#th bear tv

[cejav13]

Deadline’s Review of Opus

“Following his career as a GQ fashion columnist, writer-director Mark Anthony Green makes his feature debut with a chillingly relevant dark comedic horror that gives Ayo Edebiri and John Malkovich some of their meatiest performances yet.”

[doublel27]

100% sure the OssansLove bear costume isn't the same as neither the THK ones

unsure about only boo cuz I haven't seen that show

Oh I checked. It’s not. For a minute I thought they might be the same because the face is very similar but the mouth is different and the Only Boo bear suit has a white tummy.

While we’re here, I do highly recommend Only Boo! Keen did come up on Project Alpha, so not only can he handle the musical parts, but is an incredibly talented actor. Under a less skilled actor, Moo would have been the worst kinds of annoying and Keen truly made him the heart of the show.

I mean, skip it if you don’t like classic features of romance or Thai QL. But it’s the sweetest color coded boys in love with great communication. (It’s also the highest rated GMMTV show of 2024 on MDL for whatever that’s worth)

[bvbygrl-writes]

Wrong House

Pairing: Stu Macher x Nerdy!Reader x Billy Loomis

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: A step into wrong house leads to a night of the right fun.

A/N: I was not supposed to upload this tonight but I'm too excited about it. I'm not proof reading this long ass shit either so if something is spelled wrong use your imagination to fix it, mwuah! <3

Warnings: reader has afab anatomy breaking and entering, knife play, homoerotic themes (they kiss but nothing more than that), mentions of murder, eiffel towering, loss of virginity, coercion and ultimatums, rope bandage, panty kink, and panty sniffing.

THIS FIC IS 18+!!! MINORS / ACCOUNTS WITHOUT AGE DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED WITH NO WARNING BUT THIS ONE.

(Y/n) was naturally an anxious girl but, with her parents out of town and the string of murders happening, she was on edge. She had every single light on in the house, the downstairs tv on, anything to make it seem as though the house was full of life. The reporters on the radio had told people to stay together and while most of the students in school had that option, she didn’t. Nobody wanted to be friends with the quiet girl who still wore Care Bear sweaters and could recite Star Trek lines from memory.

Nibbling the end of her pencil, she let out an exasperated sigh. She had been staring at the same math problem in her textbook for a good 45 minutes. “Focus, (Y/n/n), focus. If you do end up living through all of this, you’ll want to get into a good college.If you fail, mom and dad will make you wish you were dead.” she said out loud to herself, a sad laugh falling from her lips. At that same moment, her stomach began to grumble. When was the last time she ate? Reaching for the phone, she dialed the number to her favorite chinese food place. She loved it because the food was cheap and they were one of the only places that delivered something other than pizza after 10PM. 

“Alright, thank you!” she said, placing the phone back on the receiver. It’d be about a 20 minute wait, giving her time to focus more on her work. Sighing she sat back down in front of her textbook, staring at the page until the numbers started to blur together. “Well, that’s enough of that! I should get the money for the delivery driver seeing as it’ll be here in…” glancing at the clock on her wall she sighed, “Twenty minutes.” ignoring that face, she stood up, bunny slippers stomping over the carpeted floor to the piggy bank on her dresser. She pulled out a 10 dollar bill along with a 5 for the tip. But before (Y/n) could even get to her door, she heard a noise at the front door. 

“Th-that’s weird. There’s still nineteen minutes an-” she shrieked at the sound of the door bursting open. Every anxiety filled thought she had had since being home by herself was coming true. The blood drained from her face, her body growing light at the sound of the voices coming from the living room. Tears began to form in the corner of her eyes as she turned off the lights and closed her bedroom door. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs put in perspective just how real this all was. She silently cursed her dad for never fixing the damn lock on her window. She might’ve broken a few bones from jumping, but that’d be better than being completely dead! Looking around her room she made the decision to jump in her closet, closing the accordion door.

She became aware of how loudly she was breathing, clamping her hands over her mouth. Her body trembled with terror. ‘Is this how I die? Alone, never experiencing friendship or love?’ Was this really the time to be feeling sorry for her lack of social and love life? ‘Well to be fair, this may be one of the last times I’m able to feel anything whatsoever.’ The sound of her bedroom door opening instantly made her mind go blank. The girl felt as though she was having a heart attack and honestly? She would have preferred that to whatever death she was about to experience.

“Are you sure this is the right house? This doesn’t look like Chelsea’s room.” A male’s voice remarked, the lights flicking on. She could see through the small slots on the folding door that there were two men. One had dark hair and a knife in his hand. The other one was taller with blonde hair and a backpack with god knows what inside of it.

“Yeah, dude! This is 345 Avalee Lane.” the other one exclaimed, an almost sinister grin on his face. The dark hair one made a sound that was a mix of a growl and a sigh.

“You fucking idiot! Chelsea lives in 348, we’re in the wrong house!” he pinched the bridge of his nose, kicking over the little trash can near her desk across the room. (Y/n) relaxed a bit. Maybe since they weren’t looking for her they’d just leave?

“Well at least no one’s home, we can just get out of here.” The blonde one rasped out, eating a piece of candy off of her dresser before tossing the wrapper on the ground. ‘Rude’ she thought.

“The lights and the tv were on. Someone’s definitely in this house. I’m going to go check the other rooms and you look around this one a bit better. We can’t take any chances.” The brunette exited the room and in the distance he heard the sound of different doors being opened. 

The blonde one began to hum, snooping around her room. He walked over to her dresser, opening up her panty drawer. A smile grew on his face as he held up a pair of white ones with a pink lace trim, shoving them in the back pocket of his baggy jeans. “Cute.” he said to himself (or so he thought). Walking over to her bed, he tossed the covers back before bending down to check under the bed as well. Next, he walked over to the cupboard of her collectable figurines, opening up the door. “Hm.” he shrugged before beginning to exit the room. She removed her hands from her mouth, placing them on the floor beside her as she let her body relax. However, before he could leave, she could see a lightbulb go off in his brain as he turned around walking towards the closet. The girl’s eyes went wide as she shook her head. As he opened the closet door, she couldn’t even manage to make a sound. A look of surprise made its way onto his face before he began to grin. “You’ve got cute little undies. Hey Billy!”

All (Y/n) could do was sit there in shock. She recognized this boy, he was in her art classes although he rarely showed up. Now that she could really see his face, he was quite attractive. Before she could delve into why she was letting herself think that, the other one (who she assumed was Billy) appeared right next to him. Although he had a scowl on his face, he was just as attractive. ‘Well, you always said you wanted a cute guy to notice you. There’s two! But you should’ve been more specific, huh (Y/n/n)?’ 

“She’s kind of cute in a dorky little way, ain’t she?” Stu commented as Billy used his knife to lift her chin. She didn’t dare stop making eye contact with Billy for fear of what he might do with that knife the second she did. He tilted her face around, examining it from all sorts of angles before he chuckled.

“She is. (Y/n), right? You’re the girl that’s always winning those sciences awards at school. We have AP English together.” he said in a calm tone. This was the strangest thing she had ever experienced. Why were they dragging this on so much when they could just kill her and get it over with?

“M-mmm-mhm!” she stuttered out, nodding her head ever so slightly so she didn’t cut herself on the blade. 

“Although I agree with my friend here, you still find yourself to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. See, I’ve got a plan and if I let you live, there’s a big chance you’re going to blab and ruin it for me.” he said, his words coming out through gritted teeth towards the end. “So unfortunately, your time’s up.”

“No, no please! I-I-I won’t blab and tell! I don’t have any friends or anyone to tell I won’t tell please! I promise!” she sobbed, begging for her life as he pressed the knife against her neck harder. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, which would also explain the sensation happening between her legs. Fat tears continued to stream down her face. “I promise please there’s gotta be a way!” she continued to plead for her life, waiting for something, just anything to happen. Whatever it’d take for this situation to be over. However, she was surprised when the knife suddenly was no longer pressed to her neck. Looking up, she saw the blonde one’s hand had moved it away and he was whispering something into Billy’s ear. Their eyes kept flickering to parts of the room and then back to her before Billy gave a singular nod. 

“It seems my friend Stu here has taken quite a liking to you so here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to have a bit of fun with you and if we enjoy it, you live and we’ll be back to get you after we finish some…business. And if not, I’ll slit your throat right after we finish. Does that sound fair?” Billy said, tugging her from her sitting position to be in between the both of them. She nodded frantically, happy to have even a small chance of living. She knew they were probably going to kill her when they were done, but at least that moment was suspended for a bit longer.

“Wh-what do I need t-to do?” she asked, her heart racing as she looked up at the two of them. They were completely dwarfing her with their size, it was like being trapped between two incredibly hot trees. Stu grinned at her once again before stepping back a bit.

“Well you can start by stripping!” he instructed, phrasing it like a suggestion even though she knew it wasn’t. She nodded, taking off her cream colored sweater, sliding her Power Rangers pajama pants down right after. She began to hesitate slightly as now she was just in her slippers and underwear.

“Allow me.” Billy said, using his knife to snip off her bra. He started at the shoulder straps, taking a moment to stare at her breast before tearing the backband as well. She didn’t try to cover up, knowing her chances of survival would dwindle to none. He went to pull down her panties but Stu stopped him, shaking his head.

“Leave those on her.” he said, before getting down on his knees in front of her. Billy held her arms behind her back with one of his, peeking over the girl’s shoulders to see what his moronic friend had planned. What she didn’t expect was for him to bury his face into her underwear-clad pussy and sniff. Stu let out a low moan as he did, eyes rolling back in pleasure. He continued to sniff at her front, his nose nudging her clit through the fabric. “God that’s amazing. Looks like she’s enjoying it too.” he said, rubbing his finger on the wet spot forming on her panties. He gently pressed his fingers against the fabric causing (Y/n) to squirm a bit, a gentle moan falling from her mouth.

“Oh, that’s such a pretty noise.” Billy purrs lowly in her ear. Standing from the floor, Stu lifts his fingers up to Billy’s mouth and without thinking, he opens it. The girl watches in awe, her clit beginning to throb at the way the two men were interacting with one another. Stu slowly pulls his fingers from the man’s mouth, biting his lip as the other man licks his. “Did you want a taste?” he asks in a deep tone. At the same time, they both lean over and begin to share a passionate and heated open mouth kiss. Little moans and grunts fall from them, a gasp falling from her own lips as Stu grips at her waist, beginning to grind against her front, his bulge slotted between her slit. Billy mimics his actions, grinding his cock against her ass. She was glad the two were holding her up, because at the current moment she wasn’t sure if her legs would work. This was a whole new world for her. She had never been kissed or even touched by one man let alone two. The noises falling from her mouth were completely out of her control, the sensation of their rhythmic rubbing along with the scene of them kissing above her was all too much for her to handle. 

As though they could hear her thoughts, they pulled away from their kiss, turning their attention back to her. She hadn’t even realized that the knife was completely gone now. If she wanted to, she could’ve ran and gotten away. If she wanted to. Billy gripped her arms once more, beginning to walk her over to the bed. She felt her face grow warm at the collection of stuffed animals, causing her to look at the ground. “They keep me warm at night.” she defended weakly. Stu laughed, cooing at her before picking one up and turning it to face the wall, repeating the action several times with the other one.

Billy groaned, annoyed. “Seriously?”

“What? I know how the girls get about that sort of thing.” As Stu continued with his antics, the brunette reached for his friend’s bag. (Y/n) eyed him curiously, thinking he had changed his mind on their deal but was relieved when all he pulled out was a bit of rope. Wait, rope? He tossed it up and down smirking at her before positioning himself behind her as he began to tie her hands together. ‘This is better than whatever they usually probably use this for.’ She tugged at the rope, the friction causing a mild irritation from the action. He pushed her a bit, causing her to fall forward onto the bed. Her ass was in the air while the upper part of her body fell down due to having no support. She listened to the sound of belts and pants clambering before feeling the bed dip down behind her. At that same time, a pair of legs kneeled in front of her as well. She felt as a hand carded it’s way through her hair before tightening, lifting her face to be eye level with a cock. Peering up, she saw that it was Billy.

“Are you gonna open up or am I going to have to do it for you?” he asked, causing a bit of panic to flash through the girl’s (e/c) eyes.

“S-sorry. I’ve never done any of this before.” she muttered, causing a whistle from behind her. She could imagine the grin on Stu's face.

“A cute virgin?! How lucky are we tonight? Oh this is going to be fun. I haven’t popped a cherry in quite a long time.” Stu gushed, rubbing his hands together. “I can barely contain myself!” her panties were then pulled to the side, long fingers beginning to rub all along her slick covered folds. She let out a whimper, her knees trembling as he began to rub circles on her clit. As he slid a finger in, her mouth fell open which Billy saw as the perfect opportunity. Gripping her hair a bit tighter, he began to slide his cock into her mouth slowly. He stared down at her face, watching as her mouth began to struggle with the girth of him, tears falling down her face.

“You better stop with all those tears, I really don’t wanna cum this early.” Billy teased, beginning to rock his hips back and forth. He hissed in pleasure at her tight and warm little mouth, tossing his head back as he let out a guttural moan. Behind her, Stu had managed to work the third finger in, stretching and scissoring them around.Gripping her hip with one hand, he used his other to glide his cock along her lips causing them to both moan. “Hurry up, I wanna pick up the pace but I’m trying to make it easier for you.”

“I’m going!” and with that, Stu slid his cock in with one swift motion. His grip on her hips tightened at the same time her walls did as he fell forward for a bit, head resting against the small of her back. “G-god, oh fuck! You’ve got a tight little pussy, huh?” he said through gritted teeth, beginning to pound into her at an almost animalistic pace. Her pussy drooled around his cock as she continued to moan around Billy, choking as he also picked up his pace. Their thrust were alternating. As Stu would pull his cock out some, Billy’s would enter her throat deep, barely giving her a chance to get used to anything. She had already came around his cock twice, the feeling being overwhelmingly pleasurable. 

They were using her like a doll, holding her up and angling her just right. All she could do was sob and take it, the only thing on her mind was their cocks and her life. She didn’t even care if she was going to die after this, this was the best thing she had ever experienced in her life. 

“You look so helpless when you cry. God, Stu I wish you could see her right now.” Billy moaned out, staring down into those wet (e/c) eyes. Picking up his pace, he gripped at her scalp, full on skull fucking her now. His thrust had grown sloppy and so had his counterpart’s. 

“Tr-trust me, my view is just as good. I’m cl-close!” he whined out, reaching a finger down to rub at the girl's sensitive and swollen clit. (Y/n) screamed around Billy’s cock sending him over the edge. Pulling out, he coated her face and hair in a load of sticky white cum. Watching Billy stroke his cock over her face pushed Stu over the edge as well, causing him to bounce her back on his dick, whimpering as he came deep inside of her. 

The room fell silent and as (Y/n) came to her senses, the question of the hour came back to haunt her. Was she going to live?

“Are you satisfied, Stu?”

“More than, man.”

“Well..” Billy trailed off, stepping off of the bed. As Stu pulled out, she felt cold and exposed. Both men stood behind her, staring as the load of cum began to roll down the back of her legs. The brunette reached forward, grabbing her wrist rather roughly before untying her. “I guess you live. We’ll be back. In the meantime, get cleaned up.” the sound of the doorbell ringing caused the two men to look out the window, thinking she had somehow managed to get in contact with help. However, they both relaxed at the sight of the delivery truck on the outside of the house. 

“Make sure you save me some chow mein!” Stu said. The girl rolled over on her back, letting out a breathless laugh watching as the two quickly got dressed. Before they headed for the bedroom door, Stu took her panties off of her, sticking them in the front pocket of his jeans. 

“For good luck!”

[mintwithchoco]

When will I see you again?

tripleS Sohyun x Male Reader

Word Count: 1876 words

Categories: fluff, shorts, idolgirlfriend!sohyun

Inspired from:

“Are you sure you're gonna be okay?”

“Pffft, of course! Four months was it? It's not gonna be that long.”

“What if there's a sudden change in the schedule and I have t—” 

“Sohyun.” You instinctively grab her hand. “I’ll be fine. Don't worry about me. What matters now is that you're debuting soon right?”

Despite your efforts of putting her mind at ease, Sohyun is still reluctant to leave you behind. Four months may seem short in your eyes, but anything could happen in that period of time. As you are carrying her suitcase to the door of your apartment, Sohyun stops in her tracks and looks back towards the living room, clearly reminiscing the moments you both had together.

It is definitely a hard decision for Sohyun—being an idol comes at a cost. While it is her dream to pursue a music career, another dream of hers is to find a perfect partner in her life. That's when you came into her life, bearing a similar mindset, the difference being that you’ve already achieved a few of your dreams. You almost have it all—a calm 8 to 5 job, a decent car and a spacious place to live in—only needing a fine woman to complete your life. 

Sohyun suddenly snickers, “Remember when we were struggling to get the TV working, oppa?” 

A quick rundown of memories crosses itself into your brain in an instant. You just moved into your newly bought apartment, exactly after three months of being in a relationship with Park Sohyun. You know that she isn’t gonna be around for long at the time, but you gladly let her help out with setting up your living room. From building IKEA furniture to putting up small decorations around the house, it’s safe to say that the day is more than memorable to you, being it ends with you taking her innocence away that night. I mean, can you blame yourself though? Sohyun clearly knows what she is doing to you, wearing that beautiful floral sundress that barely covers her tantalizing body.

“Oh. You meant the time when you smacked me with the remote because I kept checking you out?” 

“Because you weren't doing anything!” Sohyun whines.

“How can I concentrate when you look way too hot in that dress?” Sohyun flusters upon hearing your words, her head pressing against your shoulder while groaning cutely.

The moment is then cut short when her phone suddenly rings loudly. Her manager is the one calling, signifying that her departure is now imminent. She answers the phone swiftly and with a few simple replies, the call ends.

“Are they here?” Sohyun nods. “You're going to the dorm first right?” 

“Yeah, we’re shooting the video for my arrival.” Sohyun then sighs, “I’m so nervous. My heart is pounding.”

Looking at her state reminds you of yourself way back on your first day of work. Everyone has that fear of the unknown, so it's natural to be filled with anxiety at this very moment. But there's another factor that makes her overthink things — you. What would it be like if you were alone? Will she ever have time for you? Will texts and calls be enough for the both of you? And most importantly, will this relationship lasts— 

“Sohyun, listen.” You intertwine your hands with hers once again. “Though our steps may not go along together now, remember that I will still walk this journey together with you. I’m still gonna be here no matter what happens.”

Sohyun’s eyes freeze in time, staring at you deeply until it begins to well with tears. At that moment, she realizes how much she means to you, how you are willing to give up the precious time you wanted with her, and how supportive you are throughout her career journey up till now. She doesn't need to say anything as you already opened your arms for her to fall into your embrace. The hug gets tighter with Sohyun soaking your shirt with her tears, emotions finally flowing out as she imagines how much she will miss you throughout the later months. She takes in all of you for the last time—the warmth of your body, the remnants of your scent and the gentleness of your touch before looking up to you.

You waste no time in reaching out to her chin with your fingers and leaning down to close the distance between both of your lips. The softness of her lips sends shivers down your spine, your hot breaths being shared as you part your lips slightly. Sohyun trembles in your arms, making small noises which invigorates you to pull her closer by the waist. You would love for the time to just stop at the exact moment, but unfortunately, as you pulled away from her to catch a short breath, reality hits.

“Ah, sorry. Got a little carried away.” 

Sohyun shakes her head. “It’s gonna be a while for us to feel like this again.” She then checks her phone. “Yeah, I should really go now.”

You immediately help her drag her suitcase outside. “Have you double checked everything?”

“Mhm, I’m all good. Don’t worry oppa, I will try to text you whenever I can. I promise that I won’t forget about you, even for a single day!” Sohyun says, her voice full of determination.

