sink lower and lower the longer Buck kept silent, dread crawling up his throat and into his mouth in a sickening wave.

When that feeling felt like it was about to bubble out of him like an overflowing shaken up coke bottle, he parted his mouth, trying to get some type of sound or word out, but snapped his jaw shut again when Buck whipped his head up to stare straight at him.

It felt like those blue eyes were boring holes into his very soul, stormy and enraged and something else that Bucky couldn't quite discern and didn't necessarily want to.

He kept himself still, not wanting Buck to unleash whatever was building there inside his head, just stared right back, wanting but not able to break their stares for fear of what would happen if he did.

So when Buck finally moved, making a beeline straight for him, eyes still sharp and unreadable, Bucky found himself taking another small step back, steeling himself as Buck got closer and closer until he got so close that Bucky felt himself swallow in a suddenly dry throat, ready for the rage of Buck's words to finally pour out.

He took a small breath, not afraid of Buck but afraid of how truthful Buck's words would be, but instead found himself making a small sound of surprise as two hands came up to grab the sides of his face and drag him downwards into a fierce bruising kiss against the other man's lips.

It only took him a few scant moments before he let the tension ooze out of his body and melt into the other, allowing his eyes to close as Buck kissed him harshly, digging his thumbs into the sides of Bucky's jaw until he parted his lips properly and was rewarded with Buck's tongue invading his mouth with an energy he was struggling to compete with.

He risked moving his own hands, abandoning the straps he didn't realise he was still holding on to and fit them perfectly against the curve of Gale's ass, squeezing against the denim and soft leather of the chaps and pulling the smaller man's hips against his own.

Bucky couldn't help the disappointed groan he let slip when Gale pulled his lips away from his, breath panting hot and rapid over his lips in a staticky wild energy, both men's eyes still squeezed shut at the onslaught of emotion suddenly coursing through them.

He felt Buck's fingers shift back from his jaw to grip harshly at the longer curls at the back of his head, pulling until a sharp pain made him groan again against Gale's lips.

"You're such a fuckin' idiot, John Egan."

John felt his eyes fly open, a confused frown pulling at his brow as he finally looked at Buck, who was staring at him with that same stormy anger he had seen when the other man had entered the trailer.

He let his gaze scan over Gale's features, sitting on the kiss swollen redness of his lips before making eye contact again.

"What?"

Buck sighed, sharp and irritated and tugged at John's hair again that had Bucky hissing through his teeth as Buck knocked their foreheads together harshly.

"I said, that you're an idiot, and I can't believe you thought for even a second that I would ever think of replacing you, or be jealous of Rosie, for Christ's sake."

John gaped at Buck's words, feeling hot shame and embarrassment coil into his stomach, and had no doubt that his face was turning a bright shade of red as he cringed.

He looked away from Buck's eyes for a few seconds, trying to wrangle that shame under control before he looked back at him. He could feel the way his face melted into something sad and shameful, and he couldn't control it.

"Buck, I-"

"Shutup, and listen to me for a second. When I told you, all those weeks ago that you had made your home in my heart, I damn well meant it. And I don't know about you, but I mean what I say."

The shame increased for a few moments before something that felt suspiciously like relief started to chase it away, a new sensation building as he stared at Buck.

He took in the raw emotion that was growing in the blond's expression, the way his lips trembled slightly and the crease between his brows, a bead of sweat trailing from his hair and down the side of his face.

He couldn't help but think Buck was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, a thought that often overtook every waking moment.

"Rosie is not interested in me like that, John. And I can tell you that with complete honesty, right now. He respects me, is starstruck by me, has looked up to my dad and now me since he was a kid. There is nothing there besides respect and adoration for my riding and my name."

John swallows heavily, the shame now disappearing completely, and he suddenly thinks that he would really, really like to kiss the man standing in front of him again. "But I-"

Buck brings one hand around to grip Bucky's jaw in between his fingers giving him a gentle shake to quiet him again.

"Besides," Buck murmurs suddenly, a small grin crawling its way on to his lips, and Bucky watches the motion with reverence before returning his hold on Buck's eyes, which have gone softer in their intensity. "He likes Crosby."

Bucky feels his brain short circuit, like someone has cut the wires again, leaving him in a state of sudden confusion and shock like Buck had just slapped him with the hand still holding his jaw.

The sudden images of small secretive smiles, of giddy looks and signs that he had resolutely ignored, had pushed down into the back of his mind like unimportant information because all he had been focused on was Buck and Rosie, suddenly made him feel, indeed, very stupid.

He frowned at Buck, mouth opening and closing a few times as Buck watched all the pieces click into place in his mind with a self satisfied smirk on the blond's lips.

"Crosby!? Wh- How the hell do you know that?"

Buck laughed, low and quiet, and let his grip on John's jaw loosen slightly, thumb stroking over the sharp angle of it.

"Curt." He said simply.

Bucky sputtered, still trying to process the onslaught of information that he had suddenly been made aware of in such a short amount of time, and his head started to ache.

"How the hell does Curt know that?" John questioned. He brought his hands that were still sitting against the curve of Buck's ass up to rest comfortingly against the shape of his waist in a comforting hold. Buck rolled his eyes, his smirk only growing. "Curt knows everything, you should know this. He's also the reason I found out you were being a jealous idiot for the past week."

Bucky cleared his throat at Buck's words, averting his eyes in embarrassment and cursing under his breath, but was quickly pulled back by Buck's hand so he was face to face with the other man once again.

He was also face to face with Buck's sudden look of complete fond adoration, eyes partially lidded and staring over the contours of his face, eyes scanning every inch of it like he was seeing the stars for the first time.

He felt the continuous movement of Buck's thumb running against the skin of his jaw, the barely there whisper of movement that sent a shiver straight up his spine in an electric over load from being the sudden subject of Buck's soft attention.

"Told you you should'a worn a helmet. Your brain's startin' to turn to mush," Buck smiled up at him, amusement plain on his beautiful face and Bucky felt himself mirror it with a raised brow.

"Oh ha ha, Cleven's got jokes," he purred, slowly lowering his face down to Buck's until he pressed his lips gently against Gale's, feeling the ghost of his smart-ass smile melt away into John's ministrations.

He flexed his fingers against Buck's waist and the other leaned into the kiss perfectly, hand that had been gripping John's jaw finally releasing its hold and running down the column of his throat, fingers caressing in a barely there touch that had Bucky groaning into him.

The sound of familiar muffled voices outside the trailer suddenly had Bucky snapping his eyes open with realisation, pulling away from Buck's mouth suddenly as he leaned over to the window, reaching out with one arm.

Buck made a disappointed sound where he was still held carefully with John's other arm as the bull rider flicked the glass of the window open, face leaning closer to the opening as he shouted out into the open campground.

"You're a fuckin' traitor, Biddick! A big fat goddamn traitor!"

Curt's barked out laughter reached them from a short distance away, a half cut off 'You're welcome!' shouted back in answer as Bucky slammed the sliding glass shut and cut the world out again, leaving him and Buck standing in the ensuing silence.

Turning his attention back to Buck with a soft smile, he noticed the blond cowboy's eyes had dropped from his face down to the expanse of his chest, and he followed his gaze down to where Buck was suddenly fiddling absentmindedly with the still half-done straps of his vest.

Buck cut his eyes up to his again, smile spreading across his face, all sweetness and barely concealed mischief held behind the blue, and Bucky felt his cock stir unhelpfully against the harsh denim seam of his jeans.

With slow practiced ease, Buck lent up, by-passing Bucky's lips completely and instead brushed his lips against the shell of John's ear, making the taller man shiver and tighten his hold back on the waist between his fingers.

"Get this off, and get your ass up on that bed, now," Buck purred, low and so dangerously rumbled that it had Bucky huffing out a breath of surprise as Buck suddenly moved back and pushed a hand against his chest, making him stumble back a few steps.

He watched Buck with wide eyes as the other started fumbling with the buckles holding his roping chaps around his hips, eyes never leaving John's and Bucky felt his brain suddenly kick back in to gear, heart pounding in excitement.

He turned away from Buck for a few moments to hoist himself up onto the mattress of the bed in the loft, almost tripping in his haste and hands flying down to rip the straps of his vest open.

"Sir, yes sir, King Cleven," he teased, letting out a breathless 'oof' as he turned around to recieve a boot straight to the center of his chest, grabbing it before it fell to the floor with a laugh of surprise and then a yelp as a body quickly followed.

[vossn]

I was tagged by @between-thepages , thank you dearest!

let your spotify predict your 2024! shuffle your on repeat playlist, and the first twelve songs represent your 2024

The title song would be The Recluse by Amigo The Devil .. not a good Omen

January: 100 Suns - Thirty Seconds To Mars. A calm song for a slow start into the year, proven to be accurate so far.

February: Fish in the Sea - Stormy Weather Shanty Choir. It is indeed windy weather boys stormy weather boys.

March: Nach der Ebbe - Die Apokalyptischen Reiter. Unsure if this means I should be hopeful or afraid.

April: Nocturnal Me - Ghost. I.. become a vampire? (This is the point where I realized I fucked up and had shuffled my favs and not On Repeat. On Repeat from now on oops)

May: I Am What I Am - Gloria Gaynor. Pride Month comes early? T? pretty please?

June: Loser, Baby - The Cast of Hazbin Hotel. Optimistic Rock Bottom not agaaaaain.

July: IN THE CLOUDS - Johnny Majestic. Fuck yeah we ball!

August: CHAMPION - Bishop Briggs. Things are really going to start to look up from June on, aren't they?

September: Ostatni Dzień Sierpnia - Pablopavo i Ludziki. Buddy Pal you are a whole month late!!

October: Rainbow Fam - RealXman. MAKE THAT THING ROLLLLL-

November: Joyriding - Frank Iero. Ah, seasonal depression is back!

December: Ale jazz! - sanah, Vito Bambino. Bittersweet ending to the year! tagging @swanfloatieknight and @ineadhyn if willing <3

[nullshocked]

Songfic Tag Game

Pick a song to accompany each of your fics or as many as you like. This might be the fic's inspiration or just pure vibes that you'd like to share with readers. Tag as many people as fics you feature (or do as you please!)

I was tagged by @mightymizora and @chronurgy a bit ago and then drafted this post and forgot about it, oops.

Under a cut for length.

"Flood Water" by Nitzer Ebb provided the fic title. It fits the vibe to me anyway.

Say I Don't Mind You Under My Skin

"Degausser" by Brand New provided the fic title, and honestly the entire album has just been inspirational for the Acherye ship. I've had it on repeat and it's going to obliterate my spotify wrapped.

