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zeropro · 3 months ago

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Thundercracker: Origins

New Trine AU Fanfic posted on AO3! Check it out if you want, this one's a two parter about Thundercracker (and Starscream).

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62847191/chapters/160913611

Full chapter under the cut:

Chapter 1

The first of the seeker class was shipped directly to the air force. When it became clear that even a dedicated warbuild could not survive the intricacies of aerial combat on instinct alone, they began sending them to the Cybertronian War Academy first, for basic training at the very least. When enrollment for that became too full to manage, it was then deemed appropriate for certain city-states to offer civilian jobs to newly onlined seekers. Most of these seekers found themselves sequestered in Vos; as the central location of Cybertron’s air force, they stood out the least in that city.

It was there, in the lower end of Vos, that a certain blue seeker lived out his days. His name was Thundercracker, and nothing exciting ever happened to him.

Thundercracker would say he preferred it that way. An exciting life was a demanding life. It meant expectations and hard decisions and the stress of unpredictability. Thundercracker avoided all that by keeping up a dutiful routine. Everyday he’d wake up, refuel, go to work, come back home, refuel again, watch the news, recharge, and repeat. It was a quiet life. He didn’t go out for fun, and he didn’t try to make friends. Other mechs stressed him out: the city was full of grounders that grabbed and slapped at his wings and seekers that harassed him for not being military. Thundercracker didn’t want to join the military. Thundercracker didn’t want to be anything at all.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight (as a warbuild, he was quite literally built for fighting), and it wasn’t that he couldn't fly, (in his humble opinion, Thundercracker could outfly most of the air force if given the chance); it was just, despite his class function, Thundercracker didn’t have the temperament for a soldier’s life. Consequences were so much steeper when death was involved. Dying scared him, but being forced to kill scared him more; and he would kill, if the military told him to. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but the law was the law, and Thundercracker always did what he was told.

The military was run by grounders, as was much of Cybertronian society. It was a hold over from the Functionalist ideology that ruled the past, which still permeated much of Cybertronian law to this day. Thundercracker found it utterly ridiculous–after all flight frames were clearly the superior model–but he didn’t make the rules.

The senate made the rules, and all he had to do was follow them in order to live out his life in peace.

Delivering packages wasn’t an interesting or glamorous job, but it did mean he got to fly a lot. Gliding from lower Vos to the High Spires and back down to the Lights Districts, the routes were monotonous and dull, but he could focus on the air across his wings and the thrum of his engines to keep himself sane. Flying was one freedom he would not give away. And so it went, day after day, cycle after deca-cycle, the vorns blending into one another as Thundercracker repeated his routine.

Half a million stellar cycles of the same old, same old, and nothing exciting ever happened.

Only, that wasn’t entirely true. There was one notable exception to the uneventfulness that was Thundercracker’s entire existence, and that exception always made itself known when he least expected.

It was a day like any other: same morning routines, same familiar routes, processor dimly wandering over several different topics without ever committing to any particular thought. There was no reason to believe anything other than a half cube of energon and a quiet evening in front of the vid screen would be waiting for him at home.

He was standing in the middle of his tiny apartment, about to take a sip from his cube, when a peculiar knock assaulted his door.

Tap, tap, rapitty tap.

Thundercracker slowly put down his cube as he turned to stare at the door, wondering if he had imagined the sound. After the briefest of moments, he heard it again.

Tap, tap, rapitty tap!

His vents stuttered in a suppressed groan. It had been an eternity, yet he’d recognize the sound anywhere. There was only one mech who ever knocked on Thundercracker’s door in that exact fashion. A mech who only ever showed up when he was in some kind of dubiously dire situation. A mech Thundercracker never quite had enough energy for.

That mech looked way too happy to see him when he opened the door.

“Starscream.”

“Oh good! You remember me!”

The white, red, and blue seeker at his doorstep grinned manically up at him. He seemed to be panting ever so slightly, as if he’d been straining his engines, and a stray suspicion at the back of Thundercracker’s processor wondered who or what might have chased him here.

“You better not have done anything actually illegal this time,” he said with a glower.

Starscream barked out a laugh. “Of course not! But I do need your help. Follow me!”

That was all the warning he got. Thundercracker hardly had time to register the command before Starscream kicked off the ground into his alt mode and zoomed away. Without thinking, Thundercracker shut the door and raced after him. It wasn’t until he caught up to Starscream’s tail wind that he even wondered what they were doing.

Starscream set a brisk pace. Vos became a blur of lights beneath them as they flew towards the outskirts of town, turbines humming in tandem.

This was their first time flying together.

Glancing over at the smaller seeker, it occurred to him that he and this mech were still practically strangers. So much time had passed since their first fateful encounter, and yet they’d only interacted a handful of times, and only ever when Starscream needed someone to bail him out of trouble. It was his own damn fault, Thundercracker supposed: he was only in this position because of the one time in his function he didn’t mind his own business. The one time he decided, on a whim, to deviate from his regular path, to follow a trail of energon down that dark alleyway.

That was where he found him. The terrified seeker had somehow crammed himself into the seams of the buildings, knees drawn up to his chest in an attempt to make himself as small as possible. It was unclear how long he had been there, sat in a pool of his own energon. It had taken forever to coax him out of his hiding spot. Both his hands were missing.

Thundercracker helped him. Of course he did. He wouldn’t have felt right leaving him there, and it wasn’t like it would cost him much. He had carried him home, helped him refuel, and then walked him to the nearest clinic. The medical bill did cost him quite a lot, but it had seemed like the right thing to do.

And then it was over; the next day, he was gone. He hadn’t expected to ever see the seeker again after that, and his life went back to normal.

The first time Starscream showed up on his doorstep asking for help, so much time had passed that Thundercracker hardly recognized him at first. Gone was that haunted look in his optics, completely replaced by an obnoxiously cocky attitude and whirlwind personality that easily commanded the room. Thundercracker barely registered having let him in before the tri-colored seeker was lounging on his couch, drinking his energon and chatting up a storm.

And so it was that Starscream would disappear for a hundred vorn or so at a time before suddenly turning up at Thundercracker’s door needing to borrow credits or a place to crash after having lost his latest job to one thing or another. There was always a story behind it. Starscream was absolutely full of stories! In the spans of time between each visit, Starscream would fly all over Cybertron, living in several different cities, working several different jobs that all defied the limitations of his frame type’s function. He had at different times been a medic, a prosecutor, a frame model, a politician, and apparently even a functionalist priest for a brief stint. That last one had gotten him in trouble with the law, but he swore it wasn’t his fault.

Thundercracker wasn’t entirely sure how much he believed Starscream’s tall tales, embellished as they were, but it was impossible not to be drawn in by the absurdity that was Starscream’s life. Starscream talked about everything, from politics to theater, from how badly Thundercracker needed to maintain his polish to the best way to drink engex, and of course every work-related drama he’d ever been involved in.

The more Starscream talked about himself, the less Thundercracker felt like he knew him.

Who was he really? Where had he come from?

And where exactly were they going now?

He scarcely finished the thought when the roar of engines caught his attention. Two seekers had entered the air space behind them and were quickly gaining speed. Emblazoned on their wings was the symbol of Cybertron’s air force.

“What did you do?!” Thundercracker shouted at his companion, completely incensed that Starscream would not only get in trouble with the military, but decide to drag him into it as well. Thundercracker had work in the morning, he couldn't afford to go to jail!

Starscream’s wings wiggled slightly; the fragger was giggling.

“Don’t worry about it, Thundercracker! Just keep up and follow my lead!”

Starscream blasted off. The guy was fast, and Thundercracker could barely manage to keep up. The military seekers gave chase, but at a much slower pace than would be expected, allowing the distance between them to surmount. Just as Thundercracker thought they might actually lose them, Starscream banked upwards so tightly it forced Thundercracker to pull an insane swivel and flip just to swing back around. He could see Starscream making loops ahead of him, giving him a chance to catch up, but as soon as Thundercracker was at his wing, he was forced into another dangerous stunt. Starscream spun and pressed and volleyed almost playfully around him, corralling him into tight turns and sharp dives and complicated flight maneuvers seemingly at random. It was all he could do not to collide in the air, ailerons straining against the turbulence.

It was exhilarating!

Thundercracker had never flown this hard before. He spent so much time retracing the same inter-city routes that he forgot just how amazing it felt to really cut loose in the open sky. With Starscream’s antics adding an extra layer of complexity and challenge to the flight, Thundercracker could feel himself pushing his frame and concentration to their limits in a way that just felt good.

For a blissful few breems, it was as if nothing else existed outside of the controlled chaos of their flight, but as soon as they began to descend, Thundercracker remembered where he was and who was still in the air with them. His earlier trepidation slammed back into his frame as the other two seekers followed them to the ground, and he self-consciously wondered if they had been watching the entire time. At least Starscream seemed completely unbothered by their presence, laughing high and bright as he transformed into his landing. It was a small assurance that neither of them were going to get arrested tonight for whatever it was they were just doing.

Thundercracker landed stiffly, keeping Starscream between him and the seekers touching down a short distance away. The pair transformed into root mode with all the practiced bravado of seasoned warriors. They wore the nosecones of their alt modes tall and proud over their helms, in the traditional fashion of Polyhexian seekers. Thundercracker gulped– they looked really cool.

“Well?” Starscream said, turning to address them with an arrogant smirk plastered on his faceplates, arms splayed wide like a gladiator taunting his opponent. “I do believe I have proven my point!”

One of the seekers turned his helm away with a growl, but his partner gave them a good natured smirk. “Fine, we will concede. That was some pretty impressive flying up there. You know, the force could use more seekers with your talent.”

Starscream examined his claws. “I’d be wasted on the military. My skillsets were honed for free flight, not rank and file.”

“You’d be surprised. Command positions do open up occasionally.”

“Oh?”

They were just chatting now, Thundercracker realized. With a few more words of polite banter, the two seekers soon kicked off and flew away into the skyline, leaving Starscream looking far too pleased with himself and Thundercracker completely and utterly baffled by the exchange.

“...What was that?!”

