#and now it's biting me in the ass

[spicyvampire]

Great's Dying Brain vs Reality : Hands, thighs and rhythm

4MINUTES (2024) EP. 4 // EP. 6

+ Bonus : Ass biting

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[inbabylontheywept]

Would you mind sharing the psalm and why you felt that person was the most humanist Mormon? I'm not religious at all but I find these sort of things very interesting.

In exchange I could offer the reason for my url ?

I'm warning you, this is kind of a mega essay, and it's fucking unhinged. Click at your own risk.

(Alright. You clicked.)

Psalms 137

By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept

when we remembered Zion.

There on the poplars

we hung our harps,

for there our captors asked us for songs,

our tormentors demanded songs of joy;

they said, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”

How can we sing the songs of the Lord

while in a foreign land?

If I forget you, Jerusalem,

may my right hand forget its skill.

May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth

if I do not remember you,

if I do not consider Jerusalem

my highest joy.

Remember, Lord, what the Edomites did

on the day Jerusalem fell.

“Tear it down,” they cried,

“tear it down to its foundations!”

Daughter Babylon, doomed to destruction,

happy is the one who repays you

according to what you have done to us.

Happy is the one who seizes your infants

and dashes them against the rocks.

———

Mormonism has layers. Different cores of believers, cultures within itself. The largest group of Mormons also dominate its image within the larger culture. You know them as the nerdy, cheerful, bubbly dorks on South Park, or the hopelessly naive childlike weirdos from the Book of Mormon musical. Strangely sanitized, "wholesome" people that are, clearly, unwhole. Missing some essential part of the human experience.

(Pain, maybe?)

I think that embracing this image is letting Mormonism view itself as what it wishes it was. A group with all its rough edges sanded off, all its raw and desperate humanity scrubbed away. A clean and godly and slightly unsettling image of joy.

That isn't how it started.

Now, most people know the story of Joseph Smith. Fourteen year old farm boy starts a cult because the whole world if full of idiots, I won't repeat it because you've probably already got it from South Park. But at some point that weirdo cult did become a religion, and I would point to that moment as the Mormon War of 1838.

I don't know how far after the founding that was. Enough that Joseph Smith was a grown man. Enough that the Mormons had around 15-25 thousand members. They'd moved to the Illinois-Missouri area and were establishing settlements.

(They creeped the locals out. Of course they creeped the locals out.)

Eventually, they got pushed out of the county they'd claimed. Jackson County, it was. The state couldn't actually take that county from the people that expelled them, so to try and make the Mormons "whole" for the land they'd bought (ignoring the houses and farms they'd already set up) it gave them a new county.

Next election that came around, that county was sieged. Voting was blocked. Now, the people of the state were terrified that this weirdo voting block was going to take them over. They probably weren't wrong. Some former Mormons had straggled in from the county revealing a frankly corrupt land dealthat the early church had used to transfer resources to itself, and that served as a tipping point. To prevent their state from becoming a religious basketcase, a mob sieged the Mormon county during the next election.

The state tried to return order by sending the militia in to break up the siege, but the militia mutinied. They joined the siegers. A ground of strange, extremist violent Mormons known as the Danites rode out and attacked local settlements that were known to house the families of the militia members.

The Governor at the time - Lilburn Boggs - sent out an executive decree. The Mormons were traitors, and were to be killed on sight. It is the only religion in the US to have ever had such an order made against it.

The Mormons surrendered their county and went to Nauvoo, Illinois. There were again expelled from that city in 1846, and traveled west.

They died in great numbers and they never forgot the homes they lost.

———

I tried to tell the story as sympathetically to the people of Missouri as I could. The Mormons made messes wherever they went, and they unsettled everyone they interacted with. But they were attacked as well, and had a history of violence against them. It should not be totally surprising that they became insular and strange.

Many (most?) Mormons that learn all of their history wind up leaving the religion. It has twists and turns and knots and it is incredibly, overwhelmingly human. I think that's where the facade of Mormon perfectionism comes from - the shame of that. The desire to be something else. But being human is all I've ever wanted. And occasionally, there are people faithful in the church - layers upon layers deep - that know their history.

And they are angry about it.

I think it's more common than people realize. Did you know that until 1930 Mormons swore literal religious oaths of vengeance against the US government for the deaths of Joseph and Hyrum Smith?

