#MotA

[lonesomecupid]

[majoregan]

NATE MANN as ROSIE ROSENTHAL in Masters of the Air.

[sluttyhenley]

When this weather gets better, what do you say if, you and I, we made our move?

MASTERS OF THE AIR Part Seven ✦ Part Nine

[basilone]

[blackthornluce]

Masters of the Air (2024) - Part Four.

[galebucky]

“Austin and I have a very special relationship. It’s deep, and it’s profound. I’ve made friends through the years that I love. And there are people that you work with, and have a great time with, but they don’t necessarily become your friend. You still love ’em. But Austin’s my friend.”

[carnevol]

Masters Of The Air

Part 1 | Part 4 | Part 9

for @hogans-heroes

[britbrocedes]

In another life?

I don’t think so.

[avonne-writes]

Bucky with a breeding kink keeps talking to Gale about knocking him up during sex, and Gale is always just quiet, quiet, quiet until one night, his control suddenly snaps and he reveals his massive domesticity kink

[camelotcam]

Go Buck!

[nigesakis]

MOTA as unfortunate callsigns (inspired by @scurvees's Terror version)

part 2 part 3 part 4

[jesperfahxey]

MASTERS OF THE AIR (2024) Part nine

[tetragonia]

Masters of the Air characters as aesthetics

John 'Bucky' Egan

Bucky was a golden hour, warm hues of gold and amber casting a soft, ethereal glow over everything. Giggles and banters over a sip of liquor. He was a low hum in a pub, filled with chatter and joy. Bucky was a worn sheepskin jacket, familiar and comforting. Waves crash against rugged cliffs, vivid colors pop against a backdrop of blue skiess. He was gentle and dominating, yet he asked to be taken care of behind closed doors. Back arching high against the bed sheet, hands pinned and left marks everywhere. He was a smoky jazz club alive with the sound of saxophones and clinking glasses, the sound of people laughing so loud until the stomach hurts. Grass stained knees. Running through the rain without an umbrella. He was classical music blasting from a cheap speaker. He was Apollo playing his instruments.

Gale 'Buck' Cleven

Buck was a calm before a storm. A misty forest enveloped in fog, with towering trees draped in moss and winding paths leading to hidden glens and secret clearings. He was both silent movies and thunderstorms that you'd feel inside your chest. Raised eyebrows and cold hands, pinching the bridge of your nose. Watching a painting a bit too long before the gallery was closed. Long walks to the library. Winter winds and freezing hands, subtle glances across the room. He was soft murmur of reassurance and a gentle touch behind the doors. Consensual and always asked if it's okay. Dark red lipstick, chilled red wine. A quaint cottage nestled in the countryside with a thatched roof and ivy-covered walls, surrounded by a garden bursting with fragrant herbs and vibrant flowers. He was Hestia tending the sacred flames.

Harry 'Croz' Crosby

Harry was the swirling feelings in your stomach night before a trip. A vintage typewriter sitting on a weathered wooden desk, surrounded by stacks of yellowing paper and antique books. The soft autumn sun. He was handwritten letters and cracked statues. Silver waves lapping at the shore and seashells scattered across the sand like scattered jewels. The rattling of rain against the window, messy and needed direction. He was scribbles and ink stains, messy notebooks, and the tea kettle whistling in the silent morning. He was urgent and hurry, but comforting afterwards. He was everything about pleasure behind closed doors. A disheveled bedroom with rumpled sheets and discarded clothing strewn across the floor, with posters peeling off the walls and sunlight filtering through grimy windows. He was Poseidon guarding with his trident.

Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal

Rosie was a vintage record player spinning vinyl records, filling the room with the warm crackle of music. He was sweet smiles and clear eyes. Paper planes. Overgrown rose bushes. That one song you always skipped but ended up loving it. He was tweed jackets and loose blouses. A field of wildflowers stretching out as far as the eye can see, with colorful blooms dancing in the breeze and the scent of earth and pollen filling the air. Gentle and nurturing, caring and soft behind the doors. He was a giver and always maintained satisfaction. He was pink-tinted blush. A pair of combat boots scuffed from countless adventures. Smiling at strangers on the street. He was all kind and modesty, but also Athena leading battles.

[saturnville]

HEYY GIRLL!!

I’m so sorry to ask for another story but I would appreciate it if you could do another John Egan x female reader one.

can you do one where they have a very deep and sad conversation. John is shutting his wife out and she like begs him to let her love him and all that. If you can, can you make it slightly steamy towards the end.

thank you so much queen.

2 much, major john egan

pairing: major john egan x she (female reader) content: in which it became too much. warning: angst. author's note: thanks for your patience, love. I tried different variations to incorporate steam, but it just didn't turn out right, so I hope you don't mind it too much. I can try something steamier in the future. tags: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum

“John, open this door! Open the door!” 

Her small fist against the door was a snaredrum in his head. Oh, God, he couldn’t stand it. The noice was too much, being home was too much. Too much yet so little. 

He was used to the chaos. The screams of horror, the booming voice of bombs as they seared through the sky and penetrated through bricks walls and concrete floors. The bodies that lay bloody and bruised. Unmoving eyes with tears that dropped tears, one, two, three, until there were no more to produce. 

Being home was too much. The silence, save for the soft hums that came from her as she tidied up their home or made his favorite meal. The warmth of the bedsheets and the comfort it provided. The smell of fresh grass, the feeling of a warm breeze against his face, the laughter of the children who lived on the street. It was so unfamiliar, so uncomfortable that it drove him mad. 

So, he cracked. He abruptly rose from the dining table, slammed his utensils so hard against the plate that it shattered, and darted to their bedroom. She followed after him like an eagle after its prey, but she too was devoured. The door closed and the lock clicked swiftly. 

“John, please…” 

She sat outside the door for hours, begging him to open it. She’d heard the commotion from the other side of the door and her heart lurched. The heavy breathing, the incoherent mumbles and word jumble, then the sobs that had him leaned against the door in exhaustion. 

“I’m tired…” he finally said after some time. She could hardly hear him. “I can’t take it.” 

His lover placed her hand on the door and positioned herself on her knees. “I’ll take it, then. Let me take it from you, John, please…I will take it from you for as long as you need. Just open the door, my love.” Her tone dripped with desperation. How did it get to this point? 

Her body was sore from the amount of time she spent on the floor. Then, she heard it creak open. It didn’t open wide, just enough for her to see his hand slither between the crack. She reached out to grab his hand, which squeezed hers gently. She fought the urge to break down in tears. 

This wasn’t a man she knew. The man she knew left for battle months prior and came back a different person. But she swore that she’d love every part of him. And that was a promise she was bound to keep.

[multifandomshark]

What is your favorite memory from shooting Masters of the Air?

Callum: What’s your favorite memory?

Austin: Ah…anyone including you.

Callum: awww

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

Game of Survival edit (buck x bucky au)

read it HERE