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ww2yaoi · 15 days

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[here's a little taste of a multi-chapter clegan post-war fic I've been working on. note: I've taken creative liberties with the timeline and John and Gale's post-war lives. it's very much intentional]

Winter 1948

Marjorie Cleven dies on a Tuesday in December, two weeks before Christmas Eve.

John gets the call a few days later. Gale’s voice is steady on the other end of the line, but John knows his heart is broken. It’s the first time they’ve spoken since Marge got sick. After the wedding, there had been some letters exchanged, few and far between, but John has always been a crummy pen pal. There were reunions, but those were annual at most, and John rarely stuck around past a couple of drinks and a war story or two. When they got back stateside in ‘45, he thought the distance would be good for Gale, thought it would help put their past far behind them.

Now, in hindsight, it seems futile. John feels it all rushing back, like VE Day was just yesterday and Gale’s boots are still underneath his bed.

It’s warm in southern Florida. The sun beams down on the tarmac, hot enough to fry an egg on the airfield, sunny-side-up. John watches from the control tower as planes taxi below him. His trainees will be on furlough soon, but he won’t be going home for Christmas this year. Any excuse to maintain the two thousand miles between him and Gale.

It doesn’t last. John should’ve known he could never keep away for long.

Spring 1949

The back of the cab smells like menthol cigarettes and cheap cologne. John drums his fingers against his thigh, feeling suddenly restricted by his uniform now that he’s been let loose in the civilian world. Laramie, Wyoming passes by his window, a cluster of shops and banks and schools on a stretch of agricultural land bisected by historical railways and boxed in by mountains on all sides. The air is thinner here than in Manitowoc, and there are no waterfronts to be found. The terra firma is dusty and brown, the sun a sepia pinprick hanging low in the sky.

The cab weaves through neighbourhoods of modest-looking houses. John had handed the driver the address on a slip of yellowy paper, which Gale had relayed over the phone. John doesn’t know how close they are to his destination, but he can feel his anxiety rising like bile in his throat. He makes nervous conversation, the driver mentioning the geology museum, the fact that the town was named after a French fur trapper who disappeared somewhere in the mountains. It doesn’t do much to calm John’s nerves.

“What brings you to Laramie?” the driver asks, glancing up at the rear-view mirror to get a glimpse of John.

He’s young, probably around Gale’s age. Young enough to have served at least, but he doesn’t comment on John’s uniform. He just peers at him curiously, eyes darting back and forth from the road.

“Visiting an old friend,” John says and tries not to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. “He goes to school here.”

A moment later, the cab slows to a halt outside of a quaint-looking bungalow. John regards it from his window: white siding, yellow door, slate roof. Rose bushes line the walk-up, not yet blooming, and the grass has recently been mowed.

“Thanks,” John says, fishing a few bills from his pocket and handing them to the driver. “Keep the change.”

The driver smiles at him, close-mouthed, and pops the trunk. John slowly gets out of the car, like he’s trying to delay the inevitable, then fetches his suitcase from the back. He rests it on the sidewalk for a moment while the cab speeds away, looking at the house once more. A gaggle of kids darts down the street on bicycles. A few doors down, a lawnmower springs to life. It’s picturesque, like a postcard Gale might’ve sent him a few years back. John immediately feels out of place, still used to Nissen huts and crowded mess halls and military time. If he wants to turn back, now’s his chance, but he picks up his suitcase from the ground and forces his feet forward, climbing up the porch steps.

He thumbs the doorbell and it chimes. A dog barks gruffly inside the house. John removes his cap from his head and smoothes out his hair. He feels ridiculous, like a socially awkward teenager picking up his sweetheart for prom. His heart is in his throat as the door opens gradually, almost startling as a golden retriever pokes its head through the opening. It squeezes outside and dashes into the yard, yelping happily.

“Archie, get back here!”

John recognizes that voice. The door opens all the way, and suddenly, Gale is standing in front of him. Everything John had thought to say on his way over dies on his tongue. Gale looks practically the same, if not a bit filled out in his middle than he was during the war. His cheeks are smooth and shaven, flaxen hair styled off his forehead in a coif. John could never get used to seeing Gale in civilian clothes, but that’s how he appears in front of him now, crisp, white button-down hanging off his shoulders, navy slacks belted around his waist and brown cap-toe shoes on his feet.

They look at each other for a moment, unspeaking, then a smile splits Gale’s face in two. “Hello stranger,” he says.

