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jointherebellion215 · 1 month

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Birdie

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"

A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)

You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!

Songs Mentioned in This Fic:

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters

G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer

The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.

Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.

Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.

You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.

It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly.

All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.

Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.

“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”

Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.

Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.

“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”

Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.

An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.

“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.

You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.

“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”

They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.

“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.

“He brings you coffee every morning.”

“I thought he does that for everyone.”

“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”

“He takes care of his appearance!”

“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”

“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”

“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”

“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”

“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”

“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”

“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”

“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”

“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”

That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.

“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.

“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.

“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?”

You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.

“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.

Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands.

“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.” You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.

Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.”

“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.

“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”

You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely.

“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”

You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.

One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her.

The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.

One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.

Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,

“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”

She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her.

“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”

“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd.

“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”

The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you.

The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.

You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.

Meanwhile….

Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.

“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”

Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.”

As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?

A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over.

Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.

DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”

“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.

His little Birdie.

“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.

When I’m pure like a dove

When I’ve learned how to love

He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.

As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love”

It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.

John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.

Then the world starts back up and carries on.

Right here in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base.

The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.

Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred.

Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.

“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.

His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.

Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.

“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”

Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.

His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.

“She kinda snuck up on me.”

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forasecondtherewedwon · 1 month

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Masters of the Air - "Part Two"

6/?

(yeah, I'm still making these. no, I'm not making them in order.)

#Second's MotA edit #MotA #Masters of the Air #John 'Bucky' Egan #Curtis Biddick #James Douglass #Howard 'Hambone' Hamilton #Frank Murphy #Harry Crosby #Jack Kidd #Neil 'Chick' Harding #Joseph 'Bubbles' Payne #Gale 'Buck' Cleven #Bucky x Buck #Ken Lemmons #John J. 'Winks' Herrmann #Helen (Masters of the Air)

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sleepy-hyperfixations · 10 days

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this took.....longer than i care to admit but mota meme

#masters of the air #mota #buck x bucky #clegan #buckbucky #gale cleven #john egan #curt biddick #harry crosby #joseph bubbles payne #james douglass #i wanted to add everyone but ran outta space 🥲

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xxanaduwrites · 23 days

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much ado about nothing, major

i. bubbles & battle scars

gif creds @sakuragifs !

pairing: john “bucky” egan x (ofc) maude “blue” bluell

warnings: this story will contain mature themes, descriptions of injury, blood, sexual content, swearing, as well as, physical and mental illness. proceed with caution.

— i: mentions of injury, death, & puking. (pretty much just maude, bubbles, & croz being a dynamic trio, total bestie vibes — & then there’s john. he’s just there haha)

word count: 3.4k

there must be something or nothing at all

July 24, 1943 was the date — a date marked in the history books as the start of the Hamburg attacks, and in the journal of Nurse Maude Bluell, an inclusion of her very first introduction to one Major John Egan.

It was just past 0900 hours when the doors swung open to the infirmary rather unexpectedly. Bluell was organizing a new shipment of supplies, placing gauze, bandages, and wraps alike in their respective places, Lottie wa re-evaluating the health passes for the men who were flying today — confirming that they has passed inspection so to speak, and Q — well Q was reading newspaper cutouts of her favorite gossip columns, courtesy of her girlfriends back home. A red cherry sucker laid limply in her mouth as she took in the recent excepades of the Hollywood starlets she fawned over.

For Q, it was better for her to dive her nose into the latest gossip than worry about a certain Lieutenant she had tethered a liking too. A certain Lieutenant Curtis Biddick — "Curt" for short — who was scheduled to fly today. Q would deny the prospect of liking the New Yorker with the heavy accent, but it wasn't deniable to Lottie and Maude who had seen the Lieutenant saunter in every morning just to talk to her at the nurse's station. He used the need for a sucker to subside his "apparent" drops in blood sugar as his excuse of choice.

Lottie reprimanded her every time, claiming that they were only for the patients, not for the healthy airmen — hiding the sugary sweet lollipops from her colleague.

But, Lottie's attempts proved to be fruitless as Q would find them at every turn in every single hiding spot, opening a sucker of her own just to push Lottie's buttons.

And, she was doing that just now — not just to bother the blonde, but to also hold some sort of reminder of Biddick, that he was here with her as much as she was there with him — the cherry red sucker that mirrored the very same shade of her hair — tucked safely in the pocket of his flight uniform for a victory treat.

Alas — in other words — there wasn't much to do until their men came flooding back in waves.

Until there was.

The sound of a door swinging open broke the dead silence that pervaded the medical unit. The three women immediately dropped everything they were doing once they saw the sight of Colonel Harding sauntering in with Lieutenant Payne following suit — under the haven of a thick blanket, accompanied by the the arm of one of his fellow airmen.

Or well — Maude and Lottie did.

Susan was trying to consume the last line of the article in front of her as fast as she could. She didn't want to be left wondering what Bettie Davis was doing nowadays in the middle of assessing what was to come.