I always felt like these were, in some way, the real Mormons. They knew their history, and they loved their church, and they hated what it had suffered all those years ago.

They scared me, those people. But they seemed complete. More complete than the people that had carved out everything that didn't make them smile. They'd walked into the mirror, and touched their shadow, and danced with. Melded with it.

And I knew a few like that. I was taught by one. And he didn't convince me, but he interested me. Gave me some respect for the people I left behind.

———

In the game Fallout: New Vegas, there is a character named Joshua Graham. He's a Mormon. Not like the silly children in adult bodies that they always use on TV. He has gravitas. He has put away his moral compass before, to pursue the dream of one powerful man. Poured his soul into it, helped that man conquer the whole west in piecemeal. He's a somewhat on the nose analogy of the Mormon people themselves, following Joseph Smith. And when he finally failed, when he fought a battle he could not win on the gates of the Old World Hoover Dam, he was lit on fire and thrown into the Grand Canyon to die.

But he did not die.

He says he survived because the fire in him burned brighter than the fire around him. And it seems that way when you speak with him in game. There is something compellingly bright to him. Not shiny like a new toy, or a Utah teenager that hasn't seem just how grim the world can be. He's something blinding, compelling.

But that brightness casts shadows.

He is vicious. He was saved in the canyon by the family he left, the old Mormons of a new world. And he's trying to find that part of him again, regain the soul he lost pursuing someone else's vision. But that old vicious animal part of the covenant is with him. I see Joshua Graham and I see the animal that the Mormons became to survive the West.

And in the game, there is eventually a choice given.

You can lead the tribe Joshua has joined up with out of their Zion. Their Jackson County Missouri. Peacefully and perfectly and inhumnanly transcendant, the way the Mormons wish they actually were about everything. You can give him the chance to be what Mormonism has always wished it could be. Or you can fight with them and help them reclaim their paradise, but get your hands stuck deep in the muck of this world.

Joshua Graham knows his history. He knows all the homes his people lost. And whatever brightness he's trying to regain, whatever soul he's trying to win back from the world that takes and takes and takes and takes - he wants to give it all up again to let these people keep their home.

He knows his past and he is angry.

And as the player, you help him make peace with one of two things: Being human by being fallen, or keeping his soul at the cost of reliving the ancestral trauma of losing Zion yet again.

Both were pretty visceral decisions for a Mormon teenage Babylon to make.

(Tagging @boonebignaturals in this because I need a witness to my madness.)

[choiaerastour]

I DID NOT KNOW THAT IT WAS THIS BAD IM GONNA KMS

my scotty sire era has truly ruined my all-time spotify statistics 😭😭

[mo-ok]

putting teeth on helmets i think should have them

[marclef]

today's a special day.... in celebration of my 800 Follower milestone, i've decided to finally share some writing with everyone! i've... never been brave enough to share my writing online, besides a few very close friends, so i do hope you enjoy it!

but, it's a little backstory stuff with Peppino, Fake Peppino, and Eyhm! a Chef and a Kitten's first meeting with a strange creature... i hope everything goes well...

(i am nowhere near brave enough to ever make an ao3 account... a Google Drive link will have to do 😅

and some EXCEPTIONAL art the wonderful @pizzabox-box made based on it!!! (and if you aren't already following them, you need to do so NOW!!! 👇)

[heretoobsessstuff]

Hellooo sooo 👀 the fic i posted a snippet for a few days ago is finally here haha. Behold the sappiest corniest hurt/comfort fic you’ve ever read. It’s also posted on ao3 here if you prefer to read it there!

Title: What else can I be? All apologies

Summary: Gale’s repressed guilt of leaving John behind manifests as a nightmare. John comforts him

“Go on, I’m right behind you,” John said quietly. Gale nodded once and turned to walk towards the wall, eyes fixed ahead. John was right behind him. Gale’s heart was pounding, and his hands shook as he held them tightly in fists by his side. The distance between him and the wall seemed to drag on forever. Why wasn’t he reaching the wall?

Panic set in and took over his whole body. His chest, throat, and legs felt numb. Something bad was about to happen; he could feel it in his gut. His body knew it. Something was about to happen.