“As long as you’re safe and sound, honey. Don’t pressure yourself to make time for me, just focus on your shows and schedules okay?”

Sohyun nods cutely. “Alright, I’m going off now!”

“All the best honey!” You give a quick peck on her cheek. “I love you!”

Her cheeks grow a faint blush of red. “I love you more!” 

The pressure and useless thoughts in her mind are now washed away as Sohyun makes her way to the elevator at the end of the hallway. Once she gets inside the elevator, Sohyun looks back and gives you a goodbye wave while shouting, “Bye oppa! I’ll be back soon!”

As the elevator doors slowly close, you return her wave with a smile.

“See you soon, my love.”

It's been seven months, and unfortunately, you've gotten used to this scene. 8 PM on a typical night, alone and wide awake in your dark room, accompanied by the low buzzing sound of your AC, bored out of your mind with only your thoughts to please.

︶︶︶︶︶

Eventually, you grow tired of it and drag yourself out to your living room. The TV is already on anyway, so you quickly grab a drink from your fridge and get comfortable on your couch. You’re not even focusing on the show playing until your ear caught a specific word mentioned.

“Today we are joined by, tripleS! Welcome!”

Your eyes immediately lock onto the screen, and as if fate wants it to be perfect, she appears right in front of you, her visual still as perfect as you can remember. That beautiful smile plastered on her face is a symbol of her being proud of her achievements, starring in one of the biggest K-Pop girl group at the moment. The way she talks is different as well, given that she is one of the older members and one of the backbones to their amazing discography, writing and producing a number of iconic songs for her group and even other artists.

Within the next hour, you continue to watch the show, even though it isn’t really your cup of tea. A change of pace is not a bad choice though, considering that you’re already finished binging the shows that you really like anyways. The longer you watch the show, the more you get distracted, not because of the show being too typical or boring. Your focus is strictly on the woman that you miss so dearly for the past few months, talking away to the hosts and having lots of fun with her members who she already considers as family. 

At this point, the show is wrapping up to its end. You are now lost in a million thoughts, confused about what your next action will be. Following the circumstances—the time period it’s been since she has updated you with her schedules, the amount of posts about her that you’re seeing more on your socials, and most importantly, the emptiness you gradually feel due to her absence in the house—there’s only one conclusion you came to, in the form of a question. 

When will I see you again?

You grab your phone on the table and quickly find her number. Before you could even tap the call button, you hesitate because of the fear of disrupting her extremely busy schedule. Your feelings are strong however, as you talk yourself out of your denial, having hope that she may reply back with a voicemail if the call is ignored. Your intention keeps going back and forth, until you stop yourself and thought, “Fuck it. If it happens, it happens.”

The phone beeps.

Unexpectedly, your doorbell rings.

Hang up the phone and walk over to your door. You’re pretty sure that it’s your workmate returning your laptop that you asked him to fix, and the fact that he always comes over unannounced. As soon as you pull the handle of your door, a figure rushes inside without any warning and closes it.

“What the—” Your eyes widen upon recognizing the figure, amidst the black cap and mask covering half of their face.

“Phew! That was close. I thought someone almost saw me.” 

All alarms go off in your head when both of your eyes land upon one another. That deep soothing voice is too familiar to you.  And even under their thick winter jacket, their body figure is still noticeable. There's no denying it. You definitely know this person by now, and you have nothing else on your mind other than to lunge forward and bring them into a tight embrace. 

Sohyun obviously doesn’t resist as she feels the same way, gladly wrapping her arms around your torso after removing her disguise. 

“Sorry that I took too long.” 

Deepen the hug and bury your face into her shoulder. At long last, you finally feel complete. Even if she's coming over for just a while, you’re more than happy to have your beloved’s presence around. An act of a strong boyfriend who can handle everything without his significant other is slowly being dropped, judging by how you're literally melting in her arms while holding back tears of joy.

“I missed you.” A kiss on her cheek. “Really missed you.”

She smiles. “I would hate you if you didn't.”

Once you release yourself away from her body, you excitedly invite her into the living room and help her to carry whatever she brought along. The curiosities that you have is filling up your mind, and yet, you didn't ask any of it to her. Instead, you simply utter these three words to bring her instant comfort.

“Welcome home, Sohyun.”

Despite knowing that you won't be able to see each other constantly, you still desire to remain in her life for as much as you could—like a star in the sky, which shines so brightly regardless if it’s in the bright blue morning, or the gloomy dark night.

===========================================

note; the writing high strikes again, but sadly not in the form horniness. also been addicted to triples content as of late, so it's only right that i write a little something. :D

don't worry, i'm still working hard on the commissions, so please wait just a little bit more for longer fics! writing short fics like these is a way for me to feel better and motivated to work on the mountain of drafts i have. so maybe you would see more of these in the future!

anyways, i hope you enjoy this one, even though it's barely edited and a bit rushed. and as always, i appreciate all of your support, thank you for reading and have a good one! <3

[strniohoeee]

GHOSTFACE MATT

What’s Wrong?

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N has never really cared if she was alone or not, but with a recent scare she preferred to be with Matt. However what happens when he doesn’t show up when he’s supposed to, and doesn’t answer his texts?💬

Warnings⚠️: SMUTTTTT, fingering, ermmm mirror kink???, choking (not really though), glove kink?? Idk ENJOY THOUGH??? Love yall fr fr 😼

Song for imagine: Butterflies- Isabel LaRosa

Scared

Adjective

Fearful; frightened

Having the house to myself was nice, but not having any friends did not make it fun. Whenever my parents left town Matt and his brothers would stay with me.

I was never one to be afraid of loneliness, but last week I walked out onto my porch to throw trash away, and was greeted by a bear 10 feet away from me. Let’s just say being alone now has frightened me a bit.

Matt found it funny, but I know damn well if he was in the position of becoming a bear's dinner he’d be scared shitless too. Ignoring his lack of pity I just begged him to constantly stay the night.

Having a 22 year old daughter living at home meant my parents took month long vacations. And I could not go another three weeks without Matt by my side.

Matt left early this morning for a busy day full of meetings and shooting content. I had spent most of the day cleaning like a mad man. So as I stood in the kitchen running my hands through my freshly blown out hair I thought of him. Deciding to give him a call

“Hey babe” He said cheerfully picking up the phone

“Hi baby, I thought you’d be home by now” I said looking over at the clock, reading 10:45pm

“Yeah I’m sorry we got caught up in filming. I’m cleaning up the apartment now and I’ll be over in like 15 minutes” he said shuffling around

“Okay, I’ll see you soon. I love you and drive safe” I said smiling into the phone call

“I will and I love you too baby” he replied before hanging up the phone

Deciding I wanted to watch a movie and eat some snacks I decided on just that. Placing a popcorn bag in the microwave I walked over to the TV and put it on. Scrolling to Max I decided to put on 500 Days of Summer.

Before walking back to the kitchen I walked over to the sliding doors and double checked that it was locked. Sliding the curtains shut. Slightly jumping as the microwave beeped

I chuckled to myself before grabbing the popcorn and a cherry coke. Plopping down on the couch I began to eat my snack as I watched the movie.

Only then when I paused the movie, seeing the time stamp at 30 minutes I began to worry. Matt should’ve been here like 15 minutes ago.

Shrugging my shoulders I decided to text him

Hey baby, hope you’re doing okay? Text me back, you have me worried:(

Receiving nothing back I thought it was strange, but nothing extremely out of the ordinary. Placing my garbage in the can I walked to the sink to wash my cup.

Dumping the ice in the sink I jumped as I swore I heard a thump. Quickly shutting the water off I perked my ears up to listen closely.

But to no avail, so I shook my head and finished washing the cup. As I placed it on the drying rack I heard a thump again.

Freezing I didn’t know what to do. Either there’s a killer outside or a bear and honestly I wasn’t planning on finding that answer out.

Taking a deep breath I walked over to the living room where I left my phone and looked down seeing that Matt still hadn’t answered my message

Getting really worried I went to text him again when I heard the thump against the patio door again.

Clutching my phone close to me I swung the curtains open and flickered the outside light on. Staring outside with shaky hands and a shaky breath I saw nothing. Not even a brush of wind

Letting out a breath and shutting my eyes I turned the outside light off. Standing there staring into the darkness I almost felt silly for being so worked up over nothing.

Suddenly a dark shadow appears in front of the glass door, their hand slams against the glass as their face comes closer. Covered in a ghostface mask.

Not being able to move all I could do was scream bloody murder. The scream startled the person and they scurried to pull their mask off

Revealing Matt with his hands up and yelling through the glass

“It’s just me baby, it’s just me I’m so sorry” He said laughing

Unlocking the sliding the door I swung it open, as Matt was walking in I started to smack him in the chest and arms

“What’s the matter Y/N? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost?” He said laughing as he held the mask above his head while looking down at me

“Why would you fucking do that I thought I was going to die” I said upset and annoyed

“Baby I thought you would’ve figured it was me, I’m so sorry I never meant to scare you like that” he said, sliding the mask off completely and chucking it on the couch.

“Not cool asshole” I said rolling my eyes at him and throwing myself down on the couch

Strolling over to me he sunk onto the couch too,

“I’m sorry baby” he replied kissing my shoulder

“It’s okay, I swore it was that damn bear coming back for my ass” I replied laughing a bit

Running his hand up my leg not realizing his hands were still clad in those leather gloves. My body stiffening a bit as I got a bit intrigued

“I’m really sorry my love, it’s just we bought the costume for a video and I thought I could pull a prank on you, but it was mean” he said giving me a kiss

“You owe me” I replied laughing

Raising his brow I knew he got a filthy idea in his head.

“I know of a few ways” he replied slyly

“Oh yeah?” I replied raising my own eyebrows

Leaning over to kiss me I dodged his kiss and got up, running towards the stairs.

“Hey where do you think you’re going” he replied hot on my tail

“Away from youuu” I replied giggling as I turned swiftly to run up the stairs

Grabbing my ankle before I could get halfway up the stairs I fell to my knees.

“Naughty girl” he replied closing his hand up my leg and gripping my ass

“Please don’t kill me Mr. ghostface I wanna be in the sequel” I replied in a half moan

“I don’t know that you will be” he said lowly

Turning me over to face him he looked down at me as my breathing began to quicken.

Leaning forward we smashed our lips together, one of his arms holding onto the railing as he slowly grinded into me. Moaning against him I allowed my back to arch up a bit.

Sliding his mouth down to my jawline and then to my neck.

“You’re not scared of me are ya?” He replied ghosting his lips over my ear

“No, how could I be” I replied shivering

Smirking at me he stepped over me and began to pull me by my arm. Basically dragging me up the steps. Following him like a lost dog. Basically foaming at the mouth for him

Sitting on the bed he spread his legs and slammed me down in between him. Right in front of our mirror.

“I want you to watch yourself, watch how you tremble for me” he replied breathing heavily

I was so turned on right now I was in complete bliss. My body involuntarily squirming around at his words. Pulling my shirt off of me my breast fell. His eyes never leaving the mirror

“Look how beautiful you are and all for me” he replied as he slowly kneaded my breasts

“Fuck Matt” I moaned bucking my hips

“It’s okay” he whispered in a chuckle

The leather gloves sent chills down my spine.

As he played with my nipples I threw my head back, connecting our lips. Rolling my hips as our makeout became more messy. A string of saliva connecting us once he pulled away

Kissing my jawline down to my neck. Gently kissing me as his hands kneaded my breasts.

“Please Matt I need more” I replied moaning as I stared at his side profile

“You don’t need it, you want it” he replied as he looked at me through the mirror

“Please Matt” I whined

“I like the way you sound when you beg” he replied lowly

Spreading my legs open with his own he held me up by my abdomen with his left arm and slowly slid his right arm up

“Open” he said as his leather clad hand slid up to my mouth, obeying I opened my mouth and swirled my tongue around the squeaky material

Sliding his fingers out he slid them down my body causing me to shiver, and ultimately landed at my waistband of my pajama shorts

“Please Matt please” I said whining now and gripping the bed sheets

Dipping his hand into my waistband he grazed his fingers back and forth before sinking his hand into my underwear.

Immediately the sound of my wet cunt filling up the quiet room.

“Fuck baby, you’re so wet all for me” he said in a whisper

Rubbing his middle and ring finger up and down, my head fell back as my mouth stood open. Curling my toes as he agonizingly slid his fingers up and down

My chest heaving rapidly as I couldn’t form a sentence. Suddenly he sank two fingers into me. My back arching as I moaned loudly

“OH MY GODDDDDD” I moaned out as my eyes screwed shut

The sound of my arousal getting louder as I begged him.

His left hand sliding up around my neck, not to choke me but to hold me. Turning my head to kiss him, our lips interlocked as his fingers moved faster

His thumb rubbing my clit as his finger moved rapidly

“Fuck fuck fuck” I moaned as my jaw fell slack

“Taking me so well pretty girl” he said as his lips laid against the side of my head

Sliding my shorts down he spread my legs even wider as he began to finger me rapidly again.

Looking at us through the mirror I stood there dumbly. My mouth hung open as low moans escaped my lips. Clenching down on him every couple of seconds as I reached closer to my orgasm.

Slamming his fingers in me as his left hand came down to rub my clit

“MATTTTT PLEASEEE” I moaned loudly as I felt myself getting closer

“Come on baby, give it to me” he replied as his breathing became shallow

“Im gonna cum” I replied as my brows furrowed and my mouth fell open

Curling his fingers more and rubbing faster, I felt my body shivering. Locking eyes with him in the mirror as my mouth fell open again.

“I’m gonna-I’m gonna cum” I moaned out in shallow breaths

“Come on pretty girl” he replied as his breathing quickened

Clenching down on his fingers I hunched forward as I began to cum on his fingers. My body was shaking as I held eye contact with him.

Moaning his name repeatedly like a mantra. My mind clouded as I saw sparks. This was one of the best orgasms I have ever had.

Helping me ride out my high Matt planted a kiss on my lips as I started to calm down.

Leaning back I slid off of him and laid face down on him.

“Please dress up as ghostface more often” I replied to him as I was catching my breath

“Ahh so the prank does pay off” he said laughing

“If it ends in that everytime then yes” I said back

“I really am sorry for scaring you though” he said kissing my head

“Don’t even worry about that, let’s head to the shower” I replied getting off the bed

“Round 2?” He asked

“I have to repay my baby don’t I” I said winking at him

Smirking at that he jumped up and followed me to the bathroom.

Let's just say I hope he pretends to be ghostface more often…..

The End

I hated this like a lot actually LOLLL, thank yall for sticking around though🥺🖤. Thank you to the 2,442 followers yall are amazing. I was reminiscing about my 150 followers 7 months ago. You are all so amazing. I’m so glad to be back😼🫶🏽

-J💅🏽

[misty-caligula]

Okay this is gonna be long, but I’ve got a lot of ground to cover so please bear with me. In a real way, this is my series thesis.

I’ve said before, many times now (like a cycle) that for me the most important scene is ep 1 act 1 scene 1. There’s something There that I have been struggling to see clearly, struggling to articulate, and s2e9 really finally gave me the last pieces for it.

I think that Pit Girl is the point of the entire story. But not in the way that I thought going in. I feel like I’m rambling, so I’m going to try to structure my thoughts.

Imagine you’re a new viewer. You haven’t watched yj start to finish 30 times, you’ve never even buzzed before. You turn on the tv and the FIRST thing that happens is you see ... brutality. A half dressed girl chased through the freezing woods, murdered without a chance. They drag her through the snow, string her up, pour her blood on the ground. Hack her into unrecognisable chunks. Sit around in scary outfits and rip at her, with a huge focus on the teeth, as horror music plays. Then, Misty takes off her mask, puts on her glasses, and does the worst possible thing. She smiles. Directly at you.

Again, forget everything you know and go on vibes. You’re seeing the teens pre-crash, and you’re seeing them in the third timeline, fully formed, with horror motifs and covered in fur. You’d be mistaken for thinking that you were seeing start and end. Except that... we know, and you know, that Pit Girl is the middle. These monsters somehow came back from this. How? When they’re so so so far gone?

Hence the show. I know I’m not breaking new ground here, but bear with me. I’m going somewhere.

(Edit: Readmore added because honestly, LONG post)

You’d be forgiven, fresh-faced new viewer, for thinking you were watching some kind of gross-out slasher. But what happens in S1? Restraint. Laura Lee, the first non-crash victim dies at the end of episode eight. Jackie end of ep 10. (For the sake of this thesis we’re going to be almost exclusively focused on the teens.)

And yet there’s this tonal shift, It’s like ... inevitability. Like watching a crack in a window that’s very slowly spreading. Everything is steadily Getting Worse. The weather is slowly getting colder, the days are getting darker, food’s getting scarcer, life is getting harder. But so much of this difficulty is coming from external events and pressure. Yes, cracks start to show in the internal relationship dynamics, of course, but if food was plentiful, if shrooms were less so, if the weather were better, then they could probably work out a very long term stable situation. Sadly for them, things are not stable, and the pressure is building.

Then Jackie dies and the glass gets a really big break.

It’s worth mentioning at this moment that Jackie at any time could’ve come the fuck inside. Safety and warmth and even love were available to her. All it would’ve required was for her not to be the centre of the world. To make actual goddamn concessions and join the team. Which is why she couldn’t possibly make that choice, because she had to be invited, she had to be apologised to, she had to be accommodated. She couldn’t see the rest of the ‘jackets as being people who just like her were in a really shitty situation. She saw them as being external, as being in cahoots against her, as being part of some Thing that she wasn’t in on. She couldn’t let go of the society they’d left, and she preferred to die. Which sure is a choice...

Keep all of that in mind though. We’re taught to blame Shauna for Jackie’s choices. Let’s stop with that. Jackie chose not to assimilate, she looked around the cabin at the team eating the bear and praying to the wilderness and instead of just paying lip service to fit in, like Tai, she decided to put her foot down and make a Thing of it. She decided that being Right was more important than being Included.

Seriously, keep that in mind, we’re coming back to it. Cycles, you know...

Season 2, everyone’s hungry and hey we have this spare Jackie lying around. And we joke like “ha, you gonna eat that?” Only...

No. They WEREN’T going to eat her.

Really think about that for a second. They put her in the meat shed. With the bear. Think about what that does, psychologically. Linguistically. The meat shed is made to store food. The bear has a word: carcass. Day after day after week after month they carve progressively more pathetic chunks from it, subsisting on what little it offers. In the EXACT same room, sitting right there is Jackie. Her body has a different name. Corpse. With many different connotations. At NO point does ANY of them raise the fact that they’ve taken their friend and added her to their meat stockpile.

Because they haven’t. Instead, they’ve added a new sub-room. The meat shed is now also a morgue. And nobody ever once had to say it. They got it. We got it. You got it. And while they starved and their bodies BEGGED for food, Jackie’s corpse lay there, frozen and fresh, and stubbornly refused to become a carcass, because they wouldn’t let it. They knew that there were more important things than meat, even when they were starving.

The bacchanal was a mistake. A literal error. It simply wasn’t planned, wasn’t meant to go down that way. Maybe if they HAD considered that route earlier and had a discussion about it they’d have been prepared, psychologically, maybe if they weren’t so starved. Who knows. But in the middle of the night they were offered a way out, and they took it.

But Shauna took it first.

Even in their state, even faced with an ideal roasted feast infront of them, they waited until Shauna said it was okay. Because Jackie was Shauna’s friend, and they knew that she was still a person. That this was still a corpse first. It was Shauna who was able to give them permission to survive. To turn a friend into a meal. It was not their place to take that step. To shoulder that guilt. So Shauna did it for them.