Starscream flinched at the tone, but Thundercracker was too tense to feel bad about it. The smaller seeker at least had the decency to look apologetic as he turned to face him with a placating grin. “Heh, it’s a long story, but I may have gotten a bit overcharged at a bar a few cities down and implied I could outfly a pair of air marshals who would NOT let it go. In my defence, I tried to avoid them! They just kept finding me, demanding I back my claim!”

Thundercracker felt sick with embarrassment. “THAT’S what you dragged me out here to do? To…to…skydance in front of a pair of professionals? What made you think…I’ve never even flown formation before in my life! I…Oh Primus, I must have looked like an idiot.”

“But you were amazing!” Starscream praised, his smile beaming with sincerity. “I did NOT go easy on you up there, but you matched me wing for wing! Listen, I told them I could outfly any pair on Cybertron, and these mechs have been hounding me for stellar cycles to prove it to them. And we flew circles around them! Thundercracker, if that was your first time flying paired, then you are a sky-blessed genius!”

Thundercracker immediately deflated at the earnest praise being heaped on him. He was still really miffed at Starscream for taking advantage of him like that, at how easily it all could have gone bottom up, how one wrong move could have sent them both spiraling to the ground in an embarrassed heap. But they hadn’t. He didn’t mess up, and they didn’t crash and make fools of themselves, and according to a pair of air force trained seekers, he had been good enough to impress. He couldn't deny how good the validation felt, how good the flying had felt. His wings fluttered bashfully as he let the remaining tension bleed out of his frame.

Sensing the change, Starscream pranced to his side and hooked their arms together. “Hey, how about I make it up to you? Come on! It’ll be my treat.” And before he could ask what that meant, he was dragged back into the air. With a resigned chuckle, he transformed and followed Starscream back to the city.

They filled the rest of the night with dive bars and live shows as he let Starscream drag him all across town. Everywhere they went, Starscream somehow made himself the center of attention, allowing Thundercracker to always be part of the action while staying out of the spotlight. It was comfortable, following Starscream around. The tri-colored seeker always knew what he wanted and where to get it, and Thundercracker never once had to worry about what to say or what to do next. They drank high-grade and shared stories and danced the night away.

And then it was morning, and Starscream was gone.

It was all an expected part of the long established pattern; just as Starscream always showed up when he least expected it, he also always left without warning or care. No ‘goodbyes’ or ‘we’ll meet agains’, just one moment there and gone the next. Thundercracker stood in the middle of his tiny apartment and sipped from his cube as he got ready for work, and something about the space seemed just a tad bit quieter than it used to. He flew his same old routes down the same city blocks and the air traffic felt just a tad bit slower than it used to.

That night he watched the news and thought about flying.

#fanfiction #fanfic #transformers #thundercracker #starscream

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callsigns-haze · 8 months ago

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You knew? Part 1 of 3

Pairing: Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x Reader! Callsign Ace

Chapter Summary: In a clever setup orchestrated by Hangman and Phoenix, Rooster and Ace, two colleagues with a tense relationship, unknowingly begin exchanging flirtatious emails under anonymous identities. As they bond over shared work frustrations, they eventually realize they’ve been emailing each other all along. The discovery leads to frustration and anger, particularly from Ace, who feels betrayed by Hangman’s manipulation. The revelation complicates their already strained relationship.

Warning: This story includes themes of manipulation and workplace tension, leading to conflicts and personal revelations.

The sun beat down on NAS North Island as jets roared across the sky, the rhythmic hum of engines echoing throughout the base. Inside the hangar, pilots and crew members moved with practiced ease, their chatter blending with the distant sound of drills.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw sat on a bench in the locker room, his flight suit unzipped to his waist. He absentmindedly ran a hand through his tousled hair, his thoughts far from the noise around him. Lately, a gnawing sense of loneliness had settled in, one he couldn't quite shake.

Just as he was lost in thought, the door swung open with a bang. Natasha "Phoenix" Trace rushed in, her boots skidding slightly on the polished floor. There was a determined look in her eyes, one Rooster knew all too well—she was on a mission.

"Rooster, got a minute?" she asked, barely giving him time to respond before thrusting a crumpled piece of paper into his hand.

He frowned, unfolding the note to reveal an email address scrawled in neat handwriting. Confusion crossed his face as he looked up at Phoenix. "What's this?"

"An email address," Phoenix replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I know you can be slow sometimes, but I didn’t think I’d have to explain that part."

Rooster rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. "I can see that. But whose?"

Phoenix crossed her arms, her expression turning serious. "Listen, I’ve seen you moping around here, and frankly, it’s pathetic. You're my best friend, and I hate seeing you like this. So, I talked to a friend of mine—a good one—and got her email for you. The only rule is, you can’t ask her name. And she won’t ask for yours either."

Rooster blinked, taken aback. "You’re setting me up? Since when did you become a matchmaker?"

"Since you started acting like a lovesick puppy," Phoenix shot back, her tone teasing but her eyes sincere. "Look, just email her. No expectations, no pressure. Just talk. See where it goes."

Rooster glanced down at the email again, something about the mystery of it intriguing him. He’d never done anything like this before, and maybe that was exactly why he should give it a try.

"Alright," he finally said, tucking the paper into his pocket. "I’ll do it. But if this turns out to be some weird prank, I’m coming after you."

Phoenix laughed, the tension easing between them. "Trust me, Rooster. You might actually thank me for this one. Just don’t try to figure out who she is. Let it happen."

As Rooster watched her leave, he felt a strange mix of anticipation and curiosity. Maybe this was what he needed after all—a chance to connect with someone new, without the weight of the past hanging over him.

Across the base, in another part of the hangar, Y/N Y/L/N, known by her call sign "Ace," was finishing up a maintenance check on her jet. She wiped the sweat from her brow, satisfied with the day's work, when Jake "Hangman" Seresin approached her, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, Ace," he called out, waving a folded piece of paper in the air as he jogged over.

She raised an eyebrow, instantly suspicious. "What’s with the look, Seresin?"

He handed her the paper with a flourish, like he was presenting her with a winning lottery ticket. "Just a little something I thought you might appreciate. It’s an email address."

Ace unfolded the paper, eyeing the email address written there. "Whose is it?"

"That’s the fun part," Hangman replied, leaning against the jet with a smirk. "I know you’ve been keeping to yourself lately, and I figured you could use a distraction. So, I talked to a buddy of mine and got you this. The only rule is, you can’t ask him who he is, and he can’t ask about you. Just email him. See what happens."

Ace looked at the email address again, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Hangman said, his voice uncharacteristically sincere. "No games, no strings. Just an honest chance to connect with someone. What do you say?"

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, folding the paper and slipping it into her pocket. "Alright, I’ll give it a shot. But if this is your idea of a joke, Seresin, I’m not going to be happy."

Hangman laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Scout’s honour, Ace. I think you’ll like this one."

As he walked away, Ace couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. The anonymity of it, the chance to talk to someone without the usual baggage—it was intriguing. Maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of surprise she needed.

---

The day was winding down as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the base. The roar of jet engines had softened, leaving a quieter hum in the air.

Ace, tired but satisfied with the day’s work, was making her way out of the hangar. She was eager to get home, her mind already turning over what she might say in that first email to the mysterious address Hangman had given her.

As she rounded a corner, focused more on her thoughts than on where she was going, she collided hard with someone coming the other way. The impact jolted her back to reality, and she instinctively gripped her helmet tighter to avoid dropping it.

"Watch where you’re going!" she snapped, the words flying out before she even registered who she’d bumped into.

Rooster, equally caught off guard, scowled as he steadied himself. "Maybe you should try not walking around with your head in the clouds," he shot back, his tone sharp.

Ace narrowed her eyes at him, irritation bubbling up immediately. Rooster was the last person she wanted to deal with right now. Their relationship had always been rocky—too much ego and too many unresolved tensions.

"You’re one to talk," she muttered, brushing past him. "I’m surprised you didn’t trip over your own ego on the way here."

Rooster rolled his eyes, not willing to let it slide. "Yeah, well, at least I don’t need to be constantly reminded which way is up."

They glared at each other for a moment longer before Ace turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Rooster behind with a bitter taste in his mouth. As she walked away, she could feel the tension still crackling in the air, but she refused to let it ruin her evening.

From across the hangar, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin watched the interaction unfold, exchanging worried glances. They had been casually chatting when they noticed their two targets—Ace and Rooster—heading straight for each other. Now, as they observed the icy exchange, Phoenix let out a sigh.

"Well, that went about as well as a mid-air collision," she murmured, shaking her head.

Hangman chuckled nervously, though his usual confidence was tinged with doubt. "Yeah, I’m starting to think this might have been a bad idea. They can barely be in the same room without biting each other’s heads off."

Phoenix crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Maybe… or maybe this is exactly what they need. You know how it is—sometimes the people who push each other’s buttons the most are the ones who end up surprising you."

Hangman shrugged, though he still looked uncertain. "I hope you’re right, because if this backfires, we’re both going to hear about it for the rest of our lives."

Phoenix smirked, her confidence returning. "Trust me, Hangman. We’ve seen stranger things happen around here."

Ace slid into the driver’s seat of her car, tossing her helmet onto the passenger seat with a frustrated huff. The encounter with Rooster still lingered in her mind, but she wasn’t going to let it bother her. Not tonight.

She pulled out the crumpled piece of paper with the email address, staring at it for a moment before finally unlocking her phone. With a deep breath, she opened a new message and began typing, her fingers moving more quickly as she decided what to say.

Hey there, she started, keeping it simple. I’m not sure how this whole thing is supposed to work, but I guess we’re both in the same boat. So, here’s to whatever comes next.

She hesitated for a moment, then hit send before she could second-guess herself. Leaning back in her seat, she let out a slow breath, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and nerves.

Back at his apartment, Rooster had just kicked off his boots and was settling in when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his eyebrows lifting in surprise when he saw a new email notification.

Curious, he opened it and read the message, a grin slowly spreading across his face. The casual tone, the uncertainty—it was refreshing. Whoever this person was, they weren’t overthinking it, and he liked that.

Hey yourself, he typed back, his mood lightening as he responded. I’m not sure how this is supposed to go either, but I’m game to find out. Let’s see where this takes us.

