#it's so painfully john at gale

[johnslittlespoon]

this song is so pining!bucky. i'm devastated </3

[evlia]

Buck x bucky roommates au where they have been living together for a year now and both of them are absolutely head over heels for each other but can’t admit their feelings in fear of ruining their perfect friendship. Even though at first sight gale thought it would be difficult to live with john, judging from his “vibrant” personality, it turned out to be the easiest thing in gale’s life. Never in his life has he felt so comfortable with another person. They fell into the routine of sharing a life with each other easily and it didn’t take long time for them to start falling for each other. A year after living together both of them are absolutely smitten and painfully in love but both of them just keep their mouths shut.

One of their favorite things is to watch movies together, curled up on the couch, snacks and drinks ready. It became their routine accidentally, when Gale couldn’t sleep and john woke up thirsty and found him on the couch watching some trash movie and instead of going back to bed, he took a seat across from him and nonchalantly said: “so what are we watching?” And he looked so soft, sleep still lingering on his puffy eyelids, dark curls sticking out everywhere that gale had to take few seconds to collect himself and remember what was he actually watching.

Second time they watched a movie together, Gale discovered that john just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He kept making comments about the plot, characters, kept looking at gale to make sure he was paying attention, kept smiling at him and kept trying to make him laugh. Gale thought he should be annoyed by it but actually he loved listening to john’s stupid comments.

One of those evenings gale just randomly puts on some romcom and john doesn’t object, they don’t really care whats on the screen anyway, as long as they watch it together.

“That’s so stupid?” John says and rolls his eyes at the screen.

“What is?” Gale indulges him.

“The whole friends with benefits thing, it never works”

“You think so?” Gale asks, carefully.

“I know so, you can’t be good friends, have good sex and not catch any feelings”

Gale just hums and doesn’t continue because it’s a dangerous topic.

Next time they watch a romcom, john decides to voice his opinions again.

“Jesus, he’s such an idiot” he huffs and folds his arms, annoyed.

“Why?” Gale can’t help but laugh at his annoyance at some movie character.

“Come on, if he really loves her that much he wouldn’t let such stupid thing get in their way”

“It’s easy to say that but you don’t know how you’d act if you were faced with that kind of situation”

“I know exactly how I would act” john sounds almost offended

“Oh really?”

“Absolutely! If I loved someone like that I wouldn’t let anything fuck with that, no matter the circumstances, I wouldn’t let them go”

He sounds so confident, passionate almost that gale has to look away, has to force himself to keep his eyes locked on the screen.

It happens many times, every time they watch a romantic movie, john always voices his thoughts about how he would not let them go, how he would not care about the consequences or social standards, how he wouldn’t let the love of his life push him away and it’s too much, listening to him talking about love like that , it’s too much. He keeps thinking about his words when the movie ends, when he goes to bed, when he wakes up and brushes his teeth, he keeps thinking about how he sounds and how he looks when he talks and gale can’t take it anymore.

So the next time john rolls his eyes and says “how can he not see it for god’s sake “ gale snaps.

“Realize what ?”

“That she loves him, she’s clearly in love with him, either he’s stupid or blind “

“And you would?”

“Would what?”

“You’d know? If someone was in love with you and tried to hide it, you’d still know?”

“Of course I would, you can’t hide something like that “

Gale feels himself losing control, feels crossing the line.

“Oh really?” He sounds harsh, bitter almost as he snaps his head towards john, looking at him with almost angry look on his face.

“Yes I…” john starts to say but Gale doesn’t let him continue, he’s too fed up with him

“So if someone was falling in love with you’d know? If someone couldn’t stop thinking about you, if someone spent nights trying to fight his desire for you, you’d know?”

“Gale…”

“ if that someone…” gale has to take a deep breath to continue, the way john is looking at him is making it almost impossible to form words. “If that someone had to sit there and pretend they weren’t crazy about you in fear of losing what you already had, you would know?”

The moment of bravery passes and gale almost runs away when he notices the look on john face change, the confusion melting into confidence

“And did you?”

“What?”

“Did you know, Gale?”

John turns towards him, grabbing the blanket around gale’s shoulders to tug him closer, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips

“Did you notice, gale?”

“I’m either stupid or blind huh? Gale says and a smile curls over his face as john places his hand on his jaw and gets closer, lips brushing against gale’s when he says “we’re both so stupid “ and closes the remaining distance between them.

[middlingmay]

Any headcanons about John's hands? 🔥

Anon! You have no idea how much I needed something like this to cheer me up. Today has been a clusterfuck of a day at work. What a lovely thing to log off to.

I have so many thoughts about John's hands. As they say in my country, here we fucking go.

Also, if any under 18s here, gets a tiny bit spicy towards the end.

John's hands are constantly on the move. It stems from his need to be doing, to be useful in some way. It's something he inherited from his father, who he watched flap and wave his hands around when he spoke, handle people pretty freely, and find something to occupy his hands the rare occassions John saw him sit still.

They're calloused and have been for ages. John's dad got him into taking things apart, but unlike his dad, John liked the fixing part best and he loved using his hands to build something better, or at least to stop it from being thrown on the scrap heap.

The only time John's hands are still are when they're on somebody. They're as steady as you please when they're on someone's body, or guiding a plane.

They're big, obviously. They're freckled, too, and his fingers are thick and long. He used to wear rings before the army and often strokes the line of slightly softer skin where they used to be, absent minded.

Now for the good stuff:

Gale watches his hands a lot. The way they clench when he lifts something heavy; the way they curve around someone's arms and have nearly swallowed more than one skinny new recruit's bicep whole. He watches the way John's fingers trace the lip of his whisky glass, tracking moisture back and forth. He particularly likes when John uses them to bark out his orders, pointing or pushing them in some direction or other.

He does not like it when he sees both those hands clutch a woman's waist and his fingers meet behind her back. But Gale's always been told he has a trim waist - a swimmer's build - and oh boy, does it get him thinking.

The solidity of John is something Gale likes, the presence of him, tangible and reliable. John's hands give that to him, pressing down on his legs when they wanna shake, clutching his shoulder when he gets that urge to walk away from it all, squeezing his neck and ruffling his hair and squeezing his wrist and patting his belly, pressing against his back. Gale catalogues it all.

And when they finally get their shit together, Gale is obsessed with watching John's hands work him. He likes seeing John's hands leave fingerprints on his thighs. He loves watching himself slip in and out of the tunnel of John's hands. He loves running his tongue over those hands and licking them clean afterwards, only for them to grip Gale's jaw nearly painfully as John kisses him.

But his favourite thing is when one time, when John's underneath him and can't decide where to put his hands, Gale grabs them almost frantic, and puts them at his waist. John thankfully gets the hint and cinches his hands around Gale's waist tight. His hands don't quite touch, but they both discover it is an excellent way to manhandle Gale to where John needs him, or to do the heavy lifting for Gale when he's finished first or too tired but just won't quit.

And over the years Gale watches those hands fix things and learn to cook and clean, and work as hard as Gale's do to provide a life for them. He watched them pet dogs and cats, and play games with local kids, and one day, laws be damned, he even slips a ring on one finger, too

[swifty-fox]

@bcolfanfic number 1 enabler so heres some Curt/Ken tenderness for the late night crew

Sequel to Bcol's

and immediate sequel to my drabble here:

Curt can tell when Gale has fallen asleep because the entire house seems to take a breath. He lays in the guest bedroom still in his clothes from the airport. From the gym. Hadn’t even stopped at his shoe-box apartment to change out of the loose black joggers and shirt with his nametag. His windbreaker wasn’t nearly enough for the Wyoming winter.

“John had a gun.”

Janie’s got a gun Janie's got a gun her whole world’s come undone from lookin’ straight at the sun.

Curt taps the tune out on his chest and glances over at the blinking alarm clock. Only Buck and Bucky would still have an honest-to-god analog clock in their home. But it’s comforting in a way, reminds him of childhood where things like suicide didn’t yet exist. Three-thirty AM. The witching hour his mamo would say and blow a kiss to the Brigid's Cross over the door frame. It’s late, painfully so and Curt’s eyes are so tired they feel covered in sand. But his body is wired, wide awake; fingers stained from drywall and fresh paint flecks. 

The hole was patched.

The aftermath was going to take a lot longer to fix.

Now that Janie's got a gun, she ain't never gonna be the same.

His phone chimes suddenly and he tugs it from his pocket. He knew he was hot shit but a Grindr notification this far out in the middle of nowhere was a surprise. He swipes past it without even looking. Ken’s name is at the top of his list, several unread texts from hours ago left unanswered after Buck’s assurances. 

New York was two hours ahead of Wyoming. The sun would be rising there. 

He tries to tell himself he doesn’t need to talk to Ken. It just felt right to update him on their friends. It wasn’t about Curt and whatever comfort he needed from the younger man. You didn’t seek comfort from things that meant nothing. So it was nothing. So he shouldn’t reach out.

Besides, he shouldn’t text Ken so early when the other man was probably deep asleep, shouldn’t text him and make him feel guilty for missing any updates on Bucky. He flicks his thumb up and down, hovering over the cracked-barely-beyond-use phone screen.

“Fuck it,” he mumbles, exhaustion and dialect blurring the words together into a mumbled ‘fuggit’.

He flicks out of imessage and opens Discord. Ken’s icon was lit up, the scrolling text below it taking Curt a moment of squinting to decipher. He wasn’t old, he was tired thank you.

KennyLemon playing Among Us.

Sweet boy, Curt thinks and then pulls a face at himself. His stomach untwists the smallest amount. 

The discord call rings for all of half a second before Ken’s voice comes over the phone.

“Curt?”

His stomach untwists just that much more. “Heya Kenny. You should be asleep.” 

“I couldn’t.” 

That's what Curt loved. Liked. Hated. About Ken. He was so sincere it was sickening, cracked his damn molars with it. How he’d made it through everything without bruising that tender center of his beyond repair was a wonder to Curt. Like a peach, one Curt was more than used to sinking his teeth into. 

You got one juicy ass Lemmons.

“Curt.”

“Yeah Ken?” He liked it when the kid said his name. Made something in his chest go all soft and gooey like chocolate. 

“I said, how’s Bucky and everything else?” 

Curt blows out through his lips, tries to exhale every bit of breath in his body until he could sink into the mattress and hide from this whole damn day.

“Brains all where they should be.” 

Sometimes it was good to be vicious. It kept him from feeling too much, feeling too tender. He was a New Yorker, take away his meanness and he’d be a hermit crab without its shell.

“Jesus, Curt.”

