my dougley thoughts 🌝 love them and wanted to see if I could make something for them
and I re read my dougley faves 'and force feed me butterflies' and a genre rule : dont open the box by @constanthaunt + @irregularcollapse , i love these characterisations so much !!
writing one bit at a time to keep the momentum going
“Bucky,” Gale says. “Hey, you’re alright.”
John is caught in the throes of whatever has him, his body rigid, his face slick with sweat. When Gale reaches out to shake his shoulders, John's hand flies up to grip Gale's wrist with startling strength.
“It’s me, John,” Gale says, making no move to break free.
John's eyes snap open, wild and unfocused for a moment before recognition dawns. He blinks hard, exhaling through his nose, then sits up slowly. His breathing is still ragged, his face pale and drawn in the moonlight filtering through the window.
“Buck,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Christ. I wake you?”
Gale isn’t sure whether to answer. John doesn’t seem to need him to, pressing his palm against his eyes instead. With his wrist still caught in John’s hand, Gale perches on the edge of the bed, not knowing what else to do.
“Bad one?” he asks.
John scrubs his face with one hand. Quiet for a long moment, then turns to Gale with something like embarrassment. “Yeah. It's always the same things. The crash. The body. The march. Wondering if you..." He trails off, shaking his head. “Doesn't matter.”
“What about me?”
The silence lasts for so long that Gale thinks there might not be an answer before John finally speaks.
“Wondering if you made it. If you were alive. If I'd ever see you again,” he says, his eyes glittering in the dim light. “Sometimes I didn't. In the dreams, I mean.”
He sounds calm, like he’s made peace with it, but the lingering debris of the nightmare on his face suggests the absolute opposite. Gale hasn’t allowed himself to dwell on what John's experience must have been like—the not knowing, the agonizing uncertainty. In the same way, he doesn’t dwell on the guilt that has been eating at him since the day he went over that camp wall. Not once had it crossed his mind that they should talk through it, but now he doubts what good keeping silent has done for either of them.
“Bucky, I—”
“I’m glad you got out first, Buck,” John says firmly, as if he suspects what’s coming is an apology. “That ain’t ever gonna change.”
And that’s the thing about John, dressing up perceptiveness as generosity. Sometimes Gale thinks, not without some kind of resentment, that John refuses to accept an apology only because he knows a few words of regret would let them both off the hook too easily and close the door on the very thing they need to look at.
Gale’s not certain what else he could say, anyway. He swallows. “Okay.”
John smiles. After a beat, he adds, “having you here helps, y’know? With these damn dreams.” He finally lets go of Gale’s hand, leaving behind a cold trace and a dull ache in the bone. They sit mutely for a while, until John asks, “you ever dreamt about it?”
His unreadable gaze has a weight to it. Gale flexes his wrist, knowing he won't get many more chances to give something back.
“Sometimes,” he starts, feeling the words all tangled in his mouth. “Sometimes it’s Regensburg. Or the day my fort was hit. Or fighting the guards. Thought about putting an unloaded gun below my pillow just so I could hold it and feel safe.” He stops to inhale, letting the cold night air push the rest of the words out. “One time I woke up and there were bruises on Marge’s arms. No idea what I’d done.”
John goes stiff, but his breathing slows, turning softer. “Shit. That’s rough.” He pauses. “Was that—was that the reason?”
The question is complete without further specification. Gale's mouth goes dry, feeling as though he’s said too much, even while barely scratching the surface of it.
“Yeah,” he says, the lie coming easier this time, wrapped tightly in the truth. “Sort of, I think.”
John lets out a long, weathered sigh. He pulls his legs up, hunching over his knees. He still sleeps in his briefs. His muscles look slackened now, covered with a layer of softness, his torso thicker. Yet there is strength moving underneath, as if his body steadfastly refuses to come to terms with the passage of time. Motionless, his thighs look like tree trunks rooted deeply in the earth, his back a broad expanse pale as snow.
Gale wants to touch him. The urge is so strong it makes his fingers tremble. John is close enough that Gale can feel his breath against his shoulder. Touching him would be the easiest thing Gale has ever done, if only he could reach out.
