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pride month!!!

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pride month!!!

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trying to explain to tumblr that the Middle Class in not their enemy

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unstoppable force (desire to write) vs immovable object (tired)

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Nix and Harry flirting with Shermans

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YES YES YES YES

Say it (like we're coming for you)

kept Daisy waiting for a while on this, but I finally got it done.

epilogue, baby. love you.

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I can't stop thinking about them

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where are my fellow bottom bucky enthusiasts at, i feel like im crazy over here

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Just wrote 2.5k of Clegan slow dancing at Lieutenant Dye’s party and Gale carrying Bucky back to the barracks. You’re welcome guys.

Of course it’s the omegaverse guys c’mon-

This scene specifically- but with Bucky instead of meatball lol

EDIT:

With this song:

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@swifty-fox we should make alpha Gale truly crazy lol

I don't think we make Gale as batshit insane as he should be and I think we need to change that

brother landed a plane all engines feathered, refused to eject when his fort was torn to bits you bet that freak would be absolutely CRAZY everywhere else

"you son of a bitch, we're gonna sit here and take it" yeah you like being a fucking freak don't you

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i will do anything (whatever you want)

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sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

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“Even at my worst?”

“Even at your worst.”

I couldn’t help myself.

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re mota rewatch

"Egan wouldn't let us ship it to your folks, kept saying I expect him back, my buddy's just MIA" CRAZY WORK BY THE FUCKING WAY

it's also fucking crazy how Gale looks even more melancholy and in love looking at that damn lucky deuce than when he looks at the straight up picture of Marge, something happened to you while you were overseas major? AND HE PUTS IT IN HIS DAMN POCKET? A REMINDER/HOPE THAT HES STILL ALIVE? THAT HES GOING TO COME BACK? SICK ACTUALLY

also the scene where Bucky puts up the flag never fails to make me fucking sob, the emotion is so fucking palpable, the terror, the fear is almost fucking over, all of the shit they went through, it could be done, everything they fought for was actually for something as opposed to nothing, it's such a good fucking scene

IVE ALREADY FUCKING WROTE A DRABBLE ABOUT THIS BUT THE FUCKING "YOU HEARD ME THE FIRST GODDAMN TIME GALE" SCENE IS SO FUCKING CRAZY TO ME you can see the relief on Gale's face, the bite of his lip to hide anything more than a relieved smile, and it's the first time (I think someone fact check me on this) that John actually calls Gale by his name, and it's all just to show that he made it back, he survived, and he's back, he's back with Gale

and the end of the war scene is also so beautifully melancholy, life of the party John Egan decided to spend the evening with Gale, somewhere quiet, that damn control tower, sharing a drink with the person he cares about the most, it's so sweet and heartbreaking at the same time how much the war changed them, how much they truly have changed

there's a little exchange that I'm probably reading too much into but when John asks Gale if he's ready to see Marge, Gale kind of laughs, shakes his head, like Johns asking something sarcastic, and I just think that's fucking crazy

and the fucking fact that John was right, he and Gale were the last B-17s in the air, it was Gale flying it, right alongside him, God it's enough to make me curl up and weep

the end credits of this will never fail to make me cry, it made my dad break down and sob when we first watched it together and it still makes me cry, the violin version of the opening theme, something melancholic and reflective, oh my God and that final picture of the real John Egan and Gale Cleven? head in my hands I'm gonna be sick

and that has been my mota rewatch!! be on the lookout for a full post mortem later where I fully debrief 🥰🥰

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Last Line Tag:

Tagged by the wonderful @swifty-fox and @reallylilyreally from literal decades ago so I’m here to deliver!

Wild Geese (The Post Fic):

John laughs and it’s like dragging gravel, rough and grating on the ears. “Well gee what more can I ask for Buck?” He scuffs his foot into the ground, angry– at what, Gale doesn’t know. “Bad food, no warmth and guards breathing down our pissin’ necks. Like bunking with this goddamn fort engine ain’t bad enough.”

Gale catches the slip, looks to Crank who won’t meet his eye. “The guards giving you trouble, Bucky?”