Take me, take me back to your bed I love you so much that it hurts my head Say I don't mind you under my skin I'll let the bad parts in, the bad parts in When we were made we were set apart But life is a test and I get bad marks Now some saint got the job of writing down my sins The storm is coming, the storm is coming in

Fire in Your Eyes and Your Head Held High

There was something in the way that the day broke Thunder rumbled in a darkened sky Wind in your hair, rain on your face Fire in your eyes with your head held high I felt no pain as you walked away I felt no pain it was no surprise And I had to say that I know there's No such thing as a free ride, yeah There's no such thing as a free ride, yeah

Eruption

"Burn" by Sister Machine Gun, purely for the vibes.

What kind of fool am I To want your body next to mine I want your body next to mine I need you any time And I'm breaking down inside Oh Lord I'm breaking down inside You cover me with all your hopeless little fantasies I never had before No, I never had before And now I'm living in my own reality Cause of the things you did to me Oh, the things you did to me

I'll Burn Before You Bury Me

Instead of the obvious, gunna make the weird pull of "Very Cruel" by Poliça

When the applause dies and our hands are untied Will you believe me that I loved you? What a fool I've been To beg you again and again To believe me that I want you Now we both can't sleep I see you in my dreams There you are on the lonely screen

Soirée

"Discipline" by Nine Inch Nails sorry not sorry.

And now it's starting up Feels like I'm losing touch Nothing matters to me Nothing matters as much I see you left a mark Up and down my skin, skin, skin I don't know where I end And where you begin I need your discipline I need your help I need your discipline You know once I start I cannot help myself

[renabe4life]

🤖💥🛌 for the ask!!

Thanks for the ask, anon! :D

🤖 Are you looking to change your current writing setup? (Or establish one, if you don't have one?)

I haven't thought much about this lately, as I seem to have figured out what works for me with the space/tools I have. But I also tend to just write with whatever I have wherever I am when an idea strikes. I've been known to bash out full pages worth on my phone while out on a walk oops. But at home so long as I have my laptop I will set myself anywhere with a glass of water and perhaps a warm beverage nearby while I work.

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

Mannnnnnnnnnn... so many. More than I have enough to share a snippet for. But... tell you what! Later today, I'll post a wip of a scene I've already written for Take Root that I'm excited to share this year. As for something I've yet to write, here's a little hint:

There is an upcoming scene in Ebb, my merClover fic, where Qrow gets a hell of a surprise in the morning. Let's just say... it involves cake.

🛌 Is there a new trope you'd like to write this year?

Oh boy, oh boy, does it count as new if it's for an existing fic? Already kinda hinted at in Ebb, but it is very much turning into an and they were roommates situation. I'd also like to find an opportunity to include only one bed in a fic just for funsies. And one of my current fics will absolutely at some point end up with a side story of long distance relationship too.

Gonna try to get into the habit of writing more regularly this year in the hopes I can write more than last year and get to all this fun stuff!

Thank you again for the ask!

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

...you write a secret love letter to Hermes to vent your emotions, planning to destroy it, but Caduceus thinks it's actually to deliver and takes it straight to Hermes, oops... (His minion description says he delivers messages!)

Dear Hermes,

In spite of the multitudes of ways that I could try to tell this to you, I find that there isn't a single one that can truly suffice. No word can encapsulate the feelings I have, nor can any gesture truly communicate the depth. This is possibly the sixth or seventh time I've tried to pen this, with each previous attempt having found its end in the crackling embrace of the fire beside my desk.

Did you know how lovely you look, peering up into the heavens at night? I scarcely think that you do--you aren't the type of person to think much of yourself, and much less in how someone might behold your notion of wonder. You seem to hold so much adoration for the stars beyond ours, so much aspiration and hope that sometimes, when I myself gaze upon you in the moments before you realize I'm there, the heavens pale in comparison.

Do you look at anything else like that? With such a look of reverence and love. Any other person, perhaps...?

Since I am likely to burn this letter in congregation of its previous iterations to keep you from actually reading this, I will admit it outright: I have feelings for you, Hermes. You are the heavens that I gaze upon longingly, beautiful in every measure, but I have to wonder if you at all look at me in turn, or if the heavens above are the only thing your heart has room for. I certainly cannot blame you for that, since-

It is in that selfsame moment that Hermes, his focus upon the unfolded parchment in his hand, felt a swift motion pluck it directly out of his fingertips. The man's shocked attention moved upwards, catching your dark, hooded figure hunched over and gasping for breath, the letter crumpled in your hands.

"I'm s-... sorry..." you said, breathless and tight, as if every word was a struggle to push from your lips. Swallowing down air and sense alike, you finally turn your gaze around to sheepishly meet Hermes' own beneath his mask. "It's just... nobody was supposed to... to read theh... this."

Though he cannot see much of your face beneath the cowl of the robe, Hermes has the near-unmistakable notion that you are almost glaring upon the small creation curled up near where he stands. The creation itself is a small snake, very much like the common concept save for the fact that it is intelligent enough to be a messenger and designed to be helpful--apparently too well, if the moment is to be best unraveled from its tangled mess of subtleties.

Hermes turns his eyes back to you. "Caduceus must have misinterpreted the letter as something to be ferried," he says gently, already tasting the lie on the curl of his lips. "I had but just opened it when you arrived--luckily I had not the moment to read whatever mysteries you seem apt to keep, Azem."

It takes a few moments, but eventually the tension ebbs from your body. The words settle into the air between you and the man who had seemingly been moments from learning a horrible, embarrassing truth. Eventually you look down at the parchment crumpled between both palms, then back to Hermes.

"As more senior members of the Convocation can attest to, I am always one for a good mystery or two. You've newly taken the seat of Fandaniel, so I'm sure you'll come to either adore or loathe them in time."

Hermes quirks a brow. "I can't tell if you're talking more of the Convocation or specifically yourself."

You pause, but the silence eventually drags on long enough that Hermes can swear there's an eking of heat from your aura--nervousness? You can feel his eyes, his focus, steadfast and curious, and that alone is enough to make your stomach twist and your heartbeat quicken.

Before he can look any deeper however, you are already shuffling off, carefully clutching the letter in your hands and making the excuse of needing to be somewhere else, apparently--somewhere very important and very much not here.

The details were rather hard to pull out from the hurried babbling of words that rather crashed into one another. But you at last move with such speed that you're already out of sight by the time that Hermes thinks to say anything else, his verdant attention left to ponder.

Alone with his thoughts and the memory of the letter, the words that had been penned so earnestly within, having left such an impression upon Hermes that he could scarcely forget them.

You are the heavens that I gaze upon longingly.

Do you look at anything else like that?

Yes, he answers in silent assurance, there is but one other thing that he finds himself gazing at--though he doesn't feel quite so small and lost as he does beneath the heavens when he turns his loving gaze upon you.

[the-iceni-bitch]

Okay, so I just had a sinfully dirty idea for the OTP and I couldn't help but share it with you. Gonna apologize upfront for my exhibitionism kink, but hear me out. Since Ransom's friend's and their girls are all super interested in the OTP's sex life, what if they're hanging out /drinking at Ransom's house and one of the girls is like "show us some of your moves", so they just like fuck right there. If you don't want to write this, that's totally fine but I just had to share this hoe thot.

Ooooookkkkkkk....

So, I wasn’t 100% sure I was going to do this one, but I’m drunk so what the hell!

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (salad tossing, f receiving oral sex, public sex, mentions of blow jobs), technical dub con as both parties are very drunk (but consenting!), excessive alcohol consumption by adults of appropriate age, SMUT!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!

Smutty smut guys!!!!! No minors!!!

You’d had so many Jell-O shots you were having trouble walking straight, but you were determined to win at beer pong.

Ransom and you had already dominated at flip cup at Chaz’s frat themed house warming party, and you hated to admit how good of a time you were having. You hadn’t been this drunk since college.

Logan was giving you a stupid smirk from across the table as you lined up your shot. You shoved Ransom off when he tried to drunkenly nuzzle into your hair, rolling your eyes when he whined about how mean you were being to him.

The ball bounced once and landed in the last cup on Logan’s side of the table, and you gave him a sloppy grin as he downed the contents with a grumble.

“Which one ‘f you assholes ‘s next?” You slurred, hiccuping at the end of your sentence as you steadied yourself with one hand on the ping pong table.

“No more!” Chaz groaned, rolling off the stool he was perched on. “You’re too fucking competitive.”

“Yeah, no more competitions, let’s play truth or dare!” Brittney said excitedly, clapping her hands and wobbling towards the living room.

“Leh’s get the fuck out of here, baby.” Ransom mumbled as he tried to wrap himself around you, but only succeeded in tangling his feet with yours until you both almost went down.

“I don’t think ya should drive.” You giggled, staring at your feet as you tried to walk to join the other members of your little group. “I know I shud... shudn’t.”

The two of you fell on top of each other on the couch, laughing breathlessly as Ransom tried to pull you into his lap but just flung you over it like he was going to spank you.

“Wait, tha s’not right.” He muttered before turning your body slowly until you were leaning against his chest.

Everyone in the circle was glassy eyed and unsteady as they settled in, couples snuggling together around Chaz’s coffee table as you called numbers to determine who was going first.

“Alright, Jess.” You murmured, trying to ignore Ransom rubbing his hardening cock against your ass. “Truth or dare?”

“Oooh, truth.” She said with a crooked grin.

“Ok, wha s’the longst you’ve ever given head?” You said with a wicked smirk, smacking Ransom’s hand when he tried to shove it down the front of your jeans. “Knock ‘t off, Hugh!”

“Five minutes.” Jess said at the same time Logan told you to fuck off.

“Tha’s it?!?!” You screeched, almost falling off the sofa as you laughed hysterically. “Jesus, Logan gettin’ called tha fuck out.”

“You’re such a bitch.” Logan groaned as he chugged the rest of his beer and headed to the kitchen to grab another.

“Hey! Only Hugh gets ta call me a bitch! Goddamn it Drysdale!” He was trying to shove his hands in the front of your shirt now.

“What?!?! C’mon baby, jus wanna feel ya up a little.” He whined as he drew you back against his chest. “Those fuckin’ tits fit in mah hands so good.”

A shrill yelp escaped from you when he slapped your tit through your shirt, turning and smacking his shoulder as gave you a stupid grin.

“Jesus Christ, you two.” Dylan grumbled with an eye roll as Ransom turned you around and started to mouth at your chest through your t-shirt. “Chaz, truth or dare?”

“Um, fuck, dare.” Chaz said, trying to ignore the noises the two of you were making as Ransom started sucking on your neck.

“Switch underwear with Brit.” Dylan told him, pointedly not looking at you as you tried to unwind yourself from Ransom and berated him for being such a slut.