“I dunno what t’ tell ya Kenny. He’s halfway across the state where we can’t talk to him. Buck’s half dead from exhaustion or shock or both. I spent half the night patching a bullet hole in a wall my best friend tried to put in his head.” To his shock, his vague horror he feels his throat closing up, his eyes growing hot with burning tears. “Fuck.” He sits up, wipes his eyes violently and tries to yank his jogger leg up to get the straps of his prosthetic. The soft fabric catches on the plastic, on the velcro, on anything it can find. “Fuck,” he spits again just because he can.

“You okay B?” Ken’s voice was so soft and tender Curt wants to bare his teeth at it; just to protect himself. He does, only cause the other man couldn't see and so it wouldn’t hurt his feelings. 

“Can’t get m’damn leg off.” He mumbles, feeling hot shame mingle with the frustration. It was all grief anyways, hidden cleverly behind the mask called complex emotions.

“Wish I was there. I could help you.” 

Curt closes his eyes. Sweet boy. Wish you were here too Kenny.

He didn’t catch feelings. Was renowned for it, prided himself on it. He kept things casual because it was better that way, could see the way Ken was skittish as a stray kitten at the idea of anything real. He wasn’t about to go wading around in someone else's shame, but it did hurt in a special sort of way knowing the fear Ken battled with.

“It’s pretty tense here right now anyways. Probably for the best youse not.”

Kenny’s silent for a long time and Curt tries to swallow his regret, finally winning the battle with his leg and dropping it to the floor with a pointed thump. Take that you bastard. “Yeah you’re probably right.” 

Aw Hell. “It’s not that I don’t want you here Kenny.” He says haltingly, rubs a hand through his hair he still liked to keep short, “I just- I want you here a lot. First thing I wanted to do when Gale finally went to bed was call you.”

“Oh.” Kens voice was a little shaky.

Gentle gentle, be gentle with him Curt. His ma’s voice; always lecturing. You’re too rough Curt, Slow down Curt. Don’t push good things away just cause you’re scared Curt.

“Just so you don’t forget.” He finishes awkwardly “I like havin’ you around.” 

Curt thumps AC/DC against the hollows of his ribs.

Little lover, I can't get you off my mind, no, Little lover, I've been trying hard to find.

“You’ve got a real way with words Curt.” Ken teases.

They laugh, Curt pitching his low so as not to carry through the too-empty house “If y’wanted a poet you wouldn’t be with me.” He teases. A question hidden in a statement, the first time he’d dared acknowledge there might be something.

Because fuck he wanted Ken here. Couldn’t lie to himself now that he was hearing the younger man's voice over the phone. Wanted to tuck him against his side and bury his nose into those curls; sweet smelling and warm. Wanted to press him into the mattress and remind himself that they were alive and things were okay. Ken was sweet and sugar, sometimes Curt swore he licked it off the man’s skin. Whispered it into the shell of his ear as he ground his hips into Ken’s ass until there wasn’t a single ounce of space between them.

“You taste like dessert Lemmons.”

Curt grunts and adjusts himself. He couldn’t help his brain, his drive. But it felt beyond wrong to start anything right then and now.

“Yeah,” Ken smiles. Curt can tell. Ken smiled with his words and his body, just just his sweet mouth. “You’re right.” 

Too sweet, too sincere. It made him violent, made him want to bruise and mark and tease. He rolls onto his stomach with a groan, pressing his face into the mattress and counting backwards from twenty. 

“I wanna fuck you Kenny.” His words are muffled into the duvet but still legible. 

Ken sucks in a quiet breath, Curt can practically hear the other man blush. 

“You’re just sad and scared B.”

Curt squeezes his eyes shut so hard dots spring up behind his eyelids, his throat burns hot and it takes him several breaths to stave off the tears. 

“Yeah.” he mumbles “But I still wanna fuck ya.” 

Tug his curls, lick his stomach that wasn’t quite flat despite his fit state (Curt liked it that way). Kiss him til his lips were swollen and red. Red as his pretty curved cock when Curt took it to the root and slipped two fingers inside. Ken liked his fingers, he said. Liked how thick they were, the way the callouses caught and dragged inside him. The strength of them, liked to wrap his lips around middle and index and drag his tongue between them until Curt lost hold of his already thin control.

“You don’t gotta fuck away all your feelings sweetheart.”

It’s not bitter or reproachful, Ken’s statement. It’s gentle and kind. A reminder out of love, a lever opening the floodgates on the things Curt tried to keep in control. 

He gasps. The bed sheets are wet with tears, his nose running with snot. Fucking gross. 

“I dunno how t’ fix this one Kenny.” he whispers “The goddamn bullets still in the wall, rattling around in there like a fuckin ghost. I asked Gale if we should try to get it out and the look on his face-” 

“You can’t fix it for them.” 

“Whatdy-”

“You can’t,” Ken insists. “You can hold ‘em up and support ‘em and do all the things Gale can’t manage right now but the only one who can fix Bucky is Bucky and the only ones who can fix Buck and Bucky are themselves. You can’t put that burden on yourself or you’ll crack and all youse will end up resenting each other.”

“When’d you get so smart huh kid?” 

“I’ve always been smart, and don't get weird on me.” 

Curt sniffles loudly and grossly that Ken remarks on it, making them both laugh. 

It’s Buck and Bucky he owes his life to, who he would lay down his own for. But right now he doesn’t know what he’d do without Ken Lemmons.

It’s a sobering thought, a terrifying thought; one he can sit with for only a few moments before he’s drawn into that reactionary headspace of fuck, bite, take this tender thing and force it inside your ribcage before it hurts you. 

Kinda fucks you up when you’re raised that drinking a guys blood is the ultimate act of devotion.

“I miss you.” he says and fuck him he means it.

“Take care of our boys and come home soon B.” 

[trashbag-baby666]

I had a friend whose brother used to work at Texas Roadhouse and they told me their brother would eat steaks in their driveway. I don’t know that just seems so painfully John Egan core.

Gale: “Why do you smell like a steak.”

John: “I dunno?”

[alienoresimagines]

Prompt: “You won’t get rid of me so easily.”

Pairing: Clegan

Thank you for this, it was a lot of fun and a very nice distraction from the one shot that does Not Want to be written lmao Also, I finally managed to write something shorter than 2k, yay 😂 This is 681 words that I hope you'll like ❤️ Featuring two very-much-in-love and caring Buckies, a guilty Buck and a head-over-heels Bucky Also on AO3 My other Clegan fics

I'd rather be in hell with you (Than in Heaven with somebody else) | Buck x Bucky

"You won't get rid of me that easily," the teasing falls flat despite his best attempt but his lips curl in a soft smile as he looks up, though it falls too when he takes in the state of the other man. Gale's hand shakes slightly as it drags a wet rag on his forehead, cleansing away the blood and the mud. His lips purse, eyes tightening above purplish bruises and cheekbones more pronounced than ten days ago and it hurts John more than the German mob ever did.

"Buck," Gale hums but doesn't stop his ministrations, jaw clenching every time he tries to meet John's eyes and is faced with the bruise of his swollen right eye instead. Heart leaping in his throat, John closes his hand around Gale's wrist -had it always been so thin?-, effectively stopping him in his care, tired eyes glued to John's fingers around his wrist with something looking an awful lot like longing in the blue John missed so much. Tenderly, he squeezes the wrist in his hand, trying not to worry at how fragile it feels in his hold, how his thumb entirely covers his forefinger's last knuckle. He doesn't have to try to pour all the love and devotion he feels in his voice, rough from raw emotions but unshakeable in its conviction.

"I'm with you." Gale flinches a bit at that, eyes slipping closed as though in pain before he opens them again and refuses to let them leave the dirty wooden floor. There's a half-hearted attempt at tugging his wrist out of John's grip but a mere squeeze is enough for Gale to deflate, a shaky sigh that sounds like crying carried away by the heavy air surrounding them. With John sitting on the edge of a bunk and Gale standing in the space John's carved for him between his legs, he has a front row to watch the blond man worrying at his bottom lip, a frown etched deeply on his forehead and eyes full of sadness and-

Oh.

John recognizes that twirl of emotions, like a storm looming over the ocean. It's the same he felt when he saw Gale through that fence for the first time, once the heavenly chants of 'he's alive' had quieted enough for him to hear the cries of men condemned to a slow death in cages.

Heart squeezing painfully, he swallows past the lump in his throat and turns his head in the cradle of Gale's calloused but oh-so-gentle palm, nuzzling the sensitive skin there for a bit before touching his lips to Gale's pulse point, softer and with more reverence than he's ever kissed a cross. He allows himself the small indulgence of closing his eyes as he stays there for a bit, Gale's heart beating under his lips, his skin warm against his face. 

Gale, alive and there, back at John's side where he's always belonged. 

Above him, Gale takes a shuddering inhale, and John opens his eyes at his call, finds him looking back with such love and fondness he can only mirror it. For a second as he smiles softly at the love of his life, he's soaring through the skies. When he speaks, voice tucked against Gale's wrist, he does not speak a lie but the truth his heart sings.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." Gale smiles a bit then, eyes suspiciously wet but he leans down to press a lingering kiss on Bucky's forehead, and it's John's turn to close his eyes to swallow his tears. It feels like salvation, to finally be so close he can breathe a lungful of Gale.

John tilts his head up, and Buck obliges the silent request in a heartbeat, as though he'd been waiting for permission- which is ludicrous in John's mind. 

After days of wondering if he'll ever feel Gale's touch again, feel him warm and breathing under his fingertips, Gale slots their lips together like John's the piece he's been missing since October 8th, both hands now cupping his face tenderly, and it feels like hope.

[disastrouscanasta]

this wip is taking too long, and i’m not sure how outright I can be with the smut on tumblr, so here’s the before-stuff

Once the war was over properly, and men were being sent home to their wives and their children, John was faced with an unfortunate reminder that everything he’d tried so hard to sustain would amount to less and less the further they got from Europe. 

The tenuous convenience of his and Buck’s relationship slipped away quickly, and before he knew it, John was standing at the threshold of their ending.

In the morning, Gale would get on a train and go home to Marge. He’d say his farewells and snuff out the only fire that was keeping John going. Still, John would take it on the chin and shake his hand, standing up beside him on the platform until Gale cut his losses just to board the train.

That night, though, John would be damned if he didn’t at least try to make something of what he’d worked so hard to get to. Through their first years in the war, through all those missions and every goddamn day in Stalag Luft III, they’d stuck together. They’d been more to each other than John thought had ever had with a friend of his, and he knew it was more than Gale had ever had. Yet, as 1945 had shifted through seasons and months of supply drops and general military service, John had rationalised that it would end.

What they’d become to one another was circumstantial. It didn’t matter if John had no one back home, Gale did.