The next day they’re devastated. The heavy reality sets in, now the hunger is settled. And Jackie’s carcass is far too real, they can’t change her back into a corpse. Nat tries, bless her heart. But Tai’s screaming reaction at having eaten Jackie’s face is only an externalisation of the grief and horror and agony they’re all going through.

And after Jackie they starve again. Hope and heat and light dwindles further. Every single day they all take another step towards death. That’s what starvation is, it’s the same thing as dying, you die a little bit every day until you can’t die anymore.

Kristen falls. Misty doesn’t even consider that she might bring her back as meat. If she had’ve, she might think, maybe she’d be considered like ... heroic. It doesn’t even occur to her. She’s not going to LET those bitches eat her one and only friend, and she goes out of her way to protect her.

Shauna has her horror show birth. And, no matter WHAT the context is, she produces.... meat. In the most awful, brutal way. And while the fandom made so many jokes and stuff, the reality is that yes... at least to an extent there was real nutrients there. And it was never once even brought up as an option, by these desperate, starving girls. 

When Coach tries to kill himself, here’s a ready source of willing meat. And Misty uses it as a threat to stop him. But it’s hollow, she’s just putting on fake fangs to try to keep him safe. She’s not actually that vicious thing that she’s pretending to be, just like she’s not actually homophobic.

When Lottie tells Misty to eat her if she dies, Misty fights her on it. Lottie has to insist. Then when she tells the rest of the team, they are so overwhelmed with the selflessness of the gesture that it inspires them to twist it into their first hunt. That’s what it takes. The hunt is an act of self-sacrifice and love.

And so we get to the hunt. The proto-pit-girl, we’ve come full circle and we start to learn all these answers to questions posed in act 1 scene 1. And they’re not the answers that were assumed.

How do they get to the point of eating each other? They sacrifice themselves willingly, for the sake of each other’s survival.

Why do they hunt the way they do? Because Shauna just can’t stand to murder a friend in cold blood, a friend she cares for and has no reason to hate.

Why the spike pit? Because it keeps the blood off their hands. Because it lets them blame It and preserve a tiny fragment of their innocence.

Why the weird symbols? The ritual itself? Because they need SOMETHING to hold onto, to make it all make sense.

Why so brutal? Is it? We THINK it’s brutal. It’s certainly bloody. But Pit Girl dies almost instantly. Her pain is over fast. She doesn’t have a good time going into it, obviously, none of them want to die. But she chose to run, she could’ve taken the knife instead. And the spike trap was efficient. Yes they drag her through the snow and string her up, but it’s mechanical and just part of the process and she’s dead already. Her pain is over fast, it’s not sadistic.

Why do they chop her up into chunks like that? Because nobody wants to eat her face. Because nobody wants to struggle with her humanity, they want her to look just like any other meat. So that they might be having deer or bear or ... friend. They’re eating because they are biological machines that need to eat, that NEED death to survive. They didn’t ask to be made the way they are, and they’re doing their best to cope. Shauna, probably blindly, takes on that responsibility, to transform their friend into unrecognisable meat to change a corpse into a carcass. She takes that pain for them, holds that sin for them, out of love. So they can eat, so they can survive.

What’s with the creepy horror masks? During the ritual they can’t handle being themselves. They create alternate versions of themselves to hold what must be done. The masks aren’t there to scare anyone, because there IS NO AUDIENCE. The masks are there to hide behind. That’s why Misty takes hers off at the end of the scene. The ritual is over and they can go back to being people again.

Why is Misty fucking Quigley in charge? Because she CAN be. Because she’s strong enough. If Lott/Nat/The AQ is the goddess/queen, Misty is the priestess/handmaiden, tasked with actually carrying out her orders. She interprets the queens words when she’s too weak, she provides counsel when she needs it, she tells the team what they need to hear in the moment, she gives out the micromanagement. Misty’s the power behind the throne, because when she says she’ll do something she fucking follows through. No matter the cost. And what the team NEEDS, whether they choose to admit it or not, is a backbone.

So...

They bring home Javi. The music uses a reference that’s never been done before. It uses the spiritual powerballad that was playing when Laura Lee tried to fly away. It builds the expectation of Great Things, of big, potent ...

And then it just stops. As the girls are faced with the reality of what’s laying on the table. The cold, blue corpse of a soft child who never hurt anyone. No matter what they do, no matter how hard they try they just cannot make him a carcass. But they have made the choice already, and if they turn back now it’s not like it’ll bring him back. They’ll just be starving and regretful as he rots.

So Shauna, blind and shaking, does the best she can. And when she brings in the meat, she - of all people - understands EXACTLY what Travis is going through. She knows what he needs. Because she’s been here. With Jackie. So she brings him Javi’s heart. His core. His love. His soul.

(She doesn’t bring him Javi’s head. She cuts that off and puts it aside so nobody has to eat his face... Some things are worth more than pure nutritional survival.)

And Travis, god bless him, does the only thing he can do left to respect Javi. He takes his heart, and he bites it, raw and bloody.

It hurts him to do so. It disgusts him so much, but he manages not to throw up. It disgusts the girls too, but they watch on, horrified. And that’s the POINT. Travis makes sure that before they do this, before they do what they have to... that they all remember this is Javi, this is human, this is a person. And he preserves the horror. For all their sakes. And only then, after he’s given his blessing, after he’s done his human acts, do these starving, ravenous girls allow themselves to reach for their food.

S1E1. Act 1, scene 1. We do not know who Pit Girl is. We do not know the exact circumstances that get us there. But we do know where we started now. What the original meaning is behind each of these little things. And it’s not brutality, not barbarism. It’s love. It’s not lord of the flies, a bunch of monstrous human-shaped creatures giving in to their primal nature and predating on each other. It’s a team of terrified people desperately clutching at their own humanity as hard as they can. Trying SO hard not to let that glass break, to not become the thing that the framing of act 1 scene 1 tried so VERY hard to convince us they were. Context changes everything.

And the proof is in the pudding. After they eat Jackie the shock explodes throughout the cabin. The atmosphere is thick, and horrific. Now with Javi, reduced to simple meat, carefully and lovingly seperated from what made him human, so they can grieve him while they sate their natural needs, the mood post-eating is calm and soft and warm and loving. For once they’re all together,  with grateful full stomachs and in a time of peace and plenty. They’ve done the impossible and maintained their humanity and love for each other and their respect for Javi in a nearly impossible situation.

*takes a deep breath*

Which brings us to THIS asshole.

Right from the start, Jackie is only kind of part of the team. She’s the team captain, put up there by Coach Martinez, but not because she’s the best of them but because she can maybe wrangle them into doing better. And they KNOW that she’s not really one of them. They plot around her, and just don’t bring her in on it. They put up with her, more than loving her, she’s just kind of forced upon them. But she does her best, to try to maintain some semblance of order, giving pep talks and the like.

Wait, Jackie? I mean coach. My bad.

Anyway, so Jackie has one friend, Shauna. She SEEMS popular, and everyone talks to her, but Shauna’s the only one who actually likes her. And Shauna’s her connection point to the team. She’s got one foot on each side, and is torn as to where her real loyalties lie.

Sorry I’m talking about Jackie again.... weird.

In S1E9/10 Shauna finally chooses the team, for real. And Jackie tries to pull her back away, but Shauna puts her foot down. No way, she counters, I’m ON the team, you’re the odd one out. Why don’t YOU leave, Jackie? Jackie looks around at the burgeoning cult, she thinks “Look at these evil monstrous bitches, and now Shauna’s one of them TOO?” And instead of finding a compromise, instead of doing introspection, instead of anything like that, Jackie goes and freezes to death because it turns out that sheer rage won’t keep you warm in sub zero temperatures. Because no matter what happens, Jackie’s Right and it’s more important to her to be Right than Included. If she’s not in charge than why is she even THERE?

Hold on, I see my mistake. Let me backtrack.

Right from the start, Coach is only kind of part of the team. He’s trying to hide from his real life, from Paul and the complexities of being genuine in society by taking on the job of coaching the ‘jackets. And they KNOW that he’s not really one of them. He’s just the guy they have to listen to, because society put him there. But he tries his best, giving pep talks and the like.

So Coach has one friend, Natalie. He SEEMS popular, and everyone talks to him, but Nat’s the only one who actually likes him. (Ignore Misty, a schoolgirl comphet crush is not the same thing). And Nat’s his connection point to the team. She’s got one foot on each side, and is torn to where her real loyalties lie. Sometimes she’s on the bench with Coach, complaining about the state of things. Sometimes she’s in the thick of it with them all, and Coach is nowhere to be found.

In S2E9, Nat finally chooses the team, for real. And Coach tries to pull her back, but Nat puts her foot down. No way, she counters, I’m ON the team, I’m worse than them, you’re the odd one out. Go, save yourself, you don’t belong in this place. Coach looks at a table covered in blood and gore, at Nat’s face, at the rest of the team pledging fealty to her. And instead of looking for context, or looking for compromise, or even remotely trying to understand what he’s looking at he thinks

Look at these evil monstrous bitches. They’re eating each other. They’ve all gone mad. They’ve even gotten Nat now. There’s no hope for them, there’s no hope for anyone out here.

And he decides that they’re corrupt. That the way you deal with that is fire. And he’s wrong.

(I have a theory that he’s gone and jumped off the cliff, that he set the fire to clear the corruption, and now like Jackie, unable to live in this situation any longer, he’s decided to die himself. I’d not be surprised to find him in s3e1 that way)

Jackie was a frustrating, difficult person. Because no matter how things went she just COULDN’T let go of the fact that she was trying to fit a mold that just didn’t suit her. She was raised with super high expectations, when she was really just kind of mid. And that’s fine, honestly, most people ARE mid, that’s why it’s mid. But she refused to see that those around her were shedding their social pressures, were adapting to the wilderness. They weren’t having a good time, they weren’t hunting and foraging because they were out there, camping for fun. Nobody wanted to be there. They were just trying not to complain about it, because they were all in the same boat.

Coach is similar. He simply won’t adapt. Refuses to. I mean this is a guy who’s STILL trying to live in the closet when there’s open lesbians making out in public around him. Who thinks of others as inherently monstrous when he himself, as a gay man, should know better. Because that’s what trying to fit your society-assigned role does to you.

It’s no accident that he and Jackie both spend a long time in the woods and neither of them can do something as basic as start a fucking campfire. Javi, a little kid, survived for MONTHS on his own in that cave. Coach couldn’t make it a day alone. Jackie couldn’t get through a night. They both rely so heavily on the team without ever once recognising it. Because SOMEONE was keeping the fires going. They both just ... refused to engage.

And just like Jackie can’t see that they’re not having fun out there in the woods, on the knifes edge of survival, Coach can’t see that they’re not having fun when they are so desperate they feel it’s warranted to sacrifice one of their own. He always thought of them as monsters, and he just sees what he expects to: a bunch of stupid useless teenage girls, finally doing what he always expected they would.

At any point... At ANY point he could’ve come in from the cold. He could’ve just accepted reality as they have. He could’ve taken some meat and accepted the price, as they have, joined them in their GRIEF about it, shared their humanity, and survived. Just as Jackie could’ve come in from the cold, and become part of the whole. But instead, they sit in the cold, consumed by their bitter hate, and decide that no, it’s everyone ELSE who’s wrong.

And who emerges from the burning cabin? A bunch of scared kids. Shauna, the FIRST cannibal, who saves Jackie’s prom dress before anything else. Travis, who grabs Javi’s wolf. Nat who grabs the ammunition - that they NEVER use on each other - because if they lost that they’d get SERIOUSLY desperate. And they protect each other, they make sure everyone makes it out. These supposed monsters who are so far gone they don’t even care about eating each other go out of their way to save each other, not just themselves.

Because Coach is wrong. Just like Jackie was wrong. Just like WE were wrong, in s1e1. Which brings me to my actual point.

This question is asked so many times in S1 it’s almost a mantra. And the ‘jackets’ oath of silence really builds up that it must’ve been something REALLY bad, right? But S2E9 has really made me recognise that fundamentally... Act 1 Scene 1 is entirely what everyone who asks this question is expecting.

Imagine they DID know what really happened out there. With that bloodthirsty fucking look in their eyes...

They’re not looking for an answer. They’re looking for a story. For an exciting spooky nightmare they didn’t take part in, so they can get a shiver and a thrill they didn’t earn.

They’re not looking for a love story. They’re not looking to hear how HARD these scared, tragic, broken people fought to hold onto their morals and their humanity and their sanity even against their own survival. They’re not interested in Shauna blinding herself just to try to stop her hands from shaking. They’re not looking to hear about Travis choking down the blood of his brother just to make sure that he can really FEEL it. So he can share the guilt, and never ever pretend like it’s Just Meat. The look in his eye when he can’t think of any good response to Van’s arguments that he needs to let Javi save him. What they want is...

They don’t want the context. And if the ‘jackets ever did try to tell anybody what actually DID happen out there, all they would see is ... Episode 1, Act 1, Scene 1. A bunch of monsters. Eating each other. Just like Jackie. Just like Coach. Just like we did, on first glance.

I’ve been saying this whole time that Yellowjackets is doing something really special. That it’s letting us see behind the curtain, that while everyone’s asking this big question, “what really happened?”, we’re the ones who get to know. Because it can’t be told. It can’t be spoken. It can only be seen. Experienced. I think that S2 has finally finished the first major arc in the teen timeline, that we now have the context to understand what comes next. And I do believe that it will get messy, it will devolve. Into fighting and screaming and battles. It’s tragic, but it looks like that’s the downward spiral, spiraling. As Travis and Nat deal with the guilt of what they did with Javi for each other. As Shauna and Nat butt heads and people pick sides. As Misty Mistys. As resources get even more desperate now their shelter is gone. As potentially new people (hikers? other cabin people?) get brought into conflict with them (I believe the cabin is a smoke signal, personally).

But don’t ever forget that we got here with love. Expect that the downward spiral will be lubricated with toxic, broken, codependant, self-destructive love as well. Watch them love each other to death... they’ve already begun.

[munson-blurbs]

Hi <3 for your trope-or-treat, how about dum-dum and butterfinger with Eddie, aka my favorite dum-dum

Idiots in love/Shy!Reader/Eddie Munson

A little offended that I'm not your favorite dum-dum, but it's fine.

Warnings: fluff, a bit of suggestive language

WC: 728

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie can’t stop staring. 

It’s not on purpose; really, it’s all Mrs. Byrd’s fault. She had insisted on handing out candy after a pop quiz, calling it a ‘treat after a trick.’ You could’ve picked one of the fun-size chocolate bars like Eddie had, but no. 

You’d chosen a lollipop. 

The same goddamn lollipop that you’re currently twirling around your mouth, occasionally pulling from between your lips with a soft pop. You’re talking with Lucas, nodding sympathetically while he laments about having to take his sister trick-or-treating tonight. 

“What about you?” Lucas asks, taking a bite of his turkey sandwich. “Any fun Halloween plans?”

You shrug. “Eddie and I are gonna watch some scary movies once he’s done at the party.” Tina’s annual Halloween party is the perfect place for him to sell, but he never sticks around to hang out with people. 

“Really setting the mood,” Jeff teases Eddie, earning him an elbow to the ribs. 

You’re used to their jokes—calling you and Eddie ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad,’ saying that you two bicker like an old married couple, humming Here Comes the Bride whenever you walk into Hellfire. But it wears on you, especially given your ridiculous crush on him. 

You can’t stop thinking about Jeff’s off-handed comment, even when Eddie breezes through your doorway. He’s got a VHS copy of The Amityville Horror in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. 

“You ready to hang out with Jody?” He punctuates his statement with his signature devil horns gesture, tossing a bag of Gummi bears in your direction before popping the movie in the TV. As the opening credits begin, he flops onto the couch and, incidentally, your lap.

“Get up!” you grunt, laughing as you try to push him off of you. “You’re squishing me!”

Eddie pouts and remains in place. “But how else am I gonna protect you from the Satanic influences?” He drops his register an octave to match his Dungeon Master voice.

“You are the Satanic influence!”

“Fair enough.” But, still, he doesn’t move; instead, he looks up at you and wistfully remarks, “you still look beautiful when you’re upside down.”

You wrinkle your nose, feeling your body heat up at his unexpected compliment. “Did you drink at Tina’s party?”

“Not a drop.” 

Given the lack of alcohol on his breath, you’re obliged to believe him. “Then stop being an idiot.”

“I’m…I’m not.” Confusion creases his brows, and he finally sits up. He situates himself next to you, bringing your legs over his thighs and forcing himself to look into your eyes. “Okay, I’m gonna do this, and I’m sorry if it fucks everything up, but…I have, like, this big, stupid crush on you? And I don’t know what to do about it except tell you, because I feel like I get weird around you, a-and I don’t want you to think that I don’t like you. Because it’s the opposite, y’know, like I really like you–”

“Eddie.” You interrupt him gently, allowing yourself to play with a lock of his hair. “Eddie, I like you, too. I didn’t think you felt the same way.”

He exhales, visibly relieved that his confession didn’t end in humiliation. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or anything, but Jeff told me that if I didn’t tell you soon, he was gonna kick my ass.” He chuckles, shaking his head, curls dancing in front of his face. “Can I kiss you? I-Is that okay?”

You answer for him, gathering all of your courage to press your lips to his. He adjusts you so you’re straddling his waist, His hand is on the back of your head, bringing you impossibly close to deepen the kiss.“Shit,” he mutters, abruptly pulling away, “I promised myself I’d take you on a date before we, y’know, do stuff.” His cheeks go red, his cheek pinched between his teeth. 

You glance over at the movie playing on the TV, then back to him. “Does this count as a date?”

“It can if you want it to.” Eddie’s fingers brush against your arm, the slight touch sending shivers throughout your body. “Do you? Want it to count as a date, I mean?

“Yes, please.” 

His lips are back on yours as soon as you finish affirming what he already knew, grateful that he won’t have to hold back any longer.

--

[ciaomarie]

ESCAPING INTO A SHIP

So what exactly made me latch onto the Sydcarmy ship like a leech on a water buffalo?

It was unexpected (for me)! Yes, the very first meeting between Syd and Carm did make an impact. I thought "Oooh, what's this?!" However, Carmy was/is such a mess that I quickly dismissed it. And Sydney just seemed to want his professional approval and a partner in making something great after the soul-crushing failure of Sheridan. So, the first season I personally didn't feel a mutual sexual/romantic tension, more like an automatic respect and shared goals/passions. Sydney nor Carm were obviously trying to flirt. Most slow burns on TV are 100% obvious like a Jeanine and Gregory (Abbott Elementary), Nick and Jess (New Girl), Jake and Amy (Brooklyn 99), Jim and Pam (The Office)...Until Braciole Ep. 8 that is.

S. 1 Episode 8- I won't get into everything but Carmy was desolate. Yes, he became a psycho chef and two people quit in Ep.7. However, he mourned Sydney more than Marcus. She was in his flashback/nightmare (?), then the way he told Tina that she looked like Syd (the poor pup), him texting her before opening the note from Mikey, and finally the most gorgeous locked gaze scene since Pride and Prejudice (2005). The soft lighting, the music, the colors, the mind-reading...magical. I still didn't get it initially. Silly, blind me.

Mentorship where??? Season 2 Carm and Syd's "mentorship" dynamic is pretty much over. They are true partners and spending more time together. They're dressing alike even when not in uniform, finishing each other's sentences or talking in unison. Sydney is opening up more of herself and Carm is asking to know more. They use the ASL sign for sorry with each other and no one else until ep 10. Then there's that locker scene in ep. 1 or 2, when they almost hang out just cause. However, Carmy misses the moment and there's the return of the kicked pup face. Before being on the ship I was delighted with all of their scenes and was looking forward to the food tour. They just ROCK together on screen.