He hit send, feeling a flicker of excitement. There was something fun about the anonymity of it all—no names, no faces, just two people connecting through words.

As he leaned back, waiting to see if they’d reply, he had no idea that the person on the other end was the very same pilot he’d just butted heads with. And for now, maybe that was for the best.

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace sat on her couch, feet tucked underneath her as she scrolled through her emails. The mystery contact had quickly become the highlight of her evening, a welcome distraction from the routine of her day. She opened his latest email with a sense of anticipation.

Hey yourself, it began. I’m not sure how this is supposed to go either, but I’m game to find out. Let’s see where this takes us.

She couldn’t help but smile. There was something refreshing about this—no expectations, no judgments, just a conversation. She quickly typed a response.

Well, I guess we’re both in uncharted territory here. So, let’s start simple—how was your day?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster kicked back on his couch, his phone in hand. The quiet of his apartment felt more bearable with the company of his mystery emailer. When her reply came through, he read it with a growing interest.

Pretty standard—flew a few maneuvers, avoided crashing into anyone, and had a less-than-pleasant encounter with someone who seems to think they own the sky. You?

He chuckled to himself before typing back.

Sounds like a typical day in our line of work. As for me, I spent most of my day fixing things up and trying not to lose my patience with a certain someone who seems to thrive on pushing my buttons.

ACE’S APARTMENT - SAME NIGHT

Ace read his email and felt a spark of curiosity. The way he talked about his day sounded oddly familiar, like they might have more in common than she’d initially thought. She responded with a hint of playfulness.

Fixing things up? Sounds like we might work in the same field. My day involved some pretty similar frustrations—mostly with equipment, though a few people came close. What’s the most interesting part of your job?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - SAME NIGHT

Rooster raised an eyebrow as he read her reply. Was it possible they worked in the same industry? The thought intrigued him, but he decided to keep it vague.

The most interesting part? Probably the high-stakes situations. There’s nothing quite like the rush you get when everything’s on the line. What about you?

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATER THAT NIGHT

Ace’s curiosity deepened. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they might be closer in their professional lives than either of them realized. She replied with a smile.

I’d have to agree with that. There’s something addictive about the adrenaline, the way you have to think on your feet. It’s not for everyone, but it definitely keeps things interesting. Ever have a moment where you thought, ‘This is it, this is why I do this’?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATER THAT NIGHT

Rooster felt a connection growing with this mystery person. The way she described the job, the adrenaline—it all resonated with him.

Definitely. There’ve been a few moments where it all comes together, and you remember why you signed up in the first place. It’s those moments that make the tough days worth it. Sounds like you know exactly what I mean.

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Ace smiled at the screen. There was an undeniable connection between them, something that went beyond the surface.

I do. It’s the reason we keep coming back, isn’t it? The rush, the challenge. So, what’s your favorite part of the day—when you’re up there, or when you’re down here figuring it all out?

She hit send, the thrill of the conversation growing with each exchange.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Rooster read her email, feeling that same thrill. It was like they were dancing around the details, both aware they were probably in the same line of work, but neither willing to say too much.

Honestly? It’s a bit of both. I love the freedom and the rush of being up there, but there’s something satisfying about the process of figuring things out down here too. You?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace’s heart raced as she typed her response, the anonymity of their conversation adding to the excitement.

Same here. There’s a balance to it that I love. The thrill of being in the thick of it, and the quiet satisfaction of making sure everything runs smoothly when it’s all over. I guess you could say it’s a perfect mix of chaos and control.

She sent the message, feeling more connected to this stranger than she had to anyone in a long time.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Rooster read her reply, a grin spreading across his face. There was no denying it now—they were definitely in the same field. He wondered if they’d ever crossed paths without even knowing it.

Couldn’t have said it better myself. There’s something about that mix that’s just right. Maybe one day we’ll get the chance to compare notes in person—who knows?

He sent the email, his curiosity about her growing with every word.

ACE’S APARTMENT - EARLY MORNING

Ace’s pulse quickened as she read his last message. The thought of meeting him, of finding out who he was, sent a thrill through her.

Maybe we will. It’s a small world, after all. In the meantime, I’m enjoying getting to know you through these little windows into each other’s lives. Who knew this would turn out to be so fun?

She sent the message, already eager to see what he’d say next.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EARLY MORNING

Rooster leaned back, thinking about how surreal this all was. There was something almost magical about connecting with someone this way, without even knowing their name.

I have to admit, I’m enjoying it too. There’s something about the mystery that makes it all the more interesting. Who knows where this might lead?

He sent the message, his mind racing with possibilities. The night had turned out far better than he could have imagined.

---

The sun had barely risen over the base, casting a soft, golden light across the tarmac. Jets stood in neat rows, their sleek forms gleaming under the morning sun. The day was just beginning, but already there was a sense of energy in the air—a mix of anticipation and routine that every pilot knew well.

Ace arrived at the hangar, her steps quick and determined. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, especially not after the strange, unexpected thrill of the email exchange last night. She had stayed up far too late, caught up in the banter with her mystery contact, and now she was paying for it. Her mind was still partially back in that conversation, trying to piece together who the person on the other end might be.

But her focus snapped back to the present the moment she saw him.

Bradshaw was already there, leaning casually against one of the jets with that familiar, infuriating smirk on his face. He was chatting with a couple of other pilots, his easy laughter carrying across the hangar. As soon as he noticed her, the smirk widened.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Rooster called out, his voice dripping with mock surprise.

Ace rolled her eyes, her irritation flaring instantly. "Some of us don’t need to parade around like peacocks just to get attention, Rooster."

He pushed off from the jet and strolled toward her, his hands in his pockets. "Oh, I don’t know, Ace. A little flair never hurt anyone. But I guess subtlety isn’t really your style, is it?"

She glared at him, crossing her arms. "You wouldn’t know subtlety if it flew up and hit you in the face."

Rooster chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Maybe not, but at least I don’t go around with a permanent chip on my shoulder. Lighten up, Ace. Not everything has to be a competition."

She stepped closer, refusing to back down. "When you’re around, everything is a competition. Or maybe you just don’t like losing."

Rooster’s eyes flashed with a mix of amusement and challenge. "You think I’m losing? That’s cute. Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night."

Ace’s jaw clenched, her irritation now fully transformed into a burning anger. "You know what, Rooster? One of these days, that ego of yours is going to get you in trouble."

He shrugged, unbothered by her words. "Maybe. But at least I won’t be the one who’s bitter and alone because I’m too stubborn to let anything slide."

Before Ace could fire back, the sound of a nearby jet engine roared to life, signalling that it was time to get to work. She shot him one last glare before turning on her heel and heading toward her plane. Rooster watched her go, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

The pilots gathered in the briefing room, a large, sterile space lined with chairs facing a wall of screens. The air was thick with the usual blend of tension and focus that accompanied every pre-flight briefing. Ace took a seat near the front, determined to focus on the mission and ignore Rooster, who had taken a seat a few rows behind her.

Phoenix stood at the front, leading the briefing with her usual no-nonsense attitude. She outlined the day’s manoeuvres and objectives, her voice calm and authoritative. But even as she spoke, she couldn’t help but notice the occasional, heated glances exchanged between Ace and Rooster.

It didn’t take long for the tension to bubble over.

Phoenix was in the middle of explaining a particularly complex manoeuverer when Rooster leaned back in his chair and spoke up, his tone casual but clearly intended to provoke.

"Some of us might need a refresher on this one. Don’t want anyone getting lost up there."

Ace stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she turned to look at him. "If you’re worried about keeping up, Rooster, maybe you should take notes."

A few of the other pilots exchanged glances, sensing the tension and doing their best to stay out of it. Phoenix sighed internally, knowing that once Ace and Rooster started, it was almost impossible to get them to stop.

"Alright, knock it off, you two," Phoenix said, her tone firm. "We’re here to work as a team, not to see who can throw the best insults. Save it for after the mission."

Ace bit back a retort, forcing herself to focus on the briefing instead of the urge to wipe that smug look off Rooster’s face. Rooster, for his part, simply leaned back and smirked, satisfied that he had gotten under her skin once again.

The day’s exercises were intense, a series of high-speed manoeuvres designed to push the pilots to their limits. Ace was in her element, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she focused on every turn, every dive. But no matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t completely block out the presence of Rooster’s jet nearby.

Every time she checked her radar or adjusted her position, there he was—always close, always just a little too close. It felt like he was deliberately shadowing her, testing her, trying to outmanoeuvre her at every opportunity.

"Stay in your lane, Rooster," Ace muttered under her breath, though she knew he couldn’t hear her.

But it was clear from his manoeuvres that he was trying to show her up. Every roll, every dive was executed with precision, as if he was daring her to do better.

Ace grit her teeth and pushed her jet harder, determined not to let him get the upper hand. She mirrored his moves, staying right on his tail as they looped and rolled through the sky. The rivalry between them burned hotter with each passing moment, the tension building until it was almost unbearable.

But no matter how hard she pushed, Rooster was right there, matching her move for move. The frustration built up inside her until she could hardly see straight, her focus narrowing to just one thing: beating him.

When the exercises finally ended and the jets returned to base, Ace felt a wave of both relief and exhaustion. She landed her jet with a bit more force than necessary, her frustration still simmering just beneath the surface.

Back on the ground, the pilots gathered in the hangar to debrief and cool down. Ace was in the middle of checking her jet when Rooster walked by, a smug grin on his face.

"Looks like you were struggling a bit up there," he said, his tone infuriatingly casual.

Ace straightened up, fixing him with a cold stare. "I wasn’t struggling. But it’s cute that you think so."

Rooster shrugged, clearly unfazed. "If you say so. Maybe next time you’ll actually keep up."

Ace stepped closer, her frustration boiling over. "I don’t need to keep up with you, Rooster. If anything, you’re the one who’s slowing me down."

His grin widened, as if her anger was just what he’d been hoping for. "Slowing you down? Maybe you’re just not as fast as you think."

The two stood toe to toe, the tension between them crackling in the air. It was always like this—one little comment, one tiny spark, and they were at each other’s throats. Neither was willing to back down, and it was only a matter of time before one of them said something they couldn’t take back.

But before it could escalate any further, Phoenix walked over, her expression exasperated.

