Just a quick post to thank u all for over 100 followers 🥹 it has been a while since i’ve been active in a fandom like mota and i’ve had such a fun beautiful time everyone is so lovely and talented and im super grateful for this little community ❤️
To celebrate here’s a master post of all my writings (which aren’t many lol) just in case anyone wants to check em out!!
What else should I be? (All apologies) ~ Gale’s guilt about leaving John behind manifests as a nightmare and John comforts him
From this moment on I’ll be crying ~ John has a complicated relationship with Gale crying
Walls keep breaking ~ John loses it a bit when he’s away from Gale (part of a series)
WIPs (you can read drabbles/snippets under #wip snippets tag)
Babe can I call? (coming soon!) ~ 5 times John calls Gale in the middle of the night and one time Gale does instead
I saw you in a dream (coming soon!) ~ Gale without John
(Will update as we go)
Also pls follow my back up cause i rlly don’t wanna lose the nice ppl i have on here! I post there too :)
@heretoobsessoverstuff is my other blog | hyperfixated on mota atm| also into starwars, xmen, tlou
No hang on get back here @jakes3resin we gotta talk.
I do in fact think they think the worst because of how careful Harry broached the subject and how gentle his tone was. When Harry asked "he's okay though, right" I think he's thinking of the angry ghost of a man he last saw going to Münster, not the bright and solid man he's known for months. So Harry is worried bc he's seen Bucky without Buck.
If I were Harry and Rosie, I'd take one look at that brave attempt of a reassuring smile, and will try to believe him too.
It's just how reverent Buck is, how he says "of course he's okay when isn't he?" while very clearly holding back every emotion he's ever felt, and how it looks like Rosie is one second away from hugging Buck as Croz tries to gently talk out Buck's emotions.
They've seen one side of widowed Clegan, and now they're seeing the other slightly worse side because at least John knew/was told Buck was dead when he went flying. There was no hope or fear of what could be happening right now to this man's soulmate. But with Buck, there has to be hope, and if there's no hope, that means Buck has lost it.
Croz and Rosie had to have had some sort of silent conversation that went 'if anyone dares say Major Egan is dead we need to make sure to shut that shit down as quickly as possible'
Also! Just watch how Rosie stands further away at the beginning as if giving Buck some privacy? He only moves closer once Buck starts having his moment with the lucky deuce. Rosie please I love you.
didn't make this gif for a set or anything i just like to keep it in my pocket and pull it out for serotonin like a war widow with her dead lover's face in a heart shaped locket #scarfdiva
Ahhhhh im so happy u tagged me @valstarsandgalaxies thank u so muchhhh 🥹🫶🏻
Here’s a little piece of the “babe can I call?” WIP i wrote recently (a 5+1 fic, 5 times John call Gale in the middle of the night and one time Gale does instead!)
“Gale,” he breathes, relief flooding him at the sound of that familiar voice. He hears Gale shuffle before he speaks again.
“John? Is that you?”
John took a shaky breath, trying to drown in that voice, willing it to pull the fear from his body. His hand shook as he gripped the phone like a lifeline.
“Are you drunk again?” Gale sighed, his voice heavy with sleep. John felt floaty, dread sitting at the pit of his stomach as he tried to calm his breathing. He felt desperate to make sure Gale is okay. That he’s alive. That he’s still here. He jumped to answer.
“No—not drunk. Gale, I—”
“John? What’s the matter? Where are you?” Gale interrupts, urgency threading through his words.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
“Nothing. I’m home. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have called.”
“Are you okay? You’re kind of freaking me out right now.”
Gale sounded concerned—panicked, even, his voice rising in pitch. John took another deep breath, fighting to steady himself.
“I just-just need to hear your voice.”
His eyes burnt with tears, so he closed them, feeling the weight of the night press down on him.
“Did something happen?” Gale’s worry is palpable, and John shook his head even though Gale couldn’t see him, exhaling deeply as the lump in his throat threatened to choke him.