“Have you got a minute?” He asked Gale that night at the local officers club, their shoulders brushed where they stood at the bar counter.

“More than a minute.” Gale said. Hardly, John thought. He’d counted the hours, they had less than ten together.

But work was light, they’d mostly been sitting around waiting for things to do. And when they had a responsibility, nine out of ten times it was paperwork. John was bored, but Gale was the one who’d decided to go home first. I’ll come back, he’d promised. It wasn’t for John, even though that’s who he’d been speaking to. It was for the air force, for their country as a whole. God bless America.

But whatever kept Gale coming back. John doubted they’d continue their… Well, he just doubted they would continue past the war. Tough times and all that, John was good at getting Gale out of his own head every once in a while. 

“Mind calling it a night?” John asked. It earned him an intrigued eyebrow raise followed by the subtle way Gale’s eyes widened when it dawned on him.  John smiled when Gale just nodded quickly.

“Sure.”

John downed his drink, placing the drink down on the counter next to Gale’s— still, unfortunately— alcohol-lacking glass. He still had a flask in his uniform pocket, just in case.

He took Gale by the sleeve after paying for their service with a few bills left on the counter. When they reached the door and a blast of cold air hit them, John felt an inexplicable need to rush settle into his bones. They only had about nine hours left. Maybe just a bit more. In nine hours they could get off, that was sure. Maybe even save some energy for a second go at it.

At their billet, turned on the lights before he pressed his body close to Gale’s, keeping their hips together and bringing up his hands to rest on Gale’s face.

Gale wound his arms around John’s waist. His hands were a steady, grounding weight on John’s hips. He felt the hum of Gale’s voice as he spoke.

“Bed?”

“Wherever.” John huffed. He waited a spare few moments before kissing Gale needily. He tilted his head to deepen it, brushing Gale’s teeth with his tongue.

Gale moved them backwards, guiding John until his legs met the bed frame.

John’s hands fell to Gale’s buttons, undoing them with ease, then he pushed the tunic off of Gale’s shoulders. He moved on quickly to Gale’s tie, then his shirt.

“In a rush?” Gale said against his lips.

Yes, goddammit. “Just in the mood, Buck.”

“We’ve got all night.” Gale said, painfully sweet. The softness in his voice made the hair on the back of John’s neck stand on end. That kindness wasn’t for him, he knew that. But he’d take it. He would take what Gale would give him.

“Whole lot of time.” John said, hardly believing a word. With each erratic, aroused beat of his heart, he felt the ticking of the clock on the mantle. Gale was slipping through his fingers, even while he was a mooring presence against John’s skin. “Come on, just like old times, yeah?”

Old times meant cramped closets in the dark. Muffled breathing as they chased their own orgasms. Those were some of John’s favourite memories, tucked up against Gale’s body as they tried to drown out the world around them. If Gale was there, things didn’t seem quite so bad.

Gale smiled at him now, in the relatively spacious billet. His eyes were lit up by the lamp on the nightstand. A warm, golden glow that reflected on his skin. It sure felt different from any other time, not only for the sand in their hourglass pouring out, but the kindness, the warmth, everything they hadn’t been able to have during the war.

John undid his own tie and started on his own buttons, Gale took over for him, undressing John before leaning in to kiss him. It was soft and slow, close-mouthed and all too serene. John had to remind himself that they were back home, that this wasn’t the war. Gale wouldn’t be by his side anymore, but he’d be out there. He’d be okay.

Gale pushed him back against the bed until John’s back met the mattress. Gale posted his arms next to John’s shoulders, kissing him and pressing their chests together. He reached down to undo John’s belt, slipping his trousers down to palm him through the front of his underwear. John gasped, bucking his hips up against Gale’s hand.

“Don’t.” He said when Gale licked his lips, ducking his head to be level with John’s groin. “Not like that.”

Gale looked up at John, a bemused expression on his face. John cupped Gale’s jaw, bringing Gale’s lips back up to his.

“All the way?” Gale asked when he pulled back, studying John intently.

“Why not?” John said. Anything to move them along. He missed Gale’s touch like a chasm in his chest, and he hadn’t even gone yet.

“Alright.” Gale’s lips dropped to John’s neck. 

[ihearteugeneroe]

im having so many feelings about john and gale in the new episode and i NEED to share them. buckle up guys this is a long one because this last episode was angsty for these two and i love psychoanalysis

HUGEEE MOTA SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!

first and foremost, john is absolutely not okay. like i know we have seen this so many times already because he’s been on a mental decline since episode six but it’s gotten worse. the beginning scenes where him and gale fetch the water and gale tries to create some playful banter only to receive a mostly silent john is scary, especially because he knows that man is a chatterbox that can’t shut up to save his life. something has changed and gale knows, but gale doesn’t push it.

second of all, the topic of marge. nobody would ever make fun of a guy getting a letter from his girl because that’s the only source of joy they get inside the hell of a pow camp. but the way john seems almost annoyed by it, as if it is personally inconveniencing him is so noticeable. now one could argue it’s just because he doesn’t have a girl back home, but i don’t think he cares even a little bit about that. john has realized that his home is wherever gale is. which brings me to my third topic.

the scene where gale tells john he asked marg to marry him. the fact that he doesn’t even say those exact words, but rather “popped the question and she said yes”. god, the tension in that scene was goddamn near unbearable. john is entirely stoic which is concerning knowing that he is a man of emotion who feels things on an entirely different level than most men. something is turning within his brain and his way of congratulating gale was so robotic and almost calculated. i feel like a part of him kind of froze in that moment. i mean, he likely knew they would never get anywhere serious because hell this is the 1940s in the middle of a war but still. his buck is no longer his. and who does he have besides buck?

which brings me to one of my final points: john is realizing he doesn’t have anybody. that scene between them where he mentioned he never got letters because he didn’t set it up right, and was so concerned gale would only know this version of him and not his old self. i don’t think anything gale could’ve said would help, but it was nice that he tried at least… john’s whole world is gale, but gale has his world back in america. he has a home. he has something to return to and someone to love when he’s out of this mess. all john is going to return home to is his own loneliness and severe ptsd. john is a feeler and he feels things deeply and painfully, like a knife in the belly, especially when it comes to gale. the man he’s in love with has a woman to return to, and he might as well just be a legend that gale tells his kids about someday. but to john, gale is everything. he will never forget.

anyways this episode for them was VERY angsty and it’s late and i’m tired so this is kind of all over the place but i wanted to share my main thoughts. thank you for reading if you got this far i’ll probably continue my rant tomorrow depending on if this actually gets any traction LMAO i still don’t know how tumblr works.

[brotherwtf]

Hey! I don't think I've ever sent an ask like this, but i love your drabbles so much that i thought i might request one as well (hope that's fine). I was wondering if you could do:

"You know, i figured you loved me."

I think it can turn into a beautifully written angst. And we just love angst.

aw thank you so much!! I love receiving asks from you guys it truly makes my day

also sorry I've been taking so long to get to these I have been crazy busy recently lmao

honestly, I love angst it makes the fluff just so much sweeter whenever there's angst

----

Bucky couldn't imagine a time where he didn't love Gale Cleven. It was as certain as the sun setting the in west, as the sky was blue, it was the one thing that remained constant during the war. John Egan was in love with Gale Cleven.

There was shocking silence when they finally returned back to the States after everything they had been through. No cheers, no claps on the back. Just two war-hardened men returning back to their homes.

They're both at the train station, alone, when John finally speaks.

"So what now?" John asks. It's a safe question.

"I don't know. Figured I'd go back to Marge, do good on that promise to marry her," Gale says and John's heart drops.

They had fooled around in the war, kissed each other pretending to be lovers, made love like they were high school sweethearts. John could have almost sworn that Gale had reciprocated the feelings John had for him. The way Gale held him the Stalag didn't seem to agree with plans to marry Marge.

John sighs, taking off his crusher cap and running a hand through his hair. He figures he'll let it grow longer now that he doesn't have military regulations breathing down his neck. He looks back over to Gale and sees him pointedly looking forward. Hand clenched uneasily on his pack and arm firmly at his side.

"You know, I figured you loved me," John says, words piercing the muggy air.

Gale's eyes widen and he looks around, but they're still alone. He gives John a wayward glance.

"Don't say things like that," Gale whispers and John wants to rip his head off.

Did all of it mean nothing to Gale? Or did he always envision Marge when he was kissing John, a way to handle the hard times of war? Use him up until he's spent, and return back to white picket fences and smiling children.

John huffs and grabs Gale's arm, forcing him to turn towards him. Gale refuses to look into his eyes, eyes flicking down to the wood slats below them. John brings a hand up and caresses Gales cheek. He doesn't do anything to stop him.

"Things like what? Like I love you? Those words fell pretty easily when you were gagging on my cock," John says and he knows he's being cruel.

Gale gasps but doesn't say anything. He looks down at John's feet and John can see his eyes are glassy.

"You knew we could never do this after the war. It's impossible, two men like us," Gale whispers.

"So why don't we run away, huh? Build a house, live off the land, come on Gale we would do just fine," John begs.

Gale shakes his head and grabs John's wrist. He half expects Gale to take John's hand away from his face, but he just leans deeper into the touch.

"We can't, John. We could get arrested, or killed," Gale says.

John doesn't respond but he takes Gale's crusher cap and discards it on the train platform, pressing their foreheads together. Gale breathes shakily into John's face, but still doesn't move.

"I do love you, John. But this can't happen between us. It's too dangerous," Gale whispers and it makes John's heart sink.

"Since when did no engine Cleven ever think about danger?" John tries to joke, and smiles when Gale's lips tick up ever so slightly.

Gale leans into John's space and connects their lips, tender, and John knows it's a goodbye. He wipes a lone tear from Gale's eyes and pulls away, smiling painfully down at him.

The train pulls into the station as Gale and John separate and it's the cruelest thing John has ever seen.

"Write to me, doll," John says, caressing Gale's cheek one more time.

Gale smiles and squeezes his wrist.

"Maybe in another life, John. Maybe in another life we could be together," Gale says.

John can only watch as Gale grabs his pack and marches onto the train, turning a final time to wave goodbye. Reluctantly, John waves back and watches the train leave the station again, taking his love away from him.

this may be the saddest thing I have ever written what possessed me to do this. thank you again for the ask!

[avonne-writes]

Would you feel inspired to write something for #38 Multiverse? I imagine them falling in love with each other in every universe 🥹💓

Thank you so much for the prompt, lovelies ❤️ This is exactly why I have "In Every Universe" on my blog!