"Will you two knock it off already?" she said, stepping between them. "We’ve got enough to deal with today without you two bickering like school kids."

Ace took a deep breath, forcing herself to step back. Rooster, too, backed off, though the smug look never left his face.

"Fine," Ace muttered, turning her attention back to her jet. "Just stay out of my way."

Rooster gave a mock salute, his smirk still in place. "Whatever you say, Ace."

As he walked away, Ace’s frustration simmered, but she forced herself to focus on her work. She didn’t have time to let Rooster get under her skin—not when there was so much at stake.

But no matter how hard she tried to ignore him, the tension between them was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to flare up at a moment’s notice.

The day had been long, and by the time Ace returned to her quarters, she was exhausted. Her body was sore, her mind was racing, and all she wanted to do was collapse into bed. But as she sat on the edge of her bed, her phone buzzed with a new email notification.

She picked it up, her mood lightening slightly as she saw it was from her mystery contact. The memory of their flirtatious exchange the night before brought a small smile to her lips, a welcome distraction from the frustrations of the day.

Hey there, the email read. How was your day?

She sighed, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she considered how to respond. Part of her wanted to vent about Rooster, about how infuriating he was, but she held back. She didn’t want to taint this connection with the negativity that seemed to follow her

---

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster was sprawled out on his couch, his guitar resting on his lap as he strummed absentmindedly. The buzz of his phone drew him out of his musings. He saw the email from his mystery contact and smiled, eager for a distraction from his day.

Hey there! My day was pretty intense. Spent most of it dealing with some annoying issues at work and got into a few heated exchanges. How about you?

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his response and couldn’t help but chuckle. It seemed like they were both having a tough day. She typed back, her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard.

Intense is definitely the word for it. I had a rough day with some tricky equipment and a certain pilot who seems to think he’s invincible. But enough about me—what’s your idea of a perfect way to unwind after a day like that?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster’s smile widened as he read her email. Her mention of a troublesome pilot made him wonder if they might be talking about the same person, but he decided not to press the issue. Instead, he focused on her question.

Ah, a perfect way to unwind? I’d say a good jam session or maybe just kicking back with a favourite movie. Something that takes my mind off the chaos of the day. What about you? Any special routines to shake off the stress?

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace considered his response while taking a sip from her cup of tea. His laid-back approach to winding down was something she could relate to. She quickly typed her reply.

Sounds pretty good. For me, it’s usually a mix of hitting the gym or getting lost in a good book. Sometimes, a good meal with friends can do wonders too. It’s nice to have a little routine to fall back on after a hectic day.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster liked the idea of winding down with friends—it was a nice contrast to the solitary nature of his typical evenings. He began typing his response with a relaxed grin.

Sounds like you’ve got a pretty solid routine. I’ve got to say, a good meal with friends sounds like something I could use more of. Maybe I should work on that. Anyway, what kind of books are you into? I’m always looking for recommendations.

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace’s interest was piqued by his question. She enjoyed talking about books and was happy to share her favorites.

I’m a bit of a mix—I love thrillers and mysteries, but I also have a soft spot for classic literature. Recently, I’ve been diving into some historical fiction. How about you? What’s your go-to genre?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster read her email with interest. Her love for thrillers and classic literature was something he could relate to, though his tastes leaned a little differently.

I’m a fan of thrillers myself, though I’ve been known to get into sci-fi and fantasy from time to time. It’s always nice to escape into a different world for a while. Historical fiction sounds intriguing, though. I might need to check that out.

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Ace felt a genuine connection through their exchange. She was enjoying this conversation more than she’d expected. She responded with a hint of her playful side.

Sci-fi and fantasy, huh? That’s a pretty interesting mix. You might have to convince me that they’re worth diving into. And if you ever need a book recommendation, just let me know. I might have a few hidden gems up my sleeve.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Rooster’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as he read her playful offer. He liked the idea of her recommending books—it felt like a little inside joke between them.

I’ll definitely take you up on that. And I’m always up for a good book challenge. Just don’t be too surprised if I end up recommending a few sci-fi classics in return. It’s all part of the fun, right?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace’s smile grew as she read his response. The playful banter was exactly what she needed after a long day. She decided to keep the momentum going.

Challenge accepted. I’m ready for your recommendations anytime. And who knows, maybe we’ll end up with a shared list of must-reads by the end of this.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Rooster’s grin widened. He liked the idea of a book exchange and was intrigued by the way their conversation was flowing. He typed his last message of the night.

Looking forward to it. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, especially after a day like today. Here’s to new books and unexpected connections. Talk soon?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace finished her tea and read his message with satisfaction. She felt a genuine connection growing and was looking forward to continuing the conversation.

Definitely. Here’s to more chats and less stress. I’ll be here.

She sent the email and closed her laptop, feeling a sense of calm settle over her. The mystery contact was turning out to be a much-needed bright spot in her hectic life.

---

The hangar was alive with the usual pre-flight activity. Rooster was inspecting his jet, but his attention kept drifting towards Ace, who was absorbed in her tablet. Her brows were furrowed, and she seemed completely engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

Rooster, never one to miss an opportunity, strolled over with a casual swagger, a mischievous grin on his face. “Hey, Ace,” he called out, his tone light but laced with teasing. “Looks like you’re pretty absorbed over there. Texting someone special, are we?”

Ace glanced up, her expression a mix of irritation and surprise. “What’s it to you, Rooster?”

Rooster leaned in a little closer, clearly enjoying the moment. “Just curious. I saw you typing away like your life depends on it. You’ve got to be talking to someone pretty important, right? A special someone, maybe?”

Ace’s eyes narrowed as she tried to hide the screen of her tablet. “It’s none of your business. Can’t you just focus on your own stuff?”

Rooster’s grin widened. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so secretive. I’m just wondering if you’re setting up a hot date or maybe just chatting with a certain someone who’s been on your mind.”

Ace’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger. “Seriously, Rooster? Not everything’s a joke. I’m just dealing with some work stuff.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying riling her up. “Work stuff, huh? If it’s work, why’re you so secretive? You can tell me. I promise I won’t judge. Or is it that you’re afraid I might find out it’s someone...well, let’s say, more interesting?”

Ace’s frustration peaked. She shoved her tablet into her bag and took a step toward Rooster, her voice low but fierce. “You’ve been on my case all morning. If you don’t back off, I swear—”

Rooster chuckled, stepping back slightly. “Whoa, calm down there. I’m just making conversation. Didn’t realize you’d be so touchy about it. Guess it’s a sensitive topic.”

Before Ace could respond, Phoenix and the other squad members noticed the growing tension. Phoenix stepped in, her expression serious. “Alright, enough. If you two can’t handle a little teasing without it escalating, I’m going to have to step in.”

Hangman and Coyote, catching the edge in Phoenix’s tone, moved closer. Coyote placed a hand on Ace’s shoulder, gently pulling her back. “Hey, Ace, take a breath. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

Hangman approached Rooster, his expression one of mixed amusement and exasperation. “Rooster, you’re really pushing it today. Maybe give it a rest, huh?”

Ace, still seething, shook her head. “I’m done with this. I just want to get through the day without dealing with his nonsense.”

Rooster, now more subdued but still smirking, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll back off. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Fanboy and Bob, who had been watching from a distance, approached to help defuse the situation. Fanboy clapped Rooster on the shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s focus on the mission.”

Bob nodded in agreement, glancing at Ace with concern. “Everyone needs to stay cool. We’ve got enough on our plates without adding personal drama to the mix.”

As the squad began to gather for the briefing, the tension between Ace and Rooster lingered, but they both knew they had to refocus. Phoenix took a deep breath, addressing the group. “Let’s all get it together. We’ve got a briefing coming up, and we need to be professional.”

Ace and Rooster, now separated by the intervention of their teammates, walked toward the briefing room, the earlier animosity still simmering but temporarily set aside. The squad’s intervention had helped to de-escalate the situation, but the morning’s drama left a mark on everyone’s mood as they prepared for the day’s mission.

---

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace slumped onto her couch, exhausted from the day’s events. Her laptop was open, and she continued her email conversation with her anonymous contact, hoping to unwind a bit. She began typing with a mix of curiosity and irritation about the ongoing mystery.

Hey,

Today was a disaster. Had a big argument with a colleague who really knows how to get under my skin. Not the best day for me. But this email exchange has been a good distraction, I guess.

How about you? How’s your day going? Anything to share?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster read her email with a smirk. He was enjoying the light-hearted banter but was curious to see if he could draw out more information. He typed back, subtly hinting at the similarities in their work environments.

Hey,

Sounds like we’ve both had our share of drama. My day wasn’t any better—had some heated exchanges with colleagues. It’s like we’re living in the same soap opera.

I’m starting to think our work situations might be more similar than we realized. Anyway, got any funny or surprising stories from your day?

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his email with increasing suspicion. His description of his day seemed all too familiar. Deciding to push further, she typed her response, trying to get more clues about who he might be.

Hey,

It’s funny—your day sounds almost too familiar. I’m starting to wonder if we might be talking about the same environment. If you’re in a high-pressure job with lots of drama, I might have a pretty good guess about who you are.

Any hints?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster saw her email and felt a spark of recognition. He decided to give a direct clue to see if it would lead to an answer.

Hey,

Alright, here’s a hint: I work in a place where tensions are high and everyone’s on edge. Sounds like you might be in a similar boat. Does that help?

I’m curious—any idea who I might be?

INT. ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his clue and felt a sharp pang of realization. Her frustration from the day mixed with the sudden clarity about her correspondent’s identity. She quickly typed her response, her irritation clear in her words.

You’ve got to be kidding me. With your “high-pressure” job description, it’s pretty obvious that you’re Rooster. I should have known, I can’t believe I’ve been having these conversations with you, of all people.

This is ridiculous. And to think I was actually enjoying this exchange. I’m so done with this.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster’s eyes widened in shock as he read Ace’s email. The realization hit him hard, and his amusement turned into frustration. He quickly typed a reply, his tone reflecting his annoyance.

Seriously? I had a feeling, but this is just perfect. So it turns out I’ve been emailing with Ace. I should have known you’d be the one on the other end. What a surprise.