Whatever courage Gale had gathered leaks right out of him, though, when John raises his head and his eyes are so clear Gale sees his own reflection in them.
“Well. For what it's worth, I’m not afraid of guns,” John says, his voice slips back into its usual whimsical cadence. “Don’t mind a bit of horseplay, for that matter.”
Gale stares, taken aback. Then laughs despite himself. “Jesus, Bucky.”
John hums, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. “I mean it.” Then, with a more serious face, he says again, “having you here helps, Buck.”
And then it’s John who reaches out, pinching Gale's chin between his thumb and forefinger—the first time he's done it in three years. The gesture is achingly reminiscent of the old days, and Gale feels something break wide open in his chest.
Drew had suggested an outdoorsy weekend away in Stillwater, so John swings by REI after work to buy a pair of water shoes. He also gets a goofy forest-camo bucket hat for ear protection and impulsively picks up a bottle of tick spray while standing in line, feeling the need to contribute something to the trip that isn't part of Drew's extensive prep list.
On the drive back, his phone buzzes. I made dinner resis for Saturday
Sick, John swipes, even though the weekend is taking on a looming dread. A beat later, he also sends a thumbs up emoji that Drew attaches another thumbs up to, their stupid little inside joke that's not even a joke. Just a pattern of behavior that happened to stick at some point. John is starting to suspect this might be a hallmark of a relationship.
Drew is in a rival frat, former pledge president—same as John—and former pledge parent—also same as John—and the oldest of four siblings, well-adjusted and with habits born from loving, present parents. They had met at the rec center gym, eventually seeing each other around enough to start comparing notes about their respective pledge classes, and that was how it started—gym buddies to normal buddies to play wrestling in Drew's room, which had accidentally turned into something else, the way it happens in movies. That's how Drew likes to refer to it anyway, and only between the two of them because they haven't really told anyone else in explicit terms, minus the one night John shared a joint with Curt and silently watched him play Diablo for half an hour before announcing, "I think I like dick," and that probably doesn't count.
After classes, they watch sports together and on weekends they go to whatever house is hosting and partner up for pong and have drunken sex on John's couch. Drew is good with his hands; he plays piano and can reach a twelfth interval, he says, and John doesn't need to know what that means to enjoy its functional uses. Sometimes they butt heads, neither of them willing or used to ceding any kind of control, which, privately, came as a surprise to John, who had expected himself to be an easygoing type of person once he got out from under the weight of responsibilities at home. It was sort of funny, the kinds of things that became apparent only once he left.
It's been almost five months. They're having fun. John has only slept with two other people in that time, both Kappa girls from different chapters, and he hasn't spoken to either of them again. Not that that makes it okay, exactly, but it's something.
When he gets to Drew's apartment, he finds him sitting cross-legged on the floor with camping accessories laid out around in organized bunches. "Hey," John greets, and Drew says, "Yo," then dives into a summary of their itinerary that includes kayaking and an easy hike if they're not too hungover. John puts his stuff down on the counter, nodding along.
"So you're driving straight there after work?" Drew asks, and adds, "I picked up a sleeping bag for you from Neil."
"Yeah, after my shift. I'll probably meet you around nine." John snags his gaze on the sleeping bags rolled up next to each other. "I could've swung by Neil's."
"Sure, but you're always busy on Thursdays."
"That guy stays up 'til four every night, I could have gone anytime. And you got all this other stuff and planned the whole trip," John points out, a little irritated for no good reason at how someone is willing to do all this when they don't even really know him. He covers it up with a grin, going for sheepish and thankful.
"No big deal," Drew dismisses. "I wanted to."
"I'm just saying you don't have to take care of me like that."
Drew starts counting out protein bars. "I wanted to. You wanna take care of the people you love, don't you?" he mumbles, distracted.
John falters, feet stuck partway out of his shoes and crushing the heels in, and Drew looks up wildly.
"Wow. Sorry," he says. "That, uh. I didn't—it kind of just—"
He makes a barfing gesture with both hands. John knows better by now than to ask clarifying questions that he's not ready to hear the answers to, but he has no idea how to redirect and ends up saying, "It's okay," as if Drew accidentally elbowed him in the face or something instead of—whatever the hell that was. A slip of the tongue. Same as saying, thanks, love you, to a cashier.