Britney cracked up and dragged Chaz away from the group towards the bathroom as he cursed under his breath.

“How’s it feel Chazzy boy?” You teased when they came back, wrapping your hand around Ransom’s face and shoving him off you. “Everything all tucked in? Hugh!”

He’d sucked your fingers into his mouth and was swirling his tongue around them as he still tried to climb on top of you.

“Oh my god! Truth or dare you freaks.” Logan sighed, everyone now openly staring at the two of you as your resistance started to ebb away, letting Ransom run his lips over your throat.

“Dare.” He mumbled without thought, his hands moving to tuck under the waistband of your jeans.

Logan made eye contact with you and gave you a wicked grin. “Make Y/N come in 3 minutes.”

“What?!” You shrieked.

“Done!” Ransom shouted triumphantly as he flipped you over and yanked your jeans down. “Bet I can do it in two.”

You dug your fingers in the cushions as he buried his face between your cheeks and ran his tongue over the rim of your pretty hole. Every swipe of his tongue over your tightened hole sent quivers through your aching pussy, slick leaking down the insides of your thighs as you mewled into the sofa.

He ran his tongue over your slit and flicked kitten licks against your clit, groaning into your cunt when he felt you clench against his face. His lips wrapped around your pussy and he slurped up your arousal before moving back to your asshole and sucking.

“Fuck! Ransom!” You screamed when he speared his tongue past the tight ring of muscle and stretched you open.

The soft brush of his fingers against the inside of your thigh as he fucked you with his tongue made you gasp. It punched into you with vigor as his thumb moved to your clit and started to circle it softly.

You reached behind you and wound your fingers through his hair to press him further into your ass as you panted with need, his free arm wrapping around your thighs when he felt you getting close.

A sob ripped out of your chest as you came, your release squirting out of you and soaking the front of his shirt as your body tried to curl in on itself. He kept tongue fucking you through it, grinning against your ass as he felt you flutter around him.

“Time?!” He called, sitting up and beaming around the room at your shocked looking friends.

“Ninety-seven seconds!” Jess said after checking her timer.

“Fuckin’ knew it.” He purred, pulling you into his lap and brushing his lips over your throat as you sighed contentedly. “Fuck you Logan.”

——————————————————————————

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[fstbmp-a]

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑.

𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞. mirth!

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬. she/they

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. i prefer discord but i'm also picky with giving it out so.. oops!

𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞(𝐬). olympia, amy and shadow are the ones that are rattling around in my head the most right now but really all my muses are active - it just comes down to if i can write them haha...

𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞/𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 (𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬/𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬?). oh gosh... it's been AGES. i know i've been writing on tumblr since about 2010-2011, but even before I was writing in some capacity... 16-ish years, maybe? somewhere in that ballpark I'dd wager.

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. gaiaonline (don't look at me dear god), deviantart (STOP LOOKING), skype, discord and here!

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. fuck, man, just all the friends i've made thanks to rping. my strongest friend group wouldn't even EXIST if I didn't chance upon them through writing on tumblr and i'll never ever forget that.

𝐫𝐩 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 / 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐬. oh this is gonna sound pretentious af... i think people take too much value in romantic shipping and the ilk over other forms of relationships. friendships, rivalries, outright enemies? they all have the potential to cause exponential growth in a character - heck usually more than a romantic relationship!!! (also other stuff but that one would require its own post but we'll see).

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭.  uh! curveball: fight threads. i love 'em. it's genuinely something i enjoy, thinking up the choreography of a fight and trying to put that down to words. it's really exhilarating if done right; seeing the ebb and flow of fighters in combat. but! from the options given? i couldn't really pick between fluff and angst. they both serve different purposes and personally they're incomparable to me.

𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬. uhm! a lot of my stuff is spur of the moment. i live for plots and such but usually it ends up just going down to what naturally comes from interactions. memes are fun though!!! like i said they can start off real serious plots of their own.

𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬. hm.. i don't mind short replies too much but i'm usually a fan of at least 3-4 short paras minimum? i can do novella too but it's shockingly one of my weakest traits despite how long i've written for. i start getting self-conscious and can't properly backread my own work to proofread anymore after a certain point. but!! novella stuff is also my favorite to write when i can manage it so! who knows.

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞. hm, i don't have a best time really. it's too sporadic to properly say.

𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞(𝐬). i. don't believe so, actually? but who knows, people see me a lot differently than I see myself jsabd

tagged by: @earthssprout (hi! we really need to write sometime i love ari sm)

tagging:

[turtle-steverogers]

steve getting caught in the rain on the way home from work and barging through the front door bangs dripping and cheeks pink and bucky looking up from his spot on the sofa with alpine and thinking i’m fucked

so it's like 1 am and this was going to be something chaotic and smutty but it ended up being a view of steve's pain from the eyes of bucky

oop anway:

In From the Cold

-

From Stevie: Left my key at home. Can you let me in?

Bucky gets the text right before there’s a knock at the front door, and he presses to his feet, shifting Alpine off his lap. It takes a moment to undo all the latches and locks, and by the time he does, Steve has knocked again-- sharper. Frantic. Bucky frowns and opens the door.

“Shit, Steve,” he says, and steps to the side to let Steve in past him.

He’s soaked, straight through to his skin. His hair is plastered to his forehead, clumped and stiff with sleet. His nose and cheeks are bright against his otherwise pale skin, and his lips are a tad blue.

He’s shaking. Hard.

It’s then that Bucky realizes that sleet is coming down outside, the sky blanketed a gloomy grey. The storm had been on the radar, but somehow he’d forgotten about it. Steve, it seemed, had forgotten as well when he’d left for his meeting that morning.

“Yeah,” Steve says, taking off his jacket. His movements are stiff and Bucky reaches out a hand, taking the soaked jacket from him before he can hang it on its hook. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Go ahead and take off the rest of your clothes. I’ll throw them in the wash. Do you want a bath?”

Steve swallows, a shudder running visibly through him and Bucky doesn’t need a psych degree to guess what’s going on. Between the wet and the cold, this is hardly Steve’s preferred state to be in. There’s a vacancy in his eyes that makes Bucky’s blood run cold.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yes. Please.”

-

Bucky’s blood runs cold as a cough wracks Steve’s body, and he instinctively listens for a rattle in his lungs. The cough is not dry, though. Silver linings.

His hair is plastered to his forehead, and Bucky curses, reaching out to usher Steve inside. His clothes are soaked and sticking to his frame, hugging him in a way that seems to accentuate his size. Make him look even smaller. He coughs again.

“Jesus, you got a death wish?” Bucky hisses, hands working to unbutton Steve’s shirt-- get the wet fabric off, because it’s going to make him sick and Steve just got over his last fucking cold.

Steve bats his hand away, leveling him with a glare.

“No, shut up,” he says, and the harshness is dampened by the chattering of his teeth. He unbuttons his own shirt and tosses it aside, the bruises on his collarbone from a work mishap earlier that week stark and purple. Bucky wants to reach out and soothe his fingers over them-- kiss them away.

Instead, he goes to his closet and pulls out a clean shirt and some boxer shorts that will be too big on Steve, but at least they’re warm.

“I thought you were seeing your ma,” Bucky says, handing Steve the clothes. Steve strips naked right there in their hallway. He’s unabashed and it makes the lithe lines of his body all the more beautiful.

“I was,” Steve says. It’s clipped and Bucky’s gut twinges. Sarah had gotten sick a week or so ago-- an awful, wracking cough. Bucky had hoped, fucking prayed that it wasn’t the worst. But Sarah worked in a TB ward, and life didn’t seem so kind to the Rogers family. “They wouldn’t let me in.”

“Shit,” Bucky says.

Steve is dressed now, Bucky’s boxers barely clinging to his hips. He sits down on Bucky’s bed, and Bucky sits, too.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he’s holding himself so tightly that Bucky’s afraid he might snap.

-

Steve holds himself tightly as he sits on the edge of the tub, his eyes on the rising water level, but mind clearly elsewhere. Bucky watches him for a moment as he returns from the laundry room-- watches his chest heave and hands tremble.

He is naked where he sits, and the way he hunches in on himself makes him look smaller. Bucky’s chest aches and he desperately wishes he could reach out and break the spell-- break the hold Steve’s mind seems to have on him right now. But he knows a thing or two about triggers, and he may not know what happened when Steve crashed that plane-- not details anyhow-- but he knows damn well that Steve still isn’t healed from that particular wound. It will likely follow him to his real grave. The pain. The fear. The damning finality of it.

-

And it seems like a final damnation. One not so beautiful as the perdition that was Steve taking Bucky into his body. But a much starker one. As unforgiving as a son losing his mother can be when he’s already lost his father. Steve says he hadn’t cared much when Joseph finally died-- his own faults pulling him under the current. But there’s a shame there that he can’t seem to quell. Regret that runs in the tightness of his eyes, smoldering and masked by a harshness that doesn’t fit the gentleness that is the skin of Steve Rogers. The soul and bones that are so hurt by a world keen on hurting them.

There’s a grief that wants to rise in Bucky’s own chest. Sarah doesn’t deserve this-- he wishes he could change it. Make it untrue. Make it better.

But he can deal with his own shit later. Right now, Steve is hurting and Bucky needs to coax him out of his shell. Lance some of that pain.

His hair is still dripping from the storm outside and Bucky reaches out, brushes his fingers through the sopping strands. Steve looks at him, eyes hollow and shining-- a strange dichotomy.

“Let me run you a bath?”

-

Steve sinks into the bath water, eyes closed as his chest hitches and stutters. He sinks down until the water covers his chest, stops at his chin. And it would be an endearing sight if he didn’t look so damn troubled.

Bucky hesitates.

“Do you want me here? Or would you rather be alone.”

Please God, he thinks. Please let me in. Let me stay. Let me shoulder some of your pain.

Steve’s jaw shifts, then clenches. He battles with himself, caught between the draw of comfort and his own internal walls telling him to close the gates.

Bucky waits.

“Can you wash my hair?” Steve eventually asks.

Bucky smiles. “Of course, pal.”

-

Bucky takes off his shirt so it won’t get wet and kneels by the edge of the tub. Steve leans back to wet his hair. It seems like instinct more than anything. His hair was already pretty damn wet. Bucky picks up the shampoo-- half empty and a little crusted around the cap-- and squirts some out onto his palm.

Lathering it up, he leans closer.

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

“Close your eyes, sweetheart.”

Steve closes his eyes and Bucky begins to work the shampoo into his hair, pressing his fingers into his scalp, around his temples. Tension seems to ebb out of Steve in increments and Bucky is hopeful for a moment that he’s leaching out some of the shock.