I can’t believe you were getting so worked up over these emails. Great, just great. I guess we’ve got a lot to talk about now. Or maybe not.

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace’s frustration flared as she read Rooster’s reply. She cursed under her breath, the realization that Rooster was behind the emails making her even more upset. She slammed her laptop shut, her annoyance with both Rooster and Hangman boiling over.

“Damn it, Rooster. And damn Hangman for setting this up!” she fumed. “This whole thing was a setup from the start.”

She paced the room, trying to calm herself. The surprise and anger of discovering her mystery contact was Rooster left her seething. The day had been a mess, and the email revelation only added fuel to the fire.

Please comment, like and reblog!

#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #rooster fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction

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abbysimsfun · 6 days ago

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Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 182 (A Pleasant Surprise)

Following the meeting with the Bankses, Felix and Emit soon received confirmation that the judge had recused herself from Ash's custody trial, handing it off to her colleague, Judge Morrison, in Brindleton Bay. Just as she'd promised. While Felix took care of informing Heather and Conrad of the good news, Emit headed to Britechester.

He hadn't seen or spoken to Angela since the wedding, but while he was in her time he couldn't avoid her. He didn't want to. But he was still unprepared to see her growing belly - confirmation that life, as he knew it, would never be the same. He'd been avoiding this feeling.

"How did it go with the time thief?"

"It went well," he said. "I think it's over."

Angela smiled. "That's great," she said, but she wasn't really interested in the time thief. "Did Felix tell you it's twins?"

He nodded. He didn't know what to say.

"The doctor says everything's good. We're all healthy."

"That's good."

She waited for him to say more. "Why are you here?" she asked.

"Angela, I'm in love with you and I don't know what to do about it. I haven't slept in months. The night you told me you were pregnant, I went for a walk through the glen and sat outside an old pub. This woman walked out like she came straight from the 1920s and sat down next to me. Talked my ear off for an hour about her husband - 'the Admiral', she called him - and their daughter. Finally, I told her you were expecting and she knew I wasn't happy about it. 'Maybe you shouldn't have been such a gigolo,' she said."

"What are you talking about? What woman?"

"I don't know who she was, but she made me think about things I've done, and rules I've broken...Ange, you're not the first woman I've slept with...on the job. There was only one other woman, six hundred years ago, but I looked into her genealogy because I got scared. I don't even know how this works, but I'm my own 22nd great-grandfather!"

"You're what?"

"I don't even want to know, and it scares me. But being a time traveler is all I know. As soon as I turned thirteen I left home to start my training. I don't think I can quit."

Angela looked at him with earnest green eyes. "Is there something you want me to say? I told you I would never force you to stay."

"I just...I wanted to see you. And I want to come back. I don't know when..."

Angela sighed, placing a hand on her growing stomach. "I'm not going anywhere, Emit, but if you have to ask me if you should stay, I think you already know what you want to do."

While Emit left Angela with an awkward goodbye, loner Lilith was getting acclimated to life at the chateau, feeding a burgeoning interest in tarot with a deck she'd found. Felix' boss was yet to open an office in Ravenwood, so he was commuting to work every few weeks and scoping out potential new clients when he was home.

But the loved up newlyweds still managed to spend as much time as they could together, and while Felix was out of town for Ash Landgraab's new custody hearing in Brindleton Bay, Lilith took a pregnancy test. Positive! She grinned with excitement.

From the minute Lilith met Felix, she knew she'd be happy to have a child with him, and she couldn't wait to tell him the great news. The chateau's pet crow, Rowena, came with the house, and Lilith entertained herself watching the mysterious black corvid while she waited patiently for her husband to return.

It was dark when he came home, exhausted and complaining about the flight from Brindleton Bay, but he couldn't hide the smile on his face as he tucked into dinner. "Did Judge Morrison give custody back to Heather and Conrad?"

"Of course he did. Nancy didn't even show up - just Malcolm and his wife. Judge Morrison didn't believe Malcolm when he said they had no knowledge of what Landgraab Engineering had been working on, and Ash will be home by the weekend."

"That's the second best news I've had all day," she said, standing next to him at the picnic table outside. He raised an expectant brow. "Felix, I'm pregnant."

(She told him this herself. He came home and I tried to queue up her telling him, but the option wasn't there because she did it just as I was looking for the option in her menu!)

The former ghost's eyes bulged as he registered the news, a wide grin pulling from one cheek to the other. "You are? We weren't trying yet. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I've been nauseous for days and my period was late, so I took a test this afternoon."

"Lilith, this is the greatest news I've ever had in any of my lives." He struggled to find the words to express the warmth exploding from his skin, standing from the bench to caress her small belly. "We're going to have a baby? Our baby!"

The newlyweds shared a romantic embrace as they celebrated their impending parenthood, and Felix ran a hand through his beloved's red hair. "What else did you get up to while I was away?"

"I've almost got my podcast schedule set for the new season, and I called a local adoption agency about a cat. They're bringing a black kitten over tomorrow to see if he suits us. He's called Patches."

"What will Rowena think about a cat?"

"My friend Cassandra says her mother has a crow and two cats, and the cats never bother Obsidian."

Felix smiled, reaching for her hand to kiss the soft tips of her fingers. "We'll hope Rowena and Obsidian have the same disposition, then."

Their friends would finally be reunited with their son in Brindleton Bay, and Patches joined the growing Psyded clan as the newlyweds began prepping for the arrival of their first child. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Rowena won second place in the official poll to name Grimbella's crow, Obsidian, so she was automatically bestowed the name when I first loaded up the lot in-game.

NOTE 2: Baby boom incoming. It's not just the Pleasant twins...Also Emit definitely saw Lady Ravendancer('s ghost?), but she knows enough magic to make herself look completely alive to anyone she wants, probably. Emit didn't jump back far enough in time to run into her in 1920, and the Landgraab curse has nothing to do with the time thief. (That's why he didn't recognize her, in case you did!)

NOTE 3: We're skipping the second custody hearing. It's summarized, we won! But we knew they would win because the Landgraabs were being shady with biometric time travel and Felix could prove it. Ash is coming home!!

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christiangeistdorfer · 2 months ago

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THE STRANGEST PODIUM EVER?

JAMES HUNT and CARLOS REUTEMANN finish 1st and 2nd at the 1977 JAPANESE GRAND PRIX respectively. However, after the race ended, they were nowhere to be seen as they had quickly left the circuit to catch a flight home. This just left 3rd place man PATRICK DEPAILLER and his engineer to carry out the celebration. Rules were changed to make the podium celebration mandatory shortly thereafter.

#being a patrick stan for the win <3 #also i feel like 1977 is underrated for just how batshit crazy it was #like the south african grand prix??#niki's very public fallout with ferrari??#john watson leading and then running out of fuel on literally the last lap at the french grand prix????#everyone's engines also ending themselves every race??#also this whole race itself was a whole mess. they stopped going to japan afterwards until like 87 or 88???#it was just the cherry on top of an already what the fuck was that season #also unrelated but the lack of ducarouge footage throughout these season reviews is concerning. dont people know i have one goal.#classic f1 #f1 #formula 1 #1970s #patrick depailler

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moonastro · 1 year ago

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ASTROLOGY notes Pt.1

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ✶ random notes and observations ✶ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

❥ what i realised from observing celebrity charts, Chiron conjunct MC may bring fame but in exchange fans may know a lot about your wounded areas or generally may know a lot about the individual ( including a lot of transformative area of their lives). They become almost like a mentor in the eyes of their fans. The individual with Chiron conjunct MC may be a comfort person to a lot of people.

❥ lord of your Vedic 5th bouse determines how you'll act when becoming a parent.

For example, in 2nd house, individual may gain wealth through having children. Children may be valued, may find sudden fulfilment through becoming a parent.

In 6th house, may bring a lot of health issues to the parent or the child as it is seen as a hard house in Vedic astrology. It can bring unexpected bills to the parent after having children also.

In 12th house, may bring mental health issues to the parent or child, also isolation can be a big issue here. Is also seen as a difficult house to have 5th lord in. May be some confusion when communicating to the child.

❥ Planets near the MC line (if no planets check the IC) can determine and help to figure what career path may be best for you.

-For example, individuals with Moon near the MC line (or IC) can be seen working as a marine, cooks, nurses, working with women, travelling (flight attendant), restaurants.

-With Venus near the MC line, something to do with beauty, music, entertainment, hotels, luxuries, art, pleasures.

-Mars near MC line may suggest working with metal, construction, police, surgeons, engineers, vehicles, a lot of energy, weapons, soldiers.

❥ If no planets near MC or IC line in natal chart, observe where there is a cluster in a particular house with multiple of planets.

-For example, if most planets are in fifth house, expect your work to do something with politics, religious rituals, entertainment, authorship, stockbrokers.

-Planets clustered in 11th house, individuals may work as accountants, in group work, trade and business, financial institution.

-In first, may be self employed, working with the body(like gym, health club, model etc.) politics, publicity.

❥ ALSOOO. The sign in which the cluster of planets are occurring at may also be significant.

-For example, lots of planets in libra, may suggest jobs to do with artists, fashion, advertising, interior design, receptionists, judges, cosmetics, prostitutes.

-Multiple planets in the sign of Scorpio, may relate to drugs, chemicals, scientists, liquids, doctors, nurses, police, occult, insurance.

-In Capricorn, may manifest mining, raw materials, lumber, extraction and processing.

images are not mine

❥ Mars in 7th house individuals loveee to argue, they find it really entertaining.

❥ moon in Scorpio individuals tend to have a missing relationship with masculine figures. its more of an on and off relationship.

❥ what i have learned from Vedic astrology is that planets have cast spell aspects.

-For example Saturn has three aspects and they are 3rd, 7th and 10th house away from itself.

-So say you have saturn in the 5th house. saturn will also have influence on the 7th, 11th and 2nd house in your chart. so if you are studying saturn in your chart, these aspects will also be important.

❥ Virgo placements like to touch but don't necessarily liked to be touched by other people. For example, they might love to massage your head with their fingers or like to carefully stroke your palm and so on.

❥ so saturn rules restrictions, limitations, longevity and so on. so what house saturn is in will determine what will take longer for you to master in your life.