“Only as much as the next guy,” John answers, cagey.

Do they know you’re a Major, have you told them?

“Nothin’ I can’t handle,” John fronts, like he’s not sporting a new art piece on his face, like Gale can’t see the sun shining through the cracks in his facade.

“I don’t doubt it,” Gale says, low and soft, like he could settle him with just his words. If only it worked like that.

Where the Lemon Tree Grows: (omega!John) ((( which the devious @swifty-fox is co writing with me hehe))

He’s standing like he’s balancing on a razor blade, like any move at all could set him off. He’s the only one of them that’s sober and yet he’s the one who most looks like he’s going to lose it. John should want to get away, should want to escape from the impact zone as quickly as he can.

He doesn’t. And instead, he moves closer, drawn to him by some unknowable force. Buck’s anger is thick on the air, laying cloying and rich on his tongue like melted chocolate. It sends a small shiver down his spine, one that John tries hard to suppress but one that Buck sees anyway.

“Buck,” John says slowly, working the name over his tongue like he’s just first hearing it, drawing out the syllables. “You tryna rein me in?”

Buck tilts his head, eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Do I have to?” He looks bored and vaguely irritated.

John sighs, maybe a little dramatically, and slings an arm around the alpha’s shoulders, easily achieved with the slight height advantage he has over him. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re too much fun.”

He grins. “No such thing.”

Buck frowns. “There is and you’re it.”

Non-Verbal! John:

He’s quiet now. So quiet it’s fucking terrifying.

Gale thinks privately that it’s been building to this, that he’s seen the signs scattered through the monotony of camp life. John holds his words like they mean something now, like he only has a few of them left before he runs out completely. He’s done this before, trapped his words between his teeth like an animal. But it had only ever lasted a few days, if that, before Gale had been able to coax him back into the conversation, even if it was only whispered words between the sheets.

Where’s he gone, Gale thinks one day as he watches John scowl at something beyond the fence, where’s the man I knew? Because he hasn’t seen him, not since the Stalag. Not since whatever happened in those four days between crash and capture.

Benny blames it on the head injury.

“They cracked him so hard that you could see his pissin’ skull,” Benny says, as if that explains it. “It’s bound to have knocked something loose”

He looks up from his playing cards, meets Gale’s eyes across the bunkroom as if he’s speaking to him alone.

They’re wrong, and Gale knows it. He’s sat with John through the nights where he’s convinced his skull is gonna split open, gripping it between roughened palms as the ache from bones healed wrong becomes a little too much, a little too strong.

He’s quiet then too, but it’s a different kind of silence, one that has Gale pulling all the moth eaten curtains shut during the day and pressing cloth-wrapped snow to his temples in a bid to help, to numb the pain that rears up inside him some days like a bad aftertaste.

It’s different now.

Voilà, Euphoriac’s buffet. Bon Appetit

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do i look like him?

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We are so back.

It starts with a black eye.

It’s the first thing that Gale sees when he meets John at the fence line, once he’s well enough to walk again. He hasn’t seen him since he stumbled down the walkway and got allocated to Crank’s side of the camp.

Crank drags him along behind him, like a petulant child being forced to attend mass. He tells him where to walk, where to stand, how far away from the fence he’s supposed to keep. He holds him there, even though Buck can tell it’s taking all of his strength to– he’s white knuckling the grip on John’s stained uniform, holding him with just enough force that he doesn’t bolt, running the width of the camp like a head shy colt.

The black eye is new and on the opposite side to the one that he came in with crusted shut, though it’s less swollen now, enough that Gale can see the crack of blue shining through, like some precious gemstone. This new one is purpling and dark, with a myriad of blues and greens shining through like artwork on his freckle flecked cheek.

“Brady’s been worrying,” Gale says, when the silence stretches thick and taut between them. I’ve been worrying, he wants to say instead. Worrying myself sick every day that you didn’t come out. “Thinks you bit it in the camp and no one told us.”

“Well,” John drawls, low and drawn out. “Here I am.”

Yes, Gale thinks. Here you are.