#german!gale

[middlingmay]

German!Gale AU

And now for the other one that won't leave me alone.

Gale was born in Germany, but he lived in France for a decent portion of his childhood. His parents moved there for work. His mother was a part-time typist and his father. Well his father was many things; whatever people paid him to be (and as fast as possible), but he was known for transport.

Gale loved growing up in France. It was so busy he could pass by unnoticed and enjoy his people-watching in peace. So many people came from all over to enjoy one of centres of European culture, or so the Americans called it. His parents didn't like that much, but Gale liked the Americans the best. Brash. Up front. Not much guessing about what they really meant. He got enough of that at home.

But then dad came barging in the front door of their modest apartment at 2.23 in the morning with a black eye, and they were packing the essentials and anything of value, and crossing the border the Germany, barely stopping on the way.

Neither his mother or his father ever explained why they'd had to move, but Gale didn't need them to confirm what he already knew. He'd lost enough of his own precious belongings - a collector's edition of his favourite comic series; a perfect, detailed model plane he'd won in a maths competition at school; the watch his grandfather had given him before he died.

And then there were the drunk ramblings when mother had gone to bed about how Gale had cursed this family and his luck, and everything was all his fault.

He was five the first time he felt the back of his father's hand and heard the vitriol he really thought of his son. And he was never allowed to forget.

When Gale was barely a man, in those final stages of gangly teenagehood, things...changed in Germany. It wasn't anything groundbreaking. More like when the floorboards that always creaked finally moved a little under your feet. People were still struggling to recover after the War, and all the voices that had been looking for someone to blame were getting a little closer to home, a little louder, a little more important and harder to shrug off.

One of his only friends Solomon had stopped looking him in the eye. When Gale had demanded an answer in that quiet, firm, unyielding way of his, Solomon had scoffed.

"You look just like them, Gale. The posters."

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Everything Solomon was not.

"Mama says we have to go before... well. Just, before. But you'll be fine, Gale."

He never saw Solomon again.

In his twenties, they were at war and his dad still worked in transport. People came to the house and paid him to take things to places they'd only wrote down once before making his father burn the paper.

But then his father pocketed the money and when those people left, he'd make a call and those officials with the impeccable uniforms would turn up, question his father thoroughly, before handing him a packet of money as well.

"Hitler will turn our fortunes around, boy. You'd best fall in line, before you ruin this for me, too, and kill us all."

Now Gale was quiet, but he wasn't meek. And he didn't think the Nazis had it right at all. But they'd abandoned a lot of their pretenses by now and news of attacks and deaths and beatings were commonplace.

So Gale decided to get into the family business. He didn't tell his father, and people who knew his last name were slow to trust, but anyone who spent any significant time with him couldn't help but respect him.

He didn't understand why, but he was grateful, honoured.

The first time he reunited a dark haired, dark eyed child with their gaunt and terrified parents he crawled into the hayloft in the barn and sobbed into the straw. It wasn't anything grand, he wasn't a human smuggler. He simply found ways to move some small supplies around for others make the bigger, grander gestures of resistance. But when frightened breaths came from the wooden crate, he'd had to bite his lip until it bled to stop from vomiting at transporting someone that small like goods.

For their life, Gale, he'd told himself.

He hated himself and was terrified in equal measure. Filled with a righteous fury that made him want to fight it all. Terrified that he'd wake up to those impeccable uniforms pointing a gun at his head, and his father grinning and pocketing his pay packet, before they pulled the trigger.

Then, one day, the last straw broke the camel's back. Or, more accurately, fell into his cabbage patch.

The dark haired man was drenched in blood. There was barely any skin visible from the top of his head to the collar of his jacket. Dark blue eyes glared out from the red.

He was tall, taller than Gale, broad and strong looking. But Gale was clearly in a better state. If it came down to it, he was sure he could hold his own.

The man held his hand to his lips, gasping on his knees in the dirt. "Bitte," he whispered in an American accent.

"Amerikaner?"

The man nodded and tapped his chest with one hand, the other still raised, palm out. "John."

John. Gale returned the favour in kind, and he liked the way his name sounded in American.

Just as he was about to ask the man if he needed help - the stupidest damned question he would have ever asked in his life because seriously - barking and shouting came from the woods a ways behind the house.

Terror flashed in those blue eyes.

"Please," the man begged, dragged from the depths of him and Gale got the impression it wasn't something he said often. "Please help me."