“Don’t shoot—don’t shoot!” John yelled. His voice shook Gale’s entire body. Gale turned around and saw John wrestling with the German guard, holding his gun on both sides, pushing him back with impressive strength.

“Go, Buck, get out of there!” John yelled again, his voice rough from exertion. Buck felt like his body was no longer in his control. He took one last look at John and jumped over the wall, leaving him behind.

The moment he was over the wall, he heard it—the gunshot. Loud and sharp. His ears rang with the sound. He slid down the wall, his body hitting the ground with a thud. He held his breath, feeling like hours had passed before he finally mustered the courage to get up on his knees. His hands gripped the edge of the wall for support as he pulled himself up to look back, and once he did, he couldn’t look away.

There, on the wet, muddy ground, lay John. Lifeless.

Gale didn’t know how it happened, but before he knew it, he was hovering over John. It felt like he was watching himself from a distance as he dropped to his knees and grabbed John’s shoulders, running his hands frantically over his arms and chest, trying to find where he had been hit. Trying to fix this somehow.

“John, John, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me, please!” he begged, desperate when he finally saw it—a hole the size of a penny right in John’s chest, in his heart. Blood oozed steadily. He took off his scarf and pressed it against the wound, pushing hard. John’s eyes flew open at the pressure with a loud yelp. The scarf was immediately soaked.

“It’s alright, John. It’s alright, just—just hold on for me. Just hold on,” Gale begged again, his voice shaking and wobbling with each word. He looked up from John and looked around frantically. He couldn’t see anyone. No German guard, no American prisoner. Bile rose in his throat as he yelled, “Crank? Brady? Somebody help me, please!”

Tears leaked from his eyes, falling onto John’s face. John looked at him dazedly, his breath coming out in little whimpers. His hand came up to bat at Gale’s weakly.

“Hurts,” he grunted.

Gale gripped the scarf tighter. There was blood everywhere—John’s blood, painting Gale’s hands, arms, and clothes red, smelling sharp and coppery.

“I know, I know. I just need to—just need to press. It’s going to be alright,” Gale said, his voice hitching on a sob. His hands shook so hard he couldn’t grip the scarf properly anymore. He looked around frantically again, hoping, praying for someone—anyone—to come, to fix this. He couldn’t lose John like this.

But there was no one coming. Deep down, Gale knew it. There was no sign of Crank or Murph or Brady or Demarco. They were all gone, leaving him alone to watch John die.

“You left me behind,” John gasped out, his voice barely audible. Gale felt his heart drop to his stomach, cold settling deep in his bones. He could say nothing as he watched John grip the hand that was holding the scarf against his chest. His blue eyes looked dark with pain and betrayal. Gale remained silent, his tongue feeling heavy and numb in his mouth.

“You left me to die,” John croaked, breathing harshly as his hand gave Gale’s one last squeeze before it fell limp, his head falling back onto the dirt. Gale watched in horror as John’s last breath left his lungs in a choked exhale. He was gone.

John was gone. Lost somewhere Gale could never reach. He was gone and he hated Gale for it. Gale had betrayed him. Had let him get shot. Had left him alone to die. His grip on the wound wasn’t strong enough. He hadn’t held onto John tightly enough and now he was dead. Look at what you’ve done. His brain screamed at him. You were a coward. You have lost him forever. The light in his eyes is gone forever and he died with nothing but hatred for you. Nothing you could ever do will bring him back.

****

Gale woke up with a gasp. The sheets had woven around him like a cocoon. He gripped them tightly and thrashed around to fling them off of himself. He reached to his right blindly. Expecting to find a warm body fast asleep. To find John there. It was empty. Sheets long abandoned and cold.

The feeling of all consuming grief was immediate. It gripped him by the throat and closed his airway. Gale felt outside of himself. The room was floating around him and the edges of his vision threatened to turn black the more he gasped for air. His brain was struggling to pinpoint where exactly he was. A hotel room or behind the wall?

He couldn't remember anything. He couldn’t remember where he was anymore. His heart was too fast, pounding against his ribcage. He clawed at his chest, willing to control his breathing. The cold devastation of being left alone, abandoned by their men was wrapped around his lungs like a vice. You left John behind and he died in your arms.