Lottie, being under the wing of Doctor Stover longer than the two nurses beside her, did not hesitate to meet Harding half way. "Good morning, Colonel'' she greeted, pressing her clip board of names close to her chest as a means of suppressing the shock of it all. It was rather unusual to see any of the airmen, let alone the Colonel until the conclusion of a mission, especially when every health pass had been confirmed and processed.

"Morning. Ladies," Harding replied to the three nurses present respectfully as he always did, curt, and to the point. "Lieutenant Payne is coming down with something and will no longer be navigating today's mission," he explained. "You ladies mind checking up on him?"

"Oh not at all, sir!" Lottie chirped, setting her clipboard down and immediately swinging into action. She nodded over at her colleagues, urging them to take the clearly pale and ill Lieutenant from the hold of the corporal present.

It didn't take long for Bluell and Q to get the Lieutenant situated and comfortable in a bed with brand new sheets — pressed and floral scented. Maude felt lucky and rather grateful that they had completed that task in time for such a situation to occur. Q was still quite busy with her cherry sucker while simultaneously taking the man's blood pressure, so Bluell decided to do the evaluating — not that she minded anyways. It was refreshing to see a man in front of her who wasn't bleeding out and barely coherent. She could already tell without really knowing that Payne would be just fine. That she wouldn't be losing another one of their men just yet, and that made the weight in her chest subside with the sweetest relief.

"Lieutenant Payne," Maude enunciated carefully, smiling fondly at the poor man in front of her. It was obvious from the sight in front of her that illness had racked his bones. The color was draining from his skin, a dull gray taking over, a line of sweat was creasing his brow, and his eyes drooped heavily doused with a glossy sheen. "Please, if you could tell me what seems to be going on. How are you feeling?"

"Well, quite shitty," he laughed dryly, yet a smile still managed to grace his features and prove to be rather contagious to Maude's expression in seconds flat. "I was fine. I mean, I thought I was. 'Twas until I was propped up ready to fly, feeling like I could hurl if I even moved a muscle. Major Egan shut that down real quick though. Got me a sub with Croz."

And there it was, a title attached to the name of a man Maude Bluell would have scorched into the back of her mind soon enough. Yet, now – now in that very moment, her unfamiliarity with that very same man would simply fly over her head. Instead, she would find a tying point to her patient in the traces of his explanation, one that made her eyes light up in genuine interest. "Lieutenant Crosby?" She asked while dropping the back of her hand to Payne's forehead, inspecting the extent of his temperature."

"Yuh-huh," he nodded

At the same time as Q announced "one-nineteen over seventy," but it really sounded like, "nun-eye-dee ova even-yee," with that sucker still tucked dedicatedly in her mouth.

Maude's hand dropped from Payne's forehead then, seeming pleased to know that he wasn't burning up as bad as she expected – definitely warm but more mildly speaking – and his blood pressure was relatively normal. The wheels were already turning in her head, coming to the conclusion that he merely had some sort of bug. But, she couldn't really come to one until Doctor Stover came to access the man himself.

"Lemme guess," Payne began, getting Maude's attention after she instructed Q to get the Lieutenant a glass of water. If she got his prognosis right, he would need to remain hydrated to subside the urge to vomit. "He's here quite often ain't –" Payne's words seemed to lodge in his throat then, his features twisting just the same.

The clear indication of his illness brought Nurse Bluell to flight mode and she picked up the bucket adjacent to his bed in mere seconds. "Let it out, Lieutenant," she urged as she situated it on his lap just in time for him to spill out the contents into the bin instead of his bed. He did just that, and Bluell did not hesitate to keep the bucket steady and rub his back in a soothing motion, hoping to ease the strain in his back from achy muscles.

Once he was done, he slumped back against the headboard – his eyes appearing glossier than they had before. He was spent, but that did not stop him from mumbling out his appreciation. "Thank you Nurse – Nurse?" He trailed off, a crease forming on his sweaty forehead with a curious sort of confusion.

"Bluell. Nurse Bluell," she introduced herself, moving the bucket off the bed, tying up the old one, and replacing it with a brand new one. "But you can just call me Maude."

"Maude. The powerful battler," a droopy smile spanned across his face, recalling the meaning behind the name of the nurse in front of him.

"Yes, but –" her cheeks dusted pink, and she looked away from him as she got rid of the previous trash close by. "Not me. All you – All you boys."

"Doubt that." Q brought over the water then and he thanked her kindly before taking a gentle sip. "Call me Bubbles."

"Pardon, Lieutenant?" Bluell stood straight then, completely taken aback by his sudden admission. She took a deep breath and sucked back the urge to laugh.

It wasn't uncommon by any means for nicknames to be a staple pass of courtesy and comradely around base. It served as an attempt to distinguish the tension of a deeply set reality and also comouflague identity to foreign forces. Like Charolette and Susan who replied to Lottie and Susie Q or just plain old Q. It was common knowledge. And she had found herself giving into such knowledge as she adjusted to the shortened form of her surname — replying to Blue more often than not. But, Bubbles. Bubbles? She hadn't heard something quite like that before.