Classic Love Triangle- Who's Claire? She's "Claire Bear", the prototypical "cool girl", who is willing to chase an socially awkward, wrong-number-giving man, despite being a pretty ER resident with no shortage of options. Did a CW writer get hired? Anyways, why was her presence used almost exclusively to put strain on Carmy and Sydney's relationship instead of The Bear generally? We could have had scenes with Nat, Richie, and Marcus arguing with Carmy about him being distracted due to Claire. They saved 99% of that for Sydney. They CHOSE to insert her in between or just after scenes with him and Claire. Showing Sydney's tattoos and her getting dressed with the stained chef's coat juxtaposed with them was WILD.

I LOVE that both believe their interpersonal problems are solely about The Bear/business partnership. In most "slowburns" the characters are far more conscious and actively work to keep things platonic. Jeremy might be a smidge aware that Sydney means more to him after the panic attack, but I bet he's shoved it down. All he knows afterward is that being with Claire feels wrong hence ignoring her call and recommitting to SYDNEY. He could of said "You all/This/The Bear deserve my full focus etc..." He was also nagged into greeting Claire at Friends and Family, seemed anxious when Fak brought her up right before The Table scene, and also while explaining that "she's great" to Sydney. He was at peace when focused on Sydney in the moment below.

The actors: Jeremy and Ayo's real life friendship is warms my soul and their chemistry onscreen is amazing. DON'T WASTE IT!!!

Jeremy smolders on screen. I want to see Carmy continue to stare, yearn, fall, then eventually confess and for Sydney to reciprocate his feelings. Anyhoo, does anyone else melt when Carm means business?! They do this twice in season one and it's not good for me. Whew, I need to clean my whole house or run a few miles.

Finally, there's so many other parallels between these two. They are fearful avoidants, have a missing or dead parent, jacked up stomachs, use sarcasm, but are generally very earnest, they struggle with anxiety, are compassionate, are perfectionists, peace-makers, give people multiple chances, are workaholics...so much more. A lot of that is also ME, lol.

Sydcarmy is my Roman Empire. I love them as much as you can fictional characters and they deserve the most tender, angsty, triumphant, romantic best-friends to more love story.

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: 🔮 HECATE: Goddess of Magic, the Mist, Crossroads, Necromancy, the night and moon🌙

Author's note: Hello everyone! In lieu of posting the major gods demigod headcanons, here is the minor gods version!As usual these headcanons will contain what it's like being claimed and what it's like for the respective god and cabin, followed by a small story between you, the reader, and the respective demigod of that god. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! [PJO MINOR GODS DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST] Disclaimer: To new fans or strictly TV watchers of the PJO series, future spoilers for the entire PJO series books will be referenced. Read at your own risk.

Out of the ‘minor’ gods, a child of Hecate is powerful and just as dangerous as a child of the major gods. As powerful as a child of Ares, Athena, and Apollo, but closer to a child of the Big Three. 

When you get claimed, a rolling mist rolls in and you feel power sparkling at your fingertips. You always have felt the magical power within you but with this claim, it courses through your veins. The spell you cast at your claim is a tell-tale to your half-siblings what kind of magic wielder you are. One time, there was a child of Hecate who summoned the dead beneath their feet and everyone had a meltdown thinking it was another child of Hades until Chiron pointed out the claim symbol belonged to Hecate, and Necromancy is within her domain. Which can be utterly terrifying or cool. Just don’t actually mess with Death itself and stay in your lane, unless you want either Hades or Thanatos having a word with you; either or both. Nico di Angelo becomes a common sight around the Hecate cabin as he acts as a sort of liaison for his father’s domain. 

Hecate’s domain is very broad and large, and you guys have a lot to figure out. Aside from magic, every child of Hecate has a mixed bag of what powers they inherited from Hecate’s domain. Some have others that others don’t. You have shared headaches with the children of Hermes, who are in a similar boat.

As cheesy as it might sound, your power is stronger at night and when the moon is out. Of course a full moon is when you’re at peak strength, but what people don’t know is that your powers can be at peak strength depending on the phases of the moon. This is determined by finding out what phase of the moon the day you were born on, and the phases leading up to that face you feel stronger but the phases afterwards feel less intense for you. If you were born on a full (and/or old) moon, well, more power to you. Literally. 

While not all common, there’s a high percentage of children of Hecate being born in the evenings and night. 

“With great power there must also come great responsibility” - Spiderman, Stan Lee. These words are similar to the Sword of Damocles, that Mr. D and Chiron tells you and the Hecate cabin that power cannot simply be enjoyed for its privileges alone, but necessarily makes its holders morally responsible for what they choose to do and what they fail to do with it. As a child of Hecate, with magic at your disposal, you have to work and study hard to control the magic and command it to your will, however it is a heavy burden to bear and magic can be not only bring miracles, but can take on a form of its own if their wielder isn’t convicted enough. 

Along with magic, the mist is your next inherent power. You help maintain the mist between the world of the gods and the mortal realm; maintaining the balance. The power of the mist comes naturally to you and you can use it to create illusions or manipulate the veil over mortal eyes. However, be careful of it because if you mess with the mist too much, you might pull the mist’s veil over a mortal’s eyes too powerfully and affect their mind, distorting it; it’s cautioned to only manipulate the mist that is still tethered to reality. Worse, you also might get lost in it yourself; or worse find yourself between the borders between the living and the dead. Limbo if you will.

Hecate may seem a bit cold and solitary, but she does care for you. Especially after the 2nd Titan War, where many of your unclaimed (read: unrecognized by the camp) half siblings had perished during the war. You might get the occasional words of advice with magic, magical items, or what your siblings have collectively understood as vague magic teaching moments. You definitely feel her guiding hand when you command more magic that threatens to lash out at you, and you feel her hands guide you to mould the magic in a way you want like a potter’s hand.  At least one thing is for sure, Hecate loves all her children equally…even including Lamia and Circe who are pretty hostile to you guys. 

On that note, you have definitely performed a magic spell you’ve seen on TV, Book, Movie, or Game, and proceeded to tear it apart on how it should not have worked and how it should work before creating either an entirely new spell or an even better one. At the very least, you have a laugh and lead you into discovering and creating new spells. 

You can use magic with your hands, but you could also use a wand or staff, or what have you. With wands though, it has never been easier walking around among mortals and spell-casting magic, and playing it off from certain franchises or being a very dedicated DnD player. The latter is very true and you have no shortage of LARPers.

You know the roles like “The Fairy Godmother”, “The Wicked Witch”, “The Wizard”, and etc? Oh yeah. Every child of Hecate starts to come into one of these roles and leans into it completely. What is yours? 

You and your siblings have an awkward relationship with Lamia, who was a former daughter of Hecate, who became a monster, and is the reason why all monsters can find half-bloods. Sure it was out of spite at Hera for killing all of Lamia’s children, but like….really?  You’re not entirely sure if you guys are safe from Lamia’s curse but on the other hand, given the amount of monsters you’ve encountered and the latest news from one of your half-siblings, Alabaster who was hunted down by Lamia from Gaea, it’s really up in the air. There’s a long research by all the Hecate cabin on how to break this curse or at least mitigate it.

When you get claimed, you feel the veins in your body growing both hot and cold, with power sparking wildly from your fingertips. The small well of bubbling power that had always been in you suddenly burst open and was overflowing, like the seal on it had been ripped off. Wind was kicking around you with the ground trembling and cracking under your power. You could see the mist rolling in and twisting around you with the wind, cutting you off from the outside world. 

With what you could see outside it was utter chaos. People were running around doing damage control with a few brave, offensive demigods taking the front as they knocked away any flying debris and were keeping your magic from breaching the red zone as they batten down the hatches. 

You weren’t sure what to do with this power but you couldn’t just turn the tap off either, you had to release it somehow. But just shooting raw magical power wasn’t desirable since the magic could take on the form of the cognitive power of those around you, whatever that was. 

You tried to remember a spell you were familiar with. Something that was familiar to you that was almost as easy as breathing. You remembered it but the power of the magic within you was too much. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, the extension part of you had to move how you want like you were discovering growth pains, your limbs feeling almost feeling foreign to you. You tried to squeeze the magic into form but it pushed back between the gaps of your fingers like you took too much clay. 

You started to breathe heavily as sweat clung and soaked your being, the strain becoming unbearable. Then you heard yelling as you felt something open beside you. Then you felt someone press up against you, hands grabbing yours that was also flowing with magic. 

You gasped and looked at the person, seeing a girl with dark hair and with glowing green eyes. 

“What-” you tried to say to say how and why she was here and that she shouldn’t be, but then before you could see anything more, she gripped your hands harder and you felt her magic flowing into yours, as if smoothing the gaps, helping you grasp your raging power. 

“Do you know a spell?!” she yelled over the raging, howling wind. 

You stammered to reply but nodded instead as she nodded back. “Alright! Use that spell! I’ll help you enforce it!” 

You were confused but you could feel the magic about to explode soon so you pushed everything aside and focused on what was at hand. You remembered that spell from earlier, taking deep shaky breaths as you tried to manipulate the magic into a form. You could feel it oozing from the gaps of your fingers again but with the girl’s help, she smoothed it and followed your hands, shaping it with you. 

You took form and you threw it in the air as the energy took on a form, taking the wind and mist with it. All tension in your body left you and disappeared with the spell , making you collapse immediately. You were out of breath and out of focus so you weren’t really paying attention to what was happening. All you heard was a boom, sprinkles, oohs and ahhs with gasps and peals of laughter. 

From your starfished position on the ground, you heard feet crunching on the ground beside you and you peaked to see see the girl from earlier, hands on her hips with an exasperated smile on her face with a thin sheen of sweat; even she looked a bit winded. 

“So that’s what kind of magic wielder you are” she commented, crouching beside you. 

“What?” you tiredly said, confused. 

She gestured to the air, “This kind of situation isn’t unusual for children of Hecate, even if yours is a little bit on the extreme side. Every child of Hecate that gets claimed has a spell that they have to unleash and we figured out the first spell they instinctively use is a good indicator what kind of magic wielder and person they are.”

“Oh” you uttered dumbly as you took in the open sky above you. The adrenaline was just dying down and your mind caught up. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you sat up and looked at the girl. “Wait, how do you know this?”

The girl grinned and stood up, holding her hand out to you as you clasped it. “My name is Lou Ellen Blackstone, daughter, head coven, and cabin leader of the Hecate cabin” she introduced herself as she helped you up. 

“Oh…wait, does that mean-” you asked as Lou Ellen nodded.

“Yup, you just got claimed by Hecate which makes us half-siblings” she said as she patted your shoulder and helped you steady yourself as you headed towards the Apollo kids, “Let’s get you checked up just in case. Suddenly being able to have that much access to your magic takes a whole lot of you.”

“So this isn’t new?” you asked as a child of Apollo checked you over. 

“Nah. While some children of Hecate can access their magic before they get claimed, when Hecate claims you, it suddenly feels like the cap on our magic is removed. Don’t worry too much about it, with some practice and integrity, you’ll get a hold of your magic soon enough. In the meantime, you have the entire Hecate cabin to help you.”

You smiled at the thought as you felt yourself drifting off to sleep due to the exhaustion. 

[yandere-sins]

the yandere ghost is just 💕😭. your thoughts on yandere König? 👀

Thank you ♥ Please enjoy :3 (I am also really enjoying it rn that I have the ö key on my keyboard hehehe, fuck yeah, finally the german keyboard is useful >:D)

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

♡ Lord have mercy on the poor soul trapped with and König himself. He can't go even a second without thinking of his darling stuck alone at the base (living their best life away from him), but once he's around you, he's way too awkward to do anything with you. If you were to hold out your hand invitingly to him, he'd—at most!— brush his fingertips over your palm, ready to die happily as he shudders from the sensation. Guy holds your hand once (which costs him a ton of courage), and his heart just... stops. He has to leave the room afterward, or he might lose it, sweating, cursing, pants bulging, and so, so much need inside him to go back and do it again. He wants to go back immediately, kiss you, hold you, and rub against you just once. But unless you invite him again, he'll try to be patient and not pressure you into it, even if it's (he's) so hard and kneeling in front of you, biting his lip so he doesn't beg you to tell him to come closer.

♡ Luckily, his awkwardness also means there is a way to get some peace by collecting all your courage and just randomly hug him while he's busy doing something (that he thinks you'll like, like cleaning or cooking). It'll put him into a state of shock that could potentially make or break your escape. Just kidding. You reach for his gun? You're on the ground or pinned against the wall, his arm choking you as he shouts at you to never fucking do that again. He's scared for your safety first, scary as he looms, pins, and threatens you second. König will be incredibly sorry afterward for hurting you and lashing out as he has to watch you try to breathe again once he retreats after realization sets in. He's furious—at you, at him, at the fact you could have been hurt by his negligence. So at least he leaves you alone for a while to cool off and find a solution, only returning when he's secured some sweets and gummi bears as an attempt for you two to reconcile.

♡ He's very much a beaten dog that will run to any kind of affection you give him. Ask him a question? He drops everything and stands by your side in seconds, even if it's just yes or no. He's inching closer, and you don't look at him or tell him to stop? He'll put his head in your lap and let out a giant blissful sigh. König tries to join any activity he permitted, so if you chill on the couch and watch TV, get ready to almost drop over the edge while he scoots in behind you, or have him hover over you while you do a puzzle, watching which piece you'll place next with enormous interest. He lives for not being rejected by you, and it's his ruin when you tell him to leave you alone and to go away, that you hate him, or that you'll never like him. Please balance these two things carefully, 'cause one day he'll decide to be the monster you keep trying to make him out to be. And you won't like learning just how big, bad, and needy he can be when you push him over the edge. Hint: You're just a doll (what kind depends on his mood) in his hands. Never forget that.

♡ Absolutely does not share you. Don't you dare to look at someone else, even if he has to bring you on a mission. Don't sit anywhere but his lap, never leave his side, and for the love of God, don't open your mouth to speak to anyone but him. Somehow, being with other people makes all these insecurities and anxiety go away for a while, even though when you two are back in private, he asks if you still like him the most. It's almost as if he is showing you off, but the moment someone notices you, he gets growly and visibly possessive, placing his arm around your body (slinging it over your shoulder and grabbing your side like a seatbelt), picking you up, making you straddle his thigh and face him, etc. König hates everyone and anything that looks at you, almost more than when they look at him and he feels judged. You're simply off-limits for others.

♡ He rarely threatens you with violence, but he's love bombing you to the extent that sometimes you forget you're his captive, not his actual partner. König brings you new flowers whenever the old ones wilt, asks you to dance in the kitchen with him, cooks your favorite meals regularly, and asks you out on dates (those rarely happen because "you don't know how to behave," he says, giggling. He doesn't know how to behave either, maybe you two shouldn't be out there together). He buys you things that remind him of you, and even when you have an emergency craving, he gets out at one in the morning to somehow fulfill it. König constantly tells you how much you mean to him and that you're the best thing that's ever happened in his life. If he's a little more confident in your relationship (aka, after you stopped struggling so much), you can count on many gentle touches, pats, head kisses, hugs, hand kisses, rocking you to sleep, etc. He really makes it seem like you're in a relationship.

♡ You probably made the mistake of getting a bit too friendly with him for his twisted mind to understand you were just trying to be nice. He never had that kind of connection with anyone before, and he just had to have you afterward, all to himself, or he might have lost his mind. This desperation is why he keeps you locked away, trying so desperately to sweeten the deal for you by doing everything he can to appease you. There's no one else to wait for him whenever he returns home, give his life another meaning other than killing, so he clings to you who once showed him exactly what he always wanted—an unafraid smile, a welcoming greeting, and kindness radiating off you. He can't share you for the very same reason, knowing that you could make any man go mad with your abilities to welcome them into your life.

♡ Calls you all sorts of loving names like: "Schatz" (treasure), "Liebling" (Darling), "Kleine/Kleiner/Kleines" (fem/masc/gn translates to "Little/Small one") as well as "Große/Großer" (fem/masc translates to "Big/Tall one"), "Prinz/Prinzessin/Eure Majestät" (Prince, Princess, Your Majesty).

♡ You're the only person who can make him come to a complete standstill. He's known to be hyperactive and rarely able to calm down. Still, if you are forced to hug him and let his hand run up and down your back, he's the most focused and calm soldier anyone has ever seen. He doesn't blink, doesn't flinch or move (if not to put you out of harm's way), doesn't speak—a massive silent blot in the landscape. He's able to focus on everything that's discussed, can answer questions easily without stuttering. All that and more, just because he has you like a little comfort plush. It's something his Platoon knows to appreciate and use if needed. Otherwise, they try to stay away from you as far as possible to avoid the calmness turning into terror, unlike what these soldiers have ever seen. No one wants to cross König. They leave being a ragdoll to you.

♡ On days that he comes home exhausted, his insecurities and awkwardness will just be overwritten by exhaustion, so he doesn't care what he does as long as it involves you. He'll lead your hands to where he wants to be touched, forcing you to undress him and ripping your clothes off so he can take you to the bath with him, where you two squeeze into his tub together. There's little space, but König hugs you to his chest and hides his face in your shoulder, taking deep breaths to decompress while you have the option to either ask if he wants to talk about his day or stay silent. He won't allow you to complain or struggle, shutting it down immediately. Squeezing you shut if he must. He's over it for that day. He does, however, not force but relish in it if you decide to take care of him on a whim or because you don't want to be stuck in his tight embrace. He'll let you wash the dirt and blood sticking to him off, kissing your hands reverently as if they are his lifeline keeping him grounded, thoughts off the battlefield, lets you comb his hair, massage his back, or even touch his face before he helps you dry off, wrapping you with his huge towel and carries you to bed with him. Never mind food or other necessities, König simply buries you under his body as he falls asleep partially on top of you. He's not even sorry for touching you so much in the morning. He just apologizes sleepily for drooling on you before he gets up to get some water for you two, still in his full, naked glory. He does, however, eventually realize you two slept next to each other stark-naked, and he has to recover from choking on the water he just drank while he runs to get you both clothes.

[sspookyspoonss]

I know nothing about Doctor Who except what friends occasionally excitedly tell me. I am also bored. Here is an undoubtably factual explanation of each of the ‘new?’ Doctors:

Doctor…. Who??????:

I know nothing about this guy. Nobody I know talks about Christopher Eccleston nor have I caught wind of any internet discussion. My conclusion is there is a conspiracy to not talk about him for no reason other than the fandom got bored and thought it would be funny. I think this Doctor would like to go to football matches and would get very upset if the team he likes doesn’t win. You would probably randomly meet him at a pub and would have a nice chat with him, however, he’d take you back to the Tardis and you would most likely die via Dalek plunger (a thing I am informed they can kill you with). I also think he would like watching reality TV, he gives of that vibe.

Tumblr Doctor:

The internet likes this guy. David Tennant is cool, so I understand. I think this is ‘wibbly wobbly timey wimey’ guy so I am inclined to think that he also says things like ‘milkys’ and ‘dindins’ to his friends. Even if he is not ‘timey wimey’ guy I still think he still would say ‘milkys’ and the like, gives off that vibe.

He has some angst to do with a woman. I’m not sure why but I’m guessing it’s to do with Thomas Edison. The Doctor knows he stole most of his inventions because he can time travel and saw it happen, not stopping him is one of the Doctor’s greatest failures, however, his lady friend is a victim of the British Education system and thinks otherwise. They break up over it, angst ensues, Thomas Edison has ruined someone else’s life even after he’s dead.

‘I don’t like this guy’ Doctor:

I do not like this Doctor, worst one. Nothing against Matt Smith or his performance, I’m sure it was brilliant, I’ve seen that Van Gough clip and it made me cry 10/10. More importantly than that however, my supposed childhood best friend who was actually just bullying and manipulating me said he was her favourite so I look at him and remember I wasted my childhood with her. He can make it up to me if he time travels and gets child me a better friend. Then he will be the best Doctor.