I'm so sorry but this got very angsty... This is a multiverse of two new and wildly different AUs. Tell me if it’s too much and I should delete it. I uploaded it to AO3.

Warning for angst, MCD and suicide.

~~~

It's no harder to die in sunshine than in rain. It’s a fat fucking lie that tragedy avoids the light. In fact, in John's experience, heat and blue skies bring more pain striking at unsuspecting hearts than a storm or nighttime. This is why today is so fucking perfect - not a cloud in sight above the wide plains of the desert. The wind whips past his ears as he pushes his chopper to speed on towards the valley as fast as it can go.

The road is straight and empty. A path devoid of life.

Nothing makes John feel more alive than staring that gaping nothingness in the face and accelerating. The sun tilts towards the earth with sharp, cheerful rays the colour of the marigolds in the front yard of John's Ma. The marigolds he trampled to death when Gale told him he was going to 'Nam, the marigolds that grow in the park where his love rests now. It's the same hazy, warm sunset that shone when Gale’s Huey was shot down.

A light John will never forget. Fire under blue skies, his own bird straining to stay up high. The same heat that rose from the pyre of Gale's helicopter wreck that day will see John off on this last flight. His bike's engine roars like a cry of rage, and he laughs even as the tears spill out his eyes.

"That’s what you get for being sentimental." Gale's deep drawl says in his mind. Then a kiss, the last one, pressed hastily to his lips behind a jeep in the deep, silent night, his gift for remembering a simple date in the calendar. Not much.

If he had known, he would have given his own life instead, but he couldn’t, so here he is now, rectifying that mistake even if it doesn't bring Gale back. Down to the exact date. Still sentimental to the bone. He promised Gale they would ride these roads together one day - it feels right to end it here.

John lets his focus slip as his bike flies towards the end of the road, the wind in his curls, sunshine warming his side, and Gale’s voice riding with him, "still with me?" His dog tags feel heavy on their chain. He blinks, and his sight blurs. Reds and blues and marigolds rust together into one glistening swirl of colour. Light shatters in his eyes, and the blood in his ears deafens him to the screech of his skidding bike, do you hear me? John John -

"Bucky!" Gale's voice rings loud and clear through the sudden silence that snaps into clarity around John. He closes his eyes for a moment to fight down a wave of nausea, then sits up with a groan.

Around him, all he sees is a sleek, dim cabin with dark furniture and an oval window like a ship's, only larger. Outside, the night sky. A strip of teal light lines the feather-soft bed he’s sitting on, and ink black clothes as soft as silk rustle as he bends his arms. Somewhere off to the side, he hears the sound of a shower running.

Is this the afterlife?

"Gale?" He calls out tentatively, his heart stumbling painfully over every breath, scared to believe but helpless to hope.

"Finally." Gale mutters.

John's lips twitch into a smile. This isn’t the heaven he imagined but nothing matters, as long as they're together wherever they are. He’s sorry it took him so long to make it here. He’s sorry Gale had to wait two whole years for him to follow.

"I know that you're sorry, but come over here already, will ya?" Gale says impatiently.

"I'm coming!" John jumps up, then promptly falls back on the bed when something yanks him down. Something flexible around his neck with a transparent mask dangling from it, connected to the headrest behind him. He’s curious, but there’s no time. He needs to get to Gale, he waited long enough. He needs to hurry.

"Damn right, hurry up." Gale says, then part of the seamless black wall hisses open to reveal a doorway with rounded corners. Warm air and steam rushes out, and a golden glow radiates from the space inside.

John extricates himself from the strange tubing and pads towards the light on bare feet. Perhaps, the space he’s in is Purgatory, and he’s headed to Heaven now. He just needs to follow the voice of his love. His heart swells with joy as he steps inside.

Behind the curtain of steam, Gale laughs that stifled chuckle of his that John has always loved ever since they met at the country fair three years before they went to war. It's him. John's best friend, his love, his man - everything. John rushes towards him but he stops dead in his tracks when the air suddenly clears at the press of a button and Gale turns to face him head on.

He looks older than John has ever known him, closer to thirty than the twenty-one of his death. There’s light stubble on his jaw and twin scars on his cheeks. Silky-smooth, sleeveless blue pajamas cover a frame a touch too thin but familiar. His hair is long enough that he could pass for a hippie, well over the regulation cut he said he would grow out again once their tour was over. But he never got to do that, not John's Gale, so he doesn’t understand -

"Whoa!" John exclaims.

A pair of hand-sized... things flare out behind Gale's ears. They look like iridescent palm leaves. They twitch, ripple, then fold away as Gale winces and turns to the mirror on the wall.

"That bad, huh?" He says. Then, whispered in John's ears, disappointed. His lips don’t move, but John hears him as clearly as if they were standing inches away.

John's heartbeat speeds up. When one of the appendages on Gale’s head flares out again, John jumps.

Irritated, Gale's voice says without uttering a word.

"It’s just a goddamn haircut, not the end of the galaxy. No need to panic." Gale says, holding a device up to his hair. Blond locks fall to the shiny grey floor with a swish. "I thought you'd like it."

Insecure. Sad. The whispers echo in John's ears. When Gale shakes himself and gives him a faint smile from the corner of his eyes, the murmuring changes to hopeful. "Come here and tell me how much I should cut."

John takes a step closer, then another, until he’s close enough to touch. His trembling hand finds Gale's shoulder. When it connects with solid, warm muscle and the jut of an unbroken bone, skin healthy and not burnt, John's breath hitches around a suppressed sob. His eyes water again.

"Buck." His voice cracks. He raises his fingertips to Gale's cheek. Saltwater runs down his own. "Is it really you? Are we in heaven?"

This time when the flaps flare around Gale's head, he expects it and only jumps a little before he leans in for a kiss, long and desperate because he spent two years wishing he held Gale longer the night before his death. He never wants to let go of him again. It barely even registers in his brain that Gale keeps whispering feelings close to his skin even though his lips are pressed to John's.

Confused, confused, happy, affectionate -

John figures it's something about this place that lets him hear Gale's thoughts. They're one in God - must be, if their souls are tangled like this. A shared heaven. Peace. The pain of John's grief is nothing compared to the slowly spreading happiness he feels.

"How about this?" Gale mumbles, pulling John's hands to his hair. It’s longer in the back and shorter on the top, an unusual style but John likes it, but he doesn’t know why Gale is so preoccupied with his hair. Don’t they have more important matters to discuss?

"Gale." John says quietly, running his thumbs over Gale’s cheek scars. He wonders how they got there. He didn’t think they’d still have marks like that after they die. "Do you remember Vietnam?"

Gale draws his eyebrows into a severe frown. Irritated, John hears him again. "Don’t tell me you named that mutt and smuggled him aboard."

"What?" John replies. His pulse starts racing with his confusion again. "Aboard?"

The appendages behind Gale's ears flutter wildly as Gale stares at him with those bright blue eyes of his. His expression is one of surprise and bafflement before a look of realization passes through him.

Alarmed, exasperated, John hears in his ears, then, calm. Pitying.

Gale's voice, when he speaks again, is patient and reassuring. "Is that where you come from? Viett-namm?"

He takes John's hands and pulls him gently towards the bedroom, too gently not to be suspicious. John's scared now. He doesn’t know what's going on or what he did wrong. Perhaps he only hit his head and didn’t die like he wanted, and these are the last fever dreams of his mind. Or, what if he didn’t say the right thing and he’s expelled from heaven?

"What are we doing?" He asks, chest rising and falling rapidly from the fear he tries and fails to control.

"We're just going to lie down, and you'll put your mask on." Gale says. "Calm down. Tell me about Viett-namm."

"I don't want to." John swallows, sitting on the mattress when Gale pushes him down. "You died." He grabs Gale's hand again. "Figured I'd follow you."

The anguish washing over John doesn’t feel like his own, but Gale’s face is kind and unreadable as he keeps pressing on John's shoulders until he lies down.

"Tuck these in." Gale says, sitting by John's hip and touching something around John's head.

"Ah!" John yelps when he feels a part of him flutter. He has those feeler things too, he realizes, gobsmacked. He reaches up to touch them, and they flare out against his pillow again.

Fond, heartbroken, he hears before Gale reaches up and tucks the things away again. When John tries to raise his hands to them once more, he pushes them away. They keep swatting at each other until Gale cracks a smile.

"Stop playing with you antennae."

"Yes, sir." John grins, but Gale just gives him a confused look as if he doesn’t understand.

He pulls the tubes around John's head again, then tries to put the mask on him, but John resists. "Wait, wait a second. What the hell is going on?" John tugs at the device. "What’s this? Where are we, Buck?"

Gale gives him a sad look and strokes John's face. "I'm not your Gale."

When John gapes at him, he slides the mask over John's face. He presses a button, and a sweet smell fills John's nose. Like a meadow. His limbs grow heavy, and he tries to protest and fight this strange, alien Gale off, but his strength drains from his limbs, and all that's left to him is to blink at Gale through drooping eyelids. His fingers flop on Gale’s thigh.

"My Bucky likes to use this device to see things happening to him in other times and other places. But this thing -" Here, Gale’s jaw clenches. "- is so goddamn old that sometimes it fails to wake him up properly. So you need to go back to sleep." He leans over John and strokes his head.

When John's antennae flare open again, he gives John a fond, amused smile. "In every universe, huh?"

The world starts darkening around the edges. Shadows cling to John's vision, narrowing it down to Gale's face, then only his eyes. A drop of wetness trickles down John's cheek.

"Gale..." is all he manages to say.

"He's waiting for you in your world." Gale says quietly. "Just go to sleep."

He's dead, John wants to say, but the words don’t make it to his lips. His eyes close, and he can’t open them again.

The soft touch of a kiss brushes his forehead. I love you, Gale’s voice whispers, but John isn’t sure if he really hears it.

Darkness descends, and he leaves.

[johnslittlespoon]

– give me a call, if you ever get lonely ♡

[xxnashiraxx]

With Stars to Fill My Dream (6) - My Thoughts You Can't Decode

I have been looking forward to this chapter for so long!!! I'm so excited to share this one with you all- I worked hard, and I think it shows, and I hope it's good! 💖 Please let me know your thoughts, and have a wonderful night! 🦇

FYI- This story will be going on a 2-week hiatus as I'm going to the east coast of the US for vacation!! Please look forward to Sunday, September 8th for Chapter 7!! 🖤

Summary: A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid? Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore.

Word Count: 7,184

Please enjoy some screenshots below as well as the opening under the cut! 🖤

“Ugh, what is it that you’re furiously scribbling down?” Astarion asks, folding his legs over his lap as Ofelia hunches over that journal she’d shown them the first night. She flicks her eyes up at him and he tenses.

That’s right. She’d seen a little too much today- ever since the boar she’s been distancing herself from him. It’s slight but still noticeable, and he needs to get close again or else he may lose her…