"Bubbles. That's what they call me. Ain't heroic by any means. You can ask Croz the next time he's here, 'M sure he'll tell yuh," he elaborated.

A chuckle escaped her then, a genuine smile enveloping in her cheeks in a way that almost felt foreign. She couldn't remember the last time she smiled – really smiled since she'd arrived on base. "Quite heroic to me,." She flattened her hands across the edges of the mattress, making sure he was tucked into the sheets comfortably and then she fluffed up the back of his pillow for me good measure. "Should rest up now, Lieutenant. I'll be here if you need anything. Please don't hesitate to call us over," She affirmed, and in a sudden newfound sense of confidence or maybe it was simply just the comradery, she found herself adding, "that's an order, Bubbles."

Bubbles – still poorly, shivering, and pale as a ghost – managed a light laugh from his strained throat as Maude left the man be. "You got it, Maude"

Maude's spirits appeared to be more pleasant than usual as she busied herself in the next coming hours. Her conversation with Lieutenant Payne – or Bubbles if you will – subsided the nerves that usually rattled her in deep anticipation of what was to come. However, knowing that Lieutenant Crosby was navigating today still kept her worried.

Would his stomach be okay?

Would the natural herbs she recommended to brew in his tea ease him?

Those thoughts did not fail to plague her mind throughout the day, but she was grateful to have some distraction in the task of caring for Bubbles. She made sure to keep an eye on him as much as she could, so much so, that it started to concern Nurse Charlotte Reign and Susan Quinn who felt as if previous patterns from the young nurse were resurfacing. Patterns that were brought into light the very same day an airmen died in her arms for the very first time.

Yet, Maude felt fine – well, as fine as one could be in the circumstances placed upon her. She felt like she could breathe again the moment the boys returned from the Trondheim mission in the later afternoon. It had proved to be successful – and even more so in the hands of one Lieutenant Crosby who was currently at Bubble's bedside. With a chair situated over, he not only came to check on his best friend, but also report on the mission.

Maude was finishing up wrapping a flier's burn wounds adjacent to Lieutenant Payne when she unintentionally overheard the conversation at hand. "I mean the flak, it came in so hot. I didn't even think about it when I put it on. It – It must of froze, but then these chunks, they start rolling down my forehead, I think 'holy mackerel crosby, holy mackerel, you've been hit!"

"Of course you would narrate your own death." Bubbles laughed lightly at his friend's retelling.

She secured the wrap tightly and comfortably and practically repeated the earlier lines she had said to Bubbles. She was starting to become more and more accustomed to her script, finding it more and more natural as she annunciated each word within passing days.

"Well, I mean I could make overthinking into an Olympic sport." Lieutenant Crosby joked just as Maude appeared at Bubbles bedside. She smiled at the two men, acknowledging them as she refilled Payne's water cup without interrupting their conversation.

"I've been puking so much today, I'm starting to catch up to you. Ask Maude." He nodded to the nurse next to them.

"Evening Maude." Crosby greeted the nurse. "Hope Bubbles here ain't giving you too much flak.”

"No more than you have." She just about pulled the man's chain with that one, making Bubbles erupt in laughter.

"Hey, 'snot my fault, Nurse." Crosby held a hand to his chest as if she had wounded him with his words, but the knowing smirk on his face proved otherwise.

"Did you try the tea?" She asked Croz, handing the cup of water over to Bubbles. His color was starting to come back. He looked better than this morning but he still needed to stay hydrated if he was gonna get back in the skies anytime soon.

"Nah. Next time when I actually know I'm flying I will," he sent a look over to Bubbles, only pushing his friend's buttons for fun. "Thanks Bubbles."

"Anytime." He said laughing against the rim of his cup. He took one last sip before Maude placed it back on the side table for him.

It seemed like Croz wasn't gonna let that one slide so easily. "You know I washed my hair twice, I still can't get the smell out." He leaned over his friend, practically shoving his hair in the fellow Lieutenant's face."You wanna smell? Yeah, jump in."

"No. No!" Bubbles tensed up then.

"Yeah, Come on." Croz pushed on.

Maude couldn't help but laugh at the playful side of these men. Men who still managed to let their inner kid shine through all the horror and terror they had ensued in the skies.

"Get – get away. I will puke on you! Yuh gonna have to wash it out." Bubbles threatened, trying to push Croz away.

And then like a burst of unexpected flax, everything shifted.

For not only Croz who immediately stiffened back in his seat – putting on a serious and professional front, but for Maude who – for lack of her own sense of understanding – found herself freezing just the same, but for a whole other reason.

"There he is," a deep, firm, yet some-what carefree voice broke the ice within her. And there he was, one Major Egan looking and sounding like one of those Hollywood starlets in Q's paper clipping — just stepping out of a film in the cinema. And if he hadn't had a small cut just under his right eye, he could have passed as a man who hadn't just returned from an intense mission across the skies. Clean cut, pressed in his uniform, curls styled and gelled back to perfection, with his flight jacket wrapped around his arms. Arms that held a strong hand planted against the edge of the foot of Bubbles bed. "How you doing Bubbles?" He asked.

