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i can't think about Irving and Little for too long or i start shaking uncontrollably

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Jack Lowden in The Fifth Step

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ever think about how lt john irving got to go home

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Nedving nation how are we feeling?

Special thanks to the lovely @aristosakielon, my muse who motivates me every day to be the best I can be in all ways possible and who gives me the confidence to share my edits with the world. I can’t thank you enough for inspiring this edit with the rough draft of your Nedving fanfic. (Everyone go read it when it comes out!!) I’m so glad you got me into this rare pair and even more glad that you got me into this show and fandom. 🫶

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By Todd Kaplan for Unknown - 1999

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unfortunately I enjoy this white boy pairing: depression x repression

Loosely inspired by a scene in anaesthetist’s wonderful “where we shall part no more” fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25914856/chapters/62981716

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ive heard if its all gone wrong and is fucked beyond repair you can actually use it for banana bread

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five times gale has a drink + one time he doesn't. just because.

i.

The first time, it's just a sip. A little taste of what John gives him. There's hardly a taste to it at all; just the lingering warmth of John's mouth around the lip of the flask, the promise of a sensation that works to his belly quicker than liquor.

He doesn't thank John for it.

ii.

John's sucking at the flavored air at the bottom of the glass. He must be, because there's nothing there anymore. He doesn't take ice, just a little water. Tonight it's neat, straight from the bottle. Gale watches as he pours himself another. It's better at room temperature, he tells him, though Gale's never thought of John as all that picky.

Has he ever even looked at the bottle?

"Fifteen years old, Scottish," he reads, to prove a point. "Imported by the Kraus brothers."

"Alright, alright," Gale says, waving a hand down at him.

John sits with it. It sits in a smooth amber line at the bottom of his glass. Once, he smashes one up and fucks up his hand a little. Doesn't feel a thing, he tells him, smell of blood filling up the room. Gale stands on a shard he misses the next day. It hurts, but he chews on an aspirin while John feels bad about it.

"Reckon you'd be good at that," John says.

"Good at what?"

"All that pretentious shit. Notes of vanilla and candied ginger and sandalwood."

Gale's mouth is still sweet and wet from a slice of cantaloupe. The rush of whisky over his tongue is startling, but he does taste it. Something lightly charred and fruit. The taste stays in his mouth longer than it stays in John's glass, and he doesn't ask about it either.

iii.

The thing is, Gale fucks like a gentleman, but he wants to be fucked like a man. Most of the time, John's just happy to be there.

"C'mon," he says.

The flask is at his mouth, tilting towards his lips. It makes it easier. Makes it more fun. It's supposed to be fun, John says once, voice a little small, sitting at the end of their bed. Sometimes Gale doesn't make it fun. Sometimes he's plain ol' funny about it, like John's sticking his hands down his johns for the first time, and Gale feels like breaking every bone in them, for touching him like that.

He doesn't. Doesn't have it in him. Wants it, actually. Takes a few sips of whisky to take it easier, let John inside. Knees to the heath, face to the bark. John's truck is parked not ten meters away. Someone could hear, but they probably won't.

"They'll just think I got you drunk and easy for it," John says, on his knees behind him like a good Catholic boy, already anticipating the punishment and penance. Gale lets him.

iv.

It's called wetting the baby's head, John tells him. Marge has a girl. The fella sells dairy equipment around the mid-west. Nice guy, served in the Navy at the tail-end of the war. He comes back fine, without a penchant for sucking cock. Gale's happy for her. Gale's really goddamn happy.

"Bet you wish it were you, though," John says, antagonistic with a drink in him. "Bet you wish you had it in you."

Gale's used to it. John being mean on a bad day. His bad days are worse, and he doesn't need to throw a whisky on the fire to burn the house down. Instead, he just has it to finish the bottle. It's what his mama used to do. More satisfying that pouring it down the sink, or killing the grass out back.

It scorches all the way down.

"You want the last of it, you settle down and you can kiss me on the mouth," he says, and John will, that way he always does.

v.

Gale pours a whisky. The house is quiet. He adds a splash of water, like his daddy did, like John does. He sits on the porch, imaging kids, dogs, a fence he doesn't feel like shooting through in the aftermath of a nightmare.

Whatever hour John joins him, it's before there's even a promise of a new day. Just all black, without a moon in the sky. There should be, but it's cloudy. Gale imagines rattling about in them, falling out of them. He imagines John catching him, acting like it's nothing.

"Bad one?"

"Just the kid again. Pulled the trigger," he says, taking a sip.

John hums from beside him. He scrapes his chair closer. It'll leave a mark, but John will get around to painting it. It's a growing list to keep him occupied since his heart nearly packed in. He's not allowed a drink. Gale does it for him, if only for a taste.

+ i.

Gale splashes the whisky on the headstone.

"Cheers, Bucky."

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A second batch of "eBook" covers that I threw together to use for these fics on my kobo! The first batch is here. Once again, I'm shouting out big throbbing reccos for all of these, which were delightful to read in so many different ways.

don't take that sinner from me by @moghraidhs - tense and emotionally fraught Western AU with some beautifully achey, deliberate prose

for without are dogs by @constanthaunt - for an impeccable unpicking of character and faith and the meaning of devotion, with writing which is gorgeous and loaded in each and every sentence

hustle up starlings by @ableseamen - yes it's horny and wretched, but honestly what got me so caught up in this was the slick and precise prose

nose dive by @flatconcrete - a trip through the Buckies' relationship via a series of sharp and brilliantly-framed vignettes, with some incisive, snappy dialogue

that love is like a star by @whirlpool-blogs - a beautiful little bittersweet fairytale that really hits the style and tone which the genre asks for! A true delight

The Fire and the Ember by Muccamukk (who does not have tumblr) - a unique take on Marge/Peggy, which re-imagines Marge as an OC and does such gorgeous work with their relationship

two-dollar kisses by @spaceshipkat - there's a beautiful smoothness to Kat's writing that makes reading it a dream, and this "deleted scene" showcases that so well

who will have mercy on your soul by @basilone - using the premise that Gale can see manifestations of death, this is writing full of reverence and beauty*

you were there all along by @joeyalohadream - full of longing and so tenderly written—I could feel the care for John and Gale in every word, which was just so lovely to read

*Painting is detail from Death on a Pale Horse by Benjamin West (1796)

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eloi eloi lama sabachthani?

sketch under cut

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I think I just need my ass kicked. Like fully just knocked around I won’t even put up a fight or defend myself. It would help me in the long run to just get my fucking ass beat.

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Opening the tumblr app in public

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was scrolling through my dash and. not naming names but. i’m beginning to think one or two of you want to fuck some of the guys from the terror

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#female artists are not responsible for your kids! Britney Spears interviewed by Diane Sawyer (2003)

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gale admitting to thinking about john even while asking marge to marry him is wild actually. he'll be stood at that altar don't worry buddy