Drew looks at him. He's got big brown eyes and wavy hair that's usually trapped under an Astros hat. John knows that he got too many concussions in high school so his parents convinced him to turn down a baseball scholarship; that he ran over a cat once and still has dreams about it. His family doesn't know he's gay, but he'll tell them when he's ready—this said with a quick glance at John—and John has absorbed all this knowledge without reciprocating, feeling as though there's simultaneously too much and nothing to say about himself when it comes to birth until now. The only notable thing to happen on their shared timeline was John finding his dad on LinkedIn last month, briefly possessed into searching for Jack Egan on a whim to find him in plain sight, no thought given to hiding his digital footprint: Worcester, MA, medical device sales rep, complete with a corny headshot of him in a suit and gray tie, a smiling snapshot of John's future face. BA from Binghamton, ten years at Merck, eight years at Applied Biotech, now at Abbott. Achievements included Rookie of the Year and President's Club for a decade running. No mention of a previous family anywhere. Maybe John could've told Drew about that, but he didn't, and also he really couldn't have because he'd already told him his dad was dead.
"Sorry," Drew says.
"Don't be sorry. Hey, come on." John toes his shoes all the way off and sits down on the couch behind him. "I'm excited for the trip," he assures, working a few fingers underneath Drew's hat to scritch gently.
"Yeah?" Drew asks, turning. The hat flops off to reveal an endearing poof of hair. "You wanna spend time with me?"
"Yeah. Of course."
He gives Drew a smile, and rubs his head when he ducks to kiss John's kneecap before turning back around. John flicks the TV on; watches Gardner strike out, not caring, not really paying attention to anything except for how from the back like this, Drew could be a total stranger.
-
At home, John crushes a six-pack and collapses onto the bed, phone in hand. When the line connects, a "Hellooooo" trilling out from the other end, John says, "I think I’m better from a distance. Like—as a person. What do you think."
"Uh." There’s a rustle. "You’re on speaker. Hang on."
"Oh," John says, wincing. "Hi, Gale", because who else would it be, and sure enough Gale says, "Hey, John. Take it easy," voice growing fainter as Joni presumably moves into another room.
It’s fine. John’s embarrassed himself in front of Gale plenty of times. Mostly on purpose to make him laugh, but still.
"He sounds different," John says, but Joni doesn't take the bait, instead restating, "So you're better from a distance as a person."
"Whatever. Never mind. What are you guys doing?"
"Homework. Listening to music. So…by 'from a distance', you mean like, on paper?"
"What kind of homework?"
"World History. Is this about Drew?"
"You guys got a project?"
"Essay on the cradle of civilization. Aren't you two going on a trip?" Joni prompts, and John finally gives in.
"Yeah, yeah, he got an AirBnB and we're supposed to go camping one night and I just—I don't know."
"About the trip?"
"About anything. Jesus," he sighs. "Fuck."
"Ooh, juicy. But also, uh oh. Tell me tell me tell me." Joni snaps into a bag of snacks and asks, "Didn't you say he was gonna break up with you?" in between crunches.
"That's what I thought. They've all broken up with me, I figured it was time for that pattern to come around again."
"You force their hand into breaking up with you," Joni corrects. "You get all distant and stuff."
"What?" John rolls over onto his stomach, indignant. "No, I don't. I call you guys every single goddamn day and text you—"
"Not with us. With everyone else. My therapist said it makes sense because you can’t fully trust anybody."
"What?" John says again. "Wait, what? You talk about me with her?"
"Well, yeah. Mom didn't force you to go so maybe you don't know, but you kind of have to talk in therapy," Joni says loftily.
"Joni." John rubs his eyes. "God. You don't have to bring me into it. And you don't have to tell the truth there," he groans, because in fact he has gone to therapy at the school's mental health office. Only one session, wherein he lied about forty times and the counselor didn't tell him anything he couldn't find on a google search. Knowing what his damage is isn't the problem. It never has been. Maybe if he'd gone at Joni's age he would be more open to the concept, but it hadn't occurred to their mom to send him. She was always saying, You grew up good, with pride.
"It's late," he realizes. "Sorry, I'm—I'm bothering you guys. I shouldn't have even called you."