Maude hadn't realized she was staring at the six foot two bulk of a man in front of her until Bubbles spoke up. "Never better, sir."

"That's good." And then his eyes landed on her, so intense, she suddenly wondered if he had become even taller than he was a minute ago. Feeling caught, she looked away and busied herself with the water cup on Bubbles nightstand to give herself something to do. Would the Major report back to Doctor Stover that she was incompetent and unfit to take care of his men? Lucky for Maude, his gaze broke away from hers the moment she turned around. "And I was looking for you," He said to Croz.

The chair beneath Croz creaked in protest as he stood up to be at the Major's level. "I'm sorry, Major."

"What for?" Major Egan inquired loosely.

"I – I didn't give PRs the whole flight back, I messed up the rendezvous – "

"I know. I know. The radio silence really threw off those Jerries. It's that and hitting the deck." Egan affirmed. With the conversation becoming more detailed, Maude felt out of place and rather rude for overhearing. Yet, the next words that came out of the Major's mouth not only took Croz and Bubbles by surprise, but Maude too. Any previous contemplations seemed to dissipate the moment Egan said, “Now, Harding, he couldn't be more impressed by you so, I'm transferring you to Blakely's crew full time," and then, " Bubbles, you get better, we'll find you a new fort. And Croz, we gotta give you an actual nickname."

"They call him Bing back home." Bubbles added into the conversation just as Maude urged him to take another sip. "More?" He asked, and she simply nodded as she turned back into her previous position– her view of all three men near her resurfacing.

"Bing Crosby? That's just lazy, unless you can sing." Major Egan put in his two cents, and his eyes gleamed when he asked, "Can you sing?"

"I–I ca –" Croz tethered.

"Like a donkey." Bubbles confirmed with zero ounces of hesitation, truly on a roll at deflating Croz's ego today without letting an ounce of illness ruin the fun.

"No, no – not a note, sir."

"Ah, I'm no good either, but I'm loud and hell if you can commit with enough enthusiasm, it really don't matter." And this was when Maude would come to learn of the singing shenanigans that came with one Major Egan. If only she knew then that those shenanigans would very well start up something alright.

The shorter Lieutenant and the taller Major clapped hands then in parting – a shake of sealed establishments and confirmations, proving that they were on the same page. "I'll see you at the Club Croz. I'm buying," the one with height told him, referring to the same exact club Lottie and Q would be dragging Bluell against her will in just a few short hours. "Goodnight Bubbles."

"Sir."He croaked between sips and finally handed the cup back to Maude for good.

"Goodnight, sir." Croz bid farewell. When the Major was out of earshot could Maude breathe, and Croz seemed to be too because he was back to bantering as he commented, "He thinks my nickname is lazy."

Another patient called her over then, stealing her away from the two men she had found herself laughing along with, yet a part of her felt grateful for the sudden diversion – especially now, after the Major's interruption. She couldn't explain it – couldn't even compartmentalize it exactly, but something had shifted inside her the moment he had stepped foot into the infirmary. An instinctive feeling of sorts — awfully hard to pinpoint. It hurt her head too much trying to think about it, so much so, she momentarily wondered if she was coming down with the same exact virus as Bubbles.

She wasn't.

But, she knew it was something, but what was it?

That — she didn't know.

Yet, something deep inside her – against her better judgment – told her that she needed to know. So as Croz passed by and bid her a farewell of his own, she knew what she had to do. And when the girls pitched going out to the Club again tonight, practically begging her in their shared quarters — Lottie using Q's obvious need for a distraction with Curt's lack of a return — did she give into their demise.

Was there really much ado about one night on the town?

Lottie and Q wouldn't think so, and Major Egan – well he wouldn't think so either.

the way in which she is already whipped without "knowing" is so real.

+ Q — curt and susie got me giggling & kicking my feeties !!!

also, for important context purposes, the gifs in the beginning is how i imagine bucky diverting his gaze from eyeing miss. maude ;) sir, we all know you were LOOKING — respectfully!

p.s.: i love bubbles & croz so bad, ugh my HEART <3

ANYWAYS.....

more to come sooner than you think. lemme know what ya think so far? feedback is much appreciated as this is BRAND NEW. this is also my very FIRST historical-esce fic so my apologies if there is any inaccuracies, but it do be my own fiction twist anyways haha.

love ya'll a mil, smoochies!

— xanadu

tag list:

@rubberpsyche

@precious-little-scoundrel

@major-mads

@luminouslywriting

@justheretoreadthxxs

@karmasloverrr

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millie-multifics · 1 month

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Though I Yearn • Part 1

Masters of the Air

Secret Admirer x Reader

A string of anonymous letters causes a stir at Thorpe Abbotts. Who could be the author of the tender correspondence you have been receiving?