And he must have taken away the numbness, because then Steve is sobbing, and Bucky is cursing softly as he strips out of the rest of his clothes, climbing into the tub behind Steve. He rinses his hair, and doesn’t bother with soft nothings. Because it isn’t okay. And Steve doesn’t deserve dismissal like that.

Instead, he pulls him close and buries his nose in his hair.

-

With practiced hands, Bucky works his coconut shampoo into Steve’s hair. It’s his favorite even if he won’t admit it and never buys it for himself. That’s alright, though. Bucky doesn’t mind sharing.

He feels Steve’s skin warm up-- rinses his hair with rhythmic and soothing touches, skittering his hands down Steve’s shoulders and across his chest as he goes, aiming to ground him. But Steve is not speaking and he is still shaking.

“Steve?” Bucky prompts gently.

Steve looks at him, gaze darting to his eyes, then his cheek, fixating there. A shudder rolls through him and he goes impossibly more pale.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Steve,” Bucky says again, alarmed, and then Steve’s chest is heaving as his breaths start to speed up. “Shit.”

Bucky strips off his clothes, and climbs into the tub with Steve, keeping a hand on him as he sinks into the water.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, and Steve manages a nod. He’s going to hyperventilate if they don’t get a hold of this now. Bucky pulls Steve back against his chest and buries his nose in his hair. “Breathe with me. Just feel me, Steve. Just feel me and breathe.”

Steve does.

-

Steve is worn out by the time they’re settling in bed, and Bucky shifts him so his head is on his chest. They’re quiet for a long time, watching the sun set, shadows moving across the ceiling.

“I’m scared,” Steve says, his voice hoarse from crying.

Bucky tenses. “I know.”

“I don’t want to lose her.”

Bucky closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

There isn’t anything for it. Bucky wants to promise that he won’t leave. That he’ll be there, but Steve knows that and reiterating it will only exacerbate the pain of those who can’t be there for him.

“I’m so tired,” Steve whimpers.

-

“I’m so fucking tired of this,” Steve says as he comes down, voice tight and teeth chattering. At least he’s breathing on his own now.

Then rest, Bucky wants to say. Come in from the cold. Let us help. Let people help.

“I know,” he says instead. “I know, honey. But you did so good just now.”

Steve shrugs. “Can we get out?”

“Sure thing.”

They dry off together, and settle into bed, naked still and wrapped up in each other. Steve settles on his chest, head tucked under Bucky’s chin. An age old position-- Steve will always fit right in Bucky’s arms.

-

Steve falls asleep with his hand clinging to Bucky’s. He usually looks more peaceful when he is resting, but now his mouth is turned down-- the lines of his face seem to deepen. He looks much older than he actually is, but Bucky has always sort of thought that. Steve, he thinks, has had to grow up too fast.

There’s a moment where Steve seems to drift awake, eyes opening then shutting again. He makes a soft noise and shifts closer to Bucky.

Bucky holds him and prays he feels held.

-

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve says. It was worth a shot.

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Can I do anything?”

Steve swallows, arms tightening around Bucky’s middle. “Just hold me?”

“Of course,” Bucky says, and he hitches Steve closer, kisses the top of his head.

“This helps,” Steve whispers, and Bucky holds his breath. “You holding me. It feels safe.”

“I’m so glad,” Bucky says. His throat feels tight and he ducks his head to kiss Steve’s temple. It settles something in him, knowing Steve feels safe in his arms. “I’ll always hold you.”

-

thanks for reading, chiefs!

[ohnopoe]

Ulyc | Din Djarin

Ship: Din Djarin x Reader Word Count: 5.6k+ hahaha oops Tagging: @23orso​ & @hawkerz12​ Author’s Note: This is for the Mando’a Mandalorian Writing Challenge! My prompt was ‘Ulyc’ meaning careful or carefully. I’m so glad I finally got a fic finished for this fandom because damn do I have a lot that are sitting in my drafts unfinished, wow. Anyway, enjoy a slice of awkward fluff!

It wasn’t just hot, no, it had surpassed hot hours ago. The metal of the cargo hold practically sizzled whenever you accidentally brushed up against it, and you half expected to see steam wafting off the thin fabric you were using as a barrier against the heated steel. No, this was not hot as you had known it, this was sweltering.

Your usual flight wear had long since been abandoned, replaced by old threadbare shorts and a tee that was far from appropriate for anyone’s gaze. Hair stuck to you, that constant layer of sweat refusing to budge no matter how much water you consumed, nor how much you splashed desperately over yourself from the ‘fresher.

It was beginning to affect your mood too, making your responses short and concise, sharper than they might have been otherwise. There was no room left for your usual warmth and patience, it had been burnt away from you as time passed, searing the very nature of your being from you.

Of course you empathised when the child would coo unhappily at you, arms reaching up to you as if a hug would help his discomfort. It must be so much harder when you didn’t understand why the Razor Crest was suddenly akin to Hell’s Inferno.

You had tried to keep him cool, dousing him in water, a constant myriad of cooling focused on him as you suffered silently. But as the hours drew on each call of discomfort only played on your already frayed temper.

You could only hope, pray, beg the maker that this ceaseless torture would somehow end soon, that you would find somewhere safe to make repairs, that the damn hyperspace engine would come back from overheating when the temperature control had claimed it, and would allow you to travel once more at a normal pace.

Logically, you knew you could call up the ladder, could ask if you were nearing your destination, if it looked like this hell would end any time soon, but you thought better of it.

Din had been in just as much hell as you when he had trudged up the ladder, accepting your suggestion that you stay separate throughout the trip so he could remove not just the beskar that weighed him down, but the helmet that clung to his face too. You couldn’t disturb him now.

He had been so wary, so anxious to leave you alone in your suffering. His worry had shown in the small movements you had come to look for, had come to learn in a desperate attempt to understand your companion where usual tactics were lost. It showed in the way he dithered in his movements, shuffling on his feet, reaching out for you just like the child did, barely coming to his senses as his hand was nearing your cheek, ready to wipe away a bead of sweat that had made itself known. It was only when you pushed the canteen filled of cold water into his hand, only when you turned and began to rid yourself of any unnecessary clothing that he finally felt compelled to leave you.

If you sought him out now, if you called up into the cockpit you knew all his anxieties would come back, he would worry for you when he had to focus, and you were determined not to be a distraction. But that didn’t mean you weren’t worried. It had been hours now, hours since the temperature rapidly rocketed up, hours since he had taken that single canteen of water into the solitude of the cockpit. Surely he needed something else to drink, surely he needed a break.

Your thoughts were interrupted, however, when yet another sad coo echoed through the cabin. The child was desperate, wanting attention and comfort even though the touch he craved would only make the suffering all the worse. You had tried to explain it to him, tried to speak in soft words as you showed him slowly that the hugs he sought out would only increase both of your temperatures, would only make the horrid stickiness of sweat glean fruitfully. But he would hear nothing of it as his little arms reached out for you.

A sad smile, sympathetic, perhaps a touch irritated, played on your lips as you gave into his pathetic whimpering. It wouldn’t help in the long run, but you couldn’t let him suffer alone.

The child clung to you gratefully, a small heat-pack you did not need adding to your raised temperature. But he was calming down now, even though you knew damn well that he couldn’t be any more comfortable than you.

You had resorted to soaking fabrics in water from the ‘fresher, using them as cooling packs against the back of your neck, and wrapped around the child’s head, a desperate attempt to keep from overheating too much. But now, with the child tucking in against your chest, seeking out the comfort he knew so well, the cold liquid of his temporary bandana pressed tight against you too, adding the slightest relief against the hot blooded little being.

Perhaps this wasn’t too bad. And at least now he was beginning to settle, those large eyes faltering in an attempt to stay open, exhaustion finally starting to plague him. It had already been a long day, a bounty having caused more trouble than expected on a practically inhospitable planet, the seemingly easy task having stretched out for days, days of no sleep, of high emotions and tension. The last thing any of you had needed was the ship overheating on the way back to Nevarro, in fact it was quite the opposite of the peaceful evening flight you had hoped for.

You almost wished you could find that same peace, that same place of exhaustion the child was reaching quickly in your arms. Wouldn’t it be nice to simply sleep through the heat? To wake up safe and sound and cool? Even Nevarro, with its chaotic weather, lava spilling freely, would be more acceptable than this hellscape.

But the cooling effect of the wet fabric against his head was losing its power, and with the evening out of his breath, you simply knew you had to put him down to sleep. He’d be more comfortable in the long run, curled up in a thin blanket instead of seeping in the heat that radiated off of you.

The little hovering [pram] was completely out of the question, too small and condensed, with the blankets only helping cocoon the heat in. But then, the little hammock he knew so well was hardly any better. It was better aired, yes, but in order to keep him comfortable, and to keep him from potentially falling out, it too was layered in blankets.

When the hell did the Razor Crest get so many damn blankets everywhere?

You weren’t entirely certain what prompted you to do it, it wasn’t that you thought he’d be mad if he found out, if anything he’d be more logical about it than you were currently capable of being, but you still hesitated as you looked at the cot Din used for sleeping. It was harsh and coarse, but it had some give to it, allowing for enough comfort for the little one to remain asleep and able to spread out.

But even as you put the sleeping child down, your brow furrowed in discontent. It wasn’t that the fabric was itchy per se, but it certainly had grown old, any comfort it once held long washed out of it. The slightest give of the canvas below didn’t help either, it held no real support or care, and you were starting to understand how it was Din could sleep so easily in the pilot’s chair, or sitting upright on the ground… or just about anywhere really. Had he ever slept comfortably?

To be fair, your own sleeping arrangements were no better. Having refused to take the small solitude of his sleeping quarters, if you could even call them that, when he had offered, you had bunkered down on the floor, a nest of blankets and clothing that worked somehow as a bed whenever you got the chance to rest. It was easy to pick up, easy to push back into a bag and ignore during the day, and you weren’t even certain whether or not Din actually knew, or for that matter cared, where it was you lay your head at night.

You kept the shutter open, even the thought of how much worse it would have been with it shut in the small enclosed space making you cringe uncomfortably. This way he’d at least have some air, and you’d be able to keep an eye on his little sleeping figure as his entire being shifted with each easy breath he took, falling further into his dreamland.

For something so difficult, he was incredibly cute, especially when his little beady eyes were closed, his mouth pouted open with little snores escaping him. He looked content, almost happy in his sleep, and you could feel the irritation from earlier beginning to ebb away at the peaceful sight.

The sound of static shook you from your revery, causing you to turn suddenly in alarm. Only when the sound of a voice, not quite as distorted as usual, but still grating through your communicator, followed, did you begin to relax.