"Who else would you have called?" she points out astutely. "Are you catastrophizing right now? Are you being dramatic?"
"You're the one who spent the whole night crying after someone ripped your dress at homecoming," John says.
"Ha ha." The ice machine goes in the background, followed by the sound of a cup filling. "But Drew's nice. Isn't he?"
Drew is nice. John definitely doesn't deserve how nice he is. "Yeah," he exhales. "But nice probably isn't a good enough reason to stay with someone. Keep that in mind for later."
"Okay."
"Even if that someone is doing homework on your bed and sharing earbuds with you right now. Nice might not be enough," he hints, because while he may be drunk and melancholy, it's fun to needle her, and Joni yells, "JOHN."
"I'm off speaker, aren't I?"
"Still! It's not—" she adjusts her voice to a whisper "—it's not ever gonna be like that."
"Why not? How do you know?"
"I just do," she sighs, the weight of the world on her tiny little shoulders. "Shut up. Are you still gonna go on the trip?"
The thought of it pushes him back into a pool of guilt. John grunts. "Too late now."
Clearly he should. It's not the end of the world, no matter what that hamster wheel in his brain is saying. He should stop dumping on his little sister and go and do the thing and if he's sure it's not working, then he should handle it with grace.
"Okay, I'll let you go. Put me on speaker again," he instructs, and waits until he hears a door open to say, "Hey, bird. Sorry about that. Had some matters to discuss with her majesty."
"It's fine," Gale says. Joni murmurs something, Gale murmurs something back, and then he coughs. "And, uh. I don't think you're better from a distance."
From further away, Joni cuts in: "You should see his neck now. He looks like an ostrich."
"Send me a picture," John says, laughing, even though it kind of kills him to see evidence of them growing up from far away.
"No—ow," Gale yelps. "I'm not an ostrich, I'm a swan."
"You'll see next time you're home," Joni says.
"I'm never coming back here," Gale swears, and says, "Ow," again as Joni calls, "Okay byeeee."
The line goes dead. John cleans the screen with his shirt, squints at his dull reflection, and tells it, "You're a piece of shit," before tossing the phone to the other side of the bed. There's a half-packed duffel sitting by his desk that he needs to sort through, but also another sixer in the fridge that he can get to work on. He opts for the latter, figuring packing can wait, and gropes for his phone again to see that Drew has texted him.
T minus one day until you get eaten by a possum
Ship my body to my mom, John responds. You can keep whatever the possum eats
Drew sends a thumbs up. John attaches a thumbs up to it, strangely calm, detached, as if already beyond the ending and over the other side. There is a part of him, though—a part that's comfortable in whatever they have, that could potentially grow to like Drew enough to also let you wanna take care of the people you love, don't you? slip out unbidden.
do think it's kind of crazy that Gale opens up to John first. Has this whole deeply vulnerable monologue under the thud of bombs (his heart) and probably it's one of the first times he's truly being vulnerable with anyone, especially a man. and then John looks him in the eye and was like, your childhood hurt you.
I always imagine it as a traffic jam of thoughts and questions. What do you say when your best friend tells you that you remind him of his neglectful (maybe abusive) father? I'd have so many questions that I wouldn't want answered. I can understand why he'd make a joke.
...That and the fact that if he gets it wrong he'll never get another moment like this ever again.
Smth like that lil swiss doctor in captain America except MAGIC and disgusting and more terrifying
Not sure what his angle might be tho, maybe just that he's evil. Evil angle
I love your Hausmann theory because you are … completely correct 😈😈😈😈
(no skin shining like diamonds in the sunlight though unfortch)
I love an evil mad scientist … more about his motives shall be revealed once the Buckies get their shit sorted out and focus on the real problems instead of how repressed and yearning and horny they are
Gale knew that very first day that he was a stray, showing up in the doorway of John Egan’s room unloved and shy and bristling, coaxed closer with gentle touches and an eager voice—and Gale had fallen for it, head over heels.