He or Tumblr Doctor has a wife????? I think???? I’m not sure but which one it is but because of my bias I’m saying it’s this guy. I know it’s dodgy because of time travel so he needs to go to space jail (or as Tumblr Doctor probably calls it, the ‘Naughty Step’). I’m assuming they also have a child, making every reincarnation of the Doctor from here on out a deadbeat who needs to pay A LOT of child support. That is why he regenerated, so he could avoid paying it, ‘Court can’t prove I’m the Dad if I don’t have his face.’ Arsehole.

Screwdriver scandal TM Doctor:

He looks like a nice guy. This Doctor would sit you down and give you a therapy session after you nearly get killed by a Weeping Angel. I would like having a talk with him, it would be nice. I feel like he is the most well adjusted Doctor, although that could just be Peter Capaldi’s immaculate vibes. This Doctor pays his taxes. He doesn’t like Paddington Bear for some reason. Due to his well adjustedness, I am lead to believe the twist in Paddington 3 is that Paddington is The Master (who I think is a villain) and will go on a rampage across London, turning people into Marmalade. It will be up to the Doctor and the family I’ve forgotten the name of, to stop him. This would also provide an explanation for why the Mum’s actor has changed, to fix Paddingtons mess they had to time travel which led to the Dad marrying a different woman.

He threw away the Sonic Screwdriver apparently. Previously mentioned childhood best friend complained to no end about it to me. Knowing fanbases other people were also likely very upset, I’m guessing it felt like it did to me when Luke Skywalker chucked his lightsaber over his shoulder in The Last Jedi. I also think Screwdrivergate is a tragedy because they didn’t take the opportunity to replace the Screwdriver with another, even sillier, Sonic _______. I suggest either a Sonic Scented Candle or a Sonic Keyring. Alas, it was not to be.

‘WOMAN AAAAAAAAAAAAA’ Doctor:

People don’t like her because woman. People also don’t like her because of bad writing. Last time I checked, neither of these are Jodie Whittaker’s fault. I don’t have much to say about her except my new, (actually great this time) friend who likes Doctor Who has an emotional reaction every time she is brought up. Genuine sadness and disappointment in my friends eyes. I suggest that this means this is a fantastic Doctor, to the point it is art. A sign of good art is something that garners a strong emotional reaction. Despair at the state of the franchise and societies misogyny may not have been the intention, but a strong reaction is incurred nonetheless, so success, this is art now.

‘Guess Who’s back!’ Doctor:

Erm, not sure how in canon this works but David Tennant seems to be having a nice time so it’s good. The alternative name for this Doctor is ‘Production Budget Doctor’ because from the ends of episodes I’ve seen (I watch Strictly Come Dancing because ooo pretty dresses and it’s on after) the Tardis looks very fancy and like it’s from a big budget film. Coffee also got spilled on it which is funny because it messed the Tardis up, meaning not even the technology of a near God can withstand dumbass humans with liquids. Hilarious. Also, an apt metaphor for many things.

In conclusion: I’m sorry for any brain damage caused to the good members of the Doctor Who fanbase who read this. Have a nice day.



[rad1og1rl]

“jupiter was supposed to be a star,”

and jason was supposed to be Robin.

you knew it was a silly quote. just some social media trend to make you think about your favorite characters from books or tv shows, some food for thought. but you didn’t think the first person to come to mind was going to be jason. your missing ex-boyfriend. while others thought he was dead, you held out hope.

he’ll be back one day. you’re sure of it. hopefully. even though it’s been months now. you’ve lost count…. the days without him blurred together. life became bland without him.

he surely couldn’t have been a failed star… he was your star.

you think back to a book you had read. one he teased you for as you went on a date to the local gotham library.

the little prince. while jason had opted for his english classics, plucking a jane austen book off the shelf, you grabbed the children’s book, the simplistic art standing out to you.

it was a small book, pictures on almost every other page, more akin to doodles than art in your opinion, but the simplicity captured you.

you and jason had found a quiet nook to sit and read, and it was nice to enjoy each other’s presence, and to indulge in each other’s interest.

the hot cocoa you brought to share surely sweetened the memory too, as it accompanied the frigid gotham weather.

this was probably your favorite date jason had taken you on, you mused to yourself whilst you were lost amongst the story of the little prince.

you found… comfort, in the story of the young prince. he had a rose. and the rose was special, because it was his rose.

you looked up from your book, to jason in front of you, who’s mouth was set in a small smile as he glanced up to meet your eyes.

“you know you’re special , right?” you asked him, locking eyes with him.

he furrowed his brows, and blew some of his black strands of hair out of his face. “what are you talking about?” he asked, skeptical as he set his book aside after doggy-earring a page.

“you’re special … because you’re my rose. like the little prince, his rose is special because it’s his rose. his rose is like no other rose, because it’s his rose. you’re like no one else jason, you’re my rose.”

jason’s face flushed a deep shade of red, and he looked off to the side, a boyish grin creeping onto his face.

“i don’t…. i don’t even know what to say to that.” he muttered, looking elsewhere in embarrassment. he quickly stood and rounded the table, bear-hugging you and nuzzling into your neck as you giggled.

looking back on it…. that was one of your last days with jason, before he disappeared. you had both been in highschool, and jason had loved you so much…. he trusted you to know he was robin,.. and that he worked with batman.

one of your last days with him. and your favorite date with him.

god, you missed him so much.

tears had crept into your waterline, as you continued to walk through the cold streets of gotham, gloom hanging in the air throughout the gray city, as a storm soon approached.

it had almost been a year. where was your star? where was your rose?

before you knew it, tears had trailed down your cheeks and you arrived at the gotham library , where you had that date with jason.

subconsciously , you suppose he had led you here. you wanted to believe that. you really did.

as you wiped your tears, you headed straight for the children’s section, where you had found the little prince all those months ago.

you gently pulled it from the shelf, blew the dust off like you had previously, and found the nook you and jason had sat in last time. you slid into your spot, and opened the book to your favorite pages, which you had marked by a folded corner.

as you turned to a page where the little prince was with the fox, and folded up piece of paper fell from between the pages.

a ripped sheet of notebook paper, yanked from a spiral notebook like you had in school.

opening it up, you were greeted with familiar handwriting. but…it couldn’t be, unless he had left it there before he disappeared?

on the paper, jason had messily scrawled “i’ve missed you so much. i…. have endured a lot. but i’m back. i can’t… i can’t come back to you. not yet. but when i do, i hope i’ll still be your rose. i don’t want you to be disappointed in me, in what i have become. i love you. -sincerely, your rose.”

it couldn’t have been anyone else. he’s your rose. your star. even if… he couldn’t be the star he wanted to be. even if… someone else, was now the star that he was meant to be.

you hastily shoved the note in a pocket of your coat, and stood up from the table. closing the book and putting it away, you left the library and headed for the subway.

jason was back. but where was he? and what was he talking about?

boarding the subway, and grabbing onto a pole for balance, you exhaled a shaky breath.

your rose was back. and it had almost been a year. when will he find you? you hope he will return soon.

your thoughts are clouded as you head home that day. gotham’s subway had never been so slow. sitting down, the subway started to move and you shut your eyes.

your rose is home. hopefully, he’ll be home with you soon.

[gnomeantics]

for those unable to attend the livestream i present:

NOTES FROM THE HATCHETFIELD HALLOWEEN PARTY 14th October 2023, 01:00 BST (my time!) / 13th October 2023, 17:00 PDT (their time!)

Note: These notes are at times a little nonsensical and useless and just quotes. This is because it lasted from 01:00-04:00 for me meaning I was incredibly tired. Please bear with <3

Section 1: Nerdy Prudes Must Die talkback

Started with chiptune of Feast or Famine and then chiptune of Jane’s A Car

Steph’s dad may be dead but at least she has a boyfriend <3

Joey was eating beef and potato stew for most of the first segment

When Jeff was asked for the inspiration for The Summoning: “[…] I don’t know. That just popped in my head. It could be true.”  (His answer was Wizard of Oz.)

Section 2: Hatchet Town Trivia Challenge

I tried to keep track of “chat vs cast” points but lost count and failed rather miserably

Nora’s last name is Beanie. Nora Beanie

Jeff is “an avid lover of baby-water” (water pure enough for babies to drink) and “widely known as Doctor Spreadsheets” (my notes just say “baseball game”)

Every time the world destroys, Ted dies twice: once as Ted, once as homeless guy

Lex helped deliver Hannah by teleporting her out of the womb through the Black and White

Greenpeace Girl’s name is Harmony Jones!

Wilbur Cross murdered Duke Senior (Duke Keane’s dad) this may be explored in future.

Section 3: Workin’ Boys

All of my “notes” here are just gushing about the characters. I have written nothing useful enough to be put here

Section 4: Workin’ Boys talkback

Chad was not included in WB because it was deemed that nobody could live up to the legend. This spawned the “Darren 4 Chad” movement in chat

The Workin’ Boys album will be out around next week if all goes to plan. It is 5 tracks and would include Mariah’s version of the Show Stoppin’ Number monologue as well as at least some of her singing it (as seen in the show; hoping for a full version!!)

Mariah’s character in the audience was called Woman.

Lauren’s character in the audience was Courtney, Thrash’s girlfriend from Killer Track

Paul Gabriel’s character was Paul Gabriel

Linda Monroe auditioned for Workin’ Girls and was the only one who didn’t get a part (Ruth was chosen over her). This is why she was happy to see it crash and burn

The programmes made for Workin’ Girls had very detailed bios, which hopefully when in full quality will be readable when paused. This may set up the potential for the Workin’ Girls actresses to be in future HF projects where this can be explored

Jaime will hopefully be in the next Starkid musical!!!!

The Black Book was originally supposed to debut in Workin’ Boys, in its original form in 2020

The 2020 version was planned as a feature-length film but eventually it was decided that it was confusing and remodelled.

The Summoning was supposed to be in Workin’ Boys – the producer would have tricked Hidgens into making the girls perform a ritual; it was realised that this didn’t make much sense so the song was transferred to NPMD

Section 5: The Future Of Hatchetfield

Hatchetfield was supposed to be finished by 2020

Starkid is not going to be exclusively Hatchetfield in the future; their next full-length musical will not be Hatchetfield

NMT3 is hopefully going to happen provided there is enough interest! It was supposed to happen in the same year as NMT2 but they take a long time to write (much longer than a full musical) so that couldn’t happen

NMT3 would conclude Lex and Hannah’s story after Yellow Jacket

It would be produced more face to face like a TV show – Nick said “less Zoom call-y”

It would include stories withheld from NMT1 and NMT2

It would entirely depend on how much interest, particularly views on NMT2.

It would be Halloween themed.

“More things akin to Workin’ Boys would be nice” - Nick

The episodes would be:

Bottle Imps

“Bill Woodward has been chosen to test CCRP’s latest and greatest product: Bottle Imps. These reality-bending buddies will bring their owner the one thing they desire most. When his new imp, Lovely, leads him to his soulmate, Bill decides to use his magical companion to play matchmaker. But to help Charlotte find the man of her dreams, Bill will have to bend the Imp’s rules. Rules he’s been warned, must never be broken…”

Frankenruth

“Desperate to see a naked body, Ruth Fleming and Richie Lipschitz volunteer at the morgue of St. Damian’s Hospital. Their terrible plan becomes exponentially more terrible, when they become unwitting subjects in the experiments of the body-snatching madman, Doctor Lazlo, who claims to have conquered death itself. If Hatchetfield thought Ruth was bad before, then they will cower before the unspeakable horror of… Frankenruth!”

Becky Barnes Climbed A Tree

“Becky Barnes is on top of the world! Not in a literal sense, of course. She’s deathly afraid of heights. After years of struggle, Becky’s life is finally everything she dreamed it would be. She’s engaged to her High School sweetheart, Tom Houston, and the two have a surprise baby on the way! But as the couple prepared for the arrival of Baby Marie, a shadow from Becky’s past returns to haunt them.”

Devil’s Night

“Tim Houston has a crush. Unfortunately, it’s on his older, mature, and totally cool babysitter, Grace Chasity, who he fears will never see him as anything but a snot-nosed little kid. But when a devilish maniac with murderous designs on Grace attacks Hatchetfield the night before Halloween, Tim must protect his beloved, or join the killer’s growing body count. It’s another slashing adventure on the night HE came home… Devil’s Night.”

Miss Holloween

“It’s Halloween in Hatchetfield once again, and Miss Holloway is celebrating the same way she’s done for decades, staving off the horrors that go bump in the night. But when Duke gives her an invitation to his wedding, the dejected Miss Holloway begins to chafe under the terms of a contract forged many years ago. She strikes a new bargain, but unfortunately her creditors are known for their tricks, not treats. Just as Miss Holloway gives up her powers in exchange for a mortal life, a monstrous new threat rears its ugly head. As All Hallows Eve descends, and all Hell breaks loose, Miss Holloway must save the town or die trying… for real this time.”

Orbweaver

“Lex Foster had a life once. A home. A boyfriend. Now there is only the road, and her sister, and the fear of the men who are hunting them. As Hannah Foster watches Lex sink deeper into despair, she is certain of only three things: Webby is gone. She cannot help them. They are alone. Elsewhere, an old soldier awakens from a catatonic state. Returned from some unimaginable Hell with a mission. He knows that somewhere two magical girls require immediate evac… then maybe some coffee.”

As NPMD was conceived of first, it was supposed to be a Nerdy Prudes series: Nerdy Prudes Must Die, Horny Campers Must Die… (this was turned into NMT2’s Abstinence Camp)

The next Hatchetfield full-length musical would probably be about Miss Holloway if there was enough interest.

There is the possibility of a full movie set in Hatchetfield if there is enough interest. (Workin’ Boys was like a trial for how Hatchetfield works in film)

It would be called Cast Party Massacre

“The Hatchetfield Community Players. You will never find a cattier troupe of two-faced thespians. But when the blood begins to flow at their latest show’s cast party, they must consider: is there a secret murderer in their midst? And more importantly, who amongst them is a good enough actor to pull off such a performance? Can they set aside their petty squabbles and tangled romances, or is it curtains for this ensemble? Who will survive… the Cast Party Massacre!”

It would possibly feature the girls from Workin’ Boys.

The licencing rights to TGWDLM will be available soon!

[merakiui]

Okay but.. but Incubus Riddle, who grows so fond and attached to you that he only ever visits you.

Incubus Riddle, who refuses to go to anyone else.

Incubus Riddle, who's determined to make you his, no matter what. You will be his bride, bear his children.

All he desires is to have you completely. Incubi don't truly mate often, but when they do, it's for life. You cannot run, for he will find you.

I've been brainrotting this for a week now hhhhh

Omg incubus Riddle who purposely refrains from feeding for a while just so he'll be so weak and hungry and pitiful when he visits you. That way you'll have no choice but to help him. He's so cute with his tail flicking to and fro, the tip heart-shaped, and his curled horns sitting nestled in crimson locks. He's so hungry, slit pupils so wide they're nearly slivers of moons in his eyes. You have to feel at least a little bad for him, right? He means you no harm. He's only here because he's desperate. Just let him fuck you so he can feed himself. He promises it'll feel good for you. He'll be gentle.

It's strange to see an incubus begging. Normally, they take what they want, seducing humans as easily as one might breathe. This incubus is different. He seems polite enough, awkwardly sitting at the end of your bed, fidgeting in his spot as he waits for you to accept him. It may be a clever act; all demons are master tricksters. But you really do feel bad for him. He's starving. He'll wither into nothing if he doesn't eat something. You know most demons don't take without giving; they're all fond of deals, however one-sided they often are. You suppose, if you're going to help him, you might as well benefit from it.

You ask him if he knows history. Riddle nods. Of course he does. He's lived a long life; he's lived the history humans discuss nowadays, and all of it is committed to memory. So you tell him that he can use you but only if he helps you with your history essay in return. Riddle supposes it's a reasonable request, and with a fiery handshake that doesn't burn as much as you thought it might the deal is made official.

Riddle does not get attached to his bed partners or, if he's being bluntly honest, his food. Feeding is business in his eyes. It's both a formality and a necessity. But he has to stay a little longer after the fact so he can uphold his end of the deal. He's never spent the night in a human's home before. He's never woken up beside one in bed. Some might say this is his first one-night stand, and yet when he wakes and meanders about your home, curiously eyeing furniture and appliances, he realizes it might prove to be a valuable learning experience for him.

Riddle spends a week with you, helping you through the tedious work that is essay writing. And when it's time for him to return to the Underworld, he realizes he had fun with you. It was enjoyable to spend time with you, to follow you to your classes, shifting into all manner of tiny creatures in order to be discreet and hide in your bag, to spend nights arguing over academic sources and how the histories aren't written in the way Riddle remembers it, to sit on the sofa and watch films and TV shows, to sit at the table and watch you flit about your small kitchen space, cooking a delicious-smelling dinner. What Riddle doesn't realize is that he's fond of the connection, the domestic nature of mutualistic relations (waking up together (sometimes dragging the other out of bed), getting ready in the morning together, eating together, bickering together, being together). He chalks it up to some manner of humanity rubbing off on him, fooling himself into thinking it's just because he's getting to know one of his bed partners that he feels this way.

But then he finds himself in your room once again, nearly mad with hunger, and like last time you help him. He spends another week with you, this time helping you tidy up your room as it's getting a little dusty and crowded with final exams approaching. He leaves again, thanking you for being an accommodating host, and the time that follows is boring and mundane. His schedules are never exciting, but then he's always felt comfortable in cycles. So what's changed? He tries to distract himself with other sources of food, pushing you to the back of his mind, but every time he finds himself in a stranger's bedroom and he's ready to seduce them he stops and retreats. None of those people are you. He doesn't want them.

By the sixth time Riddle has visited you, weak and starving, it slowly begins to make sense. He's grown fond of you. So fond that now other humans can't compare. It isn't just for the sake of feeding. Rather, it's more than that. Your company, your energy, your smile, your laugh, your expressions, your sounds... He likes all of it, and he wants to exist in your life as a permanent fixture so that he'll always experience these pleasant things. But you have other ideas. Since Riddle seems to be a recurring theme in your life, your deals have surpassed academic help.

Now you're asking him to teach you the art of seduction so you can impress that one classmate you've fancied for so long now. You ask him to teach you all sorts of techniques with his hands, his mouth, his fingers... You ask him to judge your outfits (outfits he'd rather tear to shreds in his haste to make you his forever) because he always has such a logical opinion. You ask him to take on the appearance of your crush in bed, to use their voice rather than his own, when he fucks you to fulfill your own fantasies. Because you seem to think that he views sex as an obligation (a means of feeding himself) when the truth is that he wants emotional connections. (He likes you. So much it hurts.) You ask him to take you out on dates looking like your crush. You might as well ask him to become your crush... And Riddle obeys. He has to; it's a deal and the rules of a fair agreement stipulate that both parties must uphold their ends no matter what. He holds his tongue, submits to the displeasure that is hiding himself away when you'd rather see your crush and not Riddle (never Riddle), and he fucks you six ways to Sunday. It may seem like it's a good deal when he gets premium meals every time, but that doesn't mean anything to Riddle. He can get food anywhere; humans are plentiful and easily accessible. But when he's so in love, so thoroughly invested in a life with you, it makes it difficult to stomach.

Lots of incubi don't mate for life. They have many partners, often never truly committing to any real life bonds. Some don't even fall in love. But Riddle has always thought differently. He's always believed in mating for life. He's always hoped to find someone, even if that someone felt like a far-off impossibility, something strung up in the stars or only extant in a sweet dream. But you are that far-off impossibility. You are that constellation. You are that sweet dream. And he isn't going to let you slip through his fingers. He's sacrificed too many things in his past and current lives, and he isn't willing to let himself live a solitary life ever again.