“Gale.” John can’t help but return his grin. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

He holds out his hand for Gale to shake it, but Gale takes one look at his outstretched palm and instead, pulls John into a hug. It surprises John, so much so that almost all the air shoots out of his lungs at the contact. Gale’s fingers meld into the muscle of John’s back. It takes John a moment, but he eventually returns the gesture, squeezing Gale gently. They part and Gale turns his attention towards the dog, Archie, who’s taken it upon himself to start digging around in the garden.

Gale whistles. “Come here, boy,” he shouts, clapping his hands, and Archie bounds over.

He pauses to sniff John’s shoes. John crouches down and pats the dog, rubbing his ears, and is instantly reminded of Meatball.

“He’s usually not so ill-behaved,” Gale says. “He gets excited around visitors.”

“I don’t mind,” John replies, smiling down at the dog.

Archie pants, long, pink tongue hanging from his mouth, then he retreats back inside the house. Gale reaches down and picks up John’s suitcase from the porch. John straightens. They look at each other again, a bit too long without words to be comfortable, but John knows they’re both adjusting to being in close proximity again after so long.

“Lead the way,” he says, motioning towards the open front door.

Gale seems to snap out of it. “Of course, come on in.”

John steps inside the foyer and closes the door behind him. The interior is small, but well-decorated and tidy. The ocean blue walls are hung with artwork, the hardwood floors carpeted with rugs. John sets his cap down on a table peppered with framed photographs but doesn’t stop to look at any of them. He follows Gale past the dining room, down a hallway, and through the kitchen to another hallway at the back of the house. Gale opens one of the four doors that line the hall and carries the suitcase inside. John peeks his head into the guest bedroom. A double bed sits against the far wall, night tables on either side of it that host brass lamps with cream shades. On the other end of the room is a cherry wood wardrobe and an armchair to its left, upholstered in a muted green. Above it lies a square window, lace curtains pulled together to drown out the harsh afternoon light. The bedroom is sparse and unlived in, like most guest bedrooms are, but John appreciates it just the same.

“Hopefully this suits you alright,” Gale says, setting the suitcase down beside the bed.

John nods. “Suits me just fine,” he says. “Better than what I have back at base. That’s for sure.”

Gale looks at him. An emotion John can’t exactly pinpoint passes over Gale’s face, something like recognition, bordering on wistfulness.

They return to the kitchen, and Gale beckons John to sit down at a round table in the corner. Archie laps water from a bowl as Gale putters around the kitchen, opening cabinets. He appears tense, but not in his usual stiff, reserved way. His energy is almost jittery, nervous, and he taps a rhythm on the countertop. It’s not like him, at least not like the Gale John knew during the war. He pretends not to notice.

“So, how was your flight?” Gale asks eventually.

“Good,” John says and adjusts his uniform, crossing his legs. “Felt strange not being the one flying the plane.”

“I’ll bet,” Gale replies with a suggestion of a smile. “Do you want something to eat? Some coffee?” He reaches into the cabinet and produces a tin of Foldgers.

“Just coffee, thanks,” John says.

He looks around the kitchen as Gale spoons coffee grounds into the machine. His eyes trace the checkered red wallpaper, the white-tiled backsplash, the laminate countertops, the icebox in the corner. He’s never seen Gale in such a domestic setting, not even during the wedding. Maybe that’s why he stayed away for so long, even when he was invited time and time again. Perhaps he didn’t want to experience Gale so far removed from the world they both inhabited for so many years, a world where the only people they could rely on were their men and each other. Now, there’s no avoiding it. It’s all laid out for John to see.

The coffee maker beeps and steams. Gale rests his elbows against the kitchen counter and looks over in John’s general direction, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. John doesn’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know how to fall back into the easy camaraderie they had at the beginning, before the stalag, before the march, before the end of the war. Seeing Gale has ushered back a slew of emotions John has been distancing himself from since they parted ways four years ago. He feels like an intruder in Gale’s home, looking for Marge in the corners of the room but not finding her. Guilt stirs in his stomach, and he asks himself again what the hell he’s doing here. This isn’t his place. This isn’t his life.

“How’s training?” Gale asks. “Are the boys following their orders, Lieutenant Colonel?”

John smirks at that, partly to hide his discomfort. It feels wrong that he should outrank Gale after everything they’ve been through, flight school, then serving together, then imprisonment.