Warnings: Secret Admirer (could be cute, could be creepy, depends on how you see it.), Reader is part of the Red Cross Girls, Spoilers, possible mentions of injuries, death and warcrimes.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Masterlist Next Part

x x x

Thorpe Abbotts was abuzz before the sun peeked above the horizon. Many of the personnel had been busy throughout the night while the men who would be in the planes got as much rest as their minds and bodies would allow. You were amongst those who had been working through the early morning hours, preparing the Clubmobile to serve fresh donuts and hot coffee that were intended to carry the men through their dangerous and lengthy mission.

Helen stepped into the truck, a small stack of letters piled on top of the supply box in her grip. She set the box down on the chair in the corner, seperating the letters adressed to you from the ones adressed to the few other Red Cross ladies. “Early mail delivery.”

“Must be for morale, first combat mission for many of the men today.” You easily recognized the printing on the first envelope, a letter from back home just like the ones you had recieved every week since arriving to Thorpe Abbotts. The second envelope was unusual, void of a return adress and stamp, only your name was scrawled across the front. You gently peeled open the envelope, unfolding the sheet of paper to read the message inside.

“During our first encounter your presence washed over me like the English rain, soothing and all consuming. You have captured my attention and selfishly, I must admit that I don’t want you to ever let it go.”

The letter had no siganture or name to identify who had written it, only a creased bottom corner and a small coffee stain in the middle of the mostly empty sheet. You didn’t recognize the handwritting but admittedly, you had not seen the writing of the majority of personnel at Thorpe Abbotts. Your brain spun, shuffling through as many first encounters as your mind would allow but it was overwhelming, there were so many possibilites… too many possibilities.

“Everything alright?” Helen asked, her eyes glancing to the letter clutched tightly in your hands, worry creasing her brows. She hoped everything was okay at home, it was everyones nightmare to recieve bad news from home while being on a whole other continent, so close to a raging war.

“Oh,” You quickly folded the letter, tucking it back into its envelope. “Yes, everything is fine.”

You were sure Helen was skeptical, feeling her eyes following your movements as you tucked both letters into your coat. The men trickling out from their quarters was enough to distract both of you from the coffee stained paper.

“I don’t recall such a welcoming committee when I arrived.”

The sudden voice behind you had been startling, you turned to find the handsome Major leaning against the open window of the truck.

“I do recall being in this very spot while you rushed right passed, Major.” You sent the man a polite smile, adding to the stack of paper coffee cups, “Surely you were focused on the business at hand.”

“That must have been it, I’d like to think I would have introduced myself otherwise.“

You were thankful for the roar of planes flying overheard, the arrival of his men drew his attention away from the heat pooling in your cheeks. “That is my cue. Enjoy your day, ma’am.”

The soldiers came in waves, stumbling across the clubmobile on their way to settle in. Many men lined up for the provisions you offered; hot coffee, fresh donuts, cigarettes, the newspaper and even the occasional magazine.

You sent the next in line a smile, one nearly tripping over his own boots as his friend nudged him forward. “Gentlemen, what may I offer you today?”

The dark haired soldier leaned on the window ledge that seperated you, sending you what you could only assume to be intended as a charming smirk. “If a ‘gentle’ man is what you are looking for, then that is what I shall be.”

It certainly had not been the first attempt at flirting you had experienced in the day, but generally the men had kept it tame, calling you pretty in some way or asking to take you for a harmless drink. You let your distaste for the comment show on your face, choosing to adress the amused man at his side.

“May I offer you anything?”

“Just two cups of coffee and cigarettes, thank you.”

You placed only one cup of black coffee on the ledge along with the requested cigarettes, offering a polite smile. “When your friend learns how to speak to women respectfully then he may make requests. Welcome to Thorpe Abbotts.”

Your eyes briefly found those of the dark haired man, his mouth slightly agap with your words before he was pulled out of the line by his now laughing friend.

The line faded quickly, the men moving along to find their Quarters to settle in as soon as they were served. The coffee urns were empty, only a single cup of black coffee leftover from the gallons that had been brewed. Helen had just began to clean when the last few men to arrive wandered through. You had heard through whispers that one plane had been seperated from formation, missing in the clouds. It had flown overhead a short time ago and you assumed these were those lost men. Most passed without stopping for a treat, settling in on the forefront of their minds but one staggered up to the open window.

“Anything left?”

“I’ve always got extra cigarettes or the newspaper on hand, one last cup of coffee if thats what you’re looking for.”

The solider accepted the lone paper cup, sniffing the bitter liquid before taking a large gulp. The boldness helped relieve the putrid smell of vomit from his nostrils. It was fragrent on the plane because his navigator was unable to control his air sickness, but the scent seemed to stuck in his nose as it was still the only thing he could smell, until the coffee anyway.

“You got any gum?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at two men who were busy chatting amongst themelves. You slide a small package of mint gum across the ledge, watching as stalked toward the two soldiers, throwing the gum to the dark haired one without more than a simple ‘Heads up’.

Your first encounters with many of the men circled your mind as you lay on your bed, the letter once again clutched between your fingers. Major Egan, Douglass and Blakely, Hambone, Crosby and Bubbles, Curt and Dickie. Your first interactions with many of the soldiers were friendly introductions, none had stuck out to you as anything other than kind or mildly flirty.