The next time he feeds from you, he will make you his bride and his mate all within a few well-aimed thrusts. :)

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 17

Masterpost Read on AO3

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: Thank you so so so much to everyone who has been so understanding of me needing to take some extra time with this now! I love you all. I originally was going to end this chapter very differently but had to split it because I wanted to focus more on certain things, so you'll be getting yet another extra chapter than planned.

---

Somewhere between November 27 and November 28 Houston, TX

Alive. 

Alive. 

Alive. 

The late November stars in the darkness over Houston shine bright – at least, those bright enough to shine through the night lights of a city. If one could see them up close, they’d be fiery reds and blues and yellows. But way up there in the geocentric sky, they’re mostly just white. Explosive, burning masses of hydrogen and helium dozens to hundreds to thousands of lightyears away. 

They don’t sleep, and neither does Gale. 

It might seem funny that he’s wide awake. For days, he could hardly sleep because his husband wasn’t at his side, because he was worried sick he may never sleep beside John again. Now Bucky is here, and Gale still can’t bring himself to sleep. All he can do is sit on the uncomfortable couch beside the hospital bed and stare at the still form of his husband, broken and bruised but still breathing. He listens to the beeping of his heart monitor, and every beat seems to echo the words Gale is trying to drill into his head. 

Alive. 

Alive. 

Alive. 

After so many days spent preparing for the worst – grieving a loss he was sure would come but couldn’t bear to believe – Gale barely dares to look away. He’s worried that if he does, John will somehow slip from his grasp once again, pull away from this world even after everything it took to bring him back to it. What if he looks away, and in the absence of his gaze, Bucky drifts into the open void of the unknowable?

To the stars from which we came, the stars to which we return. Bucky Egan, at the very least, wouldn’t mind having died out there, pushing the boundaries of human exploration, ever the wanderlust-fueled explorer. But here? In a hospital?

Stop it, Gale. 

John is here, bound by gravity once again where Gale can touch him and talk to him and see his smile. He’s fine. He’s recovering. The worst is over.

But still, Gale watches. No matter how many times his tired eyes threaten to close, how shallowly his own heart beats, how fuzzy his head feels. He reminds himself to keep breathing, and he counts Bucky’s breaths, too. Bucky’s lungs fill with Oxygen, and they fill Gale’s with hope. 

Sometime too early in the morning, just hours after he finally laid eyes on his husband for the first time in weeks, Gale feels himself drifting. The TV in the corner of the room is playing on mute, some 80s rom-com that he always confuses with some other 80s rom-com. If John were awake and coherent, he’d insist on coming up with his own dialogue and plot-lines for whatever is silently happening on screen. Absurd stories that would never be aired on television but always, inevitably, make Gale laugh. 

Bucky’s knocked out, though, and it becomes harder and harder for Gale to keep his eyes open. He rests his chin in his hand and looks out the window, at the high-rise view of the lit up, lonely Houston street. Streetlights below, stars above, a black cloudless sky and a glowing quarter moon. That nowhere and everywhere that they’ve both chased for their entire lives. It’s not meant for humans to claim, and Gale grips his hair in his fingers, stares at Earth’s only natural satellite, and thanks it for not claiming his husband. He hears the rhythm of Bucky’s heartbeat, and it beats in time with the pulse of the universe that gave him this life to run with. 

Gale imagines being up there, chasing that infinity again. What does it say about him, that even after all this, he’s itching to get on that rocket, walk on the lunar surface, see the Earthrise from 240,000 miles away? He longs for it almost as much as he longs to hold John in his arms. It’s what both of them were meant to do. 

Their relationship has always been that way: fully dedicated to one another, but just as dedicated to their careers. Split three ways. Buck, Bucky, and boundless flight. 

He imagines looking down on their perfectly imperfect planet through Orion’s window, or Gateway’s or Starship’s – the view that he’s dreamed of, worked for, his entire life. He imagines hurtling through that wide open cosmos towards the moon and beyond, little beacon stars lighting his way to the next frontier, the next dream. He imagines setting foot on that fine lunar soil, craters rising up on all sides, his footsteps imprinted on the surface for years to come.

Or, more simply, he imagines flying a plane through the night sky, the dark Gulf beneath him, the coastline, an invisible map that he knows like the back of his hand. This world that he loves in this universe that he loves, and he’s soaring high above it all in a plane that is his purest home. Free and fearless and full of life. The only place he’s ever felt like he truly, unequivocally, knows who he is and where he’s meant to be. It could be an Air Force jet, a bomber, a NASA trainer. Or it could be his own little prop plane. 

He can feel the familiar controls in his hand, energy thrumming through the aircraft and straight into him. He can hear it so clearly, as if he’s taking off from the runway at this very moment. He inhales with the sense of peace that washes over him, the simultaneous rush of adrenaline that it brings him. He imagines the way he can bank and roll and spin through the sky, completely in control and yet untethered from the rest of reality. Lost in the clouds. Maybe it’s just him, or maybe Bucky’s at his side, stars in his eyes and a grin on his face as they soar higher and higher. Maybe his hand finds Gale’s. They look each other in the eye, and Gale feels all the wrongs of this life wash away.

Two pilots. Two astronauts. Two Buckies. The way the world is meant to be.

“Gale?”

John’s voice cuts through the thick, quiet, TV-lit dimness of this wonderland of the sick and broken, dragging Gale back down to Earth. The sound is so small that Gale almost wonders if he really heard it, or if it was simply an echo of his drifting not-quite-day-dream. But his ears are tuned to the sound of John’s voice, and no matter how soft, it hits him like a wall of stone. Weak and nervous, the same as it was on Starship and Orion. Like a child waking alone in the darkness with no one to hold onto.

Gale, not for the first time, wonders why, in a place of fear and vulnerability, Bucky has turned to calling him by his real name. Gale not Buck. 

He gets to his feet, feels the room tilt around his own fatigue and undoubted dehydration. “I’m here darlin’,” he manages to say. 

In the LED light of the television, he sees Bucky’s eyes, open and unfocused. They seem to find Gale, though, latching onto him like he’s a flame in the dark. Bucky doesn’t smile, but a certain tension leaves the worried set of his features as he follows Gale’s every move.

At the side of the bed, Gale gently grasps Bucky’s clammy hand in his, mindlessly rubs his thumb along the silver band on his ring finger. Mine. My heart. My soul. My love. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky stares at him, eyes wide, as if he can’t believe Gale is there. “‘S’not Orion.”

Gale shakes his head, biting at his lower lip as his heart looks for its own steady beat. “No,” he agrees. “You’re home. You’re in the hospital.”

“Oh.” That’s it. Just oh. Like it makes sense but also makes no sense at all, and Gale doesn’t know which it is or if it’s somehow both. Maybe he could’ve told Bucky he was anywhere and he would’ve believed it. As he’s trying to sort through what comes next – trying to figure out if Bucky remembers anything or if he understands where he is and why – Bucky says something else. “You’re here.” Again, like he can’t believe it.

Gale squeezes his hand gently, holds back a choked breath when Bucky squeezes back. He uses his other hand to stroke Bucky’s cheek, feeling the warmth there, the softness of his skin, solid and whole. “I’m right here,” he whispers, because his own voice isn’t strong enough to say it any louder. 

The next word to come out of Bucky’s mouth is the last for the night, but it carves something sad and grateful and all-over undefinable deep into Gale’s chest. He looks into Gale’s eyes and his lips part and it comes out in a rush of breath that is so simple but ties this fractured reality together again. 

“Stay?”

So he stays. 

Two people, especially two grown men, really, really do not fit in a hospital bed. But Buck and Bucky tend to find ways to bend the laws of physical space to their will, to accommodate the whole that they collectively constitute. Gale helps Bucky scoot over, ever careful of his casted leg, and he eases himself into the bed, wraps himself around his husband like he alone can hold the pieces of him together. The warmth of Bucky’s body pressed against him settles something in Gale’s soul, and his heart swells at the familiarity of having this man in his arms – something he went too long without and nearly lost all together. Bucky is fast asleep the moment he nuzzles into Gale’s chest, and try as he might to stay awake with this ridiculous notion that he needs to watch over Bucky, Gale drifts off without fear clutching at his throat for the first time in weeks. 

They only get a few hours of quiet, nightmare-free sleep before the morning nurse walks in and finds two world-renowned astronauts tucked against each other between the cramped bed rails. Her patient is sound asleep, his face finally relaxed instead of pained. Gale’s face is tucked into the crook of Bucky’s neck, his hand on Bucky’s chest. She can do nothing but smile, shake her head, and do her best not to wake them.

Gale’s eyes groggily open to the rising light of a cloudy dawn and the sound of the nurse adjusting Bucky’s IV. But she just pats him on the leg and tells him to go back to sleep. She was briefed by her superiors and by NASA itself. She knows what kind of Hell they’ve both been dragged through. If John Egan and Gale Cleven want to share a bed for a few hours, they can damn well share a bed.

—

That first morning that Bucky wakes up in the hospital, he’s convinced he’s on Orion. Faintly, he hears rustling around him, feels someone prodding at his IV, his leg, his head. Without even opening his eyes, he winces at the pain. His head feels like it’s splitting in half. He tries weakly to push away the hands holding him in place, hears someone shushing him like a spooked animal, tries to push them away, too. And then all of it is gone.

Some time later – it could be an eternity for all he cares, but Gale tells him it was only about an hour – the sound of quiet music brings him back to the surface. The wake-up alarm, for sure. He tries to blink his eyes open, but his eyelids feel heavy and sticky and don’t want to cooperate. He sees glimpses of bright light, grays and whites above him. Orion’s interior. Someone is beside him; he can feel them. Rosie, probably.

“I’ll be home for Christmas, you can count on me…”

Bucky wonders who on Earth – or not on Earth – chose a Christmas song as their morning alarm.

But then a gentle hand is wiping sweat off his forehead, trailing down his cheek like it just doesn’t want to pull away quite yet. Someone isn’t just beside him, but he can feel them pressed up against him, all along his side, warm and comforting. A soft weight is pressed over his chest – someone’s arm, not holding him down, but simply holding him. Slowly, the music becomes clearer, and he realizes that it isn’t a song playing over Orion’s speakers. Instead, the someone beside him is singing quietly, a deep, smooth voice that brings Bucky to pieces every time he hears it.

Why is Buck on Orion?

“Christmas Eve’ll find me, where the love light gleams…”

Bucky fights to open his eyes all the way, tilting his head towards the warmth at his side, the voice in his ear. But Gale’s voice trails off when he notices Bucky stirring. Bucky whines in protest, and Gale picks back up, finishes the last few lines of the song.

Finally, Bucky’s vision comes into focus, and he sees a tall white ceiling above him, monitors on either side of the bed he’s laying on. His leg is held together by a stiff, scratchy cast, elevated at the end of the mattress. The walls are white and empty. Square.

Not Orion. Too big. 

Bucky’s heart rate jumps, and he hears a beeping noise reflect that for everyone around to hear.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Gale’s hand gently cups the side of Bucky’s face again, his thumb rubbing gently over his brow, then his cheek.

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, to ask what’s going on because his brain is only putting together bits and pieces that he can’t fully wrap his head around. He feels like, somewhere, he remembers things that happened, but he doesn’t remember what they were. He doesn’t remember the when or the how. He was on the moon. And then he was in pain. And a lot is missing but somehow he was on Orion again, and all he can remember is blurry moments, pain and fear and sickness. Somewhere, he knows where he is and how he got here, like it’s right on the tip of his tongue, but his brain can’t find the correct puzzle pieces to fill in the gap. They’re there, but they’re not where they need to be. And now he finds that his throat hurts and his head hurts and his lips are dry and sticky and-

“Here,” Gale says. He turns away to pick up a cup of water, and he guides a straw to Bucky’s mouth. “Water. It’ll help.”

Water. Bucky can do water. He clasps the straw between his lips and sucks on it gratefully. It tastes different than what they had up there.

When Gale pulls the cup away and sets it on the little table beside the hospital bed, Bucky finally comprehends that Gale is laying on the bed beside him, squished in between the bars. They’re in a hospital room. He remembers Gale being here when it was dark, kneeling on the floor, crying against Bucky’s hand. His husband looks wrecked, exhausted, worn out. 

Because of Bucky.

And yet he turns back over, propping himself up on his side with one elbow, and there’s a small, hopeful smile on his face.

Because of Bucky.

Two things can be true. 

“Christmas songs?” Those are Bucky’s first words of the morning, scraping out of a scratchy throat but strong and intentional nonetheless. “How long was I out?”

Gale’s thumb strokes lazy patterns over Bucky’s chest, covered by a thin hospital gown. “It’s November 28th. You splashed down on the 26th and arrived stateside yesterday.”

A little laugh pops up out of Bucky’s sore chest. Everything is sore, and the laugh makes the pounding in his head intensify. But it’s worth it to see the way Gale’s tired eyes get a little brighter. Usually, Bucky is the one trying to celebrate Christmas as early as possible, even before Thanksgiving comes around. The moment Halloween is over, Bucky moves right on to holiday cheer. Buck is always the one futilely begging him to wait until December. Yet here he is, singing Bucky a Christmas song.

“You like them,” Gale mutters quietly, reading Bucky’s mind. And Bucky gets totally lost in the way Gale’s eyes shyly flutter downward as he looks away, biting gently at his lower lip. Bucky lifts his hand, which feels as heavy as lead, and rests it over top of Gale’s. The touch sends a bolt of electricity through him, like they’re just awkward teenagers again, holding hands for the first time, and it grounds Bucky back to this planet.

Gale reaches forward suddenly to grab something before it falls to the floor. A little stuffed bear in a NASA shirt. Delicately, he presses Beary Egan back against Bucky’s side, secure between his chest and bicep. Bucky looks down at the little guy. “I remember you,” he mumbles fondly.

His brain feels fuzzy, and he wishes his head would stop pounding so bad. He looks at Gale, wants to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue. But he can’t hold onto them, like trying to catch a bug in a net, and he forces his eyes to focus on his husband’s face. Soft and familiar and the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

I love you, he wants to say. His lips move, but the sound doesn’t quite make it out. Gale kisses the top of his head and pulls him close, so Bucky is resting against his chest. He starts singing White Christmas, low and sweet, his lips brushing against the hair still exposed at the top of Bucky’s head above the bandage. Bucky smiles, and as he fiddles mindlessly with his husband’s fingers, he can feel Gale smiling, too. 

—

Those first 24 hours are the most promising. Bucky rapidly regains strength under the hospital’s care. He wakes several times throughout the day, seeming alert and aware. He complains about the scratchy hospital gown, and he goes so far as to mention things he remembers about the mission. “Didn’t get the plants,” he’ll say. Or “‘S’quiet on the moon” or “felt sick a lot.” Sometimes he doesn’t have the words for what he wants to say, even if Gale asks him about something specific. He might smile or frown or shrug, part his lips to answer but stop short of spitting out the sounds. He looks out the window, watches whatever’s on TV, holds Gale’s hand. His fine motor control remains shaky, and Gale finds himself having to help him eat sometimes – more soup for now – especially later in the day when Bucky gets more fatigued. The doctor assures Gale that regaining full motor control may take time, but is likely at the rate Bucky is progressing.

Bucky asks about Pepper at some point. Gale doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she’s been grieving his absence. He tells him that’s she’s staying with Benny right now, that she misses him. 

Gale slips out for a few hours in the middle of the afternoon to head to JSC, where he debriefs with Mission Control, Harding, and the rest of the crew. It’s the first of several meetings of the sort, where they’ll discuss everything from spacecraft performance to experiment results to crew health. For now, they tiptoe around the elephant in the room – what went wrong with that rover. Bucky’s accident and everything that followed will constitute its own debrief, or possibly more than one.

Before heading off with Marge to prep for a post-flight press conference, the three present crew members ask about Bucky, and Gale assures them that he’s doing okay.

The man in question is asleep when Gale returns in a fresh change of clothes. He’s carrying two duffel bags – one full of clothes and supplies for himself, and one full of clothes for Bucky so he doesn’t have to wear that awful gown. He drops the bags in the corner of the room and takes the opportunity to turn the TV back on, volume low. He flips to the press conference. Harding and Marge are both present to moderate, and Curt, Rosie, and Alex, dressed in flight suits, sit together at a long table emblazoned with a NASA Artemis banner. Gale listens as they answer questions about the mission, but he finds he can’t focus for shit.

The press room is packed full of people, buzzing with a need-to-know energy. Of course, the first reporters to shoot their hands into the air ask about Bucky’s condition, to which Rosie responds that the commander is “recovering well.” The next is about the injuries he sustained, and then there’s one about if he’s expected to make a full recovery. “We’re optimistic,” Rosie says – code for, we hope so, but we don’t know. 

Gale knows that, as the questions pour in about what happened and how it happened and what it means for NASA, Marge and Harding will begin to shift the conference away from John’s accident entirely. A single “how can NASA justify such a dangerous program” will be professionally answered, and then any further questions regarding the incident will be pushed aside for now. But Gale doesn’t make it that far anyway. 

When someone asks for an account of what went wrong that day on the moon, Curt, as the only other person present, is forced to explain what happened at Shackleton Crater. He makes every effort to speak professionally, but everyone watching can plainly see that it’s an uncomfortable conversation to have. Gale can’t stand to listen for even another second.

He’ll be forced to relive what happened over and over for months, maybe years to come. He’ll hear it in debriefings and on the news. He’ll discuss it in interviews and press conferences. It’ll loom over him as he prepares for his own mission. It’ll haunt his dreams, even when Bucky is home safe, healthy and happy and raring for another go. It won’t leave him. Ever.

So for now, he turns off the TV. He sits quietly. He listens to the beeping heart monitor. And he tries not to forget that his husband is alive beside him.

—

The nurses allow a handful of visitors over the weekend. Bucky experiences intense periods of discomfort and confusion overnight, but once again seems lucid in the morning. Whatever they put in the IV is starting to dull the fever and helps with the pain, but only so much can be done when the pain is nearly unbearable. It also has the side effect of making Bucky feel nauseous throughout the day. Despite all of that, he’s in good spirits, making small talk with the nurse as she takes his vitals or kissing the back of Gale’s hand whenever he has the chance. So, late on Saturday morning, Gale leaves for another debriefing at JSC, and he returns in the afternoon with Benny and Marge trailing after him.

One of the nurses lets Gale know that Bucky woke again about an hour ago, cooperated well for all of his hygiene tasks, and ate some yogurt. He seems lucid now, but had an initial moment of anxiety when he realized Gale was gone. The head of the bed is raised, so he’s in an upright sitting position, now dressed in an old Air Force t-shirt and gray shorts. A fresh bandage is wrapped around his head.

“You look like shit,” Benny tells him as he stops at the end of the bed, arms crossed. He grins at Bucky, who raises a hand and just about manages to flip him off.

Marge goes straight to the bedside, leaning in to wrap Bucky in a tight hug. He raises both arms to hug her back with a force that surprises both of them. On Earth and in proper healthcare, he’s finally regaining the strength for things like that, even if his hands don’t always work right. 

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Marge whispers.

“Kinda miss the moon,” Bucky whispers back. Gale, who stands on the other side of Bucky’s bed, smacks him gently on the shoulder, making Bucky smile. “I missed ya, Marge,” he says sincerely as she lets go.

“Didn’t miss me?” Benny asks.

Bucky playfully glares at him. “Heard enough of your voice for a lifetime.” 

Benny rolls his eyes, but he switches places with Marge to give Bucky a hug. “I’m glad you didn’t die.” He pulls away and motions to Gale. “Your husband would’ve been a nightmare to deal with.”