He knows what it’s like to be kicked in the ribs, made to lie outside on the porch. To be fed scraps and yelled at. To be desolately desperate for love. But John gave it freely with open-handed affection, naming Gale and scrubbing fingers through his hair and squeezing him around the ribs to lift him bodily off the ground. Gale stared after him, answered his voice, followed at his heels. Guarded and guided, accepting John’s praise and requests with a voracious, guilty craving he fought to conceal. Hoping John couldn't see it in his eyes.
***
Dog coded!Gale, or
When John gets back to Thorpe Abbots, Gale can't cope
Here’s the first part of my clegan soulmate au (and my first ever MOTA fic)! It’s been a joy to fall in love with writing all over again, since this is the first thing I’ve written in 4+ years. And if you can’t tell by all the flowery language about the stars, I might’ve fallen in love with astronomy along the way, too. <3
—
Walla Walla Army Air Base, Washington
November 19, 1942
John fell in love in Walla Walla.
He fell in love with that split second on the runway when he pulled back on the yoke and the wheels of his B-17 left the ground for the first time. He fell in love with the shock of relief of the icy high-altitude air after spending too long taxiing the runway in the stagnant air of an enclosed cockpit.
He fell in love with a fort almost seeming to float through the air, all engines feathered.
He fell in love with messy golden hair tumbling out of the hatch and a smile as bright as the sun glinting off of aluminum wingtips.
So it was no surprise, really, that when Gale ran a hand across the hull of his plane gently, reverently, and said “I’m in love,” in that low awestruck croon, that his name was simultaneously etched into the pale skin of John’s wrist.
Link to full story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87619751/chapters/232168686
@angelfruittree asked about john's exes in ex bff older bro verse so here is the first one 🙂↕️
High school: Kristen P.
As soon as the door shuts, Joni announces, "I don't like her."
"Jones," John hisses. He kneels on the sofa and pokes a finger through the blinds just to make sure Kirsten is still walking down the driveway, oblivious to the sullen barely ten-year-old with no filter or volume control. "Can you chill out?"
"I'm just saying. I'm just being honest with you," Joni sniffs, because she's at the perfect age to conflate honesty with maturity. "She treats me like I'm invisible and she treats you like a dog. A butler dog."
"She doesn't have any experience with worms like you," John counters. He rights himself, slumping against the cushions, and bats away the ankle that swings toward him. "She's an only child and her parents are like—I don't know, they're estranged from the rest of their family so she doesn't have little cousins or anything like that either."
"But she's met other humans before, right?"
"What the hell do you know?" John shoots back. "You're ten."
"I still have eyeballs. I have ears. I don't like her," Joni says again, and then she punches up the volume on the TV and stares at Adventure Time, not even laughing when Finn puts a videotape into BMO's butt.
John chews on his lip, considering the fruity taste of lip balm that Kristen had left behind. She's probably the hottest girl to ever have set their sights on him—green eyes, a freckled face, stick straight blonde hair that she ties back into a high pony during cross-country practice. John finishes soccer around the same time and ever since he got his license, he's been driving her to their house afterward just to hang out for a bit. In addition to being hot, Kristen is athletic, popular, and only lives three blocks away. She's exactly the type of person John should date.
He swipes away the rest of the balm over the back of his hand. "But she wasn't mean to you, right?"
After a pause, Joni says, "No," like it hurts her not to lie about it.
"I mean, that's what matters."
"Maybe to you. Not to me." She slides over a condescending gaze. "You have a hickey on your neck."
"How do you even—" John pulls his t-shirt collar lopsided to hide it. "You shouldn't know what a hickey is. Stop learning stuff."
Joni scoffs, so he leaves her to her mood and grabs a hoodie from his room, bunching it securely around his collarbones. "She doesn't treat me like a dog," he says in passing, walking into the kitchen where he finds that last night's chicken has marinated nicely. He dumps the whole thing onto a tray and gets the oven going and tosses some broccoli into the air fryer before poking his head back around the wall.
"I said she doesn't treat me like a dog," he repeats.
"Okay," Joni says.
A few choice words run through his brain, but out loud he says, "Finish your homework before dinner."
"I already did it all at the library."
"Then set the table," he orders, opening the cupboard and expectantly holding out three plates. By the time Joni slinks off the couch, his arm is aching from the effort. "You guys are eating at least four pieces of broccoli each, alright?"
"Broccoli sucks," Joni mutters.