He had never intended on you reading the letter, it had been written in a futile attempt to rid you from the forefront of his mind. He surely wasn’t a fool, you were far too good for a man like him but he had been completely taken by your warm presence. Unable to ease the yearn he felt for you, anchoring deeper every morning when you happily served what the military had insisted to be coffee.

It may have been a presumptious move on his part but he just couldn’t help himself.

He had snuck the letter into the mail carriers bag when he was delivering letters to the men as they ate was being labelled as ‘breakfast’.

x x x

Tags: @canyousmelltheflowers

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kcsplace · 21 days

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Crosby: Hey Buck, wanna third wheel on my date with Bubbles tomorrow? Buck: ... Buck: I guess. Crosby: Hey Bucky, wanna third wheel on my date with Bubbles tomorrow? Bucky: Hell yeah. Crosby: Great! I've always wanted to go on a double date!

#mota #masters of the air #otp: what took you so long #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #clegan #harry croz crosby #harry crosby #joseph payne #bubbles payne #buck x bucky #bucky x buck #bucky/buck #buck/bucky #callum turner #austin butler #louis greatorex #anthony boyle

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getinthefuckingjaeger · 9 days

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“We’re not gonna be like them, Joe.” Harry’s fierce tone catches Joe off guard. "We're gonna make it."

(Joe, Harry, and Major Egan's grief)

“Harry, look.” Joe presses his chin into Harry’s hair, careful not to dislodge his best friend’s head from its rest on Joe’s shoulder. “Over there.”

He glances down and over thick, messy dark curls to watch Harry squint in the pre-dawn light. They’re perched on one of the many observation towers on base - far away enough from the heart of the operations and closer to where the ground crew park the forts under repair. Joe waits as Harry scan the tarmac for a second. The hitch in his breath tells Joe that he’s seen it.

Joe drops his head on Harry’s, the two of them lone observers of a single jeep making its way down the tarmac until it turned and parked by one of the forts on the hardstand.

The signature white of Major Egan’s sheepskin is the only bright spot in the blue light of twilight. The figure sits straight as a ramrod as the engines die down and the headlights fade to nothing. Joe and Harry breathe in tandem, eyes focused on Egan as he sits there with an empty passenger seat, staring at nothing.

Joe counts down the seconds by the ticking of his wristwatch, each passing of the needle like the countdown of a bomb.

He counts to the sixth minute and the time bomb explodes with a small gasp that Joe does not need to be there to hear. Idly, he thinks of trees falling in forests.

Watching John Egan fall, Joe thinks, is like watching a giant sequoia being felled by explosives. It is heartbreaking, terrifying, and it sparks a kind of anger in his heart at the destruction of something so timeless and seemingly indestructible.

It’s intrusive and personal, but the thought of something so immutable breaking down without a witness feels blasphemous. So Joe sits there, wrapped around Harry with his head bowed and he makes himself watch. He forces himself to witness the destruction of John Egan as he slumps over the steering wheel, his broad back curved and defeated, but still breathing.

How soon does a felled tree know it is dead?

“I wish I saw what happened.” Harry whispers, voice hollow. Joe feels the way Harry’s arm tightens around his waist and he turns to bury his face into dark curls, no longer have the appetite to watch the loss of another life. “I wish I could tell him what happened.”

Joe is silent for a long while.

He casts his thoughts to the few hours he spent walking around as a solid ghost on the grounds of Thorpe Abbotts, his body still existing among the living whilst his soul is lost over the skies of enemy territory.

He takes the grief that was a brief, but oppressing friend to him in those scant hours into his hands and he turns it over and over. He pokes and prods at the dark ball of tar that, for a few hours, dripped messily all over his heart before Harry came back and scraped every last bit of it away.

He imagines the black viscous thing crawling all over Egan’s heart like the sticky reaches of an eldritch creature, getting into the ventricles, clogging the arteries, and poisoning the blood system to ensure death at molecular level.

The enormity of it steals his breath.

“I wish you did, too.” Joe mumbles into the riot of curls. Without opening his eyes, Joe scoops Harry’s thighs and lays them sideways over his, manhandling Harry until they are as close as humanly possible without tumbling over the edge of the tower.

“‘No record’, was all that I had to go on with.”

Harry makes a distressed noise.

“I don’t know what I would have done if I knew where you went down, but at least I knew you were somewhere and not everywhere at once. It’s stupid, Harry - It’s so stupid, but,” Joe swallows, breaths coming out in shuddering gasps. He wraps his arms closer around Harry and Harry reciprocates. “But it feels better, somehow, to look at a map and know that’s the last place on earth you existed because it's not like I’d be getting a body, ain’t it.”

Joe imagines himself living through this war.

Ten, twenty, thirty years down the road, when he has a wife and children and grandchildren - he’ll tell them all about the love of his life Harry Crosby who he will introduce as his best friend. He’ll show them all the pictures he has of Harry, tell them stories about Harry, and then he’ll pull out maps and point out his last resting place.

