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"You're so quiet"

Yeah sorry I'm torturing Gale Cleven in my head

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“you know, i really did believe that if there were only two b-17s left, it would be you and me flying ‘em?”

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puppy's gonna need a smoke and a drink and a solid brick to the head ok?

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↳ i need my girl. the national

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walk with me once again… gale in the stalag getting living dead girled… by the germans with their weird fucked up torture tactics, interrogation gone wrong or maybe they pick him out not just because he’s major cleven full up to the brim with allied secrets, but maybe cause they can see he’s full up with something else, something that sets the dogs to cowering and groaning. maybe something had already gone wrong in him before the camp, the marks on his pretty pale face, the rope burn on his neck, the plane crash that all surely could have killed him. either way, it’s nothing that john would notice as out of sorts when he arrives, gale beat to hell but no worse than himself, what you get when you’re in a plane going down, when you’re kicked like a can all the way to a damn prison camp. and the longer john is there, the less bucky there is left of him, would he really notice if gale maybe wasn’t quite himself, fuck, who in this place was? who wasn’t staring through walls and sinking in on themselves with hunger and cold? would he notice if gale’s staring was without blinking, if his hunger was something more, or maybe something less than what it should have been, if the cold of his skin went all the way down to bone. john’s too busy going all wrong himself, feeling himself become a dying thing, to see there should have been a grave somewhere with gale’s body in it. and what he does see, when he sees it all, all of what gale’s become, is becoming, well, john’s very aware he’s going fucking crazy, right round the twist, and gale’s smooth cool skin, his lightning storm eyes, the animal intensity that comes down over him like a thunderclap, all of it could surely be john’s mind adding a grim spark to the horror movie of his life. but that grim spark is all gale, nothing john could have come up with all on his own, his hard grip on john’s wasting body, the bottomless grave of his wanting, his never ending wanting of john, of his skin, his breath, his mouth, the weight of him over gale in their bunk like dirt over a coffin. gale wants to feel, wants touch and heat and pain, and who is john to refuse to give something he’s taking from gale already? how could he refuse when gale smiles at him like that, teeth like pristine rows of bleach white tombstones.

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the clegan of it all has perforated my brain matter once more, struck with a realisation like it came from the hand of god… the foundation and the core of john and gale is so “takes one to know one”, from their meeting all the way through, they stick together because there is a recognition of the self in the other or whatever. john wants to belong to someone = he gives gale his name. gale won’t be questioned for his choices = he abides john’s lifestyle choices. they both so badly rely on their own ability to care for others that failure, perceived or not, leaves them besides themselves, though expressed in different ways. i could probably word this better or come up with better examples but please walk with me here my brain is deflating 🧠💨

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died and came back exactly the same but something was so so so wrong with me before and now I have an excuse to really lean into it

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MASTERS OF THE AIR - part one, part nine

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did you guys know snoopy was a part of easy company

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WEBGOTT: but it's just a supercut of us

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Me, reading my own unfinished fic: This is so good. I hope the author updates soon.

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john & ulrich in superstar (2025) ☆ lucifer stand by cindy lee

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let us not desert one another; we are an injured body

a Buck/Bucky cannibal romance by Phlegmatic

PART ONE OF TWO.

He wasn’t much older the first and last time his confession was labelled Lust, and the Father was much less good-tempered about it. His bitter disappointment and the admonition of a whole rosary hadn’t made a lick of sense to Bucky at twelve years old, because what he felt when he saw the neighbor boy’s mom doing laundry in a tub out the back of their house—the front of her sweater had gotten wet, and she’d taken it off before going inside, and she had a camisole on but it had been white—well, it felt much the same as when he was compelled to pick a piece of raw bacon off the pile while his ma wasn’t looking. He’d sucked and chewed on the fatty, salty mouthful gentle and slow so his ma wouldn’t notice, and on that day while Mrs. Waters was inside getting changed, he’d scampered over to her porch and pilfered a pair of her unmentionables. He’d sucked and chewed on those as well, fisting the silk in sweaty palms, quiet in the dark while his family were all asleep, so didn’t that make it Gluttony too?

🥩 read on ao3 🥩

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i followed fires. a clegan halloween fic (27k)

There is a coyote who follows John Egan through the scrublands of New Mexico. A pale-eyed, pale-furred, washed-out shape against the desert night. Limbs too long and paws dexterous as it lopes just out of sight. Sometimes it stood upright, mouth lolling open wet and pink and full of teeth. Sometimes it is a man too, still furred and broken-limbed but with a maw that could almost form words and hips that narrowed delicately.

It is never human, but sometimes it is a man. -- A spooky oooky ghosty Halloween fic. A larger trigger list will be contained inside!

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john, listen up, i'm a wreck, i'm a mess

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mota if it was sick as hell (deftones - be quiet and drive)