"It's good for you," John says, even though he also hates broccoli. His personal tastes have long since been put aside in favor of leading by example or whatever, but it's a fight either way. At least Gale's presence makes it easier—he never complains about anything and seems to hold more influence over Joni than John ever did.
There's a thump at the front of the house, followed by a polite double-knock. Joni grabs a fistful of silverware and dumps it in a pile by the plates. "We're gonna be outside," she hollers, already running toward the door.
"Nothing illegal!" John yells. "And stay out of the street!"
The only response he gets is the door opening and slamming again, and then it's quiet, just the buzz of the oven to keep him company. He unloads the dishwasher and arranges the silverware into proper places, humming nonsense to himself the whole time. When he checks his phone, Kristen has texted him a selfie in front of her house, holding up a peace sign by her duck lips.
Pick me up tomorrow morning?
Of course
:) Starbucks?
Venti frappuccino in 12 hours, he types, smiling at his phone like an idiot. It fades a little when he looks over the text string. It's not—he's not a dog. At all. This is just what a boyfriend is supposed to do. Obviously Joni just doesn't know that yet. She'll probably be bossing her own boyfriend around at his age and deny that their conversation had ever even happened.
<3 see you soon
John sends a <3 back and slides the phone into his hoodie pocket.
First time watching Masters of the Air is to be injected with yaoi toxins second one is for character analysis third one is about the Concepts and fourth one is to locate when exactly Gale was ovulating to determine at which point he went to the red cross and asked for an abortion
If we’re going down this route (rubbing my hands together) I’d say it happens a day or two after they get back from Algeria, when the grief finally catch up with them. They take solace in each other's presence, and John completely forgets about precautions. Gale doesn’t forget, but he's in a mindset where he just wants to ignore the consequences and risk it all. Soon after he gets shot down and finds out he’s pregnant in the camp. I haven’t decided if he’s going to keep it. I like the idea that it’s not the Krauts’ say whether he terminates it or not (Geneva Conventions and all). What might be more devastating is if Gale demands an abortion, only to discover after the war that due to the irregular unsanitary procedure, he’s left unable to conceive again. He may not tell john what’s happened.
We most definitely are going down this route I'm putting on my most comfortable shoes to walk down this route. One might even say I have taken permanent residence on this side of the route.
Post-Algeria is one of my favourites What Ifs, too. It works extremely well in-context, and it allows for the most terrible things to happen which are usually the best things to make Gale go through. Thinking about infertility (natural or inflicted) re: Gale always makes me happy, it's like OK I might not be a Woman (the perfect Mother) but I am able to bear Bucky's children until he isn't and what is his purpose then? #SMILE John thinking it's his fault (too much alcohol?) vs Gale hiding this part of him making them fight & argue...
I'm also partial to them having unprotected sex after Gale's first flight in Europe: he's not in the right headspace & he feels responsible for what happened but also he feels like Bucky has lied to him. Gale is frustrated, scared, he's angry! Bucky himself has barely had enough time to wrap his mind around what they're doing and what's happening and what's worse is that he was worried about Gale, but he didn't have the words to explain, what kind of Leader would he be if he crumbled under the smallest amount of pressure? Gale sees the state Bucky's got himself twisted into & offers the most visceral kind of comfort... and then he's nauseous, thinks he's got the same kind of bug Bubbles got, except it lasts longer, his senses have gone haywire. And maybe he doesn't ask for the abortion but it's the only thing to be done after Bremen (either him or the child) #pondering.
Another thing I'd enjoy would be a pre-canon hook up, Bucky unable to keep it in his pants, Gale has just left his most noble household of Abuse & Despair and makes the singular Wrong Decision that leads him to choose between keeping the child or staying in the army leading to some sort of unresolved tension that makes Buck pivot back to what he knew (i.e. abstinence till he dies) and almost leading John on because he thought they had a chance 💔 the beautiful start of John's histrionics.
First time watching Masters of the Air is to be injected with yaoi toxins second one is for character analysis third one is about the Concepts and fourth one is to locate when exactly Gale was ovulating to determine at which point he went to the red cross and asked for an abortion
kianamaiart
pixelskylines
kaledo-art
stormborns
areudirty