He imagines visiting an obscure German countryside in his golden years, casting his eyes up at the blue skies and telling Harry to hold on, he’s coming.

Maybe, in that future without Harry, the world might grow kinder to folks like them and Joe wouldn’t have to pretend. Maybe, hopefully, his grandchildren can look at Harry’s pictures and see the truth as clear as day and they would understand. Maybe then his grief can speak its truth - a bereaved lover.

Joe allows himself to sink through the maybes a few seconds more before resuming his vigil.

Major Egan is sitting upright in the jeep now. He rubs his hand over his face, presses the heel of his palm to his eyes, his mouth hanging open with exaggerated breathing. They watch quietly as Egan stumbles out of the jeep and drags himself over and up into the parked fort.

The hatch closed like a period at the end of a love story.

“We’re not gonna be like them, Joe.”

Harry’s fierce tone catches Joe off guard. He pulls away to look at Harry’s white, terrified face. He’s not looking back at Joe, but the bruises his fingers press into Joe’s side speaks louder than any gaze ever could.

“We’re gonna go home and Jean’s gonna fuss over us and then you and her are gonna sing every Friday night in our lounge, and you’re gonna tell me to shut up because it’s scaring the cats.”

Harry stops speaking as though he ran out of breath. His gaze cuts to Joe so suddenly that his heart skips a beat. He sees an ultimatum in those brown eyes, an all or nothing.

“We’re gonna make it.”

–

Joe goes up the next day on the Munster mission, lucky snowglobe in his vest pocket, and Harry’s face is the last pretty face he sees.

–

(for Abbie (@moghraidhs) and her ability to express 'nina, why would you?' very clearly through a single thumbs up emoji)

#masters of the air #buck x bucky #crubbles #harry crosby #bubbles payne #joseph bubbles payne #mota #mota fic #Series: Change The Prophecy #jaeger writes #john egan #bucky egan

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thatsrightice · 2 months

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The real Joseph “Bubbles” Payne Jr. was born in Coblenz, Germany to a WWI Army nurse and Captain Joseph H. Payne of the Allied Army of Occupation. The couple moved to Kentucky when Bubbles was a baby.

I can only imagine how hard he tried to keep his birthplace a secret. It wasn’t like he was German, in fact, his parents were active in the fight against them, but that doesn’t change people’s opinions when they hear where he’d been born. Especially RAF officers and others who don’t know Bubbles personally.

However, I do know that his best friend, Harry Crosby, would absolutely go off on anyone who tried to talk bad about Bubbles (especially if it was over where he was born like that’s just petty).

#mota musings #Croz and Bubbles #these two go feral for each other #mota #masters of the air #Joseph bubbles Payne #Harry Crosby #bubbles Payne #history #real mota #crubbles #crosby x bubbles #bubbles x crosby

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trashbag-baby666 · 1 month

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hs au instagram posts!!! Liked and reblogs highly appreciated!!!

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darkimpala1897 · 1 month

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Crosby looked like someone to Bucky, he just couldn't put his finger on it, Buck thought he was going insane which is possible he's Bucky.

But he finally figured it out thanks to Rosie and his books, he stormed into the mess.

Buck watched him afraid of where this was going to go. Bucky sat down at Bubbles and Crosbys table.

Bucky: "I finally figured out who the fuck you look like thanks to Rosie."

Crosby crossed his arms, this should be interesting.

Crosby: "And who would that be John?"

Bucky: "The guy who assassinated Abraham Lincoln, what's his name?"

Bubbles choked on his breakfast coughing, he turned towards Crosby, he to started to see it. Buck leaned over wanting to help Bucky.

Buck: "John Wilkes Booth, that's his name John."

Bucky: "Right him."

Bubbles just stared at Crosby.

Crosby: "I do not look like John Wilkes Booth, Joey why are you staring at me?"

Bubbles: "He's right, you just need to grow a ridiculous mustache and your him."

Crosby found this ridiculous, because he doesn't look like John Wilkes Booth, he turned around poking Douglass and Hambone.

Crosby: "Dougie, Ham do I look like John Wilkes Booth to you people?"

Douglass: "You're telling me you aren't related to him?"

Hambone: "I thought you were maybe his grandson."

Crosby couldn't believe this, he turned towards Bubbles who was now laughing.

Bubbles: "I'm sorry it's just too funny."

Crosby groans knowing he probably just got his nickname.

Crosby: "Great people are going to call me Booth now, thanks Egan."

Bucky just smiles.

Bucky: "You're welcome can I have breakfast with you guys?"

And scene.

Wouldn't it be hilarious if Manhunt was in the same universe as Masters Of Air so poor Crosby gets told he looks like the guy who murdered Abraham Lincoln Lmfao.