“I’m coming down,” the words were simple and straight to the point, and if his tone held a touch of nerves, you wouldn’t be the one to bring it up.

You nodded in answer, your mind slow from the heated haze, before you cleared your throat in realisation that he obviously couldn’t see you. A few steps and a rush of material later, and you found the communicator you only used when he was away hunting a bounty under your discarded flight-wear.

“Ok,” you spoke into the small device, moving further into the cargo bay, nearing the ramp to give him as much space as possible. Only when you were  on the other side of the hull did you bring it up to your lips once more, realising he would need more than that, and attempting to reassure the both of you as you added, “my eyes are shut, and covered.”

You dropped the communicator onto a nearby crate as soon as the words were out of your mouth. With your back facing the ladder, your eyes squeezed shut so tightly it was almost painful, and your palms covering them dramatically, to make sure he was aware they were covered, you waited.

Time passed slowly, and logically you knew it was most likely just your thoughts that made it feel that way. You had never been in the same room as the Mandalorian without his helmet, had never even considered it a possibility. Hell, had you assumed too much? What if he was only giving you the warning so that you would be decent? What if he had every intention of putting his helmet back on before coming down to face you, despite the discomfort it would bring.

There was no reason to think he would be comfortable enough around you that he would risk something so important, or trust your words. Sure, you had been travelling with him for some time now, had even fought by his side, if somewhat chaotically as you didn’t really know what you were doing. You trusted him with your life, and you liked to think he trusted you with his, but that didn’t mean he had to trust you with this.

A life is a life, it’s something sacred and precious and unlike anything else. You would protect him and the child, just as he would do the same for you. But at the end of the day, it was the same for any innocent soul, wasn’t it?

His beliefs, however, they were something different. Special and ingrained in his very being. They shone clear for the world to see, secret in their depths, but loud in their importance. Every sight of that helmet was a reminder, every time he would hold back or care for his weapons with more reverence than you had ever seen before, it only reconfirmed just how true that was.

This is the way.

It was repeated often enough that you had no problem accepting it. For him, it was simply a fact. And that included having his helmet on, being sheltered from the world, even the child he called his foundling.

No, expecting him to remove his helmet, even when you assured him you were doing what you could to help protect his creed, was impetuous at best.

The sound of his boots hitting the ground shook you from your fears, loud and distinct, intentional even. He wanted you to hear, wanted you to know he was down now, and the lack of an explanation only further proved your thoughts right. He had to be without the helmet.

You tried to shake the thought from your mind. It might have been overly presumptuous, but it was done now, and you’d just have to deal with any ramifications later, when you were together and no longer practically melting into the metal slates below.

Silence drew on.

Your eyes were closed tightly, and you could feel sweat running down your forehead, threatening to follow your creased up features and sting them through gaps you could not fathom. But you refused to relax, refused to smooth your stressed forehead, to calm the crunched up lines that were practically creating caverns for your sweat to run down. It didn’t matter if the salty wetness stung your eyes, didn’t matter if you were only causing more sweat to form, your eyes were going to remain dramatically closed, even behind your raised palms, even as you had your back turned to him.

He’d be done soon, you reckoned with yourself, mentally following a droplet of sweat as it desperately attempted to cool your sweltering forehead. There was no way he’d stay down here longer than necessary, no way he’d risk further exposure.

But then, why didn’t you hear any movement?

There was no rush of water to drench his cowl, no metallic clinking of the ‘fresher door that refused to move silently no matter how much oil you gave it. There was no sound at all.

Since the moment his boots had met the metal floor, all had been silent.

“Mando?” you called out into the darkness, worry playing on your tone. He had to still be there, you would have heard him leave, would have heard him move. Even in his quietest moments, when he would move so swiftly, so deftly, you had learnt to attune yourself to him. You might not hear his steps, but his cloak would sway and ruffle against itself, his armour would scratch against its straps… Even now, without the armour you were so used to, you were sure you’d hear something.

But the silence reigned on behind you, the Mandalorian stock still, barely hearing the way you turned the nickname into a question of its own.

He was transfixed. Without the interference of his visor he could see you, really see you, and that alone would have been enough to capture his attention. There were no displays of temperature, no shifting images or dulled colours, you were there before him, natural and pure. It would have stolen his breath at any moment, a sight he longed to keep in his mind forever.

But this wasn’t any other moment. Your baggy flight-wear was long gone, the layers you usually kept yourself covered in, protected by, had been discarded the moment he had moved up the ladder. Now he was faced with something new, something he could never have imagined, and something that was making a permanent home in his mind.

Your back was to him, but he could still see so much. Your legs peeking out of those old shorts seemed so much longer, so much more enticing away from their usual confines. Your t-shirt was stuck to your back, showing every dip and curve, giving a view of your body he had never come close to before. Sweat made your skin glean in the low lights of the cabin, enticing and captivating, and his mind was filled with images of your skin just as slick from sweat, but under such different circumstances; under him.

“Din?” his name came out soft, quiet, unsure. It was rare that you used the name aloud, only in moments of true fear or worry, moments you knew only he could hear you, or moments you worried even that weren’t possible.

The sound of his name, so worried, practically pleading, jolted him from his thoughts, and behind you a rush of fabric sounded, the stoic Mandalorian moving this way and that, turning from you as if he was desperately trying to remember why he had come down in the first place.

“I-” his voice was rough and restrained, the single syllable forced out of his dry throat as he looked down to the empty canteen in his hand. He cleared his throat, the sound reverberating through the silence without the filter of his modulator, deep and gravelly. If you hadn’t had your eyes closed before you knew they would have closed of their own volition at the raw sound. “I won’t be long.”

Was he reassuring you, or himself? He didn’t rightly know. But somehow he needed to say it, needed to confirm he would be back in the safety of the cockpit soon, away from the tantalising sight that had stolen his attention, away from the danger of you potentially turning around, of breaking his creed.

Your nod was almost robotic, reluctant in its jolted movement, and you could only hope he saw it because words were failing to form in your mind. So that’s what he sounded like without the modulator playing with his tone. It was oddly warm and comforting, softer than you might have expected; but then that was a reoccurring theme, contradicting with the tough Mandalorian you had expected when you had first boarded the ship.

You were right, you could hear his movements, even when they were softer than you had come to expect. His boots where mandatory, it was just downright dangerous to be on the ship without them, as you well knew, but aside from them, the sounds he made were different. There was no shifting of his cape, no grinding of beskar against itself, no fabric rustling as it gathered against his many layers. Everything seemed muted.

The focus you had put on his helmet, or lack there of, suddenly seemed so much smaller as you came to the startling realisation. He was probably no more dressed than you were, attempting to alleviate the heat and rid himself of his usual attire that would have had him sweltering.

With the sound of his canteen filling, water sloshing against the sides, your own throat felt suddenly dry. What did he look like? What was he wearing? He was always so covered, so protected, but now, in the sweltering heat, he was more bare than you had ever witnessed, and in a way, you still were no witness to it.

Would his skin be on display? Would his fingers be freed of the gloves he usually wore, the smallest, most tantalising and distracting display of skin free for the world to see if only they should look?

It was such a small area to focus on, especially when you knew his face, of all things, was uncovered too, but somehow there was a mystery there, brought to life over months of curiosity. You had seen the way the arm of his shirt would shift against his gloves, never quite showing any skin no matter what he did, and it was hypnotising. Somehow it had grown to something more than curiosity.

You could wonder all day over what his face might look like, what colour his hair might be, or the depth of his gaze. But his wrists held possibility. You knew you would never know the beauty of his face, never hold the image of him in your gaze, but the same was not necessarily true of other parts of him.

Perhaps one day you would know the tone of his skin, whether his fingers were soft from the protection of gloves, or calloused from the never ending work he pursued. Perhaps you would feel his hand against your own.

It was a small dream, but one you could not seem to shake as time went past, and the curiosity of the man hidden by beskar only grew.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, wondering over what he might look like, over what he might feel like to touch now that he had removed so many layers of cloth, but the thoughts distracted you from his movements and the sounds he made. They distracted you from how quiet the hull had become as he once more lost himself to the silence.

The touch was feather light, dancing against your bared shoulder so carefully that you weren’t entirely convinced it was real. But still, it jolted you from your thoughts, bringing you back to reality with a sudden jump. He was still there, those relaxing sounds of him teetering about the hull gone, replaced by that same silence that had dawned when he first descended.

It had been light, gentle, eerily careful, and you couldn’t quite place what had happened. It felt too soft, too giving to be his hand or glove, almost plush against your skin. So quick to touch you, and so quick to leave, but it had your head spinning. It almost felt like a-

“I’m sorry,” the words danced against your skin, warm breath caressing where he had touched. You could feel the movement of his lips with the gentle statement, only confirming your hopes.

He was there, his lips had met your shoulder ever so lightly in the gentlest of kisses, and he was apologising?

Your silence hung heavy in the air, only making the heat all the more unbearable as tension steeped into it, but your mind was foggy and words were hard to grasp. How could he be sorry? It wasn’t his fault the cooling fans had ceased to work when you reentered space, no more was it his fault when the hyperdrive followed its path to destruction. He couldn’t have expected it any more than you could, and, in all honesty, if it lead you to this moment, to hear his voice unfiltered, to feel his lips caress your skin, it was more than worth it.

But that intoxicating warmth from his body behind yours, the heat that should have been uncomfortable was dissipating and suddenly a barrage of thoughts came crashing down in your mind. What if he wasn’t apologising about the heat, what if he wasn’t apologising for the torturously slow manner you were creeping towards Nevarro. What if he was apologising for ever so much as thinking of pressing his lips against your heated skin.

Your mouth hung open awkwardly, not able to grasp just what he was apologising for, and leaving too much silence as a lack of response. You could hear him now, gathering the now full canteen, readying to depart once more up the ladder and back to the solitary confinement and safety of the cockpit.

“Wait!” the word escaped you, sharp and far louder than you intended, startling the Mandalorian who was lost in his own thoughts.

The decision was made without conscious thought, in fact, you were as surprised as he to find yourself moving carefully towards him. Your eyes were still closed so tightly it was almost painful, and you could only hope you were going in the right direction as you gingerly took a step forwards.

His movements had stopped, and you took that as a sign that it was alright to continue as you quickly stepped forwards once, twice- your knee hit the corner of a crate. The pain was sharp, aggressive, and every instinct in you wanted to open your eyes, if only to glare at the offending item that had hindered your movement.

But a gentle hand was on your wrist, almost timid in the way he held you now, a silent reminder that he was there. It was enough to pull you from your thoughts, to keep your eyes closed tightly, despite the jeopardy it put you in around the sharp edged crates.

