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i would go to a ball with you too leckie i swear

#hboww2rewatch #the pacific

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my baby boy!!!! like did he walk off tsn to start filming this show???? rahhhhh

#eugene sledge #hboww2rewatch #the pacfic

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'a year from tonight' im crying for you actually baby im so sorry

#hboww2rewatch

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'may-lay peninsula': look guys thats my representation!!!

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jon bernthal's in this one???

ww2 shows and their like orchestral intros it gets me it really does i cant lie

JOE ???? FUCKIN JOE???

#hboww2rewatch #the pacific

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rip princess gone too soon

#qqq #house md

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KUTNER MOMENT KUTNER MOMENT him and the death cat mmmmmm foreshadowing

#qqq #house

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the way the house writers wrote in kutner’s death is still so fucking funny to me. kal penn went to work for obama and instead of having literally any normal reaction the writers went “let’s kill him”

#qqq

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Decomposition

#qqq #nge

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platforming palestinian joy is just as important as sharing the suffering they're enduring during this genocide. despite continued displacement and bombardment, you cannot steal their joy and spirit. happy birthday to this sweet baby 🖤🇵🇸 may they grow up to see a free palestine

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HOGWARTS MOTA AU!

I may not be a writter, but I edit sometimes, so I made this to prove my point.

#britbrocedes #the mind you have.... #clegan #au #mota

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noticing the days hurrying by when you're in love, my how they fly — for @pirateaangel

#mota #absolutely breathtaking #realest shit #best gif set ever maybe #clegan

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our doubts are traitors (m4m extra!)

Gale is intimately familiar with how Bucky looks asleep.

They were bunkmates back in basic training. Bucky took the bottom bunk, so the sounds of him flopping onto the bed and his snoring became commonplace. It was as casual to him as a CO shouting at the squadron or the dishwater they pawned off as coffee there.

Gale leans on the doorframe.

The lights are off, but moonlight streams into the room through the window. It paints him blue, and his mouth hangs open. His curls have escaped their pomade prison. The wrinkles and the hardness on his forehead have smoothed out.

Does he dream like Gale does?

Does his face ever contort in a scream that shakes the house? Does he feel the blood and dirt on his face? Does he hear gunshots by his ear, as if a Kraut is right by his bed?

Bucky shifts in his sleep.

The beds back in the Stalag were miniscule for Gale, and certainly for the taller man currently asleep. A limb or two of his would usually hang off the bed by morning. He remembers a night earlier in the week and the image that seemed to be a weekly occurence back in Basic: Bucky slung over Gale's shoulder, and Gale having to make sure he would not veer the man off the road with how much he was carrying.

Everyone must have thought that he was miserable as he played babysitter. But they never saw how much of the nights at bars were for his benefit. He always knew when Gale was feeling the most like shutting himself off, and used those nights to break out a new song or dance at the club.

"Feeling better, Cleven?" He would ask later that night, patting at his cheek.

He would shake his head, and reply back something inane. "Would be better not lugging dead weight."

Bucky would howl with laughter into the night, and he would hold onto the drunkard tighter.

Gale walks into the room. He ignores sitting on the bed, in favour of squatting in front of his bed. He smooths back his hair on his forehead. It was a tic he developed in the camp as a way to check for a fever.

He remembers every single daydream Bucky offered him in the early days of the camp. Before he started turning inwards, there were moments where he would sit with Gale and tell him everything he wanted to do and bring Gale around for.

We could see a Yankees game, and you would enjoy it! You would! I can bring you home, and I'll show you this lake, don't know if you've heard it-- We could see Lady Liberty, do you think they'd give us a medal for protecting her against Jerry fire?

Gale sighs. He thought of those more often then he wanted to admit. Yes, he wanted to kiss Marge and see his father's grave again, but those images of him and Bucky going around the states got him through cold and crazy nights. They would have been free from statutes or commands, just the two of them with the world behind them.

The nights when they would hear gunshots through the night, or after days where he was so sure Bucky would provoke a guard a bit too much, he kept thinking of how Bucky would look like driving on the open road.

He would have the brightest smile, and without his cap, his curls would blow with the wind. His eyes would be bright and full of life. He would get a tan, obviously, and his pale neck would look sun-kissed. Beads of sweat under the hot sun would trace his sharp cheekbones, but he would still look as comfortable as possible. The air would feel amazing then, his laughter lingering in it.

He closes his eyes, and his most recent nightmare comes back to him. Bucky, his neck torn with a bullet. Bucky, with his eyes losing their spark. Bucky, whose mouth would move but no melodious word coming out. Gale's hands covered with blood. Gale's hands counting, counting, until there were no beats left to count.

He leans forward, and lays his head in Bucky's neck. He breaths in his scent, sweat and cigarettes and his own soap. He presses his head in and turns, and he feels more than hears the breath on his face. Alive, alive, alive. He pulls back a little bit so that he doesn't touch anything, but he lets himself count the times he inhales.

He always sneaks out to smoke, which Marge appreciates. Gale always watches him leave, and wonders if this will be the night he would join him outside. He loves listening to the radio with Marge, and reading in their bed with her. There's a peace in it that he has not had in his grasp since the war started.

But hearing Bucky ramble on, nicotine heavy on his breath and his voice deep and passionate, was something Gale will never be willing to pass up on. He had gone so long with Bucky beside him, and then he had him torn away again, and had him back in the worst way, and now after so much worry, he was here.

Marge is his wife, but Bucky will be the one who knows him best.

He should go back to his bedroom. He should pull back the cover, slip in beside his wife and give her a kiss on the cheek. He will.

But he stays just a little longer.

(minnie just wanted to stare at callum turner's face hehe)

#the enxt chapter will be SO FUN #like #im so excited and so scared #m4m #mota #masters of the air #clegan #buck x bucky #mota fic #john bucky egan #john egan #gale buck cleven #gale cleven #bye guys see u next weekend

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you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

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#hearts

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i feel like if i kissed him on the cheek he would go like "kya!! w-w-what was that for uwu!" and then go on like nothing happened

.

#yeah

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“a community without romance risks being brutish and crass, superficial and brittle, cruel and even muderous. . . i don’t mean just romantic romance. i don’t just mean erotic romance. . . i mean the romance that allows us to soften our voices when we see each other.”

maya angelou, 1998