#headcanon #masters of the air #harry crosby #totally canon #deleted scene #joseph bubbles payne #totally correct quotes #bubbles x crosby #gale buck cleven #inncorrect quotes #john bucky egan #buck x bucky #james douglass #howard hambone hamilton #Manhunt

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clevenhq · 10 days

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social media (semi-famous) au that was talked about like twice in the mota discord with @trashbag-baby666 …

gale’s account is private and he only has one!! his pfp is either scenery or just the ‘no pfp’ grey dude

john posts about his bf & calls him buck, gale comments on his posts so everyone knows that gale is buck

explaining the one above, gale’s username is probably smth like ‘buckclvn’ but his bio is friends-only so that says gale

basically they got a large following because john posted a video of curt doing something stupid and they also just post random things that gain attention

gale is faceless but his voice can be heard in some of john’s videos (he doesn’t want to take away from his bf’s fame)

curt will post the most random and controversial thing and just dip from the conversation (ken and crosby have to clean up his messes)

being spotted in public would be awkward especially if it’s john while he’s with gale because the fan would like keep glancing at gale like “who…” and then have that look of realization

to which later the fan would post smth like “i saw john’s bf and he is GORGEOUS” and john would repost or quote it

ken and curt take pics of their double dates and are always sure to block out gale’s face

curt probably treats anyone who recognizes him like a friend or someone who’s chasing him

brady is a fashion designer and hambone is his model (ty theo for this)

rosie and bubbles are also a part of this but we fr have no idea where…

um this is such a random post but i hope u guys like this!!

#masters of the air #social media au #mota #buck x bucky #curt x ken #clegan #gale buck cleven #john bucky egan #ken lemmons #curtis biddick #harry crosby #rosie rosenthal #john brady #hambone hamilton #joseph bubbles payne

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curtsbigspoon · 2 months

Note

ship headcanons? 🤲🏻

I am so sorry anon, I feel I'm too neurodivergent and couldn't figure out whether you meant who I ship in mota, or how I imagine the ship dynamics working. Anyways, have a bit of both!

Rosie x Me (obviously)

Gale x John

Gale x John x Curt

Crosby x Bubbles

Crosby x Rosie

Honestly, I'll ship most of the mfs in this show, they're all attractive and personally? I think they need their ass ate

LAST MINUTE SO I HAVE NOTHING FOR HIM YET BUT KEN VS EVERYONE

Now, headcanons of the pairs?

Rosie x Me: Every night I spread him open and- ((GUNSHOTS))

Gale x John: I might expand on this in a post, because I feel it is very important for the progress of humanities evolution, but, John fucking loves Gale's ass. Downright worships it, thinks it's the perfect shape, likes to take advantage when no one's looking, grabs fistfuls of it until the entire thing's in his palms, until Gale's leaning his head back to hiss, "John," whilst he's all toothy grin kneading it with his fingers. On the other side, when John gets a little too hyped up and starts acting out, Gale's liable to either grab him by the scruff of the collar, or the hair, tug him down real close, voice low, total warning in his voice. John either pipes down immediately like a scolded puppy, or he pushes further, wants to see how far he can go.

Gale x John x Curt: Honestly this might need a separate post because I'll yap my lips off, but I'll give this much at least: Gale leads, he looks after the other two, tries to keep them out of trouble, holds most of the control. Bucky and Curt are like a duo pair, if chaos is happening, it's probably them that caused it. You'll usually find Gale, head in his hands at the scene of the crime, shaking his head, finding them both later with two very guilty expressions on their face. They follow him around like puppies, seeking his praise, his attention, being rivals about it, but also finding love in one another, playing together when Gale's not around to sate them.

Crosby x Bubbles: I haven't thought too much on these two to be clear, but I still like the pairing, and I very much envision them like sweethearts. They've been best friends for as long as they've known one another, always showing up at the end of the other's mission, checking in, updating each other about everything. Finding innocent little ways to brush against one another, risking someone else seeing their hands grazing together whilst they walk because they can just play it off as sheer accident. They laugh when they kiss, giggles falling between the spaces of each other's lips, cheeks flushing rosy, pure sweet joy and adoration.

Crosby x Rosie: Rosie's one of the best pilots and Crosby's a group navigator, of course the two of them find moments to spend time with each other. At first it's for mutual gain, Crosby's looking for someone else to occupy his mind from all the loss, looking for someone to make him feel a little better about himself and the decisions he's making. Rosie gives him that, obvious about his relief when Crosby reassures him of certain mission plans, enjoy the ease of stress to his shoulders - because as much as he loves his crew and his friends, he can never get the guilt out of his head of the responsibility he has to ensure their lives are as secure as his during every flight - Crosby understanding that pressure is something he finds comfort in. They find out that they both share similarities in lack of sleep, deciding to spend the empty hours together rather than alone dwelling in their mourning and guilt. It makes it easier, making each other coffee, sometimes just sitting in silence with the other present, other times taking the pressure off by having a chat and it turns into soft laughter echoing through.

Someone put me down. I can't say more or this will turn into a damn essay. I'm so sorry anon, you probably didn't ask for this, but I had no idea what you meant and it was only meant to be short but then- ((TASER GOES OFF))

If y'all need anything expanded on, or want me to clarify on more specific brainrots, please lemme know I have so much brewing!

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