“Ulyc,” the word shouldn’t have sounded as beautiful as it did. It was ugly, coarse and harsh, but his tone was so warm and gentle, as if it had slipped out from him without a seconds thought as he began guiding you around the crate. “Careful,” this time the word was clear, for you, not him. It was subtle and soft, and somehow it matched that odd word perfectly, with just as much care and intent.

But you couldn’t put too much focus on what he had said, not when your senses were currently feeling so very overwhelmed. The heat had already done a number on you hours ago, but now there was so much more to distract you.

The sound of his voice, closer and clearer than it had ever been before almost brought a smile to your lips, and you desperately tried to etch the sound into your memory, to never let the softness of his tone leave you. But it wasn’t the sound of his voice that captured your attention this time, no, it was touch.

His touch.

His hand was still grasped around your wrist, allowing you to hold his wrist in return as he lead you around the sharp corner of the box, and you could feel him. Skin against skin, no gloves holding him back. You could feel the light callouses of his fingertips as they held you, sure but gentle, a guide without force. Warmth, subtler than that of the ship itself, radiating from his touch.

You almost stumbled again as his movements came to a stop before your own, and was that a laugh?

At any other time you might have pouted, crossing your arms before you in mock offence at his finding your stumbling so damned amusing. But his laughter was so rare a treat as it was, and now, without the shield of his helmet between you, without the raspy modulator shifting the tone, you could hear it, soft and sweet, akin to a hum, and you were smiling shyly before him.

“Are you alright?” the question was barely above a whisper, carefully controlled, but still lingering in the air with unwavering care. Oh, how that damned helmet stripped him of such emotion in his voice, how dare it deprive the world of such a gentle tone?

You nodded in reply, suddenly glad for the fact your cheeks were already heated from the overall temperature, and therefore could not give away the additional emotions you felt as his honeyed voice dripped over you.

With one hand still in his, and the other draped over your face in an attempt to cover both your eyes at once, you found yourself at something of a loss. Something would have to give, and while you desperately didn’t want to loss the feeling of his hand against yours, you knew that your other hand’s position was simply too important to adjust.

A slight frown on your features had his heart racing in fear, worried you were now coming to your senses, ready to give him the berating he deserved. His own lips mimicked yours unintentionally, slipping into a frown as his fears began to grow. But he refused to take his eyes off you, refused to lose the sight of you there before him, pure and free.

Your hand began to move against his wrist, and he was ready to drop it, refusing to acknowledge the disappointment already dwelling within him at the slight shift. But your hand did not fall from his, did not even leave his skin. Instead, it traced lightly against his arm, feather light, as light as his own touch had been, as you found your way to his shoulder.

The frown was lifting from both your features, a small smile playing on your lips, curiosity playing on his own as he watched in wonderment, trying to figure out what exactly you were doing. Broad shoulders, strong and stiff under your touch, the feel of his t-shirt gathering and falling under your touch, and then skin once more as you reached his neck.

You could feel his gulp against your hand, the same nerves that had his shoulders so tense now clenching his jaw as you took your time simply feeling him. If you had continued upwards, you might have felt the way his brow had furrowed in confusion and anticipation, might have felt the way his lips had opened in silent question.

But as your hand found his jaw, he found himself nestling into the touch without thought or intent. It felt natural, calming, and suddenly he could understand why it was the child was always craving your touch. If he had craved the feeling of your hand against his beforehand, it was nothing to how he felt now that he had experienced it. It was intoxicating, even in the stifling heat. Addictive and condemning all at once, and he couldn’t seem to control the way his cheek pressed into your hand, especially when he watched the smile on your lips only grow at the action.

You were leaning forwards, following the guidance of your hand, finding him in your temporary blindness through blissful touch, and it was magnificent.

Fears that he would push you away, that he would regret his actions too deeply for you to ever reassure him slowly crept away as he leant into your palm, as his hand that had held yours began to trace its way along your forearm, only to stop uncertainly at your shoulder. He didn’t push you away, didn’t pull you towards him either, he merely held on; letting you control whatever was happening here, and embracing it.

His breath was against your skin, warm and lilting, and before you knew it, it stopped altogether.

Closer than you had ever been before, you paused, careful not to knock into him with your arm still pulled over your eyes, giving him every chance to pull away.

“Don’t you dare apologise,” your words were rushed, but determined, leaving no room for argument. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order, a clear statement that you simply were not accepting such a thing from the man you had come to care so deeply for.

But even with the determination of your words, you still hesitated to move, worried that it was you who were overstepping now.

What if it had simply been an action of no thought? What if he hadn’t apologised for the thought of upsetting you, but rather for ever kissing your bared shoulder in the first place? It was so damn hot, it was hard for you to think straight, what if the same was so for him, and his actions were born not of desire, but a simple lack of thought?

His hand shifted from your shoulder, thumb running over it once in an almost soothing manner, light and careful as were each of his movements in the odd sweltering abyss you found yourselves in. He lifted his touch from you, and you couldn’t help but gulp back the fears the shift brought. But before you could begin to overanalyse, to fear you had overstepped, his hand was back, finding a spot against your waist that felt too perfect. It was warm, his hand only further adding to how your top stuck to the curve of your waist, but you never wanted it to leave. It felt natural there, comforting, reassuring, and simply right.

His thumb moved uncertainly against you, an attempt at reassurance from a man who simply didn’t know how to be reassuring. It was awkward and jilted, but it was genuine, and the attempt had you smiling shyly.

The arm that covered your eyes shifted, your hand moving to cover them instead, to allow more space, and before you had even finished the movement, he was there, taking up the space with those lightning fast reflexes you had come to adore.

His lips found yours fast, so fast that it pulled the breath from you in a rush. It wasn’t sweet and chaste, nor lusty and skilled. There was nothing perfect or refined about it at all, in fact. But his lips were on yours, pulling a searing and fervent kiss from you, eager and awkward, unpracticed and desperate.

You couldn’t help but smile against his lips as you shifted slightly, allowing yourself to find a more comfortable position against him all while kissing back just as eagerly.

It was nothing like you had dreamed, neither romantic nor suave, but it was flooded with raw emotion, with relief and care and an absolute thrill of excitement, and you found yourself losing yourself to the sensation as he relaxed against you.

It wasn’t until you were truly desperate for air that you pulled apart, a goofy grin on your lips that was reflected on his own, unbeknownst to you.

“No apologies,” he agreed with a soft grin of his own as he took in your features leisurely. His forehead came down to press against yours tenderly, his eyes refusing to leave your features for even a second as he seared the blissfully happy sight of you into his memory.

And somehow, even with the heat of his body against yours, with his forehead drenched in sweat that had trapped your hand between you, the heat simply wasn’t as unbearable as it had once seemed, in fact, it barely registered at all.

[ais-for-alex]

The Scars of Our Past: Chapter 7

Did I forget to update this for the last couple of weeks? Yes, yes I did. Oops. Anyway, hope y’all like chapter 7 🥰

***

The moment Leo’s skate hit the ice he knew he was not alone in the rink, he could hear their faint voices drifting down from the upper levels of the stadium. A smile tugged at his lips as he did a warm up lap around the ice, eyes scanning the seats, searching. They had been here before, sneaking in trying their best to hide amongst the plastic seats, but Leo knew they were there. He could feel their eyes watching as he performed. He knew it was only a matter of moments before they noticed he was on the ice but until then he had the upper hand. Leo’s sharp eyes caught sight of them, Finn's bright hair a flaming beacon that instantly drew attention to where they were slouched over in an attempt not to be seen.

“You know,” Leo said loudly his voice ringing out through the stadium as he came to a hard stop directly in front of their section, “if you insist on sneaking into my practices the least you could do is come say, ‘Hey’” Finn and Logan’s hushed chatter instantly fell silent as their eyes snapped to Leo down in front of them.

They were too far away for Leo to see the flush that raised on Logan’s cheeks, but he sure as hell could imagine it.

“You may as well come on down,” Leo continued, “I don’t bite… much.”

There was an indignant sputtering sound before Finn's voice came echoing downwards, “We’ll be down in a minute.”

Leo chuckled and began skating again warming up his muscles as Finn and Logan made their way down stairs towards the rink. When they finally made it to the boards Leo grinned at the sheepish looks on their faces as he drew closer stopping hard where they were standing.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” both Finn and Logan said at the same time, making Leo chuckle again.

“So, what brings y’all to my practice today? Surely you didn’t lose your phone up in the stands,” Leo asked with a soft smile.

“Ah, no- I just- well we just…” Logan said stumbling to find a valid excuse as to why they were up in the stands.

“We wanted to see if you would like to hang out,” Finn finally said, “right Tremz?”

Logan glanced up at Finn with a relieved look, “Yeah, exactly. We didn’t have any way to contact you and didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh- um I see,” Leo wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“So would you? Wanna hang out with us?” Finn asked earnestly.

Leo felt his heart stutter at the warmth in Finn's melted chocolate eyes, and he wanted too. Leo yearned to know these men better, he still didn’t know why, but something deep within himself was calling out for them.

“Yeah, I think I would. It’d be fun,” he grinned at the happiness that flooded Logan’s features at his words.

You’re moving on already? Suddenly it felt like ice had been injected into his veins by the thought that echoed in his mind. Did it really mean that little to you? You’re pathetic, looking for attention anywhere you can get it.

“Leo?” Logan’s voice was soft, a hint of concern hidden somewhere in it.

Leo blinked pulling himself back into the moment, “I’m sorry?”

“Can we get your phone number?” he said again, Leo actually processing the words this time, “That way we don’t have to stalk you at the rink?”

“That is unless you like us watching you practice,” Finn said with a wink, and if Leo didn’t know any better he would say it was almost flirtatious.

Leo felt a hot flush rise on the back of his neck, “Um, yeah. Can I?” he asked, holding out his hand for Logan’s phone.

“I’ll send it to Fish,” Logan nodded towards Finn as Leo handed his phone back, “we’ll text you, and see about hanging out, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” Leo answered, still a bit dazed from his harsh thoughts.

“Well,” Finn began a bit hesitantly, “I suppose we should go, let you get back to practice,” he held onto the boards and leaned his weight back, like he was trying to convince his body to leave but he didn’t really want to.

“Or you could stay,” the words had left Leo’s mouth before he had a chance to realize what he was saying, “I mean- if you want to- you don’t have to- sorry I said anything,” Leo rambled.

“Would that be alright?” Logan asked, “For us to watch?” his sparkling eyes looked up at him and suddenly Leo felt his anxiety ebb away in warm, sun drenched grassy fields.