-For example, saturn in 10th house individuals may struggle to find a job at a young age.

-saturn in 7th house people may have difficulty with relationships and may not date until they actually get married.

-saturn in 11th house, this may bring tension and problems relating to social groups and friends. the individual may have difficulty with friendships and may be unfamiliar with big group setting.

⤷ don't forget that overtime saturn matures in your chart and brings LONGEVITY and success in that house its in. Of course aspects are really important as well.

That is it everyonee!! ❣

I hope you enjoyed this post. 🌠

Thank you for reading and once again don't be shy to give feedback as i would really appreciate it. 🌝

#astro notes #astro placements #astrology #sidereal astrology #astrology community #astrology degrees #celebrity astrology #kpop astrology #vedic astro notes #vedic astrology #astrology synastry #astro community #12th house #astrology observations #astro observations

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usafphantom2 · 27 days ago

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A 12 was hit by a small part of a missile. Solid quartz was used for the camera window.

During its 26-year career, the SR-71 Habu gathered intelligence in some of the world’s most hostile environments. One of those was the Soviet Union. It wasn’t necessary to cross the border as we had long-range side, looking cameras that could peer inside Russia. More than 1000 missiles were launched against the SR-71. Some people claim it was 4000 missiles, but that is not true after a while some countries such as Russia gave up. The Vietnamese launched missiles and so did the North Koreans. Not one missile hit an SR 71.

I want people to also remember that before the SR 71 was flying operational the CIA’s A-12 was flying.

The A-12 was the first Blackbird.

However, when A-12 was flying (1967-68) two missiles exploded into each other close behind the A-12 and a little bit of debris. Certainly, not enough to harm the Blackbird was found. Says: “On another October flight, pilot Dennis Sullivan detected radar tracking on his first pass over North Vietnam. Two sites prepared to launch missiles, but neither did. During the second pass, however, at least six missiles were fired at Sullivan’s aircraft, each confirmed on mission photos by missile vapor trails. Sullivan saw these vapor trails and witnessed three missile detonations. Postflight inspection of the aircraft revealed that a piece of metal had penetrated the lower right wing fillet area and lodged against the support structure of the wing tank. The fragment was not a warhead pellet but may have been a part of the debris from one of the missile detonations observed by the pilot.”

The SR-71 was conceived to operate at extreme velocities, altitudes, and temperatures: actually, it was the first aircraft constructed with titanium, as the friction caused by air molecules passing over its surface at Mach 2.6 would melt a conventional aluminum frame.

Its engineering was done with slide rules, computers were in their infancy and were not used in its design. Many years later a computer checked the design of the SR 71 and couldn’t find one flaw.The design was so cutting-edge that even the tools to build the SR-71 needed to be designed from scratch.

The CIA did buy the titanium for the SR-71 using cover companies as customers from Russia it was at that time called the Soviet Union but only at first. When we needed another batch of titanium we went to other sources such as Australia because we did not want to boost the Soviet Union economy.

The estimated temperature of the outside of the cockpit of 600 degrees F.

As reported by The SR-71 Blackbird website, the integrity of the double solid quartz camera window demanded special attention because of the optical distortion caused by the effect of great heat (600 degrees F.) on the outside of the window and a much lower temperature (150 degrees F.) on the inside could keep the cameras from taking usable photographs.

Three years and $2 million later, Corning Glass Works came up with a solution: the window was fused to its metal frame by a novel process using high-frequency sound waves. Isn’t that amazing?

Written by Linda Sheffield April 11, 2025 @c

@Habubrats71 via X

#sr 71 #sr71 #sr 71 blackbird #blackbird #aircraft #usaf #lockheed aviation #skunkworks #mach3+#habu #aviation #reconnaissance #cold war aircraft

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mango-yoyo · 7 months ago

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you have really good taste in fanfics in the tag game so was wondering if you would mind sharing so more of your favourites?

oh my god YES

i would love to thank you for asking <3

because i have no self control, i'm going to restrict myself to 3 5 10

1. the condominium community committee by @jusst-you-race . it's funny, it's light-hearted, and it has all the good feels. honestly it's the chat fic of chat fics, where the grid all lives in the same apartment building and have different lives, but are still super close! if you're feeling a bit down or if you want something fun, this is a great fic to read! status: WIP. word count: 28K+

2. crash landers by @janinaduszejko . carcar omegaverse my beloved, where oscar is an alpha and carlos is (secret) omega. a little bit angsty, a lot bit smutty, and overall delightful. it hurts a little bit, but it feels so good, and there's a happy ending! status: completed. word count: 57K+

3. i’m going back to 505 (if it’s a seven hour flight or a forty five minute drive) by julodinae_sunsets. another omegaverse (my weakness) but this time it's maxiel, where daniel is an alpha and tries to court max by accident, but stops himself because OBVIOUSLY max is an beta and doesn't want that. well. he's wrong. but second chances exist for a reason. it's really enjoyable so far, and it's made me grin stupidly way too many times, so. it's a win! status: WIP. word count: 19K+

4. Don't Want Your Sympathy (Just Your Company) by @1425fivefive . landoscar, where oscar is outed via blurry photos of him kissing another guy at the club. to get his mind off it, lando offers to have him stay at his place for the summer. a very cute teammates to friends to lovers, with a little bit of hurt but a lot of comfort. and smut. also, logan is best friend goals, honestly, and the little pockets of humor make you laugh when you least expect it. status: completed. word count: 64K+

5. Sunlight by @onboardsorasora . an absolutely delightful magical realism au (my other weakness) with a dewis pairing. they're one of the authors that got me into the pairing in the first place! people are touched by the elements in varying degrees. some people aren't touched, while others are touched by rare elements (like sunlight). daniel doesn't think he's touched by any. it's whumpy and a bit angsty but so, so sweet. honestly a lot of fluff too, with a sweet ending. status: completed. word count: 10K+

6. Loud and Clear by @oscatmeowstri . race engineer oscar with driver lando au, landoascar. it was wonderful. the formatting was so cool, and their relationship developed really well, from colleagues(?) to friends to occasional kissing buddies to lovers. some angst, but it's resolved pretty quickly, and there are lot of fluffy moments. status: WIP. word count: 48K+

7. cheap wedding (sticky pretenses) by @wormeo-and-juliette . i know i've mentioned the strollonso work by her before, but this is also so, so good. honestly, all her works have got me in a chokehold. it's lesteban, with a marriage of convenience (that eventual turns into love!). lance shows up in rural France, meets esteban, decides they're both lonely, and proposes marriage. absolutely delightful, and there's even the public coming-out which had me squealing. status: completed. word count: 12K+

8. champagne problems by @brocedesmadhouse . it's a love story to brocedes, and it's beautiful, heart-wrenching, and utterly amazing. toto gets replaced with a new team principal — who happens to be nico rosberg. it's set during the 2024 season, and it made me both cry and laugh — sometimes at the same time. absolutely wonderful. status: completed. word count: 60K+

9. empty streets, it's only you and me now by @the-ships-to-rule-them-all . intriguing and sweet, it's an exploration of Jewish folklore and golems, with sweet, sweet strollonso. lance has a golem, who happens to be incredibly protective of fernando. lance also happens to be in love with fernando. it's very cute and has the perfect plot-to-smut ratio. status: completed. word count: 5K+

10. k19tog (knit 19 together) by @nobrakesdown . really sweet and lovely, it's set in the 2022 season with seblance teammates. lance is a knitter, and seb convinces lance to teach him — and eventually, the rest of the grid. really heartwarming, and it has serious grid-as-family vibes that had me smiling like an idiot when I read it. also got me interested in the fiber arts, and it's really cool! status: completed. word count: 7K+

there are so many more fics that i could rec, but the sake of this post (and my need to study) i will limit it to just 10. please let me know how you like these recs, and feel free to rec for more (and if there are any particular pairings you're looking for)! this was a lot of fun, thanks for asking!

#ask answered #fic recs #f1 fics #lance stroll #fernando alonso #esteban ocon #oscar piastri #lando norris #carlos sainz #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #sebastian vettel

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anemoi-i · 1 year ago

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Venti’s Presence in Mondstadt and in Lore: A Comprehensive List

Barbatos is an Archon that does everything in secret and wants virtually no recognition for it. Desiring not to become like Decarabian, he "disappeared" so Mondstadt could be free and without a ruler, yet he has still done what he could to retain Mondstadt's peace. Here is a comprehensive list of everything of note that he has done.

Disclaimer: I may miss details. Some things such as character voice lines about Venti, save for Xiao’s are largely omitted. All sources are present.

I. Wind Gliders

“The ability of wind gliders to glide is reliant first and foremost on the Blessing of the Anemo Archon. Of course, it’s also been intertwined with human engineering.”

Wings of Companionship

II. But I do not intend to make my readers think that we could do without archons. On the contrary, say, if Barbatos had not guided the warm monsoons to Mondstadt with his divine powers, would Mondstadt still be so bountiful as to produce the brews that it does?

The answer would be no. Mondstadt is an inland city and would have struggled to provide for itself if not for the grace of Barbatos. If we look back through history, we learn that Mondstadt is situated on a land that was once frozen, where the living conditions were harsh and brewing would be virtually impossible. It was the power of Barbatos that changed everything.

Along With Divinity: Prologue

III. The songs that had once flown joyfully in the wind were drowned by a venomous dragon [Durin]. In the wake of its earth-shaking footsteps, even the cries and the flames were ripped asunder. The Anemo Archon heard their agony, though he had refused to rule. But to protect his old friends' dream, and defend the wind-kissed fields of green,He woke from his long slumber anew, and with the sky dragon [Dvalin] in battle he flew...

Elegy For The End

IV. In ancient times, Barbatos softly strummed his lyre and summoned the pure thousand winds and songs. Charmed by the free-spirited winds and songs, Dvalin the high dragon descended and swore loyalty to him. Barbatos rejoiced in making a new friend, and entrusted the people of Mondstadt to Dvalin. And so, the wandering Anemo Archon and the Wind Dragon forged Mondstadt's dawn with their relationship.