“I’m drawing,” She murmurs, uncrossing her legs to stretch and hold the book against her thigh. They sit near the fringes of camp, Gale beginning to prepare for dinner as the others set up tents and wind down for the day.

“What is it you’re drawing?” Ofelia perks up, and he mentally breathes a sigh of relief that she seems to want to engage with him again.

“I like to journal, and when I’m done I’ll fill the spaces around the page with things I’ve seen that day. Here look,” She scoots over to him and he stiffens in her presence as she thumbs through it. His eyes track over the wizard’s face, Shadowheart’s, Lae’zel’s, and even Wyll’s. There’s another form on the opposite page beside her messy penmanship, and instead of a bust, it’s the entire figure. The angles are sharp, broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs. The more time he spends looking, the realization begins to dawn on him who she’s drawn, and the ruby irises glare back at him disapprovingly.

“Oh,” He murmurs, regretfully watching her flip the page to a warg, a goblin, and Withers. There are a few spaces where she’s filled them with just eyes, more of them red than any of the others. He sees birds, the tiefling man- he snorts- depictions of the moon and different weapons. They’re impressive for just sketches, and she turns to another page where she’s been focusing on each of their heads. His breathing goes still when she shows him his.

“Sorry if it’s a little strange, I usually draw from memory or references, so I’ve been going with what’s around me, hence sketching you all.” Her smile is sheepish and fragile and he nods, not paying too close attention.

He reaches up to touch his lips- are they really that plush? Are his brows that full? Are his ears really that long, or is she exaggerating? And the dot on his cheek- there’s no way he has blemishes. What’s she playing at?

He smiles softly, covering up the warble in his voice with a slight laugh.

“Darling, my ears aren’t that big.” She chuckles.

“They’re pretty big, trust me,”

[morriganravenclaw]

What about "A is taken aback when they see that B is suprised that they volunteered to help them with something. (It’s almost like nobody ever bothered helping/looking out for them.)"? For Clegan

Soo sorry I'm so late on answering this , finally had time and sat down and wrote it . I hope you like it .

Gale is on his end of the rope , he has tried two times already to cook dinner for him and bucky today and he has failed every single time .

Usually it's bucky that makes dinner for them but today gale wanted to do something nice for him . The dinner in particular isn't something fancy or hard to make , supposedly . It's eggs fried with tomatoe sauce .

The first time he hadn't cracked the eggs properly and the shell fell in the sauce , the second time he forgot about the eggs while he was making a salad and they got burned .

He's close to crying from how frustrated he is , he's flown planes , survived being a prisoner of war and he can't cook eggs , of all things.

So absorbed by his thoughts he doesn't listen john coming in the kitchen.

" darling , what's wrong what happened " john says as he cups his cheek and stares at him with so much love and adoration , that makes gale lightheaded , even after all these years together.

Almost Painfully gale admits that he can't cook dinner , while looking down on the ground not wanting to see the look of disappointment in John's face , like many others had done when he would say he wasn't able to do something correctly.

" Oh is that what had you all worked up , doll . It's alright it took me at least ten tries to get it right , cmon I'll help you" . John says while laughing, like it's not a big deal , that he wasn't able to do it perfectly the first time.

For a second he's taken a back with John's attitude with all of this but then he thinks again and of course John wouldn't have minded that it wasn't perfect the first time . He loved helping people and never begrudge anyone for not being perfect .

As he watched from the kitchen counter john cleaning the mess he made while simultaneously explaining to him how to do it properly. He couldn't help but feel joy that he has a partner so kind and accepting.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Chapter 13: Forgive Me

Gale Cleven × Hope Armstrong (ofc)

Series Masterlist

This story is based on on the fictional portrayal of these men from the MOTA to series.

Summary: With a new arrival at the camp Hope finds herself falling further into the darkness of her mind and the only person who can help pull her out of it has the man she loves to occupy her time.

Collab: A Pair of Silver Wings by @major-mads

Wednesday, October 27, 1943: Stalag Luft III: Sagan, Germany: 18:00

Hope found a sigh of relief escaping from her lips as the sight of their hut came into view. Frank had arrived to collect her from the infirmary and walk her back to their hut. He’d become even more protective since Gale had arrived a few days ago and she enjoyed his company, even if he was a little overbearing.

She felt bad that he’d been hovering outside for the best part of an hour but he didn’t seem to mind. She couldn’t bring herself to head back to the hut too earlier, hating the concerned eyes that seemed to watch her every movement. There was only so many times she could force a smile and repeat, “I’m fine,” until she too didn’t believe it.

She hopped up the steps, pushing open the large wooden door and following the short corridor down to their room. Frank’s heavy footfalls followed her, announcing their prescenes before they’d even arrived.

Their small group of friends were huddled around in the corner, a familiar dark-haired figure had his back to them and although he wasn’t sporting his normal sheepskin jacket, Hope recognised in an instant. John Egan.

Their presence must have been noticed because the group's hushed voices suddenly stopped and a few chairs scraped back, as they turned to see who had entered.

Ruth’s wide smile and shining eyes met her and she hated the way her heart clenched painfully at her friend's happiness. John, on the other hand, although looking worse for wear with his face littered in cuts and bruises, grinned widely at the pair.

“Hope! Frank! You’re back. Ruth’s been telling me all about you both since the crash.” John cracked a wide smile and his eyes seemed to soften as they met Hope’s. She couldn’t think of anything to say. What could you say to a man that had come back from the dead?

Frank, noticing Hope’s apparent discomfort, stepping forward, his hand outstretched. “It’s good to see you, Major, sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”

John shrugged, his arm coming back around to rest on Ruth’s shoulders, “We’re at war Captain, worse things could have happened. To think that of all the camps I could have gone to I ended up back with my girl. It could have been worse, I could have been stuck in a different camp like Gale and…”

The room fell silent, all eyes falling onto Hope. She bit her lip nervously, eyes falling to the floor.

“Hope, I didn’t mean…”John began, his face etched with concern as he realised the weight of his words.

“It’s fine, John, really, it’s good to have you back. It’s nice to see Ruth so happy again.” She sent her friend a sincere smile and the blonde returned it, her shoulders relaxing a little. She hadn’t realised how on edge Ruth must have been about the situation. Everyone treated Hope with kit gloves, like she was an unexplored bomb that needed to be handled with such delicacy that she might go off at any moment.

Hope sat herself down on her bunk, pulling up the sleeves of her coveralls. She missed her old flight suit, but the Herringbone Twill men’s coveralls that Edmund had found her severed their purpose, even if they were a little large on her. She straightened the silver wings pinned to her chest. Despite everything she still wore her flight nurse wings proudly, it was one of the few things she could cling to in these trying times.

She watched as Frank joined in with the group’s conversation, enjoying the jovial atmosphere that filled the room. It was nice to know that despite everything some of them could still smile.

She was pleased that John was here, really, for Ruth’s sake most of all. To see her friend so happy, wrapped up in the arms of the man she loved and had longed for. Ruth deserved to be happy, after everything.

Hope didn’t noticed Ruth approaching her until the bed dipped beside her and she glanced sideways at her best friend. Ruth bit her lip anxiously, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear.

“How are you doing?” Ruth asked, slipping her hand into Hope’s and squeezing it gently. “You’ve been really quiet since Gale arrived, I’m worried about you.”

Hope hated that Ruth had noticed. She knew that Ruth would have been worrying herself sick about it all.

“I’m fine, Rue, really. Works just been busy and I’ve not been sleeping well, but I promise I’m fine,” she forced a smile that stretched across her pale cheeks. The dark, purple skin that encircled her eyes only made her skin look paler. The flesh felt tight, gaunt across her cheek bones. She hadn’t noticed how much weight she’d lost since the crash but her clothes hung loosely on her tired frame.

Ruth didn’t look convinced, her once bright eyes looked tiredly at Hope breaking her heart even more. What had become of them?

————————————————————————

Wednesday, October 28, 1943: Stalag Luft III: Sagan, Germany: 12:00

Hope rubbed her eyes wearily, eyelids heavy and drooping due to the early hour. She’d barely slept a wink before the dreams began again. Every time she closed her eyes Gale’s distraught face haunted her, his voice shaking as he called out to her.

She sighed, stretching out on her small cramped cot and burying her cold feet beneath the thin, rough blanket. She sniffed, wiping away the stray tear that slipped down her cold cheek.

Hope’s eyes glanced across the room at Ruth’s peaceful form. She slept soundly, a faint smile on her lips. Hope couldn’t help resenting her a little, although she was pleased for her despite everything. At least she had John now, he wouldn’t disappoint her like she had.

A small whimper alerted her to the movement above Ruth’s bed and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she saw John’s stiff figure climbing swiftly down from his bunk. He held his ribs during his descent and Hope wondered how badly he’d been treated in Dulag Luft.

John must have sensed her gaze on him because he turned, dark eyes wide when he caught sight of her. She knew that look, the wide-eyed, frightened gaze that haunted her far too often.

She watched as he slipped down onto the floor beside Ruth’s cot, visibly relaxing as he watched the rise and fall of her chest. He reached out hesitantly and lightly brushed a strand of hair from her face. His touch was so tender and gentle that Hope finally saw a truly different side to Bucky. He wasn’t a troublesome womaniser anymore. He was a man in love, besotted with his girl.

Hope smiled a little, ignoring the growing pain that filled her chest like a knife in her heart. Her eyes found their way to the window once more, staring into the brightly lit compound. How many more hours would pass until sleep finally took hold? She did not know.

————————————————————————

October 29th 1943, Stalag Luft III Sagan, Germany: 04:00

The cold wind bit at Hope’s cheeks, raising the raw, pink flesh as she hurried across the camp to the infirmary.

It was early in the morning, maybe 04:00 or 05:00, Hope wasn’t sure. Her watch had been damaged in the crash and now it was stuck with the hour hand on the 3 and the minutes on exactly 26. Frank always joked that it was right twice a day, but since then she’d been relying on others for the time, not that it really mattered the guards dictated their routines.

Throwing open the door she shuffled inside, kicking the snow off of her brown, leather field boots in the doorway. To her surprise, Edmund was already there packing up supplies of dressings into crates.

He glanced up as Hope strolled in.

“Good morning, Hope. You’re here early.” It sounded more like a question than a statement, but Hope just smiled.

“You know me, I can’t sleep so I might as well make myself useful.” She picked up her own crate and started to unpack some of the supplies into the cupboards. “More to the point, why are you here so early?”

Edmund shrugged, “There’s supposed to be some prisoners being moved around today, some are coming to our camp. I thought it would be better if I got ahead of schedule.”