He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He grasped his shirt as he breathed in short strangled exhales. His heart was too fast, almost like it was jumping out of his chest. Maybe he was the one who was shot in the chest. Maybe he was dying. The thought was chilling. He was dying. Drowning in John’s blood. This was it. That’s how he would die. Cold and alone and hated by the only person he had ever loved-

“Gale? Can you hear me?”

The strong voice cut through the haze. A hand reached towards him and pulled him out of the abyss he was drowning in. Distantly he could feel something or someone grip his shoulders. Shaking him. He could hear himself gasping for air but his body refused to cooperate.

“Gale? I need you to breathe darling. Can you do that for me?”

He was trying. He wanted to tell the voice that. But it was difficult and his lungs felt like they were on fire. The voice was familiar and warm and soothing. It sounded like John.

You idiot! His brain screamed. John is dead. Maybe I’m dying too. He thought again. That’s why I can hear him.

“You’re not dying. You’re alright. We’re home. We’re safe. Just breathe.” John’s voice said. Gale felt a hand on the back of his neck. Felt it running over the little hairs at the base of his neck that were damp with sweat. He choked on an inhale. The other hand grabbed Gale’s where it was clutching his chest. Thumb running over his hand in slow strokes. The touch was grounding. Home safe he repeated to himself. He felt air enter his lungs as he struggled to slow his breathing.

“That’s it. Good job, darling. Just breathe”

Somehow against all odds, John was here. Calling him “darling”, holding him and comforting him even after Gale left him behind. Even after he went to hide behind the wall like a coward and left John to wrestle with the armed kraut. John was the one who was itching to escape, instead Gale stole his opportunity to run ahead of him, leaving him there. Gale was overcome with a guilt so strong and sudden he felt bile raising in his throat. His face twisting as he was hit with a strong wave of nausea.

“You gonna be sick?”

John asked, reading Gale’s expressions like an open book. He nodded miserably as John moved him around so his legs hung over the bed, hand still gripping Gale’s.

“Okay. It's alright. You’re okay. Just hold on to me”

Gale could barely make out the words being said to him over the ringing of his ears. He tried to swallow down the nausea as he felt hands under his knees and around his back. Lifting him off the bed with ease. Carrying him towards the bathroom.

“There. It’s alright. I got you.”

Gale’s knees buckled immediately as he was gently lowered to the ground. John pressed against his back firmly to steady him as Gale reached out to grasp the toilet bowl. He fell forward as he heaved. Tears were pricked his eyes as he coughed harshly and heaved again.

“You’re alright. Just need to breathe. Slowly. Just breathe. In and out. You’re alright.”

You’re alright John’s voice kept telling him. It was comforting. Gale let out a shuddering breath as he felt a hand rubbing his back soothingly. In and out. Gale tried to focus on the voice. On the gentle touch on his face and hair. He felt a weight pressed against his spine, holding him in place. In and out. More air filled his lungs. He reached out blindly towards the voice and felt his hand being grabbed in a warm grip.

That’s when he felt it. His hand pressed against warm skin. He could feel it against his palm. Thump thump. Strong, quick, John’s heart beat against him.

He let out a small gasp, hand shaking where it rested against John's chest, feeling his heartbeat. He kept his eyes closed, willing himself to breathe. It felt like hours had passed when his nausea finally receded and he started to calm down.His brain worked slowly through the haze, becoming aware of his surroundings little by little. He moved slowly to let himself sit on the floor, back resting against the toilet seat with John’s grip steadying him. Pieces of the past few days started to come back to him in slow bursts of memory. He remembered now. He had gone to sleep that night and John had slept next to him. He had been okay. Alive. Just hours ago. He was here, talking to him now.

“John?”

He whispered, wanting to make sure he was there. That he was real.

“I’m right here, Gale. Can you look at me?”

Gale shook his head petulantly. He didn’t want to look at John and see the disappointment, the hurt, the betrayal in his eyes again. He felt John huff out a nervous breath as he rubbed up and down Gale’s arm.

“Alright darling. Take your time okay? I’m right here when you’re ready”

John tried to sound reassuring but Gale knew him better than that. John sounded scared. Worried. Gale didn’t want John to feel scared ever again. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the harsh bathroom light as the room swam into view. He blinked bearily as his gaze fell onto the man in front of him. John was crouching on the floor, eyes looking sad and glassy with unshed tears. His curls looked wild and messy, sticking up on the top of his head as if he had been tugging on them. He was sporting a deep frown as he looked on with a concern Gale didn’t think he deserved. He still managed to school his features into a small smile as he locked eyes with Gale.