Gale scowls and raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Bucky reaches for his hand, kisses his knuckles. And none of them say a word about the fact that Gale was nearly inconsolable as it was.

Bucky looks at Marge. “Saw the guys on the, um… the…” He points vaguely to the TV and closes his eyes in frustration. 

“The news,” Gale supplies, and Bucky nods. “I didn’t know you were awake for that.”

Bucky shrugs. “I never really know when I’m awake.” This makes Benny snort, because it sounds like such a John thing to say, and yet right now it’s actually true. 

Marge sits at the end of Bucky’s bed. “Hope it’s alright they did the post-flight press conference without their commander.”

“Doesn’t seem right, huh?” Bucky points out. He smiles though, so Marge knows he doesn’t mean it. He knows there wasn’t much choice. “World’s gonna think I’m dyin’.”

“Well,” Benny starts to say, but Gale hits him with a nasty glare that shuts him up. 

Marge rolls her eyes. “What? Do you want me to post a picture of you or something? Prove you’re alive?” She’s joking, but Bucky isn’t. 

So the Artemis PAO posts two photographs on NASA’s various relevant social media accounts: one of Bucky sitting up in the hospital bed, head wrapped, leg in a cast, face pale, but smiling brightly with two thumbs up; and one candid of him and Gale, looking at each other with all the love in the world, their hands clasped together on top of the shitty hospital mattress. 

She drafts a brief statement to go with them, starting with the words: “Artemis 3 commander, Major John Egan, is recovering well after his incident at the lunar South Pole.” She also includes, at his insistence, the sentiment that he’d go back, it was the mission of a lifetime, and he’s grateful to have had such an amazing crew up there with him. 

She does not include his message of “fuck you” to everyone who thought he deserved it.  

—

When Harding comes by in the afternoon, he first pulls Gale into a tight hug. No words pass between them, but the look Chick gives him says everything that needs to be said. I’m proud of you, I’m here for you, everything will be okay. 

Both of them are caught in a nervous sense of relief and tentative hope. They both thought they might lose John. One of Harding’s boys. Gale’s entire world. They both felt, in their own ways, the world crash around them. No one saw the director of the spaceflight program break every wine glass in his kitchen cabinet by chucking them at the wall. No one saw the way he paced in the darkness and screamed at the moon and interrogated every man and woman who had a hand in building that damn rover. 

All they saw was a hardened, fearless man, hell bent on bringing his astronauts home. He spoke to the press every day, fielded every absurd question they had. He directed the flight controllers and oversaw the task forces and pushed them all to do better, work harder, find more solutions. He watched Gale fall apart. He prepared for John’s death, had to have Marge draft a damn statement about it – something she never told Gale. He had to stand in his office and practice giving it, stone-faced, in the event he had to give it on live television.

Today we lost an American hero… He gave his life doing what he loved… 

John Egan, a good pilot, a good astronaut, a good husband…

This is a devastating loss for the NASA community and for America…

We commit his soul to the stars, and we hope he will fly among them with the same fire in his heart…

“Hey Chick.” 

Chick takes a long moment to stare at Bucky, upright in the hospital bed. He looks sick, but he doesn’t look small. He doesn’t look weak.  

We commit his soul to the stars…

The words ring in Chick’s head, and just a few days after Thanksgiving, he can’t thank this world enough for not forcing him to say them on a live broadcast. Miraculously, John’s wild, unruly soul still has a home on this Earth, reflected in his grin, in the way his curls stick up in all different directions from beneath the bandage around his head, the glint in his eyes, still glassy from fever but wide open and watching. 

“Well if it isn’t the man of the hour,” Harding says, pushing aside the emotion he feels. He shoves his hands into his pockets, then pulls them back out, adjusts the collar of his shirt, looks at Bucky’s cast, his IV, his fever-reddened cheeks. Listens to the heart monitor playing its steady song.

Bucky reaches an arm up, inviting Chick in for a hug that both of them desperately need. Chick will swear he didn’t cry, but it was damn close.

Bucky smirks at him when he stands upright again. “I think I deserve man of the year.”

—

When the rest of the crew comes to visit on Sunday, finally released from NASA’s laundry list of initial debriefings and medical checks, the first thing that happens is they come marching into the room single file, singing “We’re glad you’re not dead” to the tune of Happy Birthday. Gale doesn’t know if he should laugh or hide his face in second hand embarrassment. Bucky waves his hand in the air like a conductor as they gather around his bed, Curt on his right, Rosie seated at the foot of the bed, Alex standing at the end. Gale sits on the couch, present but allowing the four crewmates some space.

The second thing that happens is all four astronauts stick their tongues out at each other. Gale raises his eyebrow, but not a single one explains. 

The third thing that happens is Curt hands over a sealed silver packet, much like the ones they had on the spacecraft. Exactly like the ones they had on the spacecraft.

“The fuck?” Bucky scoffs, even as he grabs the packet. “Hospital food’s bad. Space food ain’t much better.”

“Orange juice,” Curt says. He’s pleased when Bucky’s eyes widen a little bit, skepticism replaced with gratitude. “Buck mentioned the juice here kinda sucked. Nicked it from the space center this morning.”

Curt and Rosie both have half a mind to open the pouch for Bucky, hold it up for him to sip from. But Bucky pops the top off all on his own and presses the straw between his lips. He nods in approval after taking a sip. “Thank you, orange juice, for keeping me alive.”

Curt holds a hand over his heart, using the other to motion to himself and Rosie. “I think the orange juice had a little help.”

Bucky waves a hand to brush them off with a roll of his eyes, but then he grins at them. “I wouldn’t, uh…” He tilts his head, squinting as he seems to lose the words he wanted to say, and the grin falls away. After a long few seconds, he looks at them again, a more tempered smile returning to his face. “Wouldn’t be here if… if it weren’t for you two.” 

Even if the words would stop fading from his brain, there aren’t any words that can appropriately encapsulate what Bucky needs to say. How do you thank someone for saving your life in a situation that is quite literally beyond the human limits of survival? How do you thank them for looking after you, day and night, doing whatever needed to be done just to make sure you kept breathing? How do you express regret for having upended the once in a lifetime mission that they’d spent years preparing for? Sadness for what was sacrificed? Gratitude for making that sacrifice anyway?

Curt shakes his head and rests a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Couldn’t stand the idea of flyin’ home with your dead body in a space suit. Keepin’ ya alive was the best way to avoid it.”

Bucky looks up at him. “Sorry you didn’t get to…” He sighs and shakes his head.

“The plants,” Gale calls out.

Bucky nods. “The plants.”

He doesn’t remember much of anything from those touch and go days on Starship. But in every memory he does have of it, Curt is right there with him. Curt, standing over him with worry all over his face. Curt, speaking to Houston. Curt, staring out the window at the little greenhouse he’d never see again. Curt, cleaning up Bucky’s messes and struggling to get him into the OCS suit. Curt, reaching out to him, telling him he was gonna be alright.

Little snapshots of a blurry, industrial world. Whites and grays and pain and fear. And in the middle of it all, Curt.

The Artemis pilot shrugs and grips Bucky’s shoulder a little harder. “You’re worth more to me.” It’s the single most genuine thing Curt has ever said to him. He smiles self-deprecatingly and says “Alright, quit goin’ all sappy on me. I saved your ass. What else is new?”

Bucky laughs and shakes off Curt’s hand. Then he looks at Rosie. “You… are a steely-eyed missile man.” Of all the words to be able to remember, of course, for a space-obsessed boy-turned-pilot-turned-astronaut, that term sticks out loud and clear.

“I think that title is reserved for the engineers,” Rosie chuckles. It’s a name that first popped up in Mission Control during the Apollo days – originating with John Aaron – for an astronaut or engineer who proved resourceful and quick-thinking in a crisis, devising a solution to a life- or mission-threatening problem. “All I did was keep you from finding new ways to fuckin’ off yourself.”

Bucky remembers more of his time on Orion, though not all of it. Mostly he remembers the pain and the nausea, the feeling of his body floating in pieces, no longer a whole. He remembers the stars and the Earth out the window. Beary Egan in his hands. He remembers Rosie trying to get him to eat. Rosie, at his side day and night. Rosie, brushing back his sweaty hair and hugging him when he couldn’t stop shaking. Rosie, trying to convince him to keep fighting just a little longer.

Rosie worked through every single problem. He guided Curt through how to care for Bucky, how to stabilize his leg, hold him down through a seizure, keep him stable. Then on Orion, he hardly slept, watching over Bucky at all times. He prevented Bucky from re-injuring himself, from tearing out his IV. He worked out how to keep Bucky going on rationed IV fluid and the little food he could stomach. Sure, Houston was there to help. But Dr. Rosenthal is the one that actively figured out how to keep Bucky alive at every point of their journey back to Earth. He foresaw and solved the problems. He brought Bucky home.

So Bucky shakes his head when Rosie tries to be modest. He looks at Gale. “Buck, tell Marge to write up somethin’ ‘bout Rosie. Steely-eyed missile man.”

“I don’t tell Marge what to do,” Gale says flatly.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Ask her.” He catches Gale’s eye and points at Rosie again. It takes him another moment to get the words right, and they fumble through his lips, but they make it through. “This man d-deserves it more ‘n anyone.”

Articles about Dr. Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal, the “steely-eyed missile man” who got Major Egan home, will be circulating within 48 hours. 

Finally, Bucky looks at Alex. “And you… thanks for lookin’ after her.” He means the capsule, of course. Alex stepped in when Bucky couldn’t, made sure Orion kept functioning and got them all home in one piece. “G-Got her home at least as good as I could’ve.” 

Alex rolls his eyes, but the engineer smiles and sets a hand on Bucky’s leg. “I wish you didn’t almost clock out on us, but it was a hell of a ride.”

Gale watches the four of them laugh and joke and give each other shit. Even as Bucky starts to lose energy, Gale sees the way he smiles at his crew, sticks his tongue out when Curt says something rude. The way he tries to stay present even when the words seem to leave him. The way he leans into Rosie when the physician gives him a tight side hug. The way he willingly hands Beary Egan off to Alex to inspect before protectively taking the plushie back again. 

This right here is their family. They’d each do just about anything for one another – not even the sky's the limit. And yet Gale feels like he’s indebted to them for life, because against all odds, they brought his husband home to him.

—

Somewhere in the liminal space between Sunday and Monday, Gale has to wake Bucky – twitching, near-crying, and scratching at his IV – from a nightmare. Bucky won’t speak, won’t tell Gale what the nightmare was about. He holds onto Gale’s hand and won’t let go until Gale finally climbs into the bed beside him, holding him tight. Beary Egan remains clutched to his chest.

Monday morning finds him in another state of confusion, more or less mute with an elevated heart rate signifying his distress. He keeps trying to get at the cast on his leg or pull off the bandage on his head. He scrabbles weakly at the IV and tries to lash out when the nurse attempts to restrain his hands for his own safety. Gale has to clamp both of Bucky’s hands tightly in his own as he tries to ask him to calm down and assures him he’s alright. He quietly sings Blue Skies, looks into wild blue eyes. He squeezes Bucky’s hands, and slowly Bucky’s heart rate drops; the tension leaves his body.

The nurse ups his morphine, and he’s out again.

The next time he wakes, early Monday afternoon, Bucky is of clearer mind. Gale, who left for a few hours to stop by JSC, returns to the hospital to find him flirting with the nurse taking his vitals. He’s eating scrambled eggs, his hand trembling the littlest bit as he lifts his fork to his mouth, but he’s smiling at the nurse. She blushes at something he says, and Gale knocks on the open door.

Bucky’s eyes are clear and focused as they immediately shift to Gale, who is dressed in black jeans, a gray long-sleeve, and a NASA flight jacket with his hair gelled back. 

“There’s my lovely wife!” The smile on Bucky’s face widens, and a glob of scrambled eggs tumbles off his fork and onto the plate. He glares at it and lowers the fork back to the plate as well. 

The corner of Gale’s mouth curves up as he leans against the door frame. “Losin’ interest in me already?” 

“You’ve had me wrapped around your finger since we met, doll.” Bucky reaches a hand out, causing the IV to tug at the skin – red and irritated from his attempts to remove it this morning. Gale fully enters the room to take Bucky’s hand. Then Bucky motions to the nurse. “Doesn’t mean I can’t tell Clara she looks beautiful today.”

The nurse – Clara – smiles shyly as she jots down information on Bucky’s chart. “And you certainly keep us on our toes Major Egan.”

“What he does best,” Gale agrees. He looks down as Bucky slides his hand away once again, looking intently at his plate. 

“His temperature is going down,” Clara tells Gale by way of update. “Only 99.2, so the propranolol seems to be helping. We’re very pleased.” 

“Damn eggs,” Bucky mutters. He picks up the fork again and scoops up some of the offending eggs. His hand shakes as he lifts the fork to his mouth and barely manages to get his lips around it. No matter how many times he’s told it’ll take some good occupational therapy to regain fine motor control, he’s pissed about it. 

Clara sets the clipboard with John’s chart down on the mattress. “Shall we take a look at that scalp infection? If it’s healing nicely, we can keep the bandage off.”

Bucky nods, and Clara unwinds the gauze from around his head. The healing gash is a lot less angry than it was before, and she deems it improved enough to keep the wrap off for now. Bucky raises a tentative hand to the back of his head, feeling the patch of stubbly hair where they had to shave it once again upon his arrival. Gale gently smacks his hand. “That’s what got you in trouble in the first place.”

Bucky scowls but lets his hand be guided away from his head. “Think it was the rover that got me in trouble.”

Gale can’t really argue with that, and he tries to push past the unsettled feeling the statement leaves him with. Sensing the sudden tension, Clara pats Bucky on the shoulder, tells him to try to finish his eggs, and leaves the couple be.

Over the next 24 hours, Bucky manages to not only finish his scrambled eggs but also eat jell-o, a late dinner of chicken and rice, and half a pancake for breakfast that he savors the taste of but nearly throws back up – too rich too fast. Sometimes he needs Gale’s help holding the utensils, and sometimes he doesn’t. They go on a couple of walks around the hospital ward, Gale pushing Bucky in a wheelchair. 

They talk until Bucky’s brain refuses to talk anymore. Then they stay in peaceful silence, or Gale fills the gaps with stories, well-wishes from friends, or, most often by Bucky’s request, more singing. Bucky drifts in and out of consciousness with a far better sense of place and time than when he was on Orion, but his baseline anxiety levels are elevated. Overnight, they deal with more nightmares, more heart rate and blood pressure spikes, more lapses in memory and awareness. 

Turns out Gale isn’t the only one with a newfound unease in the night.

In the daylight, Bucky’s cognitive capabilities are far more reliable, and he seems nearly normal. Cocky, charismatic Major Bucky Egan with the winning smile, flirting with Gale and every nurse – young or old, male or female – who attends to him. 

On Tuesday, Bucky’s fever is gone. The headwrap stays off. Rosie comes by early that afternoon to visit and consult with the doctor, who lets Gale know that Bucky will likely be able to go home the next day. Rosie helps Gale make a list of things he’ll need to do to help Bucky at home, and he assures Gale he’ll help out, too.

It feels like they’ve climbed a damn mountain, and they’re so close to the summit. It’s the bottom of the ninth, as Bucky would say. He’s running for home.

—

The first time Gale hears Bucky cough is early on Tuesday evening. He hardly even glances up from his laptop. Just a quick look to make sure John is alright and then, seeing his husband peacefully asleep, he goes back to reviewing Orion flight data sent over from JSC, noting down how Artemis 3 findings may impact Artemis 4 protocols. A couple hours later, when he hears it again, it’s louder, wetter, and Gale frowns. But still, Bucky remains asleep, his brow just the slightest bit scrunched. Gale watches him for a minute before returning to his work, running a hand through his hair as he stifles a yawn. He takes a sip of shitty hospital coffee, tries to blink the tiredness out of his eyes, and wraps his fists in the soft sleeves of the Yankees sweatshirt that he’s wearing once again.

By about 8pm, he’s struggling to focus on the data swimming across his too-bright laptop screen, fending off a headache of his own. He’s debating whether or not he can stomach food from the hospital cafeteria, or if he’s better off going in search of something else nearby. Hunger is, for better or worse, something he’s started actually feeling again since Bucky has been progressing under the hospital’s care. 

He’s thinking about calling Benny or Marge to see if they want to meet at the Hundred Proof when the coughing starts up again. And this time, it doesn’t stop. Instead, when Gale looks up from his laptop, Bucky’s eyes are wide open, and he’s coughing so hard his face is turning red. He winces at the pain that the violent motion causes to his head and body. Gale sets his laptop aside and steps over to the bed, helps Bucky to sit up, rubs a hand up and down his back and presses the other to his chest. 

“Gale?” Bucky whispers. His face looks panicked, scared. And it pulls at Gale’s heart as he wonders if this is what Bucky looked like on Orion, every time he reached out into the void, hoping for Gale to be there. He takes Bucky’s hand in his and squeezes, a silent I’m here. A secret, I’m sorry I wasn’t before.

When the coughing subsides and Bucky manages to catch his breath, he makes a disgusted face and gags a little bit. Gale grabs a napkin from the tray at Bucky’s bedside, holds it out for Bucky to spit into, which he does. “You alright?”

Bucky squints and shakes his head, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. He sniffs, and Gale notices for the first time that Bucky’s all stuffed up again, breathing mostly through his mouth. His eyes are a little red and watery, lips chapped, cheeks pink. The dark curls over his forehead are damp with sweat.

Gale presses his wrist to Bucky’s forehead, and he sighs. “You’re warm.”

Bucky looks up at him. The fever he’d been fighting since his return trip had finally gone down, and yet here he is all hot and stuffy again. When Bucky talks, his voice is thick with congestion and tired with the difficulty of drawing air into his lungs. “Shit.”

Gale goes to alert one of the nurses, who promptly follows him back to the room to take Bucky’s temperature. Sure enough, it’s back up to 101.

Gale settles for hospital food. He convinces Bucky to drink juice and swallow a few bites of soup, but he refuses anything else. Any progress he made in eating more solid food over the last day is fundamentally lost. Now, he shakes his head and tells Gale that the soup makes him feel sick. 

—

By the middle of the night, Bucky can’t breathe too well anymore. Unregulated gasps give way to pained wheezing as his lungs refuse to draw in the right amount of oxygen. His head is spinning, and he doesn’t know where he is. “Rosie?” he weakly calls out. It’s too dark, he can’t see the other astronauts across from him. He can’t feel Curt’s presence at his side.

He blinks in confusion when someone kneels down beside him, because that isn’t how people move in space. A strong, slender hand grabs onto his. “Look at me, darlin’.”

Bucky blinks slowly, tries to understand why that voice is here. With him. He reaches a hand up to his own ear in search of a com cap that isn’t there. “Buck.” A cough wracks his chest, and he feels any breath he’d managed to draw being choked from his aching lungs.

“I’m gonna get the nurse,” Gale says calmly. 

“No,” Bucky mutters. His hand searches for the side of Gale’s head, wanting to touch, feel, reassure himself that his husband is here. He feels the gravity pull at his limbs, the IV tug at his skin, the pulse pounding through his leg and his chest and his head. “W-Where am I?” 

In the darkness, he sees the way Gale frowns, and then tries to smile again, and then drops any expression entirely. Gale grips his hand harder, uses his other to brush the sweaty hair back from Bucky’s forehead. Bucky’s heart lurches at the familiar feeling, recalling vague memories of others doing that for him on Orion. His eyes feel wet.

Gale doesn’t break eye contact even as the question tears him apart. “You’re in the hospital, sweetheart. In Texas. You came home five days ago.”