Hope froze. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t have heard him right. “Did you say prisoners from other parts of the camp will be moved here?”

“Yes,” Edmund replied nonchalantly before he realised what he’d said, “I mean, yes. I’ve heard that there will be men brought in from other sections of the camp but I don’t know if they are transferring anyone from Gale’s camp I’m afraid.”

Hope nodded slowly, she didn’t want to get her hopes up, not when she’d come so far. It had been a week since Gale had arrived and she’d desperately fought against the memory of him being dragged away. She had been glad of Frank’s support, he’d barley left her side since that day, Ruth too, although she’d begun to keep Ruth at arms length since John arrived a few days ago. She couldn’t help the jealousy that ate away at her when she discovered he’d been placed in their camp. Why did Ruth get her man while hers was still so far away from her? Why didn’t she deserve to be happy? She hated herself for being jealous of her friend, Ruth deserved to be happy more than anyone but the growing feeling that Hope didn’t deserve happiness haunted her.

Edmund seemed to sense her apprehension and placed a hand on her shoulder, “If I hear anything else you’ll be the first to know.”

Hope trusted Edmund, he was a good man and an even better friend. He’d helped her more than he’d ever realised and it all began because of his ability to travel to other parts of the camp. There was a shortage of doctors in the camp and Edmund had to split his time between several compounds, including Gale’s.

He’d mentioned it while helping Hope place a cast on a pilot's leg, it had been a fleeting comment but one that Hope hadn’t missed.

“You mean you get to go into the other camps?”

“Yes, just to give medical assistance. I come back to my own camp each night,” he’d replied, wrapping the bandage quickly before it began to set. “Why are you so interested in it?”

Hope wasn’t sure what she had intended but the thought came to her and she knew she had to try. “Would you be able to take a letter with you?”

Edmund thought for a moment before nodding, “I can’t see why not, they don’t check my bag of medical supplies so I could just slip it in there. Why? Who’s it for?”

“It’s for my fiance.” That was the first time she had discussed Gale with anyone other than Ruth and Frank. It felt strange to tell a complete stranger all about him but Edmund listened happily.

“Of course, Hope. You write that letter and I’ll take it over for you the next time I go.” True to his promise he did.

Hope found herself struggling to write. For night after night she poured over a crumpled piece of paper, writing and scribbling out sentences. She’d never struggled to write to Gale before, but now it felt like she was back in Nursing School writing essays on patient care. She had debated asking Ruth to help her, she was a teacher after all, but something between the girls had changed. Hope felt it once they had been reunited after Dulag Luft. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment but she’d withdrawn from her friend, pulling from Ruth’s familiar comfort. She didn’t desire her friendship, she was a burden on them all and they would be better off without her. The more she told herself that, the more she believed it. Something had changed for her in Dulag Luft. Haussmann had taken something from her somehow, her fighting spirit maybe? She wasn’t really sure, but she had driven everyone away because of it.

Hope decided she couldn’t ask Ruth to help her and instead continued to try and write the letter herself, but how could a simple letter convey everything she had ever wanted to tell Gale? Would she ever see him again? He was so close but so far, and knowing the Germans they could move either one of the to another camp at a moment's notice.

On the night she finished the letter, she found herself unable to sleep once more so she walked over to the infirmary. She’d told Edmund she would leave the letter in his medical bag to take to Gale’s compound on his next visit. She wanted the letter out of her hands before she could change it again.

She walked carefully over the uneven floorboards, trying to avoid the ones that creaked. She’d spent so many nights away that she knew exactly how to sneak out without the others knowing, even with the new arrivals who seemed to sleep less deeply than Frank and Ruth.

Stepping out of the hut, the early morning air whipped against her skin, wracking its icy fingers across the exposed flesh of her cheeks. She huffed, pulling her jacket up around her neck, burying her nose into her scarf. She walked quickly, darting between the huts. She knew that if the guards spotted her she’d be in trouble, but as a nurse she may get away with being permitted to check on patients and as she was heading towards the infirmary she stood a good chance of getting away with it.

Her legs carried her swiftly and she was at the infirmary door in record time. She slipped inside, trying to avoid disturbing the sleeping men recuperating inside. She moved silently towards Edmund’s bag, slipping the letter inside before…

“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing.”

Hope spun around, the heels of her boots squeaking against the wooden floor. She met eyes with the speaker, staring into the dark abyss where the man’s eyes seemed to have disappeared into his gaunt face. His teeth lay crooked in his mouth and formed a menacing smile that made Hope’s flesh crawl. She gulped, eyes wide as she watched the man take a step forward.

“Don’t be scared, Pretty. You’re a lovely little thing aren’t you.”

“What do you want?” Hope snapped, she recognised the man now. He’d arrived at the infirmary the night before, unconscious and unlikely to recover. He’d taken a blow to the head from one of the guards and the doctors had decided he was as good as dead. The bandage hung loosely around his skull now and dried blood was evident around his hairline.

“Sir, I think you should take a seat, you suffered from a traumatic injury to the head, I don’t think you should be trying to move around too much.”

The man scoffed, “You can tell me to do whatever you want to, Pretty Lady, so long as you give me something in return.” He lurched forward, grasping Hope’s wrist tightly. She let out a yelp, jumping backwards and trying desperately to remove his grip from her wrist.

“Get off me!” She cried, slamming her attacker into the side of the examination table with little success. He continued his advances, pinning her against the wall, his stale breath causing Hope’s stomach to churn.

He ran a single finger down her cheek before his pressed his chapped lips to hers in a sloppy kiss. Hope did the only thing she knew how, bringing his knee up and wracking the man firmly in the crotch. He cried out, falling to the ground with a shout where she kicked him once more, drawing her boot back and kicking him another three times. She’d never felt such anger within herself, never felt such a drive to hurt another human being. Why would she, she was a nurse after all?

The man crawled his way towards the door and she let him go, she’d have rather him be out of her sight than hanging around, rolling around the floor like a child. As the door slammed shut behind him, she released a breath she didn’t realise she been holding. It was only now that she noticed how sore her neck felt and she raised a shaking hand to feel where his fingers must have dug into her throat. Her cheek stung and she suddenly realised that he’d hit her, several times. In her struggle to hurt him she hasn’t realised he’d tried to fit back.

A soft whimper fell from her lips and she slipped to the floor, a strangled sob soon following as she lay against the rough wooden slats. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have let this happen. Her mind raced with the same dark thoughts that had followed her around like a rain cloud for weeks. You deserved it. It’s your fault this happened. What would Ruth think of you now? Frank too, the would be ashamed of you. As she lay sobbing herself to exhaustion on the floor, Hope found a small glimmer of hope finding her from within Edmund’s bag, her letter. The sooner her letter was delivered the sooner she would have a reply from her beloved Gale. She didn’t dare think of anything else as she rocked herself back and forth. It would be okay, she had Gale, everything would be okay.

By the time she arrived back at the hut, Hope just slipped back into her cot when the loud thump of the Luftwaffe guard knocking on the door rallied them.

Bang. Bang.

“Aufstehen! Get up!”

Hope pushed herself off the cot, throwing off the rough sacking and pushing her hair away from her eyes.

She pulled her olive-drab scarf tightly around her neck, hoping to hide the evident bruises around her neck, the last thing she needed was people asking questions.

Room 4 began to slowly come to life, shuffling around the block as they began funneling out the door, pulling on coats and boots as they went. She tried to ignore John greeting Ruth with a sweet kiss.

She rubbed her eyes, hoping they didn’t look too red from crying. She pulled on her A2 jacket, pulling the zip tightly up to her neck before marching out the door. Keeping her head down was the best way to get through it.

Frank sent her a soft smile, placing a hand on her lower back as he guided her out of the hut after Ruth. Ever since he’d carried her back to the hut the day Gale arrived he’d been more attentive, placing an arm around her shoulder, and soft kisses to her forehead. The closeness reminded her of Hugh’s comforting embraces but she tried to push it from her mind. It was better to know he was safe in England rather than stuck in a camp. Hope wondered if Hugh was planning his trip back to the States, Münster was his 25th mission after all. She liked the thought that he was safely back on home turf.

Hope fell into the line beside Crank who sent her a soft smile. She returned the gesture before forcing herself to look forward, eyes trained on the muddy floor. It was almost always the same every morning and afternoon. The goons went down the line checking everyone was accounted for until they were satisfied. On special occasions when they felt extra cruel, the kreigies were forced to stand in their lines for hours. Luckily, that had only happened once since the girls arrived. As the chilly air turned colder with the passing days, Ruth wondered how long anyone would be able to stand exposed to the elements. It would snow soon, no doubt.

After the morning roll call, the others headed to the mess hall for breakfast. Hope found herself hanging back, standing in the courtyard as she stared at the floor in front of her.

She ignored the way John threw his arm around Ruth’s shoulder, tucking her closely to his side as he spoke.

Hope felt cold, her lips stiff and her neck ached. It was as though her body had finally caught up with what had happened to her that morning, it was as though the shock and realisation of what could have happened to her set in.

“Hope?” Her eyes snapped up and she saw through watery eyes her friend looking back at her. Ruth’s forehead creased with concern, her bright eyes watching her sympathetically. Hope felt her cheeks burned as she realised the small group of friends that surrounded her. She could see John’s dark eyes watching her from behind Frank, who was reaching out to her.

“You okay, Hope?” Frank asked, brushing his hand against hers but she withdrew her hand, avoiding the other's watchful eyes.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I’m just tired, lots of patients to see today so I’ll head over to the infirmary.” She pushed past Ruth, moving through the group and towards the infirmary. She hated the way they looked at her, with such sympathy that Hope felt like she was something broken and unwanted.

“Hope! Hope, wait!” Ruth called after her, clutching onto her friend's arm as she reached her. “Hope, you have to talk to me. Please don’t shut me out.” Ruth’s bright eyes started pleasingly at her, begging for her to just reach out.

“I’m not shutting you out, Rue. I’m busy, alright? I have things I need to do.”

Ruth’s grip remained firm on her arm and Hope pushed her arm away, the jealousy she had suppressed bubbling up in her chest once more. “Just go back to John, why don’t you? He’s waiting for you so you should just go.”

Hope instantly regretted her harsh words, seeing the hurt appear in Ruth’s eyes but she just couldn’t bring herself to talk to her friend. She needed to keep busy and discussing her feelings wasn’t going to help her. She was a burden to her friends as it was without breaking down in front of them.