And the awful limbo Gale had felt stuck in for years started to crumble away. He marched forward and grabbed John roughly and hauled him to his feet. He half carried him to the hay cart and tossed him onto it. John barely had time to give him a single bewildered glance before Gale was shoveling hay over him and dragging the cart around the barn and next to the silo. Then over the hill came a small band of hunters, dogs and guns and all. One of them was a regular visitor to his father and Gale ran forward waving his arms and yelling.

"You are looking for someone?"

They were.

"They are injured?"

They were.

He led them to the cabbage patch and the blood on the pale leaves.

"I've checked everywhere and they're not hiding anywhere I can find."

And because most people saw his father when they looked at him, the hunters gave nothing more than a cursory glance around, before they left.

And Gale is left with an American man hiding in some hay, who by hook or by crook, he was going to get out of here.

[skyphloxx]

thinking abt clegan getting away with the most ridiculously romantic shit because everyone around them is oblivious and doesn’t suspect anything like. gale giving bucky his moms wedding ring and bucky stringing it on his dog tags and wearing it around under his shirt. when the guys notice it he says it’s his own mother’s and he wears it ‘to remember her’ even though bucky’s mom is alive and well and he makes no effort to hide this lmfao

[pigeonwithapen]

I did not mean to put this much thought into this, other companions coming soon. Probably.

[ID in Alt]

[thatsrightice]

Following the mission to Bremen on October 8, 1943, it would be 54 days before Thorpe Abbotts would learn that Buck had survived the mission and was currently residing in a POW camp.

This information comes from a diary entry from Marvin ‘Red’ Bowman, Group Intelligence Officer of the 100th Bomb Group;

Dec 1, 1943 - One year ago today the Group was leaving Wendover, Utah – look at us now!! Everyone was greatly cheered by news from Odessa, Texas, that Major Cleven is safe in a POW camp. Also Ferrogiarro, who gave his name as Beard to avoid being shot for his commendable part in the Spanish Civil War. All now sweating out Major Egan, who went down two days after them at Munster.

[steampoweredstrawberry]

I like the sad cat dad wizards a normal amount

[hogans-heroes]

God I wish I spoke better German for the escape scene. That one SS guy is yelling like “Wait [something I can’t decipher] even more, shoot him” (don’t know if he’s talking about Gale or Bucky) and when the pow officer is saying to let Bucky go the guy is yelling “he [was trying] to escape we can’t let him go.” Especially since they told the group at the beginning that anyone who tries to escape will be shot. It’s hard to understand when they’re yelling rapidly, the few words at the beginning I can’t quite catch.

[coach-ukai-keishin]

soooo uhmmm I just think more people should give The White Vault a try because 👉👈 well. some people would love Graham Casner merch okay. And there isn't any. NONE!!!!! please.

[therealslimshakespeare]

Writing Maureen and Gale stalag intimacy is like-

Here we have Buck and his Wife Maureen and Buck’s Husband Bucky and one of these three don’t share well and it’s not the most likely of them all

…or maybe it is

[inkbotkowalski]

I take psychic damage every time someone says "KarlaCK" instead of "KarlaCH" and "AstErion" instead of "AstArion" (although it took me weeks not to calling him Asterius by mistake, lol).

(Also I was suprised to hear Wyll said out loud. Like. "Will? Who the fuck is Will with his boring ass real name - oh you mean the guy I've been pronouncing Wool in my head" lol)

[johnslittlespoon]

Also i love ur john is dog coded prompt 😭😭

IT'S MY FAVOURITE THING EVER. i could go on about it for ages, it makes so much sense; i latched onto it from episode one just based on vibes alone and then the howl on the plane wing and the "okay, meatball" really solidified it. he's literally just a dopey impulsive clingy eager to please puppy. i'm a goner.

[middlingmay]

German Gale AU Part 4

Links to Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Despite the note and despite being addressed as Herr Cleven instead of Gefangene, as soon as they’re out of sight of John, the military police shove a bag over his head, bind his hands, and drag him around in a dizzying, disorienting series of twists and turns.

His heart is beating jackrabbit fast and in the privacy of his own head Gale can admit that he’s frightened. That he’s going to be thrown in prison. That they’re going to lock him up and throw away the key. That they’re not going to listen to a word he said because they’re said in imperfect English spoken with a German accent.

He searches for the regret, for wishing he’d stayed on his father’s farm in Germany, but it’s not there. Not even a shadow of it. All he can think of his John, bloody and hunted amongst the cabbages. John knocking a man to the ground for him. John and him side by side in a mad dash out of the country. And John willing to stand between his own army and Gale.