“No. Just wanted to know-needed to know you’re there.” The words were finally out and he felt his stomach clench with anxiety. As if he was expecting Gale to say he wasn’t okay and that he was dead and that these past months of leaving England and flying back home were all a dream. That Bucky was still in Stalag, without Gale, counting the days until something happened and ridded him of this misery-
“I’m here, John,” Gale says softly, voice gentle, cutting through the chaos like a knife.
“You’re okay,” John says shakily.
“Yeah, I’m all in one piece.” A pause. “As okay as I ever was, Bucky.”
Ahhhhh this is going slow but im rlly excited to share snippets 🤭 absolutely no pressure tagging @amiserableseriesofevents @happy-days19 @onyxsboxes @joeyalohadream i’m rlly sorry if you’ve done it already ❤️❤️
So I had a burst of inspiration at 2 am last night and whipped this out in 2 hours!! Here’s a little Drabble:
Summary:
“Hey, look at me. You alright?” Gale pressed, moving closer, standing between his legs and cupping his face in his hands. He went to nod, but the gesture turned into a shake. When he opened his eyes, he found Gale gazing at him with shiny, concerned eyes.
“No,” he finally managed, hot tears streaming down his cheeks despite his efforts to hold them back.
Or Post-war, Gale has been sent to another base in another city for a few months and John is not dealing well with his absence. It all comes to a head when one of John’s trainees almost crashes.
You can also read it on ao3 here
John was pissed. God why the fuck had he done that for? He couldn't shake the image of that near crash; it felt like a ghost haunting him, dredging up memories he'd fought too damn hard to keep within. Triggering a sense of fear he hadn't felt this vividly since the war. The chaos of training had been too much, inevitably pushing him to the edge; before he knew it, he was confronting the director, words cold and sharp, which had earned him a clear-cut punch to the jaw. The new recruits were struggling, and it felt like he was the only one who cared enough to say something. But he had definitely taken things too far, and now he was nursing a bruised ego as well.
“I think you should go home,” Demarco said grimly when they got back to the offices. John shook his head. He needed a mirror to inspect the damage that was done. Maybe a smoke too, perhaps with a glass of scotch.
“What makes you think I can’t handle a few punches?” John spat. Even though he was going for sarcasm, he sounded miserable. Benny looked at him like he was looking at a wounded horse who’s about to be put out of his misery, pity written all over his face.
“Don’t look at me like that” John glared at Benny, walking over to his desk to get a smoke.
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Benny said, shaking his head.
“You are” John bit back, taking a whiff of the smoke.
“And how is it that I’m looking at you?”
“With pity” He said, a bit louder than he intended to. A few officers turned their heads to look at
him. He closed his eyes, exhaling audibly. When he opened them he saw Benny walking over to him, eyes narrowed in frustration and sadness.
“There we go again” John sighed, leaning against the desk.
“I don’t want your damn-“
“Quit being an asshole” Benny said, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. His hand lingered there. He grabbed his cigarette and took a whiff , blowing it on John’s face.
“You took some punches today. I know you can take it. But damn it! you don’t have to act like you’re made of Steele. Go home, take a shower, get something to eat, other than scotch. Get some sleep and come back tomorrow” He said. Tapping him on the shoulder. John went to protest but Benny beat him to it.
“Listen. Tonight was fucking rough, I get it. Just go home, get some rest, maybe get laid. I don’t know man blow off the steam and we’ll deal with everything tomorrow okay?”
John wanted to protest. Wanted to yell at Benny that he safety net was gone because Gale wasn’t here and he couldn’t get fucking laid or blow off steam. Instead all that came out was a choked sound, something between a laugh and a sigh. It was miserable and embarrassing. Benny was looking at him with soft eyes and John hated it. He needed to get the hell out of there.
“Okay” John got out. Clearing his throat. He needed to leave before he embarrassed himself more.
“Finally! He agrees to something” Benny declared to the whole room, earning a few huffs of laughter.
John grabbed his coat from the chair and picked his keys. Benny was still looking at him with that weird look that John couldn’t read. Concern? Tinted with a hint of -mirth? A small smile was starting to form on his lips and John shook his head in disbelief. What the hell was he on?