“Please Hope, please just talk to me,” Ruth bit her lip to keep it from wobbling as she spoke, her voice strained as the tears began to build in her eyes.

Hope cowered away, stepping further from her friend as she tried to suppress her grief. Why was she being so weak? She couldn’t look at Ruth, she couldn’t bare let me down. She was supposed to be the strong one and yet between the nightmares and Gale being just out of her reach, she couldn’t hold it together any longer.

“I can’t talk to you about it. You won’t understand,” she replied plainly, pushing her dark locks away from her eyes. Hope took a deep breath, ignoring the feeling of silent tears slipping down her cheeks. “I should check on the men in the infirmary.”

Hope hated the way Ruth’s eyes followed her as she followed the muddy path towards the infirmary block, keeping her eyes trained on her feet, stepping one in front. She knew they were only worried about her and yet that made her feel even more ashamed because she was letting them down, too. To think that the airmen that Gale had worked so closely with saw her as such a weak and feeble creature only caused her to hate herself even more.

She swung open the door to the infirmary, choking back a sob, she was glad the ward was empty, the only patient having been the man from that morning and thankfully he was long gone. Sliding down the wall beside the sink Hope bit her bottom lip, tasting the bitter, iron blood as her teeth sank deeper. The images of Ruth’s happy smile as she sat in John’s arms the night before flash in front of her eyes, seeing her smiling friends catching happily together in their hut, Gale being dragged away from her, the injured man pinning her against the wall, Haussmann. Everything was too much, it hurt too much. Hope’s eyes slid shut as she collapsed against the wooden floor and the darkness consumed her.

————————————————————————

October 29th 1943, Stalag Luft III Sagan, Germany: 17:30

Frank tried to ignore the way the rain trickled down the collar of his jacket and onto his skin, slipping down his spine and wetting the band of his trousers. This was when he missed flying most, when the foul weather would have had him grounded so he’d have stayed nestled in the dispersal hut beside the fire with a good book.

Sighing, his long legs carried him towards the infirmary. His mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of Hope’s tearful face as she’d disappeared that morning, skipping breakfast. The dry chunk of bread wrapped in a handkerchief in his pocket wasn’t much but it was better than nothing.

He wrapped his knuckles against the wooden door, waiting for the familiar call to ‘Enter’. When nothing came he pushed open the door slowly, slipping inside. The ward was unusually quiet but he was thankful that Hope was having a peaceful day.

The doctor suddenly appeared in the doorway, causing Frank to jump.

“Christ Doc, you scared me,” he chuckled, his smile falling at the serious look on Edmund’s face. “What’s wrong, Doc.”

Frank waited patiently as Edmund explained that he’d found Hope collapsed that morning, her small, cold form lay in one of the infirmary cots, wrapped beneath a mountain of blankets.

“I gave her something to help her sleep but there isn’t much else I can do. Clinically I can’t find anything wrong with her but I know she hasn’t been sleeping well, and since Gale’s arrival, we’ll…” Edmund trailed off as both men’s eyes fell upon Hope’s sleeping form. “I don’t know what happened to her but she had bruises around her neck, I fear they may have been inflicted by another prisoner but she won’t tell me what happened. She made me promise not to tell anyone what happened,” Edmund admitted, his grey eyes meeting Frank’s. “She made me swear not to tell Ruth.”

Frank’s heart broke. Why would she want to keep this from her friends, they could help her, support her? He’d never known Hope to become so closed off from her friends before. Who would want to hurt Hope like that?

“She just needs some rest and physically she should be fine in a few days,” Edmund paused, contemplating his words carefully. “But mentally, I fear she has a long road ahead of her.”

Frank watched the doctor go before he took a seat beside Hope’s bed. It wasn’t until now that he noticed how pale her skin was, how the dark rings beneath her eyes caused her face to look gaunt. How had he not realised quite how much she was suffering?

“Oh Hope,” he brushed his fingers gently across her forehead, pushing away her dark hair that fell loosely across the pillow. “I’m so sorry, Hope. I was meant to protect you and I failed.” Alone in the infirmary, Frank let his own tears fall. They had been through so much together and yet he felt as though she was slipping through his fingers every day. He vowed to himself that he would do better, for Hope, for Ruth, for all of them.

————————————————————————

November 1st 1943, Stalag Luft III Infirmary: 10:00

Sitting on the rickety, wooden chair by the bed, Frank chuckled, “Guess who got mail?”

Hope’s eyes lit up as she spied the crumbled piece of paper in the pilot's hand. She was feeling much better after a few days of decent sleep, and after a pep talk from Frank, she was beginning to see that maybe things weren’t as dark and lonely as she thought they were.

“Is it for me?” She asked with the childlike earnestness that reminded Frank that she was only a young woman of twenty four, or was it twenty five. It struck Frank that in all the chaos of the plane crash and finding themselves in a POW camp that they missed Hope’s birthday entirely. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, but made a mental note to try and do something nice for her to show they hadn’t entirely forgotten.

“It sure is,” Frank placed the letter into her hands, “And I think you know who it’s from.”

Hope nodded, a faint smile pulling at her lips as she ran her thumb over her name written on the front. “Could you read it to me?”

Frank nodded, if not a little surprised, and took the letter back from her, shoving his thumb under the envelope and whipping it open.

To my dearest Hope,

You have no idea how much your letter meant to me. I never truly realised how much I missed your sweet words until you were gone and I realised I took you for granted. I promise that for as long as I live I will never take you for granted, Hope. Each and every day with you I will treasure for the rest of my life.

I’m sure you can understand the pain more than anyone else that our separation causes, believe me I have never known suffering like it. Please do not worry about me, I am not alone over here. Benny Demarco is here with me.

Just know that seeing you when I arrived has given me the strength I need to keep going, too keep fighting until we can be reunited once more. You give me hope that we still have a future together. I know this is not how we planned the month after our wedding to go but just now that I would live through it all again if it meant I get to spend the rest of eternity by your side.

You're my everything, Hope. I’ll keep fighting for you and I’ll be back by your side as soon as I am able.

Your ever loving husband

Gale

Frank brushed a hand over his cheek, trying to hide the stray tears he’d shed while reading Gale's letter. His heart swelled to know that someone loved Hope as deeply as he loved his girl Grace. Love like that is rare and to find it in war is even rarer. He glanced up at Hope to see her dark eyes misty too as she shed her own tears but the faint smile remained on her lips.

“Thank you, Frank,” she choked, reaching out and taking the letter from her friend. She pressed the page against her lips, inhaling deeply for the faintest scent of Gale on it. Sadly, the paper just smelt like the damp, stale air of the huts they occupied. Smiling sadly, she pressed the letter to her chest. It may not have been much but it was enough for now to reassure her that her Gale was still here and he was alright. For now that was all she needed.

————————————————————————

November 4th 1943, Stalag Luft III Infirmary: 15:00

Hope was released from the infirmary a few days later with strict instructions not to over exert herself and to return if she felt faint again. Frank had been waiting for her at the infirmary door, a bright smile of his lips when he saw her.

“Now there’s the Hope I know,” he wrapped her in his large arms. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” she assured him, linking her arm through his as he led her back to their Nissen hut. She knew Frank meant well but she was looking forward to seeing some other people, he was very good at small talk.

She missed Ruth, despite telling Dr Edmund that she didn’t want Ruth to see her in such a state; it was more that she was ashamed of herself for being so weak. Not just now but how weak she’d been since the crash. She needed to apologise for everything.

Stopping suddenly, Frank turned his worried eyes finding hers.

“I need to go and see Ruth,” Hope spoke firmly, she needed to see her now before she lost her nerve. She wouldn’t be able to have the courage to talk so openly in front of everyone else in the hut, especially not John.

“Ruth is teaching now, she’ll be back later,” Frank assured her, his arm landing on her back and guiding her toward the huts.

“No Frank, I need to talk to her now. There’s so much I need to say, I…,” she blinked away the tears. “I’ve been a terrible friend.”

Frank’s features softened, he knew that Hope hadn’t meant to shut Ruth out, but he also knew how hurt Ruth had been, it would be good for them to talk things out.

“Alright, be careful.”

Hope nodded, giving Frank a quick hug before turning in the direction of Ruth’s classroom. While she had a been in the infirmary she’d prepared a speech but as her legs carried her closer to the building she couldn’t recall a word of it. ‘Always speak from the heart’, her mother had told her and it was advice that Hope had taken on many occasions.

Hope lifted her hand, wrapping her knuckles against the classroom door. Her heart pounded furiously and her head spun as she fought the urge to turn and walk away. She wasn’t even really sure what she would even say to Ruth, so much time had passed since they’d last spoken that she wasn’t sure how well she knew her best friend anymore.

Ruth's sweet, singsong voice answered and Hope pushed back the door, peering her head around and coming face to face with the group of men all sat at desks. She knew most of them and hated the feeling of their eyes upon her, ever since the incident last week she’d had a job to let any man near her other than Frank and Edmund.

Ruth turned away from the chalkboard, her mouth morphing into a surprised ‘o’ before she forced a smile. After glancing at her watch, she placed down the chalk.

“I think that’ll be all for today. Make sure to read up to Act 3, scene 2, and we’ll go from there in the next lesson.”

The men packed up quickly, sensing the unspoken tension between the women and Hope hated that she’d interrupted Ruth’s class, but if she didn’t keep her nerve she wasn’t sure if they would speak again.

She watched from the doorway, nervously shuffling from foot to foot as she watched the men hurriedly pack up their books and scuttle past her.

Ruth leaned against her desk, arms crossed across her chest as she waited expectantly. To say she was surprised to see her friend in her class was an understatement. In all the time she’d been teaching in the camp Hope had never once visited.

Ruth didn’t quite look annoyed but Hope knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t exactly pleased that she hadn’t allowed her to visit the infirmary.

“I’m glad to see you’re up and about again,” Ruth replied plainly, a faint smile on her lips. “You had me worried, Hope…had me worried for a while now. Since the crash, you’ve not been yourself, and I understand that, but…” she cut herself off, pushing herself away from her desk and moving to a table a few feet away from Hope.

Hope kept her eyes trained on the floor, unable to meet Ruth’s eyes, embarrassment clear on her reddening cheeks as the tears building in her eyes threatened to fall.

“I’m sorry, Rue…” she mumbled softly. She didn’t know what to say. She truly was sorry but didn’t know if that was going to cut it.

Ruth sighed, moving closer and standing before her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know things haven’t been easy for you, but things haven’t been easy for me, either. We need each other, and you pushed me away…pushed us all away.”