“There you are. You back with me?”

John asked softly. Pushing Gale messy hair out of his face and forehead. Gale couldn’t look away from him as he lifted Gale’s hand from his chest to press a chaste kiss against his knuckles.

Gale nodded. Biting his lip when he felt the beginning of a lump already forming in his throat.

“Okay. You’re okay. Let's just sit for a minute.”

John said, reaching behind Gale to grab a tissue and wipe Gale’s mouth gently. Before Gale knew it a cold glass of water was being pressed against his lips and he took a sip instinctively. The cool water felt nice against his dry mouth so he took another sip. His hands shook too much as he attempted to take the glass from John but he just batted his hand away. Murmuring a slow “I got it” as he held the glass against his lips.

You don’t deserve this Gale’s brain supplied harshly. The lump in his throat threatened to choke him as he reached out to press his hands against John’s chest again. He needed to feel him. Needed to feel the steady rise and fall of his breaths and the thumping of his heart again. Needed him alive and breathing.

“John”

Gale felt like John’s name was the only thing he could say right now. His voice sounded rough and faraway to his own ears. John gave him a worried look as he covered his hand with his own.

“I’m right here”

He assured him. Gale just looked on. Palm still firmly pressed against John’s chest. He almost died and I let him. He felt like he was going to lose it any second.

“Gale?”

He had been Gale tonight. Not Buck. Not John’s Buck. He couldn’t remember the last time John had called him Buck. The realisation hit him like a freight train. Maybe John did hate him. Maybe he wanted his name back.

“I’m sorry”

Gale choked out. His voice sounded rough and hoarse. His eyes finally spilling over as he lost the last remainder of self control he was desperately trying to keep. Tears were streaming down his face and into his cheeks and neck before he could do anything to stop it. He knew he had opened the gates now and once he started he couldn’t stop. John’s gaze softened in sadness, his hands coming up to wipe Gale’s tears away gently. Gale was talking before he could say anything.

“I let the kraut shoot you. Right here. Right in the chest. I ran and hid behind the wall like a fucking coward”

It was as if a dam had broken inside of Gale. It was like months of repressed guilt and fear that John secretly hated him finally caught up to him. A loud sob erupted from deep within his chest, more following immediately as his face crumpled. Maybe later he would feel embarrassed about all of it. Waking up from a nightmare and asking John to carry him to the bathroom just to dry heave and end up weeping like a child on the bathroom floor. But right then he couldn’t find it in him to feel anything other than desperation. Desperate for John to forgive him.

“I was all alone and I watched you bleed to death and I didn’t do a fucking thing. You hated me for it ”

He felt pathetic. You were the one who left him there, the snarky voice in his head said. Now he’s the one who has to comfort you for it.

“Hey, listen to me, Gale. None of that is real. None of that happened. You remember that. I’m here and I’m alright. It was all a bad dream”

John gripped Gale’s shaking shoulders, thumbs rubbing on his skin in small soothing patterns but the words couldn’t make it through the thick fog in his brain. He grabbed John’s face in his hands. Shaking terribly as he cried.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry John.”

He needed to tell John. Needed him to hear it. To see how sorry he was. John’s mouth was turned downward with sadness. He opened his mouth but Gale was speaking before he could say anything.

“I still left you behind. That part was fucking real.I will never forgive myself for it”

Gale could see the moment understanding washed across John’s face. They had been over this before. Gale had woken up from this same nightmare so many times and had told John he was sorry every single time. John had always comforted him. Told him there was nothing to be sorry for. Assured him that they were both here and they had made it. It had always numbed Gale’s pain temporarily. But Gale knew, it was like putting bandaid on a puncture wound. The relief never stayed. It always ate him alive. Lived in the dark corners of his mind constantly, waiting for the right time to strike but this time was different. Gale felt inconsolable. He felt like he needed to beg for John’s forgiveness. John held Gale’s hands on his face tightly. Tears clinging to the corners of his own eyes.

“Gale, listen to me. You didn’t leave me behind. It was my choice to stay behind and I would do that a hundred times over. I swear to God Gale there’s nothing you have ever done in your life that you need to apologise to me for.”