So no, he doesn’t regret anything.

Eventually, after a winding car ride and being dragged to and fro for a bit longer, he’s sat none too gently onto a chair and the bag is whipped off his head. The restraints stay on.

What begins is an endless litany of the same questions asked in different ways over and over again. Gale is hungry. He’s tired. He’s afraid. They won’t get a translator and let him speak German.

“What is your name? Who are your parents? Where do you live? What do you do? What do your parents do? Are any of you supporters of the Nazi Party? Does your farm supply any members of the Nazi Party?”

And Gale has to tell them about his father: about how he sells secrets and information to the Nazi’s; about how he tells them the whereabouts of Jewish people, Slavs, Romani, political dissidents, deviants—anyone the Nazi’s wanted to remove from their vision for the German nation.

They ask Gale for names and he doesn’t know any. They rhyme names off to him and he doesn’t know any. So they fetch a thick file and show him a series of photos.

Most of them are strangers, but he’s able to point out a few that look familiar. One in particular makes him stab the grainy photo with vigour.

“Er war auf der Jagd nach Major Egan.” / “He was hunting Major Egan.”

The Officers shared a look, but at long last they seemed to believe he wasn’t a German spy. His restraints are taken off and a glass of water is handed to him and he gulps is so greedily, water trickles from both sides of his mouth.

But if Gale thinks that’s the end of his interrogation, he’s very wrong. An all new kind begins.

They grill him on whatever information they can wring out if him: when these Nazi’s came by; how much they paid his father; did they drive there? Did they stay over? What did they eat for dinner? What did they like to drink? Did he overhear anything of value? Did they mention any names? Any places? Any odd sounding words or phrases out of context? Any dates or time frames they visited a lot or were more absent than normal?

By the time they were done, Gale was slurring his words, could barely speak a word of English, and was practically asleep sitting up.

They put him in a cell - it’s bright and airy and has a comfortable bed, a light, a table, even a plant, but it’s a cell all the same. They have to do some verification, they said, and they leave him with a plate of chicken and potatoes and a pitcher of water.

For the first time in a long time Gale feels like crying, but he’s so tired and dehydrated and hungry, his body can’t spare the water.

In the morning he’s woken by the loud clanging of his cell door opening. They have fresh clothes for him—plain and definitely not a prison uniform—and Gale is beyond grateful to see a towel and some basic toiletries. They lead him to a room where he can shower and get clean and change, and then he’s hustled into a room with the same Colonel from the day before.

Gale entered the room German, but not a spy. He left German and a British spy.

He was to be part of a network—of real and fake spies—that’s job was to flood the German intelligence with false leads and floods of information to check and cross check and verify. They didn’t tell him why, but just that he would use his contacts in the resistance network in Germany to this end.

He would have a ‘handler’, and man he would only know as Hausmann, who would give him the information and tell him what to do with it.

They give him a choice—a shit one, but a choice. Go to jail for the duration of the war until a trial could be brought, or work for them.

Gale accepts, but asks, “John. Major Egan. I can…write to him?”

But the Colonel shakes his head. “No, Herr Cleven. You’ll have no contact with the Allied armed forces beyond whatever messages are relayed to you through your handler.”

Something in Gale breaks a little at that. He’d hoped John would have been an ally—a friend even—and in the privacy of his own imaginings, something more after John’s confession on the ship. But here that hope was killed.

“Will you tell me…if he…”

Being a pilot is dangerous. Everyone knows that no matter what side they fight on. They would throw John straight back into action and Gale might not ever know if anything happens to him.

They don’t answer him.

In short order he’s given new papers and a new name, and he’s put into a room with a young woman with a pot of something viscous and dark and comes out with black hair. A pre-packed suitcase is shoved into his hands, and he’s on his way back to Germany before nightfall.

It takes Hausmann a day to contact him. He knocks on the door of Gale’s accommodation - a sparse, tiny apartment. He’s a Nazi’s dream—clean, neat blonde hair, smart spectacles, and a smug line to his mouth that Gale thinks a man or two would like to do something about.

Gale wants him to deliver his instructions and leave, but Hausmann seems happy to loiter. He unearths a quarter bottle of schnapps and tries to find out as much about Gale ask he can without asking anything directly. Gale is certain he doesn’t let anything of note slip through—he’s petrified of slipping up and getting thrown in jail or worse. But somehow Hausmann ferrets out John’s name.