“It’s busy,” John replies and drums his fingers against the table. “They’re good kids. Fucking caterpillars though. So damn young.”

Gale smiles softly. “Were we ever that young?”

“Maybe you were,” John quips. “I feel like my bones have been creaking since before our war even started.”

Gale laughs, and the sound hits John like a fist to his sternum. He realizes suddenly that he’s missed Gale’s laugh so goddamn much. It rings in his ears, out-of-reach and yet familiar, like a favourite song of his he hasn’t heard in years has come on the radio out of the blue. For a brief moment, John regrets denying himself this for so long, even if it was the only way he could get on with his life.

“How’s school?” John asks in turn. “Master’s coming along?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Gale says, nodding. “I like my classes. Lots of grading, lots of writing, some teaching. I’ve got a meeting on Tuesday with my advisor about my thesis.”

“Well, well, look at that,” John says, the corner of his lips twisting into a grin. “Professor Cleven.”

Gale dips his chin towards his chest, almost shy. “Not just yet, John.”

“You’re getting there,” John says. “Y’know Marge wrote to me about your thesis a year or so back, not that I understood a word. Astrophysics, not exactly my wheelhouse.”

Gale’s face falters imperceptibly at the mention of his late wife’s name, and John immediately feels apologetic for bringing her up without much warning.

“It’s not done yet,” Gale says flatly, his gaze falling from John’s face to look at his interlocked fingers resting on top of the counter. “You can read what I have though if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I might,” John says and grimaces at his own inadeptness while Gale’s eyes are elsewhere.

The coffee maker beeps and Gale goes to it, removing two mugs from the cabinet and setting them down beside it. He takes the sugar out of the cupboard and the cream from the icebox.

John bites the inside of his cheek, knowing what he needs to say but unsure if he has it in him to say it. “Buck?”

Gale’s head snaps up at the sound of the nickname. He regards John with a puzzled look, like he’s no longer used to being called anything other than Gale to his face. The name is a relic from a different time, John supposes, something that belonged to them only, and when John was no longer around to use it, there was no one else around to take up the task.

After a moment, the expression on Gale’s face smoothes out. “What is it, Bucky?”

John swallows, then pushes the words out. “I’m sorry, y’know, that I, uh, I couldn’t make it. To the funeral.”

Gale looks at him for a moment, then his face softens. “It’s alright,” he says. “Marge didn’t much like being the centre of attention anyway.” He pours coffee into the two mugs, then adds sugar to one and cream to the other. “My mother-in-law appreciated the flowers you sent.”

“Oh, good,” John says. “Azaleas were Marge’s favourite, right? I remember them from her wedding bouquet.”

Gale’s eyes grow heavy with sadness. He nods. “Yeah, they were.”

As if on cue, John hears a grumbly cry coming from one of the bedrooms down the hall. It starts off quiet, like a baby stirring from sleep, then gradually gets louder until it becomes a full-blown wail. Archie’s ears perk up before he quickly sulks away.

“Sorry,” Gale says as he grips the coffee with sugar and hands it to John. “I just put her down for her afternoon nap, but she’s in that phase where she’s rebelling against sleep.”

John says nothing, frozen in his seat as Gale crosses the kitchen into the hallway and slips inside the bedroom. John had been so caught up in seeing Gale again that he’d almost forgotten. He stares into the inky well of his coffee, too stunned to drink from it.

Gale emerges a moment later with a bundle in his arms. Now calm, the little girl clings to him, her head tucked into the crook of Gale’s neck as she sucks her thumb into her mouth. She’s wearing cream-coloured footie pyjamas with pink roses on them, her curly blonde hair tangled from sleep. Gale draws circles against her back, rocking her slightly from side-to-side. John regards her carefully. She must be at least a year and a half now, much bigger than she was in the pictures Gale had sent him however long ago.

Gale approaches the table where John is sitting. “Lucy, this is your Uncle Bucky,” he says, pointing over at John. “Can you say hello?”

Lucy turns her head and looks straight at John, and John sees the Marge in her face right away, the slight upturn of her nose, the fullness of her cheeks, the pink purse of her lips, but her eyes are all Gale, blue and round and yawning. She quickly looks away, hiding her face back in her father’s neck.

“Sorry,” Gale says again and rubs her back. “She gets shy around strangers.”

John doesn’t expect it to, but the comment stings. The fact that any child of Gale’s could be a stranger to him is borderline unforgivable.