“What the hell are you smiling about? This happy to get rid of me?” John shot but his tone lacked the bite and was more amused than annoyed. Benny shrugged.
“Maybe. ? Just- Go home, Bucky” He said. Winking at him and leaving before John could say anything.
Benny was ridiculous. If his knuckles didn’t hurt so much he would’ve punched him in the face.
~ ~ ~
The drive home was a blur, the adrenaline from the day seeping out of him, leaving him drained. He barely registered the moment he pulled into his driveway.
Home. He let out a bitter laugh. Benny had been insistent that he go home, but what did home mean for John anymore? A cold bed with dirty sheets he hadn’t changed in months? An empty fridge with two cans of expired tomato sauce and a few beers? A constant reminder of Gale not being there? The creeping realization that he was becoming a borderline alcoholic? That he was losing it more and more day by day?
He unlocked the door and stepped inside, immediately noticing the kitchen light on. A dim glow from the living room illuminated the space, too. He hadn’t turned on that light in ages. He closed the door gingerly, tiptoeing toward the kitchen, heart racing. Months of being a prisoner of war in nazi Germany had made him a little paranoid and he couldn’t go anywhere without his little hand gun these days. He pulled it out just in case.
“Who’s there?” he called, trying to sound firm, though his voice betrayed a slight tremor.
“It’s me, John,” came a voice from the back. He jumped, spinning around so fast he nearly got whiplash. Was he hallucinating? Had he really lost it this time?
“God, you and your soldier senses. Can’t even surprise you anymore,” Gale said, smiling just a little. He was standing there, hair messy and falling into his forehead, faint dark shadows under his eyes like he was tired, probably because he had driven over 10 hours to get there. Still, he was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen. He gulped, feeling suddenly parched.
“What are you doing here?” was all he could manage to say, caught between disbelief and relief. He had dreamed of this moment so many times, to have Gale within arm’s reach, to be able to hold him close whenever he wanted to. To look into his eyes when he spoke and not stare at the wall in front of the phone table. But now that he was actually here, he was speechless, feet rooted to place.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Gale smiled warmly, stepping closer as he eyed the gun.
“Are you still debating whether you should shoot me or not?” he teased, his grin disarming him. He holstered his gun, heart racing in a different way now.
“When did you get here?” A lump was forming in his throat, ridiculous as it felt.
“Just about an hour ago. I told Benny I was coming, and he promised to send you home as soon as possible.” So that’s why Benny had been looking at him like a fool. John bit his lip, attempting a smile. This was overwhelming; his mind was racing, a dull throb beginning in his temples.
Sensing his nerves, Gale frowned, moving closer and grabbing his hand gently, voice soft as he spoke. “I’m sorry I scared you, darling. I just wanted to surprise you.” Concern flickered in his eyes when John said nothing, his thumb drawing small soothing circles on his knuckle. Hearing the sound of Gale’s voice in person and not over a rickety phone, deep and warm and familiar, made his knees feel weak. Exhaustion washed over him.
“No, it’s alright. I’m just... wow. I can’t believe you’re here.” The lump in his throat grew heavier. He needed to sit down.
“I... I just need to sit,” he said, a hint of desperation creeping in. He took two steps to the kitchen chair and sank down with a heavy thump. Gale watched him closely, his expression shifting from worried to shocked when he saw the beginnings of the bruises blooming on his face.
“God, John what the hell happened? Are you okay?” he asked, his hand reaching up to trace where he’d been punched. The gentle touch felt almost too cautious, as if he was afraid of breaking him. John nodded, closing his eyes against the burning behind his eyelids, as Gale inspected his face, the tightness in his throat was suffocating.
“Hey, look at me. You alright?” Gale pressed, moving closer, standing between his legs and cupping his face in his hands. John went to nod, but the gesture turned into a shake instead. When he opened his eyes, he found Gale gazing at him with shiny, concerned eyes.