Gale squeezed his eyes shut but it did little to stop the tears. He pulled his hands out of John’s grip to press the heels to his eyes. Guilt and panic was making it hard for him to breathe. To think. He needed to do something. Needed to say something before he lost his mind.

“No, no I need to- I need”

Language was escaping him and Gale couldn’t stop crying. His breathing was coming out ragged and forced. He felt like the abyss was back to swallow him whole. John took hold of his wrists. Pulling them away from his eyes and holding him firmly.

“What do you need?”

John asked. Sounding desperate. Gale bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Tasting the saltiness of his own tears.

“I need you to forgive me. Tell me you forgive me. Please”

“Gale-“

“I can’t live with this anymore, John. It’s killing me.”

It felt like a relief to say it. To admit it to John that this was eating him alive. For a second John looked like he wanted to argue and keep telling him there was nothing to forgive like he had all those times ago. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped. Gale felt more and more desperate by the second. He was looking at Gale as if he could see right through him. As if he could flip through his brain and read his thoughts like a book. Gale had never loved him more for it.

“Please. I need you to-.”

John let out a shaky breath at the plea. Leaning forward to grip Gale’s shoulders tightly and pulling him close. Forcing him to listen.

“Okay Gale. Fuck I forgive you okay? Look at me.”

Gale did.

“Do you hear me? I forgive you. I forgive you”

Gale saw a lone tear travel down John’s cheek and fall into his hands. He closed his eyes against the sheer sense of relief at hearing those words. John forgave him. He felt the pressure and the grief and the feeling of impending doom weighing his shoulders down suddenly gone and lifted. He felt himself go limp as he fell forward with exhaustion. John didn’t waste time pulling him into his arms and wrapping around his body tightly.

“Thank you” Gale murmured into his skin. Over and over again. His body felt shaky and spent. He buried his face in John’s neck. It smelled like John. It smelled like home. John rubbed up and down his back and his arms. He kissed his jaw and his hair and forehead and neck and everywhere he could reach.

Gale wanted to continue. He wanted to tell John he’ll never get over that wall. That he’ll never feel not guilty about it. But he didn’t find it in himself to speak. John said he forgave him and Gale believed him. Always had and always would. He rested his cheek against John’s shoulder. Feeling himself calming slowly the longer John held him. He sighed out a deep exhale and let John hold up his weight. His body feeling drained but coming back to himself. John was still holding him tightly. Almost like Gale would fall apart if he let him go. Gale’s hazy brain registered that he had probably really scared John pulling a stunt like that. It had been a while since he had a nightmare that bad. He needed to say something. Let John know he was okay now.

“I’m okay”

He croaked. He sounded unconvincing even to himself. He felt John nod against his head and started rocking them both from side to side. The motion was surprisingly soothing. Gale closed his eyes.

“Gonna take you back to bed. Is that okay?”

John asked. Barely waiting for a response. Gale felt too shaky to even attempt to stand on his own. Not trusting his legs to carry him. He sighed out a quiet “okay” and he was lifted off of the floor swiftly, hands under his arms like he weighed nothing. John wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders, walking him to bed. He felt weak, emotionally and physically drained but filled with a profound sense of relief.

“You should sleep, you’re exhausted ” John said softly, helping Gale settle back onto the bed. He pulled the covers up around him and sat down beside him. Gale felt shivers running through his body as he reached out a trembling hand to grasp John’s wrist. He could feel his fingers shaking against the warm skin.

“You okay? What do you need?”

John asked. Reaching out to run his fingers through his hair. Gale managed a small smile

“Just you”

John’s lips turned upwards into a fond smile Gale always loved. He immediately felt relieved to see it.

“You have me” John replied, wasting no time to get into the bed himself and pull Gale to his chest. One hand cradling his head and another wrapped around his back. He reached to wrap his arms around John’s waist. Fingers snaking up under his shirt to rub against his skin. John felt tense. Gale wanted the tension gone and the worried frown to disappear from his face forever. He leaned up to leave a soft kiss on his throat and felt John let out a quiet breath, face buried into his hair as he breathed in.

“God, you scared me. Took me a while to get you out of it this time ”

Gale wanted to apologise but was speaking again before he could say anything.