[To be continued...]

#masters of the air #john egan #gale cleven #clegan #buck x bucky #my fic

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stillblues · 9 months

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hi all! i'm shin (he/him, 21+) and i'm excited to be bringing adagio actor/model jung yohan to this group! i haven't written in a hot minute and have really had to dust off my brain the past few weeks, but i'm looking forward to getting back into things with you all. :-) anyway, more about yohan under the cut! and as always, drop a like or message if you'd like to plot~ (discord can be given if you prefer to plot there).

quick nav: private profile, career page.

( * background

born in daejeon, south korea (nov 24 1995) but was basically raised in the countryside by his grandmother while mom worked in the city.

his grandmother was the one to kickstart his dreams to be onscreen, always watching tv dramas and reality shows with him every evening.

the family moved up to seoul together when he was done with high school, which is where he was scouted into a midtier company as an idol trainee.

didn't know anything about performing and it showed. but for the lack of talent, he made up for with a crazy work ethic, and he showed major improvements during his training period.

in 2015, he debuted in a 7-member boy group that flopped hard. after just one comeback, the group disbanded may 2017.

the rest of the year was spent in one massive slump, taking part time jobs and some small modeling gigs as a site model to make ends meet while wondering wtf he was going to do with his life.

got a casting call for an "idol revival" show (similar to "the unit") and ended up joining the show with 2 of his former group members. the show helped push him back into the spotlight as a charismatic leader figure who was great at catching screen time and votes. he made it to the final episode, but didn't quite make the cut for the final lineup of the group.

following another heartbreak, he really didn't know what to expect his life to throw at him next, so a contract with adagio was a happy surprise.

a couple shoot with a senior model under adagio catapulted him back into the spotlight, and he's been garnering opportunities and attention since.

his slow crawl to success has honestly only just started, even though it's been 8 years since his first official debut. he's trying not to let the lost time get to him in case he falls back into another slump, but as soon as work slows down a little, he can't help but feel like he's fading again. (we'll see what evil ways i have planned to get him the attention he wants so bad...)

( * personality

yohan is the picturesque "adagio actor/model standard 3000 max." he's likable, focused on his work, doesn't create any issues, and keeps his distance from the public in a way that shelters his image (think cha eunwoo but way less popular).

has intense focus when he has something to do, but it's mostly because he gets easily distracted if he's not putting his all into the task at hand.

hates to feel stuck, so he's always finding ways to seek out something new to experience. new food, new feelings, new friends, new lovers; he'll try anything once.

he doesn't exactly feel very approachable when he's off the clock, but once you get him started, he'll talk your ear off.

a people pleaser. he hates to assume so he'll ask a lot of questions or just seem clueless in personal situations until he knows exactly what the other party wants. (has accidentally rejected many advances in this manner...)

just kind of a work-obsessed idiot who feels like time is running out fast for him and knows he'll have a breakdown the moment he has a second to think. :-\

( * connections

just some general ideas for plots i'm interested in exploring for yohan!

bonding over failure; people who have also been in past groups/occupations/paths and things didn't work out for whatever reason, which became the common ground for your friendship to build off of.

drinking buddy; he's been indulging a little more often these days.

adventurers; he's always trying to experience something new and exciting, and you're the person he tends to rope into his plans.

good old pr friends; maybe you actually are friends, but it definitely started as a way to build reputations and post nice instagram pics.

actor/model friends!

a musician friend; he doesn't miss his idol days much, but he can still appreciate a good song or a long karaoke session. will probably think you're the coolest person in the world if you play instruments.

past relationships, flings, crushes; he probably let you down too nicely, whether that came as a relief or something to be pissed about for you.

someone who pulled away; whether you wanted to be friends or something more, the way he's just so nice to everyone had you cutting ties before anything could happen. it just rubbed you the wrong way.

a lingering crush; he's way too old to be blushing but you just know exactly what to say and do to stir up new feelings.

an enemy or that one ex; for the angst. maybe you disappeared when he needed you most.

#( * intro.#thefourintro

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weirdsht · 2 years

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Affiance - Alberu Crossman x Reader

a/n: vent fic because the vaccine made my parents more protective than usual, but me understands. Also i think i'm better off with 3rd person's pov

Tags: female reader, ill reader, established relationship, vent fic, implied child reader and alberu except at the end, mentions of death

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

If there's something missing in the warnings let me know so I can add it

Any form of interaction toward the post is appreciated <333

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Like any other good crown prince, Alberu also has someone he has been betrothed to since he was young. ___, the daughter of one of the most influential dukes in the kingdom was a good fiance, and is just a good person overall.