“Yeah, it would. For a bit. My coach doesn’t come in until later so you’re welcome to stay until then,” Leo couldn’t look away from Logan’s face. The soft pull of his smile, the warm tan of his skin, the little cluster of freckles right where his jaw met his neck, Leo wanted to suck on them.

“We’ll stay then,” Finn’s deep voice pulled Leos eyes back over to him, “keep you company while you practice.”

Leo fought the flush creeping farther up his face as he nodded, “Alright, good. I should get back to work then,” and with that Leo skated back out onto ice before he could let anything else embarrassing slip out of his mouth.

He breathed deep calming breaths as he skated another lap to finish warming up his legs before finally settling at center ice. Leo felt a zinging under his skin at the feeling of their eyes following him, watching him. He didn’t understand why he was so nervous it’s not like this was the first time people had watched him skate, it wasn’t even the first time these people had watched him skate, but something in the intensity of their eyes made him want to show the deepest parts of his soul and hide under a blanket all at the same time.

Leo relaxed into the slide and scrape of his skates, he let his body flex and move, each stretch of his arm each point of his foot, pulling him back onto solid footing. This was what he knew, skating, he could move like this for eternity, as he let Logan and Finn move to the back of his mind. Methodically, Leo worked through each element of his routine, analyzing each jump, each pose, the way his blade would catch on the ice looking for the imperfections. At even the smallest of missteps Leo would circle back and repeat until it felt correct, then begin again. He skated until his lungs were screaming, until his muscles began to ache, until he could feel blisters forming on his feet.

“Leo, stop.”

Leo looked up with a gasp at the sound of his coach’s voice, suddenly he was filled with panic as he turned to where Logan and Finn had been watching, but he was only met with empty space, suddenly disappointment flooded through his veins.

“What are you looking for?” Madam Maxine’s heavy accent carried over the ice, causing Leo to spin around to face her.

“Nothing,” he said and skated closer to where she was standing.

“I like your perfectionism,” she said, handing him a water bottle, “I’ve been watching you practice for a while, to see how you work on your own. You catch your own mistakes.”

“Um, thank you,” Leo replied, still trying to catch his breath and fight away the disappointment at Finn and Logan’s disappearance.

“You still need to work on your emotional expression, I can see it in your face, you calculate each jump, each turn, but I understand that will take time to remedy.” Leo nodded listening to what she was saying, “You could be more aggressive in your elements though. You should include a quad closer to the end, and in the combination.”

Leo spent the rest of his practice discussing how he could improve his program, he was a bit nervous to try the new elements Madam Maxine suggested, it definitely increased the difficulty level. Once he finally made his way off the ice and into the locker room, Leo pulled his phone out of his bag to find several messages there.

(You’ve been added to a new group):

(UNKNOWN): Hey! This is Logan :waving emoji:

(UNKNOWN): Finn :Fish emoji:

(Logan): Sorry we left without saying goodbye

(Finn): We saw the scary French lady coming and didn’t want you to get in trouble again

(Finn): Thanks for letting us watch you practice

(Finn): You’re incredibly talented

(Logan): SO talented I think I’d break an ankle if I tried even one part of that

(You): You guys are sweet, and it was probably for the best that y’all left before Madam Maxine got there, she can be a bit intense

(Logan): So we gathered

(Logan): I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared of my own language before

(You): You speak French?

(Logan): Oui

(Logan): It’s my first language

(Finn): A fact he likes to hold over my head because I can’t understand what he’s saying

(Logan): Tu as juste peur que je dise de la merde sur toi

(Finn): WE’RE IN TEXT FUCKER I CAN GOOGLE TRANSLATE!

(Finn): I KNOW YOU’RE TALKING SHIT ABOUT ME!

(Logan):: laugh cry emoji:

Leo laughed at his phone before slipping it back into his bag and gathering his things to head to the shower. These two just kept getting more and more interesting. Leo had no idea what they might bring into his life but somewhere deep inside he was excited to find out.

Read on AO3

***

French translation: You're just afraid that I’m talking shit about you

[seducing-a-vampire]

ON BEING HONEST AND WHY I THINK SIMON WILL BE THE FIRST TO SAY “I LOVE YOU”

Two things sparked this meta:

Baz yelling “you’re so beautiful” to Simon, but Simon not hearing it— the moment that lives rent-free in my head 24/7

Rainbow’s recent Fall for the Book interview, when she said that she thinks that Baz is “settling for Simon” in Wayward Son

Here’s something we all know: our guys really suck at saying nice things out loud to each other. For two people are constantly thinking nauseatingly sweet and loving things about each other, they almost never actually verbalize them. 

I ended up going through a lot of quotes and tracking some of the nice things that they actually do say to each other, and I’ll offer some very  r a m b l i n g  thoughts on what I think Simon and Baz’s respective paths indicate for AWTWB. 

I was interested in the intersection of when Simon and Baz are being honest to each other (aka saying some of the nice things that they’re always thinking) with when Simon and Baz are being honest about themselves (aka self-acceptance).

TL;DR, my prediction for their path through honesty is:

Simon’s self-acceptance (which starts at the end of WS)

Simon’s honesty to Baz re: love

Baz’s honesty to Simon re: love

Baz’s self acceptance

**Below the cut because it got super long, yikes**

Phase 1: Simon being nice/honest in CO

The first nice-ish interaction between Simon and Baz in Carry On is when Simon follows Baz up to the Mage’s office, and they find Baz’s baby photo:

“Here,” [Simon] says softly, holding it out to me. “I’m… sorry.” (204)

Simon tones down his initial hostility in this scene after he sees the photo. This moment, along with Natasha’s visitation, catalyzes a real change in how Simon views Baz, and it’s indicative of the larger shift (vulnerability → Simon seeing Baz as more than his enemy → Baz wearing jeans → oops I love him). This trajectory continues during their truce-- there are still a few moments of hostility, but honestly on the whole, Simon is pretty nice to Baz:

“You don’t want to hurt me,” I say, trying to push him back. “Isn’t that right? I’m sorry. Look at me, I’m sorry.” (210)

“I’ll help you,” he says (217)

“Baz,” I yell. “No! You’re flammable!” (238)

All of this culminates in the kisses in the forest, and Simon says a few more nice and affirming things around that point:

“They say your soul dies.”   “That’s tosh,” he says. (300)

“You’re not a monster,” I say. His face is cold as a corpse in my hand. “I was wrong. All those years. You’re a bully. And a snob. And a complete arsehold. But you’re not one of them.” (339)

“I won’t,” I say. I’ve never turned my back on you. And I’m not starting now.” (340)

Something that stood out to me after reviewing these moments is that Simon’s shift from enemies to lovers is actually pretty linear. As he learns more about Baz during their truce and they grow closer, Simon hates Baz less and consequently says nicer things to him, until he ultimately realizes he doesn’t hate Baz at all, so he kisses him and asks him to be his boyfriend. Weirdly logical behavior for someone so thick. Simon is being pretty open and honest, and this makes sense because Simon understands himself pretty well at this point. His big crisis of character comes in the next book. 

The thing is, at this point in Carry On, Baz has not said a single nice thing to Simon. The closest you could get is when he asks Simon to come to his house for Christmas, which is a great moment but is quickly muddled by their ensuing fight. 

(awesome thoughts about that moment here)

Baz has acted nicely, but he has remained sarcastic and aloof even after Simon kisses him. 

We get a few compliments of Simon’s power:

“You have to stop doing that.”  

“What?”

“Godlike displays of magic.” (348)

“You’re the most powerful magician alive-- who’s ever lived, probably.” (355)

I won’t repeat @super-duper-twelve’s brilliant meta on this, but this category of compliment is not ultimately that useful for their general communication.

Simon keeps pushing, despite the cold walls Baz tries to put up, and he asks Baz to be his “terrible boyfriend.” Honestly, it astounds me how much confidence Simon must’ve had to just shoot his shot there, because Baz was not giving him a ton of reason to think he’d go for it. Me as simon would’ve definitely been like: ok cool, nice kiss, he definitely still hates me though.

Phase 2: Baz being nice/honest

I want to be clear: it’s perfectly understandable why Baz, a flawed fictional character, is not nice to Simon. His trajectory from enemies to lovers is completely different, because he’s spent years loving Simon while acting like his enemy. He’s had great practice at that, and it’s the most relatable thing ever that he is afraid of getting hurt when he’s believed Simon to be an impossible dream for so long. This is also understandable when viewed through the lens of self-acceptance because huge facets of Baz’s identity are constantly being covered up and ignored by himself or by the people close to him (vampire, gay). He knows himself, sure, but he’s a very long way from self-acceptance.

Anyway, Baz does actually agree to be Simon’s boyfriend, and we get a couple of honest Nice Things that they say to each other during that brief period.

Unfortunately, this mutual honesty/niceness is incredibly short lived, because everything changes quickly after this: Humdrum, Mage, Ebb, etc. Simon’s world falls apart, and Baz is there to comfort him, affirm him, and (finally) be honest and nice. Their whole dynamic turns on its head. 

“You did it, didn’t you?” Baz whispers. “You defeated the Humdrum. You saved the day, you courageous fuck. You absolute nightmare.” (491)

“It’s going to be okay… it’s all right, love.” (492)

“You were the centre of my universe,” I say. “Everything else spun around you.” (506)

“Looking at you was like looking directly into the sun.” (507)

“You’re still Simon Snow. You’re still the hero of this story--” (507)

“It was brave. It was brave and selfless and clever. That’s who you are, Simon. And I’m not going to get bored with you.” (507)

“I choose you,” I say. “Simon Snow, I choose you.” (508)

To summarize and possibly oversimplify:

Up until the night of the Mage and Ebb’s death, Simon was the one pushing forward, being honest, and looking to break down the boundaries and walls between them. 

After that point, Baz finally feels ready to be all in with Simon, and Simon retreats inward. 

Phase 3: Wayward Son

We see this dynamic play out in Wayward Son, with almost no change throughout the whole book. Right from the very first chapter, Simon is thinking:

“Everything that happened with the Mage and the Hum-drum just made Baz more of who he was meant to be… He proved himself as a man and a magician. He proved himself right: The Mage really was evil! And I really was a fraud—’the worst Chosen One who’s ever been chosen,’ just like Baz used to say. He was right about me all along. “ (8)

I think it’s really notable that Simon can use his boyfriend’s words to justify his own worst self-doubts and self-loathings, because it indicates the consequences of them spending way more time insulting each other than ever being honest and affirming.

In Wayward Son, tender and honest moments between Simon and Baz are few and far between and mostly in the form of post-battle kisses. The only real communication that we see between them comes in flashbacks, wherein we see how much Simon has pulled back from Baz (the descriptions of his reaction to physical intimacy being one example of this). 