“You’re shaking. Are you cold?”

He didn’t wait for a reply before he reached out to grab the blanket Gale had kicked off the bed and draped it over both of them. Gale sighed in content as the warmth of it embraced him.

“‘M good now”

Gale said. His face fit perfectly under the column of John’s throat. The sheets felt damp from Gale’s sweat and tears. He swallowed thickly. He wants to tell John he’s sorry again. I’m Sorry for being so broken. For needing your comfort constantly, even though what you went through was worse than me. I’m sorry you had to wake up to me screaming and throwing up so many times this week. I’m sorry you got shot down thinking I was dead. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were captured. I’m sorry-

”I'm sorry I worried you” he said instead.

He felt John huff in annoyance.

“Stop saying sorry”

Gale huffed a small laugh. Feeling lighter than he had all night. He felt John smile into his hair and then, as if he could read Gale’s mind, he said

“I love you, you know that right? Love you more than anything. You’re what kept me alive. Through everything. You were the only thing I wanted to make it back home for.”

Gale felt his eyes burning with tears again so he closed them and just held John tighter. He didn’t need to say anything. He knew John understood him.

“We’re alright. We’re safe. Everything’s okay, Buck. I’m here. Try to get some sleep now, darling”

Gale hummed. John had called him Buck. He sighed in relief, letting sleep take him as he dozed to the sound of John’s heart beating. Alive.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Watching 22 Jump Street with the husband and I’m staring at Channing Tatum with a whole ass *Ive just discovered I really do fancy you, and I’m sorry for ignoring you all these years* look, and my husbands like “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who like Channing Tatum”

And I’m like “Oh, no. I like the other guy….Jonah Hill….ya know”

So now I have to live with the secret that I’m secretly now in love with Channing Tatum due to his portrayal of my favourite Xmen character.

This is working out like a scene from Seinfeld.

Fuck my life.

[noirve]

currently really enjoying how in every interview eric bogosian brings up his personal little headcanon of daniel and armand getting drunk together after louis leaves them which then somehow leads to daniel being turned

[lesbianspeedy]

BECOMING SCIENTIFICALLY UNETHICAL FOR GAY LOVE?? KIRA MANNING I KNOW WHICH AUNT IS YOUR FAVOURITE AND THAT BITCH IS FRENCH!!!

[peri-peri-sauce]

Guys you have absolutely no idea how hard these songs slap we're literally gonna die when the album comes out, trust me with this one

[oakstar519]

never mind im not getting ignored but discord still won't send my messages

time to play the eternal game of "is discord dying or is there something wrong with my internet"

[lesbianwyllravengard]

Wyll breaking up with the player character if Ulder dies so Wyll must become the Duke makes me wanna throw up sobbing because he actually thinks that just because his father's first duty being to Baldur's Gate made him a Bad Father that Wyll himself will inevitably be a Bad Lover because surely no one could match love with duty if his father couldn't, unknowing he has more love in one hand than his father had in his entire body. fuck

[moonchild-in-blue]

Not to get mushy but. Have you thought about how lucky we all are for being here right now? Like, how many of us struggled so hard before, to the point of nearly giving up? And yet we're here??

What are the odds of a bunch of random weirdos all over the world happen to get into the same bands, and be active in a equally weird, supposedly "dead" social media, at the same time? And just happen to be "just" brave enough to talk to someone, and another one, and another one?

I mean really. Have you thought about it? This just doesn't really happen like that. There's so many of you I consider genuine friends. So many of us that have or will meet irl. Like??? Hello ??? This is crazy!! Genuinely bonkers!!! Idk man, I'm super in my feels and I appreciate tf out of you all.

I mean, wow. How lucky I am to be here right now and be your friend. Yall are so neat and cute and interesting and cool and precious, like WOW. I'm glad we made it so far guys. Let's be alive for a long time 🥹💙

[partfae]

funniest thing about saurondriel is that sauron probably fucking hates dogs after huan and galadriel seems like she would have about 10

[defiledtomb]

you know when you're going through a high stress situation that is prolonged and agonizing but you've put on a brave face and you think you've got this! 💪 and then a week into it you accidentally burn your quinoa and there's smoke and all of a sudden your skin is sloughing off and you feel like alice about to be swept away in a tide of her own tears? mmnnmm yeag.