Alberu Crossman would’ve worried about his secret leaking if his fiance wasn’t personally handpicked by his mother. The half dark elf made sure to engage her son with someone she knows she can trust, someone who knows and holds their secret dearly. A family that is friendly with their kind, the outcasted dark elves.

The two luckily got along well. Their time was filled with mostly rainbows and butterflies, pretty teacups and flowers, just good things. As they spend more time together their feelings for each other also grow deeper. From merely acquaintances who were betrothed to childhood lovers that break rules just to have fun.

Everything was supposedly picture perfect.

Money, name, power, love. The young couple almost had everything. But there is one factor that prevents them from being the picturesque that exist in novels and fairy tales.

___ was chronically ill.

Thankfully, even if there’s no cure it’s manageable and the princess mostly lived a normal noble life like a normal child. She was able to play, study, and overall live like any other kid who’s tied with royalty.

But of course there were still restrictions.

Although the Duchess and Duke tried their best for her to not get sick it’s not completely unavoidable. Thanks to their efforts though the crown princess rarely gets sick. But on the rare chance she does, it’s always the most pitiful thing to watch.

Wheezing in pain, unable to sleep, mages and saint’s have to constantly watch over her until she fully recovers, the poor child is always on the verge of death with every fever she experiences. Young Alberu was always beside every time it happened too. Playing nurse while trying not to stay strong for her as he needs to be her rock.

The dukedom is really protective of its one and only princess. Lot’s of restrictions are implemented. An even stricter schedule than normal is followed. Escorts everywhere.

The young girl understands it’s all for her. She’s mature enough to realize that they are just concerned for her well being. But that doesn’t make the whole thing less suffocating.

“Princess you must follow your schedule thoroughly”

“Honey you know you can only eat those once a month, just wait for a few weeks more okay?”

“My lady please don’t go anywhere without at least one of us behind you.”

“Dear daughter, this is for you. We just want you to live a happy and healthy life”

But she wasn’t happy. Well not mostly. Good thing she has a cheat code in the form of Alberu Crossman. The only one who gets how she feels. The one who offers her a little bit of a fresh breath no matter the cost.

“You don’t have to do this all the time, you know that right?”

“I know but I don't do it because I have to, I do it because I love you!”

Alberu says it

Everyone can see how much the couple truly love and care for each other. Their parent’s couldn’t have been more proud. Sure there it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows but they’ll make sure that these two children will be able to get past the hurdles they’ll face. Alberu’s mom especially made sure of this.

“Remember my son, this is a precious thing. Only use it when you have no other choice, and make sure that you won’t regret using it. I know it’s tempting to use it right now, but no. Not when there’s still hope of finding a cure.”

Star of healing, probably the most precious thing Alberu received from his mother was also her parting gift to him. Till the end she had the two children in mind even when she can feel she doesn’t have long.

Alberu made sure to listen to his mother. He kept the ancient power he received from everyone except his fiance.

“Of course I understand silly! Even if auntie didn’t say that I still would’ve prevented you from using it on me.”

Flexing her arms as if to show how strong she was, the young couple agreed and laughed. With the prince still promising that if she gets worse he’ll use the power on his princess.

But no one is ever certain of the future. Even the most powerful clairvoyant cannot be sure of what will actually happen when it comes to the future as any little change has a big impact.

Hence why Alberu is now stressed out in his room unsure of what to do as the person he trusts the most listens and watches as he paces back and forth.

“I, I’m unsure of what to do love. I don’t even know how he got wind that I have that ancient power. On one hand yes he's right, I need him to keep the other two in line but still this power is for you and only you.”

Yes, Alberu has always been ___’s rock, the pillar that supports her and made her look forward to tomorrow. That’s why, that’s why she has to do the same for him even if what she’s about to say can hurt them both.

She has to convince him no matter how unstable the future is. Even if in the hereafter her decisions become her downfall.

Because that’s what you do when you love someone.

#vent fic #trash of the count's family #lout of the count’s family #tcf #lcf #lotcf #totcf #alberu crossman #alberu x reader #alberu crossman x reader #tcf x reader #lcf x reader

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