Skyward Harp

V. On the cliff facing the eastern sea, the ancestors worshipped the masters of Time and Anemo together. The two are intimately related, as expressed in the saying, "Anemo brings stories while Time nurtures them." This bow tells the story of the pioneers and the hardships they went through.

Sacrificial Bow

VI. When Mondstadt was born anew, and the Church finally unshackled, the scriptures of the winds could bear no longer being confined to a shelf, and so the book took flight, left the Church's treasury and was gone. Like the winds of Mondstadt, and like the people of Mondstadt, it belonged to freedom and the winds. The elegant handwriting on the title page reads:

Children of the Anemo Archon, heed these words:

From the winds we have come, and with the winds we shall go.

Never, ever grieve for me.

'Tis but my flesh and bones which rest in the soil:

My soul has become one with the thousand winds.

When flowers bloom, when leaves sway,

That is me who sings the songs of freedom, of the winds.

Lost Prayer to the Sacred Winds: Scriptures of the ancient winds, passed from generation to generation among the observers of ritual in service of the Anemo Archon.

VII. The Skyward Atlas consists of 100,000 odes to a single cloud or wind and calling it by name. The cloud atlas gave form to the winds, and odes infused them with personality. The myriad formless winds are now friends and family in the eyes of Barbatos. Legends tell that in ancient times, Barbatos summoned the four winds with the original version. He thawed the snow, drove away vicious beasts, summoned rainfall, and created Mondstadt.He permitted the atlas to be shared and copied among the people, giving it the name of Cloud Atlas.

Skyward Atlas

VIII. In the days of the ruling aristocracy, the Church that revered the Anemo Archon was once split in twain by a schism: On one side stood the clergy, who ate at the lords' table, and overturned the archon's statues with them even as they wrote songs and hymns of praise. On the other stood the saints, who held no clerical office, and who walked the streets, the wine cellars, and the world beyond the walls. These saints drank cheap moonshine, blessing the slave and the plebeian with the original holy manuscripts that circulated amongst the people and with words that the wind brought to them.

And while they did so, they penned forbidden songs and poetry.

When the gladiator from a foreign land [Vennessa] arose together with the re-awakened Anemo Archon and raised the banner of rebellion, the aged saint known as the Nameless Shepherd mobilized the true adherents of the Church of Favonius.

Song of Broken Pines

IX. When he opened his eyes, he was in the sky above a mountain swept by roaring snowstorms, the green, tranquil land had already been painted crimson by fire and blood,and the song of that sky-blue bard's lyre was almost drowned in the howling tumult,and that bejeweled, lovely dragon, like a tender lover, had now pierced his neck through with its sharp fangs.

"Farewell, Mother! My journey is ended. I shall sleep beneath this white, shining silver... and perhaps this, too, is good. Farewell, O lovely bard! And farewell, O lovely dragon! Would that we had met in a different time and place, to meet, to sing and dance together!"

So he thought most sincerely as he lay dying.

Durin (Dragonspine Spear)

X. They say that a region's character follows that of its archon, and that this holds true both for the people and the land itself, but was it the unfettered archon who bestowed a love of freedom and wine upon the land and people amidst conflict? Or was it the people who nurtured the Anemo Archon's love of freedom as they pined for it amid the howling wind and frost?

This is a question that can no longer be answered.

Freedom Sworn

XI. Twenty-six hundred years ago was the era of Mondstadt's most ancient inhabitants. They swore a solemn oath, after the new Anemo Archon descended and reformed the world:

"For Mondstadt, as always. For the verdant plains, for the hills, and for the forests of Mondstadt. May they continue to flourish, as always."

"For Mondstadt, as always. For the everlasting freedom of Mondstadt from the blizzard and the tyrant, whose coldness and oppression are one and the same."

Royal Longsword (Refers to Gunnhildr Clan & the oath to protect Mondstadt.)

XII. Ludi Harpastum

Ludi Harpastum was established in commemoration of how Barbatos, the Anemo Archon, taught his people to brew wine and live freely. It was a festival meant for all people to enjoy. However, by the time of Vennessa's rebellion a thousand years before Genshin Impact's main story, Barbatos had long departed to avoid becoming a tyrant like his predecessor, while the aristocracy that ruled Mondstadt grew corrupt and abused their power.

The event turned into a mockery of what it originally was. It became an event enjoyed only by the wealthy elites. The head of the Lawrence Clan, the foremost clan among the aristocracy, cared not for the enjoyment of the people and canceled all the games, leaving only the climax of the harpastum. However, only Lord Lawrence's son, Barca Lawrence, had the right to touch that harpastum. Anyone else who dared even approach the ball would immediately face torture. Furthermore, Barca was also given the rights to take the maiden who will throw the harpastum home.

Barbatos awakens during the climax of the Ludi Harpastum in the manga and seizes the Harpastum.

Genshin Impact Manga

XIII. The Letter in the Chasm

Not as if I were to be outfitted as that guardian of Khaenri’ah,

Not as if my destructive self were made to be the lyre of Barbatos,

Not as if I were meant to soar like a Pegasus,

Not if I were the swift, snow-white pair of Morphes,

Add these to the feather-footed and the winged,

And likewise, call for the swiftness of the winds,

And though you should harness these, friend, and offer them to me,

Yet I should be tired to the bone, and worn away by frequent faintness,

My friend, while I would search for you,

The heavens fall to pieces,

And falsehoods collapse.

Mysterious Letter obtainable after completing The Chasm related Archon Quest(s) & World Quests (Information gathered by CatWithBlueHat)

It is important to note that each player who finished these quests only received one line of this letter in Abyssal Language, indicating this is a bigger part of something and made to be very secretive and hard to decipher if not for the efforts of players to translate it.

XIV. The Hexenzirkel

“Once upon a time, it even challenged the Anemo Archon himself, but he replied: “Let us make music, not war, and resolve our conflicts through song.”

Alice, The Mage’s Tea Party (Windblume’s Breath)

XV. Waterborne Poetry

“A soft breeze beckoned me unto a spring. “Sleep, weary wanderer. Your journey is over. May the dancing petals sweeten your slumber.”

Callirhoe, who recalled her journey to Springvale (Waterborne Poetry event)

XVI. Presence as a significant figure to Xiao

He longs for a day to come when he will wear the mask and dance — not to conquer demons, but to the tune of that flute amid a sea of flowers.

Barbatos appears as a cameo in Yakshas: The Guardian Adepti, playing the Dihua Flute. It suggests his music is powerful enough to suppress Xiao’s Karmic Debt. He also has a line for Barbatos indicaing he knows who he is, but cuts himself off.

Yakshas: The Guardian Adepti & Xiao: Mask (Namecard)

Other things to note:

As of Version 4.3 Mondstadt is the only nation that does not suffer from any “filth” that needs to be purged either by a Sacred Tree or otherwise. The battle that took place 500 years ago with Durin did not affect the nation in any way, instead, Durin died on Dragonspine which was already affected by the Skyfrost Nail and is an inhabited land that only Adventurers see as an area to explore. No one lives there. Even with the presence of his “heart”/”core” still beating, it would forever lie in the frozen wasteland unless someone were to deliberately disrupt it.

There are no storms in Mondstadt. Vind, one of the Sisters/Storm Watchers, says that she hopes she never has to do her job.

A large amount of npc’s around Mondstadt, especially in the area of the Anemo Archon statue, revere Barbatos and speak highly of him

It is important to note that during the second rebellion, Barbatos also forged Rex Lapis’ signature to dismantle the Aristocracy, indicating he would go to such lengths to establish freedom for the nation.

Barbatos’ voiceline about Albedo suggests that he knows close to “everything” about him, especially about his fear of “destroying Mondstadt.”

In addition to the above, Barbatos contradicts himself: “Ah, never mind! What goes on within Mondstadt's walls is up to Mondstadt's people to deal with!” Except that twice when the people cried out for help, he awoke to help them and has actively been helping Mondstadt with no recognition. From liberating Mondstadt to helping an Oceanid, this line will not hold any weight in any argument that suggests that Barbatos does nothing for Mondstadt.

Barbatos was already attempting to purge the Abyssal corruption from Dvalin prior to the Traveler’s appearance.

There is irony in Diluc and Jean finding out Barbatos’ true identity considering both the Ragnvindr’s and the Gunnhildr’s were primary protectors of Mondstadt.

The Skyward Atlas suggests Barbatos was originally a catalyst user while Amos’ Bow suggests he changed his weapon to a bow to honor Amos’ memory. He uses Der Frühling (E Skill) in a way a catalyst user might.

His appearance as his dear friend, the Nameless Bard is to honor his memory for the skies, bright sun and birds he could never see. To honor the songs he could no longer play.

#genshin impact #genshin impact lore #venti #krisposting #txt

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royalinkblot · 7 days ago

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Wings of Home

In an alternate 21st-century world where the skies are still dominated by fighter jets and adrenaline, the rules of biology have shifted—men can carry life, and love flies in any direction it chooses.

Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell never imagined he’d trade afterburners for baby bottles. Yet here he was, cradling two squirming bundles of energy in a quiet San Diego beach house he shared with Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, former Top Gun admiral, and the love of his life.

Their children—Ace and Nikola—had inherited Maverick’s restless spirit and Iceman’s razor-sharp calm. At five, they already argued like co-pilots in a storm. Nikola wanted to be a pilot, just like her dads. Ace, on the other hand, was obsessed with engines, often disappearing into the garage with a wrench twice his size.

Ace, five years old and a whirlwind of mischief, was every bit his father’s son. He had Maverick’s wild grin and an uncanny ability to find danger in the most innocent of activities. Nikola, his twin sister, was thoughtful, precise, and already questioned the mechanics of the world like a tiny engineer. She reminded Tom of himself—focused, unshakable, with eyes that saw everything

It hadn’t been an easy journey. The pregnancy had shocked Maverick more than any dogfight. He’d grounded himself reluctantly, worried the Navy wouldn’t understand. Iceman, ever the quiet force, had stood by him, shielding them both from the storm of public scrutiny.

Now, years later, Maverick looked out at the backyard, where Ace was trying to teach Nikola how to do a barrel roll—on the grass.

“Tom,” Maverick called from the kitchen, smiling. “They’re going to kill each other.”