Even when Baz says nice things to Simon and affirms him, Simon’s presumed depression largely keeps him from believing and internalizing those things (through no real fault of either person. Again, very understandable ways for both of these flawed characters with traumatic pasts to behave!!!!!). Baz yells, “you’re so beautiful” to Simon, and he doesn’t even hear him (a gutting moment that I consider indicative of the general dynamic between them throughout the book).

Now, we get to Rainbow’s comments about Baz “settling for Simon.” I feel this. Simon is pushing Baz away and giving Baz basically nothing, and that is not a healthy dynamic. Baz is going through his own crap and self-doubt and self-acceptance, and Simon is not there for him apart from fits of jealous rage. As we learned in Carry On, it takes a lot for Baz to even feel remotely comfortable expressing his feelings for Simon, and with many months lacking that, it starts to wilt. 

What’s next: Prologue and AWTWB

Of course, the moment of truest communication in the second book comes at the very end:

“Why can’t you just admit that you’d be happier here?” “Why can’t you see that I wouldn't be happier anywhere without you?” (353)

I think the key to understanding what might come after this agonizing moment lies with Simon’s thoughts as he sits alone on the beach.

Before Baz arrives, Simon’s not thinking about his boyfriend. He’s thinking about himself. He’s contemplating his role in the World of Mage’s (hello, synopsis for AWTWB), and he’s taking a good, long look in the mirror. He’s starting to be honest about himself and accept himself (not perfectly, and I think this imperfect acceptance is reflected in his expressed desire to get rid of his wings, but he’s getting there). 

When Simon talks about Baz staying in America and being happy, Simon is not closing himself up and pushing Baz away, which he had done for so long and which caused so much miscommunication up to this point. Rather, this is a moment of true honesty on Simon’s part. 

Baz does need to learn more about himself and his vampirism. Simon recognizes this about Baz, just as Simon is trying to understand himself, too. In this moment, Simon is being true and vulnerable and speaking from a place of love. Baz refuses to self-reflect honestly and understand the truth in what Simon is saying, instead clinging to his love for Simon (without actually verbalizing that love). Throughout WS, Baz makes very stunted progress (see: his floral clothing as symbolism, being able to retract his fangs, meeting other vampires and learning about immortality and all that fun stuff), but in the end he doesn’t let himself actually think about that in any real way. Despite what Simon says, Baz has not yet “become more of who he was meant to be.” 

Importantly, this is in the “Prologue,” the beginning of the next phase in their healing and their relationship. As the balance shifts, this could be the beginning of real communication, but Simon needs to take the next step. At the end of WS, Baz is the one holding back. Baz isn’t able to accept himself honestly, so he won’t be able to fully let Simon in, either. 

Until Simon says “I love you,” they won’t get anywhere in their relationship. Simon needs to say it first, he needs to be vulnerable and honest in a way that he hasn’t been since before the Mage’s death, and Baz needs to understand those feelings in order to fully express his own. Then, I see Simon’s fully expressed love and support as a catalyst for Baz’s final self-acceptance. 

I think Simon will be unable to fully express his love for Baz until he has understood and accepted himself. However, Baz will continue to prioritize Simon/love over his own self-acceptance until either (A) Simon and Baz break up, or (B) Baz finally has confidence and security in their relationship because Simon has broken down the barriers of honesty and said “I love you.” Simon needing to say “I love you” first also gets at the idea of Simon needing to become someone that Baz deserves (per Rainbow’s words). 

So, I predict this as their path through honesty:

Simon’s self-acceptance (which starts at the end of WS)

Simon’s honesty to Baz re: love

Baz’s honesty to Simon re: love

Baz’s self acceptance

And then they will live happily ever after. The end.

*** Please let me know what you think and if this makes any sense!! ***

[wiltf]

show off

ao3//

“Anytime you wanna throw that grenade, we’d appreciate it!”

Catiel moves exactly three centimetres to the left after the shout, debris catching her in the cheek. But she’d avoided the blaster, at least. A positive, had to tell herself, as she leans around one more time to catch a glimpse of where Gault was hanging. To line down a shot at someone else who had noticed him.

To say she hadn’t considered letting him take some of the fire would be lying, but damn if she didn’t aim a little closer anyway. A sharp “hey!” pulls through the comms, followed by a grumble about art taking time. And then the rip, of sound itself, as there’s a click, bang. Shaking the foundations of the cave itself.

Mere afterthought, as Mako throws herself into a roll to dodge snowfall. Undeterred, blaster raised, takes down another. Mercenary? Pirate? Catiel didn’t actually know who these people were, when she has a spare ten seconds to collect herself.

“Anytime you wanna throw a man across a room, we’d appreciate it!”

Gault’s voice pitches around what was probably a mockery of hers. Earns a sudden tear from Blizz, that is left indecipherable when Catiel does in fact pull at the wall with everything she had. Aiming for the metal structures, finds the hollowed out snow and ice and stone, throwing it into the last few barricades. One too many shouts, clicks her tongue. Oops.

With all the grace unexpected of him, Gault drops beside her. “Show off.”

“Mmm, this is showing off.”

No need to look, aims the blaster behind her. Someone, trying to get the jump on Mako. Last man standing. Catiel can feel the grin on her face grow, as she blows on the end with a wink, and steps over the remains. Ebb and flow and not much left, as the last man let out a breath he’d been holding a little too long.

Resting her weight on her foot, there’s a half minute where she lets him get all the names out. Losing air, but he didn’t seem to care with the blaster in his face, trying to fit as many variations of bitch in as he could get. Had to respect his priorities.

But she was on the clock, and she aims slightly to the right of his head. Enough of a sear from the bolt, brushing against the end of his nose. “Where is he?”

[rae-gar-targaryen]

hi! i hope you’re well. i’ve finally joined the daredevil bandwagon (only took me days before Netflix removes it) but girl this shit is GOOD! i’m so enthralled in the various storylines. i’ve already binged the first two seasons within the span of 3 days 😭

but question is how DOES NO ONE KNOW IT’S MATT? especially people who know him aka karen and brett… like is he disguising his voice? if so, how? lol his disguise is worse than miss hannah montana’s 😂 especially prior to him getting that fancy suit (s/o to melvin) so i just don’t know how they don’t know it’s him.

people might disagree but i like(d) Matt and elektra together. they seem to have better chemistry than him and karen (i was rooting for her and froggy before frank & that lawyer ex gf of fright’s showed up 🥺 he was so in love with her) and you know the good guy/bad girl dynamic is just…

I LIKE THEM OKAY? lol and can i say that matty is lowkey a shitty friend to froggy and karen? he don’t deserve any of them. he certainly don’t deserve claire (they were cute together too and had more chemistry than him and karen). i know he think keeping the truth from them is/was the best thing to do but clearly not. they would’ve helped him cope with his vigilante personality of his. UGH I ALSO HATE HOW HE THINKS HE’S BETTER THAN FRANK JUST BECAUSE HE DOESN’T KILL PEOPLE😑 lol that’s my murderous babe right there. lol i swear i love matt. he’s so cute especially when he’s just being a regular blind man/lawyer. it’s just that he’s flawed but he doesn’t see that and that’s what annoys me. i’m sorry this got long AF 😩 thank you for letting me rant and also always talking about matt because now i am watching this show and i LOVE it. i don’t want it to end 😔 LOL after all that, i just have one question: WHERE are the matt fics?

My beautiful, beautiful Dia!!!! I'm so happy to hear from you!!!

Thanks for thinking of me and droppign in my inbox to scream about DD becuase OH MY GOD I LOVE HIM. I love this show.

So, first and foremost, I'm glad you got through season 2 because the Netflix-Marvel shows leave Netflix on March 1!!! And I think they're going to end up on Hulu, but they won't be on Netflix anymore.

In the order of the show, the mini-series "the Defenders" takes place between Season 2 and Season 3 of DD. So if you want to continue the ninja/Elektra plotline from season 2, watch the Defenders! (Plus it has Jessica Jones and Luke Cage, two of my favs!). But if you just want to move on to season 3 of DD, then go right into it. The very, very end of Defenders is where season 3 picks up.

Also, girl, RIGHT????? How does NO ONE know?? He has that sexy, low, smooth voice when he's in that suit, but, like, it's CLEARLY Matt Murdock voice. And he shows up the next day beat to shit and is like "oh, oops, walked into a door." Lol. That excuse is only good so many times. (And if you DO watch Defenders, PI extraordinaire Jessica Jones has Matt's number from the JUMP! TBH -- I loved their dynamic. It was the best thing about the show).

Also -- speaking of his sexy voice and his sexy suit (THANK YOU, MELVIN) I do think season 1 black suit/black mask Matt is the SUPERIOR MATT. That babygap shirt is SO TIGHT I am just so appreciative we get to see DD and his DD's.

As to the ranking of Matt Murdock relationships -- you and I have the SAME ranking, I think. He and Elektra truly are SUPREME! I know people didn't like Elektra because they don't like hte femme fatale trope, but I LOVED it. I LOVED her. I love how their dynamic ebbs and flows -- they bring so much out of one another, and yet, can they ever truly change? Even if they wanted to? He believes so much in Elektra, and no matter what she does, he loves her. And I think he and Claire had such incredible chemistry, and she understood what he was doing and what he stood for, but also didn't take his shit? I absolutely did not like Matt and Karen. I was sort of rooting for her and Foggy, and then her and Frank. But I LOVE Marci and Foggy together, so it's no great loss.

I didn't like Karen and Matt because she was so judgmental of DD being who he was, but was totally OK with the Punisher? When early on she was such a Daredevil defender? And that she can just waltz into jobs she's wildly unqualified for and get hired? I don't UNDERSTAND. Lol.

As to Matt's philosophies -- I think he can be a bit hypocritical, but I never thought he thought he was better than Frank because Frank kills people. Especially when you get through Matt's season 3 arc and what he goes through then. But that he felt a deep sense of sorrow for Frank and what he'd been through, but has such a HARD line about his methodologies? But I agree, he always SHOULD have been up front with his friends about who he was -- they were clearly prepared to accept it. It wasn't what he was doing that per se upset Foggy (although since they're lawyers and have to operate within the bounds of the law, it was a struggle for him), but the LYING! But when their friendship is good, it's SO GOOD.

Ugh, anyway, SORRY FOR RANTING. I could talk about this show FOR AGES.

As for Matt fics -- I had a post I made for Jo with a few fic recs on it. I'll RB and tag you. I also have a few to add that I"ve been reading. BUT ALSO -- I'm working on my OWN Matt Murdock fic and MAN is it FILTHY. I'LL TAG YOU WHEN IT DROPS!!!!!!