“No,” he finally managed, hot tears rolling down his cheeks before he could do anything to stop them.
“I’m not,” he choked out, the words more a whimper than a statement. Gale moved quickly, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a hug. John buried his face in his blouse, breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave, he couldn’t help the quiet sobs that escaped him as he was wrapped up in Gale. His body finally letting go of all the tension he’d kept in the past few months.
“Shhh, I got you. What’s got you this worked up, darling?” Gale whispered, holding him tighter, running his fingers through his hair, which was likely gross and sweaty. John wrapped his arms around his waist, clinging to him like a lifeline.
“Missed you” He croaked, voice muffled against Gale’s sternum. Gale held him against his chest, kissing the top of his head.
“I’m here now. You’re alright.” He murmured, and John nodded against him, feeling the crushing weight of these past months begin to lift just a little. Gale was here, and maybe—just maybe—he would be okay.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Masters of the Air (TV 2024)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Gale "Buck" Cleven/John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, Gale "Buck" Cleven & John Clarence "Bucky" Egan
Characters: Gale "Buck" Cleven, John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, brief mentions of Curt and Hambone
Additional Tags: Gale and Bucky thtough the years, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Men Crying, Gale is repressed, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gale "Buck" Cleven Needs a Hug, John Clarence "Bucky" Egan Needs a Hug, they both need hugs, Gale "Buck" Cleven Loves John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, Mentions of Character Death, But no one dies, Love Confessions, Prisoner of War, Not Beta Read, im sorry
Summary:
It felt surreal to witness this. To witness Gale crying. Crying over him. Years of wondering what would make Gale break and in the end, it had been him. I thought I lost you too , he thought, but he had told Gale that already. it feels like a privilege to feel your tears on my hands. He remained silent. Gale obviously thought Bucky was asleep so he refused to interrupt Gale’s private moment with useless words. He didn’t want Gale to put his mask back and have to pretend he’s fine for Bucky’s sake, so he just kept his eyes closed and tried to keep his breathing steady. He kept his grip on Gale’s fingers strong, though. His thumb rubbed soothing circles on his knuckle as sleep and fever swallowed him again. If Gale noticed it, he never said anything about it and that was that.
Or through the years, Bucky has developed a complicated relationship with Gale crying.
Soooo I have a WIP i’ve been writing for a little while in which Gale is emotionally repressed and Bucky has a complicated relationship with him crying. Here’s a snippet:
The first time Bucky ever saw Gale cry, truly cry, was when they were in Stalag. Gale was there when the gates opened and he walked in. He held Bucky up as he wavered on his feet, arms wrapping around his waist and bearing most of his weight as he walked him to the cots. Bucky felt strong tremors running through Gale’s body as they moved in sync. They had barely said a word to each other but Bucky couldn’t think of anything to say that would convey what he was feeling then. He couldn’t look away from Gale as he walked down the narrow hallway and helped deposit Bucky on the chair gently. That whole afternoon had been a blur of pain, exhaustion and Gale. He hadn’t manage to look away from Gale for a single second. Eyes following his every move as he fussed over Bucky and wet a cloth to rub at his face gently. Gale remained calm and collected. Threw Bucky gentle smiles and held him tightly when they hugged. Bucky saw his eyes fill with water multiple times as he told him about what he had gone through but no tears fell. He had held it together with strength, wiped Bucky’s own tears away and assured him he’ll be okay and that they’re gonna make it out. He sat beside him all night, waking him up periodically to make sure he was still alive. Laid wet cloths on his forehead as he fought the fever. Hand never leaving Bucky’s own.