Bucky stares at him, trying to compute something that just won’t quite come together. He remembers being here. He doesn’t remember how he got here. He remembers the pain of being on Orion, and yet part of him is angry that he’s back on this Earth. He doesn’t understand how Gale is here, but he wants to hold on and never, ever let go. He still feels dizzy and he can’t stand the sound of his own breathing, strained and inept. His chest hurts.

“I’m gonna get-”

“Don’t go,” Bucky pleads.

Gale looks pained, but he nods. Carefully, not letting go of Bucky’s hand, he reaches over to press the nurse call button beside the bed. He doesn’t leave Bucky’s side until a nurse comes in to see what the problem is. 

The nurse checks his vitals. “You’re gonna be alright,” she says in a calm, southern drawl. She moves about with such certainty, and Gale tracks her every move even as Bucky can’t, his head hurting too much as he focuses on not suffocating. And then the nurse is fitting a nasal cannula under his nose and around his ears, brushing back his hair in the same comforting way that Gale and Curt and Rosie did. 

“We’re gonna get you some extra oxygen here,” the nurse explains. “Just hold your husband’s hand and try to breathe easy, honey.”

—

In the morning, they take Bucky for imaging, and Gale’s fears prove true: everything about Bucky was weak by the time he made it to the hospital, including his immune system. After being isolated from everyone but a select few for weeks on end and receiving little sufficient nutrients for so long, he contracted a cold and some form of pneumonia during his hospital stay. 

They adjust his IV antibiotics, convince him to drink some water, but can’t get him to eat. The doctor pulls Gale into the hall, and she tells him that they want to keep Bucky for a bit longer to make sure they have a good handle on the infection in his lungs. Gale finds himself flexing the hand he’d punched the mirror with – weeks ago, now – looking for something to ground him. But the skin is healed over, painless. He wishes he could punch something else. Wishes he could have a drink. Hates himself for it. 

Instead, he finds himself dropping, numb, to the chair conveniently beside him. He briefly wonders if doctors do that on purpose, give people bad news where there’s an easy place to sit down. 

It’s not like it’s the worst thing she could’ve told him. It’s not like it’s even unexpected. Out of everything that has gone wrong, could have gone wrong, it could be worse. 

But they were so fucking close. 

Gale nods to himself and runs a hand through his hair, blows a heavy breath through his lips. 

“He’ll be just fine, Major Cleven,” the doctor tells him. “He might be weakened. But he’s not weak.” 

Gale nods again. Nothing about John Egan is weak. Never has been. But Gale also isn’t naive. 

The doctor puts a hand on his shoulder and assures him that John will get better soon. And then she leaves him be. 

He texts Rosie an update. Sits quietly for a while, surrounded by white halls, white floors, the scent of disinfectant. He finds it ironic that the hospital that is supposed to help Bucky heal also brought him new sickness. 

“They’ll get him taken care of,” Rosie’s text comes back. “He’ll be home in no time. Let me know if you have any questions or want to talk.”

Gale pockets his phone and gets to his feet. He holds his breath, counts the seconds. One. Two. Three. Four.

When he hits ten, he exhales and walks back to Bucky’s room. Over the last few days, they’ve accumulated get-well cards and a few flower arrangements, a stuffed Husky from Benny. There’s a brand new drawing from Maggie, one of the little girl and Bucky together on the moon. In the corner, a few balloons from the crew – one meant to look like Mars, one like the moon, and one a star. The gifts are scattered around, brightening a sterile room, and Bucky sits in the middle of it, propped up in bed with his casted leg propped on a pillow, Beary Egan resting beside him. His cast has been signed in colorful marker by his crew mates (at Curt’s insistence), a few of the nurses, and by Gale (at Bucky’s insistence). Gale even drew a little paw print for Pepper. 

Gale pauses in the doorway, taking in every detail. He’s struck by the thought that this is a view he’ll remember for the rest of his life: his husband in a hospital bed, hooked up to oxygen, an IV, a heart monitor; his unkempt hair, growing long from too many weeks of not cutting it, curls draped over his ears and his forehead; his face flushed with a fever that won’t go away; the sound of him choking back coughs and the sterile scent of the room. Every good and bad little nuance of this situation collides in an earthquake that leaves Gale a little dazed. It’s all nearly too much, broken puzzle pieces that are too big for the space they try to occupy. The grief he’s been through, a tragedy narrowly avoided, the gratitude he feels, the relief, the despondency that came with the doctor’s news. All wrapped up in a pure and painful, unequivocal love for the man in front of him. They’re emotions that Gale doesn’t have words for, can’t even begin to sort through, but they all rise up in his chest unbidden. 

He leans against the door frame and watches Bucky, who is looking out the window at the late morning light, the trees and the birds. Gale wonders what he’s thinking about. He runs his thumb along his wedding ring, and he notices that Bucky is doing the same. 

It’s at that moment that Bucky turns to look at him. For the first time, Gale thinks he looks small in that bed, face pale, eyes glassy once again. But he smiles at Gale like none of it matters, like they’re on a beach on the Gulf, drenched in sun, instead of stewing here. Gale forces his mouth into a crooked little half-upturned thing to keep the emotion from showing on his face, keep his features steady. His throat feels tight, his own eyes burning. But he blinks away the tears that threaten to well up, and he takes a breath.

“Hey there,” he says.

Bucky lifts his hand, holding it out. Gale steps into the room to take it, and Bucky presses his lips to Gale’s knuckles. “Hi.”

“Doc says you have to stay here a bit longer.”

“I know.”

Gale bites his lip and nods, looking down at their joined hands.

“Hey,” Bucky whispers, prodding Gale to look at him again. “I’ll be alright.”

A fleeting, sad little smile crosses over Gale’s lips, blink and you’ll miss it. “I know.” He squeezes Bucky’s hand, and he decides right then and there that he believes it. Bucky will get better. He has to.

—

It’s not easy. Bucky gets worse before he gets better.

Gale feels like he’s stuck in a weird time loop, where every night and every early morning feels frighteningly similar. Bucky has nightmares or wakes in the dark, in pain and crying out. He panics when he can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs, and the doctors consider intubating him one night, but manage to get his oxygen levels under control before it comes to that. Often, Bucky’s brain plays tricks on him, convinces him he’s on the moon or on Orion. The darkness and the brain fog leave him disoriented and anxious, not comprehending where he is, until a nurse helps Gale calm him down, gives him more sedative. Gale holds his hand or lays beside him, strokes his sweaty hair, presses his lips to the side of his head. He sings quietly or tells mundane stories until Bucky falls asleep again.

The days are better. With the sun streaming through the window in pastel rays that light up the room, Bucky is tired and lethargic, but coherent. He sleeps a lot, as much if not more than he did on Orion. When he’s awake, he talks as much as he can manage, but often loses his train of thought and seems to drift away. If he manages a conversation, the coughing often brings his contribution to an end, leaving his head pounding and his ribs protesting. Gale worries he’ll break one of those, too, if the cough doesn’t leave him alone.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” Bucky will say, when he catches Gale watching him with uncertainty all over his face. “I’m not dyin’.” But then he’ll be consumed by coughs, choking on his own breath.

He isn’t allowed visitors anymore due to the risk of exposing him to other germs, but when Gale isn’t around – or even sometimes when he is, just to give him a chance to get some air or some food – the nurses take to spending their breaks with Bucky. Most often, they take him on walks around the ward, pushing his wheelchair easily through the halls. They tell him about their day, and sometimes if he’s up to it, he tells them abridged stories about the moon or flying jets. One day Gale returns from JSC to find Bucky sitting in a wheelchair, one of the little rolling standing desks that doctors use lowered to his height. Nurse Clara sits in a rolling chair on the other side, and they both have a selection of playing cards in their hand.

“What’s this?” Gale asks as he removes his flight jacket, clutching it in one hand. He peeks at Bucky’s cards.

“Go fish,” Bucky replies, glancing up at him, and Gale notices that his eyes are clearer than they were in the morning. Bucky frowns as he slowly, laboriously convinces his fingers to grab onto the corner of a card, shakily laying it on the table.

Gale raises an eyebrow, and Clara smiles at him. “Just a little something to work on his fine motor control and keep his brain engaged.”

“I’m winning,” Bucky states proudly, and Gale kisses him on the head before going to sit on the couch, leaving them to it.

He never thought a game of Go Fish would make him want to cry.

During the worst moments, Bucky can become just as agitated as he was on Orion. He asks for Curt or Rosie or Beary Egan. He scrabbles at his IV, tries to pull it off, nearly succeeds once before Gale takes notice and makes him stop. He complains about his leg or the nausea or the pain in his head, and Gale can do nothing but be there, hold on tight, try to help him calm down. It’s those panicked moments in the middle of the night that leave Gale feeling bereft and alone, like he’s fighting single-handedly for Bucky’s survival. And even then he knows, it’s not even comparable to what Curt and Rosie went through, way out there on their own. 

Gale was there – even if only in voice – every step of the way on Bucky’s journey home, but he is now made aware, in startling clarity, that he wasn’t there. No matter what information he got through the coms, none of it could really pull into focus the reality of working Bucky through this all day and night in real time. He may have been here, a voice in Bucky’s ear, doing his best from thousands of miles away. He may have been here, feeling alone on this blue planet as he grieved the potential loss of the man he loves. He may have been here, living the nightmare in his own way. But he wasn’t really there for the play by play. He didn’t see the extent of Bucky’s pain and disorientation. He didn’t wrangle him into a spacesuit or clean up his vomit or rush to keep him stable when he tore out his IV. He wasn’t there for the nightmares or the bouts of confusion or the refusals to eat or drink or generally cooperate. He wasn’t there.

But now he is. He’s getting a taste of all of it, trying to keep his husband from crumbling away.

Rosie drags him to the Hundred Proof one night for some quality time with friends, even though Gale protests the whole way and keeps insisting he needs to get back to Bucky. “You need to breathe, Buck,” Rosie tells him. 

“He’ll be alright,” Curt adds. Just like everyone keeps telling him. “You need a break.”

Marge hugs him tight and gets him a glass of soda. Gale watches Rosie and Alex play a round of pool. He talks to Curt about anything that pointedly isn’t Artemis, but they inevitably fall into conversation about it anyway. Even so, Gale’s mind barely leaves the hospital the entire time he’s at the bar. Benny smacks him on the back at one point and tells him to get out of his own head.

When he gets back to the hospital that night, Gale is so exhausted that he feels dead on his feet. But he sits on the edge of Bucky’s bed, and he rests the back of his hand against Bucky’s forehead. Too warm still. The fever is going down, but hasn’t disappeared. He listens to Bucky’s strained breathing, marginally improved, and to the machine-echoed beep of his heart rate. Bucky has a new IV, held in place with even more tape than before to prevent him from pulling at it, and Beary Egan is cradled in the same arm.

Bucky scrunches his nose when Gale pulls gently at a soft curl over his forehead, and his eyes flutter open. His lips part to say something, but no words make it out of his sore throat.

Gale kicks off his shoes and slips into the bed, not even bothering to change out of the jeans and sweater he wore to the bar. Bucky’s fingers fumble at the button to raise the head of the bed, but he can’t quite manage in his groggy, half-asleep state, and Gale reaches over to help. The bed raises until they’re both more or less upright, Gale half curled around Bucky in the cramped space. 

Gale’s phone buzzes with a text message from Curt – tell the idiot to get better soon – and he glances down at it. Bucky looks over at the lit up lock screen, and a hoarse noise comes from his throat that makes Gale look over. Bucky blinks and points to the phone. The screen. The photo on the screen.

“Our wedding,” he finally manages to shove out.

It’s the photo from their first look, with Bucky staring at Gale with such adoration it might consume him from the inside out

Gale never managed to get through the whole album, but he saved this one particular photograph as his phone background, because he couldn’t take his eyes off it any better than Bucky could take his eyes off Gale that day in October.

“Mmm.” Gale tilts the phone to better show Bucky. “This one’s my favorite so far. I haven’t looked at the whole album. Couldn’t without you.”

Bucky stares at the photograph, and a sweet little smile lights up his face, even in his exhaustion. “My beautiful bride.”

Gale is about to ask if he wants to look at a few more, but before he can, Bucky chokes on a breath and coughs violently, leaning forward, away from Gale. Gale puts the phone away and rests a hand on Bucky’s back, but the coughing fit only gets worse, until Bucky can hardly breathe at all. He wheezes between wet, desperate coughs, pressing his arm over his abdomen as the force threatens to crack a rib like Gale is so afraid it will.

When it finally subsides, Bucky is left curled over on himself, one hand wrapped over his stomach and the other clutching weakly at Gale’s hand. He’s drenched in sweat, every part of him ranging from sore to extreme pain, and there’s blood on his hand that he coughed up from his lungs. Gale grabs a napkin from the stand by the bed to wipe it off, and he wipes some sweat from Bucky’s forehead.

“Don’t feel good,” Bucky mutters.

Throwing the napkin to the side, Gale grabs the cup of water and offers it to Bucky, guiding the straw to his lips. “Try to drink,” he instructs. Bucky does as he’s told, but pulls away after a couple of sips, and Gale returns the water to the table.

“Come here,” he says. Gently, he eases Bucky back until he’s laying with his head on Gale’s chest. Gale holds tight to Bucky’s hand, and he strokes his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “You’re alright, darlin’. Just rest, okay? You’re gonna be alright.”

Bucky doesn’t protest, just grips Gale’s hand right back as he shakily tries to keep his breathing under control, wills the coughing to leave him alone for a little while. Eventually, Gale feels Bucky’s hand loosen its grip on his, falling lax as he drifts off to sleep once again. 

It’s a long time before Gale allows himself to do the same. He can see the moon through the window, lighting up the night sky, and he has no idea what time it is, but it doesn’t matter. He once again doesn’t want to take his eyes off his husband even for a moment, like his continued existence is contingent on being in Gale’s line of sight. Or maybe it’s just that Gale spent so long unable to set eyes on Bucky, unsure if he ever would again, and now he can’t get enough. Making up for lost time and time he almost lost.

His fingers remain curled over Bucky’s, their hand’s resting on Bucky’s chest, and he feels the gentle, if shaky, rise and fall. He takes a deep breath of his own, as if it can somehow make up for the inadequacy of Bucky’s lungs, give strength to his body.

A song from Curt’s playlist comes to mind, and Gale finds himself singing it softly in the darkness as he holds his husband’s sweaty hand, willing the fever to break, the pain to go away. He wonders, if he stands guard in the night, will the nightmares leave Bucky in peace until morning comes?

“Ooh-ah, Soon you’ll get better,” Gale croons. He’ll stay up all night if he has to, if that’s what it takes for Bucky to rest easy.

“Ooh-ah, soon you’ll get better.”

He willed the universe to bring his husband home to him, and now he wonders if he’s being greedy, asking for more. But all he wants is Bucky to be safe and healthy again, free of pain, free of fear. He meant it when he said he’d love John Egan in any way, in any form, no matter what. But they’re so damn close.

Please. Just let him heal now. Let him rest. Let him come home. Give him this life as he wants to live it.

Please.

“You’ll get better soon.

‘Cause you have to.”

…

…

Everyone thank my beta reader (I don’t deserve them)

Part 18

[lucystark12]

we might be witnessing something

obviously we all know how much i love byler, and what im about to say is going to sound like “gen z walking away from the white house on fire with hayloft by mother mother playing” but i have to speak my truth here- i think byler being canon will go FAR beyond the fandom and casual watchers of stranger things. we might literally be the early adopters of a pop cultural phenomenon that could go down in history as one of the most important moments in media history.

stranger things is a really bizarre phenomenon in the grand scheme of things, because it is SO famous. it’s popularity has been compared to shows like game of thrones, but it goes even beyond that, because EVERYONE watches it. i’ve been watching it since i was eleven. my mom watches it. my uncles watch it. my best friend watches it. my grandma watches it. it’s viewership is so wide because there are so many aspects of it that appeal to so many different people. the impact this show has sent a song released forty years ago to number one on the charts practically overnight and it STILL plays on the top 40 radio to this day.

think about american politics as they are right now- we’re bearing witness to one of (if not THE) most important election in american history. the difference between trump and kamala is the difference between potential dystopia and nuclear fallout and peace and progressiveness. if trump wins, he will pull all of our aid from ukraine, letting russia push forward into western europe, and we all know what happens when a country tries to push into western europe. trump’s agenda in project 2025 imposes potential laws that will take us back hundreds of years in lgbtq+ rights, rights for people of color, and women’s rights. this election has caused a huge amount of dread and fear in the american people especially as the days push on. and what do people historically cling to in moments of fear like this? art.

think about music during the vietnam war, movies like “red dawn” during the cold war, or mccarthyism during world war two. when people are afraid of the real world, they tend to turn to popular media for escapism. we’re already seeing it, as ridiculous as it sounds, in things like brat summer or the debate edits to chappell roan songs. it might not seem like it’s happening because everything about it is different today in the digital age versus sixty years ago when tvs were boxes, but it is. this is only the beginning. and with the release of the next stranger things season, it’s possible that it could only grow more.

picture this: it’s next july. trump has been sworn in as 47th president of the united states and is six months into his second term. there’s already talks of him overturning obergefell v. hodges (the supreme court ruling that gave us gay marriage), there’s now a nationwide abortion ban, and political opponents of his are slowly seeming to disappear and go inactive. but hey! the 2020’s most beloved tv show is airing its last season this week.. it’s an easy way for us all to feel nostalgia about a time (wether that be the 80s or summer 2019) when our country was progressing forward instead of so drastically backwards as it is now, or to just watch a cool sci-fi show with one of the highest viewerships of any show ever, second only to game of thrones. everyone is turning on their tvs at midnight to watch these new episodes and suddenly- the main couple consisting of the two main characters of the show breaks up, the boy leaving the girl for his childhood best friend, whom he has been in love with for years but been forced to ignore because of the way society views gay people?

and everyone is seeing this, even 40+ y/o homophobes who watch the show for the nostalgia factor and never suspected a thing. the public is outraged. fox news is going on about the gay agenda. but the shock of the news is turning heads. people are changing their minds because… people being gay actually hasn’t only been a thing for the last ten years??! gay people might not actually be lesser humans? ANYBODY CAN BE GAY? what is happening! we know everyone watches this, so people of all backgrounds all across the world and more specifically the country are reacting to this in different ways. but no matter how you look at it, everyone is talking about it. it’s all over everyone’s for you page, SNL is parodying it, anderson cooper is talking about it on CNN, trump is denouncing it on twitter, there’s a push for it to be banned in florida.

suddenly, the democrats are picking up on this, because isn’t this everything we’ve been fighting for this whole time put at the forefront of a mainstream show? this is forcing everyone to confront the implications of having a gay ship be the focal point of a show with the viewership of stranger things, and the democratic party and it’s supporters pick up on this, turning it into a symbol and essentially a martyr of the party as a whole. whatever song (and you know there will be a song) that’s used in the scene where byler becomes official is immediately topping the charts. people are walking around wearing t shirts with byler quotes on them like we’re seeing now with the kamala brat t shirts. hundreds of people are influenced by it and we may even see an increase in support for politicians who advocate specifically for gay rights or are gay themselves.

this all happens because when people who are being spotlighted by pop culture speak out, everybody hears it. it’s the same reasoning behind why an endorsement from taylor swift could outright win kamala this election. a huge part of our population has quiet beliefs that they’re just waiting to dive into until somebody in mainstream media tells them that it’s a good idea. in making byler cannon, stranger things could be changing the trajectory of popular culture and american politics as a whole for years to come. it’s all about the domino effect. if people see this, all it does is open a gateway for other stories and conversations to happen, because something so outrageous as making byler canon during the early stages of project 2025 will turn the heads of every politically inclined person in america, from every maga cap wearing trucker to every blue haired barista, and when heads are turned things are changed.