Tears welled in Ruth’s eyes, too, and Hope felt a choked sob slipping from her lips, “I failed you, Ruth. I just keep failing and disappointing you.” Sympathy easily overpowered Ruth’s frustration, and she tugged Hope into an embrace. Hope’s head fell against the blonde's shoulder and she felt Ruth’s arms encasing her as she cried.

It was the most relief she’d felt in months: to truly cry…to release all the emotions that had been bottled up for the past month. “I’m so sorry, Ruth.”

The two women remained fixed, each clinging to the other as they cried over the events of the last few months. Neither of them had truly faced what had become of them but it was good to finally share in their grief. To face reality together.

Ruth pulled back, rubbing away the stray tears that streaked down her pale cheeks. “Hope please tell me what happened. Frank said you collapsed from exhaustion and didn’t want anyone to visit. I tried to anyways but Dr. Edmund said you weren’t up for visitors.”

Hope bit her lip. She didn’t want to talk about what happened, she’d tried to push away the images of that fateful morning, tried to scrub her skin to rid herself of his touch. Ruth’s eyes remained trained on her, pleading for answers.

“Well, I’ve not been sleeping too well for a while now but I’d finally finished the letter to Gale that Edmund promised to pass onto him,” she began, inhaling sharply between each sentence. “I went to the infirmary earlier, I couldn’t sleep and I wanted Edmund to have it as soon as possible. I went to the infirmary to drop it off and there was this man there…”

She gulped.

“He was a patient and was as good as dead, but…”

Ruth couldn’t help the emotion that clawed at her throat as Hope spoke. Her friend’s voice sounded so broken and painful as she relived the events that Ruth didn’t know what to say. What could she say?

“He grabbed me and he tried too… Well, he didn’t manage it. Edmund said it was all the shock of that and the sleep deprivation that my body finally just gave up. He put me on bed rest. Frank only found out because I was unconscious when he arrived and Edmund let him in.”

Hope let out a long sigh, reaching to take Ruth’s shaking hands in her own, “I didn’t want you to see me so broken, Rue. I’ve always promised that I’d look after you but all I do is keep failing and letting you down.”

Ruth shook her head, fighting to keep her lip from trembling, “You haven’t failed me, alright? You’re the strongest, most talented, hardest working person I know, and you’re the most incredible nurse. I wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you for taking care of me, but it’s my turn to take care of you. You just have to let me.”

A painful wail slipped from Hope as she sobbed once more, surrendering to her own grief. How had she been so blind to the pain she’d caused her friend?

“I love you, Rue, I love you so much and I can’t lose you.”

Ruth’s hand smoothed down Hope’s back, “I love you too, Hope. And don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Tags: @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @major-mads @violetdaze25 @bcofl0ve @precious-little-scoundrel @blurredcolour @artlover8992 @b00ks1ut @xxluckystrike @hockeyboysarehot @groovin2beats @kmc1989 @ginabaker1666 @hesbuckcompton-baby @beebeechaos @forsythiagalt @prettyinlimegreenboots @blueberry-ovaries

[stevethehairington]

okay making this a New Post bc i don't wanna like. commandeer op's post with this but. i saw the post in this screenshot:

like three days ago, and i have, no joke, spent all three of those days thinking about it, specifically how painfully, achingly, desperately i want to write something inspired by it...

and just. OUGH. it fits so fucking SO FUCKING perfectly for the buckies from masters of the air. like. gale has his sweetheart back home, and john doesn't have anything back home, but he finds his something, his someone in gale, he falls in love with him, and it's this overwhelming, all encompassing kind of love, this tugging, aching kind of thing that fills his chest, sits on top of his lungs, and it makes it kind of hard to breathe sometimes, but john wouldn't trade it for the world, he wouldn't. and he knows it's never going to be reciprocated, because gale's not like him, because gale's got a girl, they're getting married, john's going to be his best man and everything. but that doesn't do anything to tamper those feelings, it doesn't make john yearn any less, and so he has to just live with it. to just get used to that ache behind his ribs and just keep going, keep trucking on. and he does.

and then the unthinkable happens and the war ends, and just like that they're going home. and so gale goes back to wyoming, back to marge, and john goes back to wisconsin, back to, well, nothing, really.

he ends up finding himself this nice plot of land; it's by a lake, with lots of trees, and the nearest neighbors are miles away. it's quiet, and it's secluded, and it's not too terribly far from town. there's a house on the property, a total fixer upper, but john thinks that's maybe exactly what he needs — something to keep him occupied, something to keep his hands busy, something that will require his attention and his energy and might tire him out by day's end, enough that maybe he won't need the bottle to do the trick.

(and if he maybe likes to pretend that he's fixing the place up for a reason, one with blonde hair and blue eyes and the sweetest smile, well, that's nobody's business but his own.)

and the thing is — those thoughts of gale, those feelings for him, they don't disappear. they don't fade away. john had hoped the distance, the not seeing each other every day, the not being in each other's direct orbit might quell some of it. but it doesn't. not even one bit. if anything, they get stronger out here. all that quiet, all that loneliness — it leaves a lot of room for john's mind to run wild.

john has trouble sleeping, too. it's quiet, too quiet, he's used to sharing a room with bunks and bunks of other men, so going from that — snores and whispers and creaking beds and snuffling breaths — to... nothing. it's weird. it's unsettling.

that, and the nightmares. those don't help either.

so john finds himself awake through the night a lot of the time, and, well, if he's up he's going to make the most of it, so he pours himself some whiskey and takes it onto the porch. there's a little swing there, left behind by the previous owners. it hangs from the awning, except the right side isn't so secure anymore, the hook half torn out, so it hangs at a slant. john keeps telling himself he needs to fix it, but it hasn't dropped him yet or ripped the ceiling apart, and he keeps forgetting, so he just doesn't.

it's dark outside, with only the pale shimmer of the moonlight to keep him company. the sound of crickets, too. and john will sip his whiskey and he'll stare up at that moon and he'll — he'll think of gale.

wonder what he's doing. wonder if he's awake too. if he's staring up at that very same moon. he'll wonder if marge is with him, maybe wrapping her arms around him, maybe making him a cup of something warm, maybe holding his hands to stop them from shaking.

john's chest aches something fierce, and the whiskey doesn't help, but he drains the glass anyways. lets it burn down his throat and settle, hot and hurting, in his gut as he thinks about what he'd do if it were him with gale instead. if gale were here with him. if they were together, on this porch, at this house, in this life.

john thinks. john yearns. john gets himself some more whiskey.

(and, of course, it IS a happy ending eventually — gale and marge split, before they get married even, and gale ends up showing up on that doorstep (he knew the address from the scant few letters sent between the two) with his bags, a lopsided smile, and his whole entire heart, all for john.)

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Hi Marina!! Thinking about John and Jeanie from Dear John, and Gale and Maureen in your integrated AU, as always, and was wondering if you have any crumbs or snippets you may want to share with us mere mortals. If not, that’s okay!! Hope you have a lovely day and can’t wait for whatever you post next!

Oooh my darling hello, hello, I do indeed have a few crumbs, they are just that -mere crumbs- but I adore you all and I want to wet your whistles for both so here goes:

Dear John Crumb:

“Who’s yours from?”

“Marge.”

“Maaaarge.” Bucky predictably parroted, Crank and Benny got letters this time too, and that was good for them.

Buck’s face while perusing his letter however, was not the typical luminous glow of an ardent young cherub in love, and that had the odd effect of worrying Bucky. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s, she’s bein-“ he trailed off, flipping the letter back and forth and scrutinizing it intensely, “I think she’s hinting somethin’. Where’s that envelope? Hell Benny, don’t put the plate on it!”

“Sorry major.”

Buck took the worn envelope and shook it, prying the seams apart until like an old dream replayed, a little square and shiny card floated to the ground. John kept himself seated, not even ready to dare hope that had anything to do with him, much as he was shaken by the similarity to Julie Jean’s first correspondence and attached photographic gift, tucked in an envelope seam. The way Buck had shaken it just so and how it had fluttered to the ground and how Buck’s thumb had looked pressed against Lana’s black and white nipples.

“John Egan, you’ve got mail.” Buck bellowed with something like triumph in his voice, face lit up like a firework stand ablaze, “Get over here, you mopey sonuvabitch.”

The chair he was sat in clattered backwards into some poor fucker as Egan dove up and towards Buck’s bunk, drawn to the waved little photograph in his hand. Buck was a merciful man and handed it over without a game of tug. Bucky deeply wished the room wasn’t full of curious friends but then again, looking into this flat, shiny, black and white, shrunken little world -it took him miles and miles away. Away to a front yard in some small town where it looked chilly but festive, with candy cane decor lining the sidewalk up to a plain brick house and two girls in the yard, mid blurry laugh, clinging to each other like they’d fall over and tweak their ankles in the leaves if they let go.

Marge and Julie.

“How ‘bout that.” Gale’s voice was warm and soft and Bucky didn't have an answer for him, he ground out a rough cough that was intended to be an agreement before it got snarled in the lump in his throat.

—END SCENE—-

Those Who Can crumb:

After being in the darker interior of the building, being processed for hours, the hazy late afternoon light of outside glared painfully against Ida’s bloodshot eyes as she stepped out, leading the way down the three wooden steps to the muddy yard. Monochrome, this place, brown wooden buildings and brown earth and a muddy sky and brown flight jackets one after another.

And there in the midst of it, waiting for them with ever constant patience and thinned stateliness was Gale Cleven and his lost blue eyes and an alarmingly symmetrical set of facial scars.

“Major.” Ida felt her face soften into an odd expression she realized was likely that of relief. Cleven had that way about him, it was better suited to her preferences than Egan’s blustering warm hearted concern, Colonel Harding’s gruff joviality or her John’s perpetually intense concern. Her little brother was, oddly, nowhere to be seen now and that was a comfort in this wide open, highly observed space.

“Colonel.” Gale Cleven’s eyes weren’t a lost blue anymore but a pair of stormy seas and Ida steeled herself for pity. She found smoldering rage in his face instead. Another relief.

“How was it?” he was nodding to the command hut.

“Fine.” she assured.

He went searching for something in her face and Ida was sure it was easily found skin deep along her puffy, purpled left cheek, but if she had anything to do with her expression alone, he’d be kept guessing for ages. “Good.” he decided at last but his smile was tight, “Made John wait in the combine, he’s in there pacing like a madman. They make a note of who’s attached to whom, Colonel,” he explained, “a more discreet reunion seemed in order.”

“We’d appreciate all the direction you—“ Ida had begun but was cut short by Lt. Kendeigh who broke ranks from the processed group and came out of the hut behind Ida like a bat out of hell, running up to Cleven and tackling him in a hug, rather like a dog with their long lost master.

—END SCENE—