During the second night, when Bucky was barely lucid with fever, he had opened his eyes to see Gale with his head resting where he was holding Bucky’s hand in his own. “You got to fight this John” Gale whispered into their linked fingers. “Thought I lost you once. Can’t do it again” Bucky was about to turn and tell him he’s alright and that Gale needs to go to bed because his back was going to kill him in the morning with the way he was crouching like that. But he fell silent in shock as he felt moisture on his knuckles. Gale was crying silently against his hand. His breathes left him in quiet huffs as he held on to Bucky. Tears falling drop by drop. Bucky felt helpless as he squeezed his eyes shut. Felt his own eyes burning as the wave of emotions hit him like a freight train. It felt surreal to witness this. To witness Gale crying. Crying over him. Years of wondering what would make Gale break and in the end, it had been him. It filled him with shameful hope. Hope that maybe what Gale felt for him was more than just a friendship. I thought I lost you too. He thought but he had told Gale that already it feels like a privilege to feel your tears on my hands. He remained silent. Gale obviously thought Bucky is asleep so he refused to interrupt Gale’s private moment with useless words. He didn’t want Gale to put on that mask back on have to pretend he’s fine for Bucky’s sake so he just pretended to sleep. He kept his grip on Gale’s fingers strong, though. His thumb rubbed soothing circles on his knuckle as sleep and fever swallowed him again. If Gale noticed it, he never said anything about it and that was that.
Thank u sm for the tag @joeyalohadream ❤️ First time doing this hehehe
Here’s another snippet from the WIP i shared a few days ago in which Bucky has a complicated relationship with Gale crying.
Then came October and Gale got shut down. Gone like he never existed in the first place. Bucky had never known grief until then. He felt as if every flicker of sadness he had ever felt in his life up until this point had been child’s play. The first day he learned of Gale’s supposed death, he didn’t shed a single tear. He felt numb. Like the enormity of his emotions couldn’t be contained by a single human heart so his body had decided to just stop feeling all together. If someone put a gun to his head and asked him to tell them how he got back to the base from London, whether he got on a train or a bus, whether he went to gather his few belongings from his hotel room after he made that call, whether he had anything to eat that whole day, he still wouldn’t be able to recall. That whole trip felt like a blur. A blur of blinding disbelief. He refused to believe it to be true. Refused to accept it. He’s probably just MIA. He probably just landed somewhere in the countryside. Maybe he made it over to friendly soil. He’s probably looking for a phone or something to call back and let them know he’s alive. No-engine Cleven isn’t just any old pilot. He wouldn’t just die like that. Wouldn’t just leave me behind like that. There’s still so much for them to do. So much to say.
When he got to the base, devastation and hope were playing a vicious tug of war in his stomach. He jumped off the jeep before it had fully stopped and ran all the way to Red’s office to ask about Gale. He knew immediately when he stepped foot inside the building, when everyone’s eyes fell on him, narrowed in pity and sadness, that Gale had not survived. That he was truly gone.
ABSOLUTELY NO PRESSURE tag @onyxsboxes @hogans-heroes @alienoresimagines @magneticghouls u might’ve done it already ❤️
A Wing and a Prayer, Harry Crosby // Masters of the Air, Donald Miller // 100th Bomb Group Foundation, Gale Cleven // Masters of the Air, Donald Miller // A Wing and a Prayer, Harry Crosby // Making of Masters of the Air, Callum Turner // A Wing and a Prayer, Harry Crosby // A Wing and a Prayer, Harry Crosby // 100th Bomb Group Foundation
It’s 6:30 am and I’m thinking about omega Gale… can we get a snippet, or some hc about him? 🫣
*looking down in submission*
Also a: Last Line Tag
tagged by @sleepr-agent420 tysm!!
thought i’d double these up,, if @soliloquy-dawn asks then she shall receive <3 omega gale is...not having a very good time. a little pre-heat, anyone?
Gale whimpers at the door like that’ll bring him back. It doesn’t. He throws the covers off his body, warm, working at the drawstring of his sleep pants with fumbling fingers. He gets them halfway down his thighs before giving up, needing to satisfy that itch deep inside, one that’ll only get stronger every day he doesn’t have his suppressants.
Gale flips himself over. Plants his chest against the mattress, wincing as the swollen peaks of his nipples catch against his t-shirt. He takes his cock in hand, already wet, biting into the meat of his forearm to keep his voice down. He can smell alphas outside the room. They can probably smell him back.
He doesn’t care.