“I’ve heard of Major John C. Egan of Manitowoc Wisconsin.”

Gale blinks at him.

“Former Luftwaffe,” Hausmann smirks. “The leader of the 100th Bomb Group stationed in Thorpe Abbotts, Norfolk, England. So beloved by his men, they collectively wrote to Colonel Neil Hardin to request he be removed as Air Executive so he can return to the skies with them. Dark hair. Curly, I believe. Blue eyes. Freckles. A moustache last I heard. A rather large, imposing individual. Roguishly handsome. Has successfully dodged the blue tickets the Allies are so fond of, so far.”

Hausmann is almost laughing by the time he’s finished and Gale cuts him a vicious look and darts up from the table. His clenches his fists and Hausmann holds up his hands.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean anything by it. We are… of a like?”

Gale hates him, he decides, but he can see why Hausmann is a spy. He can read people effortlessly, and his insightfulness has Gale on edge.

That is, until…

“You want to contact him? I can help with that.”

Gale’s heart jumps, but he doesn’t trust this Hausman at all. “Why would you do that?”

Hausmann passes him the schnapps and Gale refuses. Again. “I think it would benefit you and I to be friends, Gale Cleven. They don’t care if we get out of this alive; just that we make as much trouble for the Nazi’s as we can before we’re killed. But I didn’t let the Luftwaffe kill me, and I won’t let a German army that can’t see they’re losing the war kill me, now. If either of us want to get out of this alive, we’re going to need each other. So—truce?”

He holds out his hand and when Gale takes it, it’s soft and smooth. Gale wats to rip his own hand back, but makes himself shake on it. Getting out of here without a bullet through his head and back to John may very well depend on it.

“Truce.”

[zaritarazi]

Like listen i make the personal choice not to stay up at night thinking about just how fucking bad the auntie ethel thing is like as a jew but it doesn't mean i won't swing on swen when i see him. I'm going to many many times

[benvenutio]

buckbuckymarge

oooh. no i don't think so altho it IS an interesting thought exercise. i just find it a little disingenuous when fandom solves the problem of a love triangle by making everyone poly instead bc i tend to find the woman in these equations almost always gets sidelined and idk abt anyone else but i'm TIREDDDD of it :(((( however if it's written right i think i would get onboard <3

[deputy-ajay-ghale]

My partner’s commentary while I read them chapters 1-3 of The Hunger Games:

- Compares their cat Phoebe to Buttercup bc mean kitties

- They awwed at Catnip

- “She has a crush on [Gale].”

- Awwed again at Katniss calling Prim “little duck”

- Says “Oh fuck” when Prim’s name is called at the end of chapter one

- Asks me about tributes volunteering before I read the next chapter

- Likes that Peeta gave Katniss a loaf that had nuts and raisins, says that he cared to give her more than just plain bread and thinks he’s nice

- “She’s down bad for [Gale].”

- *about Effie criticizing the last tributes for their bad table manners for eating with their hands* “They’re just Filipino!”

- They realized aloud the mockingjay symbol is part of the book covers

- *about the mockingjays* “Can I sing it Tower of Power songs?”

- Says “oh my God” at Haymitch falling into his own vomit.

[numberonetrashwitch]

Now, as mentioned in my previous run; I wanted to romance Wyll. But seeing that i also want Karlach in my party he kinda ... just said he couldn't... for obvious reasons

Spoilers include: Past-Goblin Camp The Necronomicon

So, after the celebebration i decided to hook up with Astarion. He was actually last on my list, bc motherfucker he is written to appeal to my inner teenager, the feminine part of me, and my naive & romantic part. You know the one, the part that wants to be deeply in love with a flawed slut of a man who somehow thinks he is beyond everything and everyone but also elevates you, almost worships you merely for existing. I savescummed through all the interactions one by one and literally just went with the one that felt most "real". Him showing his scars and being all defensive was real.

Aaaaaanyway. Then i handed him the in-universe version of the Necronomicon, in hopes he can seperate from his master. Thats it. Next i saw the (!) above his head and decided to talk to him and ...

OH BOY

That fucker really and i mean really turned into a classical romance poet just to tell you he loves you .... as a .. not really convincing lie to get you to sleep with him? I think i get the hype now, at least a bit.

Holy shit either this fucker stays with me or im the one who kills him.

[sleepy-seal]

oh my god i realized why i've been feeling so switchy lately