Iceman walked in, coffee in hand. “Nah. They’re just practicing teamwork.”

Maverick chuckled. “Is that what we called it in flight school?”

Tom kissed him softly on the cheek. “Something like that.”

Out there, the world still raced with sonic booms and tight turns. But in here, in this quiet slice of an extraordinary world, Maverick had found something he'd never expected—his best mission yet.

Fatherhood.

Maverick stood by the window, sipping coffee, watching the twins in the backyard. Ace was building a ramp out of beach chairs. Nikola was supervising with a look that clearly said, this is a terrible idea, but I’ll help anyway.

“Tom,” he called, grinning. “Ace is about to launch himself into orbit.”

Iceman entered, wearing his favorite Navy sweatshirt, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, at least Nikola reinforced the base.”

Maverick turned to him, eyes softening. “How’d we get so lucky?”

“You broke every rule,” Iceman said. “And I backed you up. Like always.”

Maverick leaned into him. “Yeah. But this? Us? The kids? This isn’t luck. This is the best kind of flight plan—unpredictable, but worth every second.”

Outside, Ace shouted, “Three… two… one!” and launched off the ramp with a war cry. He landed in the sand, laughing. Nikola clapped exactly twice, then went to help him up.

Maverick watched them, heart full. He’d chased speed, defied death, and flown higher than most dared dream. But nothing—no Mach speed or kill streak—matched the way Ace looked when he laughed, or the quiet determination in Nikola’s eyes.

This was his top mission.

And he wouldn’t change a single thing.

Chapter two

#idea dump #short draft #this has been in my mind for ages #icemav #original work #top gun

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carmimsaturno1633 · 12 days ago

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97's Bulls. Chapter 11

Summary.

Charles standing tall on his car, the wings stretched across his shoulders matching the ones under him in the car. In the background, a somber electronic beat pulses, tension building. A voice murmurs through the track—low, almost mean: Red Bull gives you wings.

In what could only be described as a crisis of faith, Charles leaves Ferrari.

Available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63570670

<< Previous Chapter

Chapter 11

The flight from Melbourne to Shanghai had been long, and Max had spent most of it reviewing data — both his own and Charles’s.

It was strange, analyzing Charles’ numbers as his teammate. The data coming from the team itselt, doc branded with Red Bull logo - the same way he imagined Charles had his.

Charles had been quick — stupidly quick — in Melbourne, but he was still learning the car to be completely competitive on it. Max could see it in the way he wrestled with the steering, the micro-corrections mid-corner that cost him time. Fifth place was respectable for a debut, but Max knew better than anyone that Charles wouldn’t see it that way.

He’d caught glimpses of him in the paddock after the race — tense shoulders, that too-polite smile in interviews, the way he’d vanished early without his usual post-race debriefs with the press. Max had thought about seeking him out, but between his own obligations and Charles’s abrupt exit, the moment had slipped away.

Now, in Shanghai, they had free practice the next day, so Max hoped to get a feeling on how Charles was feeling, but the media day kept them busy earlier. So Max returned to the hotel the team was staying at, planning to shoot the guy a quick text and call it a night after grabbing dinner at the hotel restaurant.

That was when he saw him. Charles had been sitting with Andrea earlier, deep in conversation, but as Max finished a quick discussion with one of his engineers he met at the lobby and glanced over again, the other man was alone.

Max hesitated, despite himself.

Socializing with teammates during race week has always been tricky territory for him.

With Daniel, everything had come effortlessly — easy banter, shared meals when their schedules aligned, but they didn't really seek each other out, a camaraderie that balanced competition without tension. Checo, on the other hand, preferred to be left alone, retreating to his room to avoid unnecessary interactions. Max respected that. People needed different things.

But Charles?

Max wasn’t entirely sure where they stood.

They’d known each other for years, but their relationship had always been defined by rivalry. And now things were changing, Charles would seek him out between work on Milton Keynes, text and share stuff on WhatsApp…

The same easy they had been cultivating for the past years every time they shared a space, with just more forced proximity and shared subjects to debate on.

And Max had never been good at navigating the unspoken rules of closeness.

He could command a team, banter with his mechanics, even entertain a camera when needed. But reading the unspoken expectations of people who mattered? That was still a work in progress. And yeah, they got some heart to heart in the pre season that Max wouldn’t even dream, or even expected himself to not hate. Still, pre season was one thing, race weekend was another completely different.

As he debated, Charles caught sight of him. Recognition sparked in his expression, and to Max’s surprise, he stood, a warm smile already spreading.

“Hey.” Charles called, raising a hand in greeting. “Didn’t know you were staying here.”

Max approached, clapping the offered hand. “Got in a few hours ago.” he said, running his other hand through his still-damp hair. “Just had time to shower before my stomach started protesting.”

Charles chuckled, nodding to the empty chair across from him. “Sit. Andrea just left to sleep after nagging me to order something ‘acceptable,’ so I’m on my own.”

Max grinned, sliding into the seat. “Anything good on the menu?”

“For me? Healthy soup, apparently.” Charles said, with a grimace. “Andrea wasn’t thrilled I ate at the airport.”

Max snorted, scanning the menu. “Rubert’s still on my case about weight, so… chicken it is.”

“You okay with eating here?” Charles asked, tone light but eyes sharp.

Max recognized the question for what it was—a check-in, an opening. He shrugged. “Yeah. You?”

Charles leaned back, fingers tapping idly against his glass. “Definitely. We can talk about racing.” he tilted his head, “Or not. Up to you.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Max said. “You?”

Charles exhaled, a grimace turning into small smile. “Eh, I don’t mind either way. I don’t particularly enjoy this track, so I'm trying to manage expectations.”

“Me neither.” Max agreed. “I’m hoping the straights help with this spaceship of a car.”

Charles let out a genuine laugh at that. “God, yes. That P5 still annoys me. Let’s hope we get a double podium soon, or Christian might fire me mid-season.”

Max hummed a laugh, glancing at Charles.

He should probably say something comforting. Maybe.

The thing was, Charles was still such a strange person to talk to, despite so long of knowing him. Cause what that even mean, if they only ever spoke about racing? Or the orbit around it—media, sponsors, team obligations. Where did that leave them?

Still, Max had learned more about Charles in the past month than in the twenty years before it. And if he were being honest — not that he ever would, not out loud—he liked it. He liked him. More than anyone else on the grid, talking to Charles was… easy. Familiar, even. There was a strange comfort in it.

That mattered. And Max didn’t let himself feel that way about many people.

“I don’t have any doubt it’s coming.” he said at last.

His tone was quieter now, steadier.

And in the next afternoon, Max stared at the Red Bull screen displaying the final qualifying results. P4—not ideal, but not disastrous either. Then his gaze flicked upward, landing on Charles’ name on top of his.

Fuck, if Max didn’t know what he was talking about.

Now it was time to get it back.

From the moment the lights went out, the car was alive under Max’s hands.

It still fought him, of course it did. Through the tight twists of Sector 2, the rear snapped unpredictably, demanding corrections mid-corner, but Max had spent the last year working with much worse. He adjusted, adapted, made it his.

And then, the straights. The Honda hybrid system roared to life, the acceleration slamming Max back into his seat as the RB21 devoured the asphalt. They were already on lap 45, pit stops done, it was all about managing the tires, getting the places and finish well.

Ahead, Charles was putting on a masterclass. On Max’s steering wheel display, the gap between them shrank, then stabilized. Then a flash of navy and yellow livery darting down the inside of Sainz’s Ferrari.

Charles’ move was perfect — late braking, inch-perfect placement, the Ferrari forced wide as Charles claimed the position with surgical precision.

It was a fucking nice move, Max recognize, grip tightening on the wheel.

Picking Carlos was easy after the man overheated his tires trying to defend against Charles.

He pushed harder. The McLarens were next — Norris and Piastri, cars driving defensively. Charles reached, feinting left before slingshotting past Norris on the back straight to claim P2.

Charles defended like a man possessed, slamming the door shut every time Norris threatened, forcing the McLaren wide, daring him to try around the outside. The orange car was quick in the corners, but Charles was quicker where it counted — smarter on exits, ruthless on the brakes. Curve after curve, Norris tried, but Charles held firm.

Max watched it unfold, adrenaline pumping in waves.

God, this is what he lived for. Racing at this level. Not politics. Not sponsor events. This.

And fuck, Charles was flying.

Max could see the way Charles placed the car, the way he risked it all on corner entries, the precision in every line. And Max wanted in. He wanted to fight him, properly. No DRS trains, no traffic — just them. Show the team and the world they were the top team.

When Charles finally shook Norris off and built a small gap, it was Max’s turn. The tires in the sweet spot, fuel load light. He stalked Norris for half a lap, waiting for the smallest slip — and there it was, a fraction too deep into Turn 10.

Max pounced.

Late braking. Inside line. No time for Lando to shut the door. The McLaren twitched under braking, and Max was already through, carving a perfect arc into the apex. Clean, clinical, brutal.

Now it was Charles.

Max could hear his heartbeat in his helmet, the excited rasp of his own breath. The RB21 felt electric beneath him, weightless almost, and his world narrowed to the car ahead.

Let’s go, mate. Show me.

He closed the gap, corner after corner, two relentless, stubborn racers on the edge. Charles fought tooth and nail, defending like it was the last lap of his life — squeezing Max toward the grass, covering every inside, every switchback.

Wasn’t for the G force and the need to focus completely, Max would be trully laughing here.

This is it. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Lap 52. Max finally got the overlap down the straight, DRS open, tires screaming. Charles edged him to the very limit of the track, but it wasn’t enough. Max dove down the inside into Turn 1, braking impossibly late, RB21 barely clinging to the tarmac.

Wheel to wheel.

For a second, it looked like Charles might hold it — biting back into Turn 3, but Max had the line, the grip, the momentum.

He was through.

Now, only Piastri remained, but the Aussie was too far ahead, the gap too much this late in the race.

Final laps ticked by.

Piastri crossed the line P1. Max followed in P2. Charles, battered and brilliant, in P3.

As they rolled through the cooldown lap, Max’s heart still hammered in his chest, mind replaying every corner, every brake point. His gloves were damp, his muscles aching, but God, he felt good.

The champagne stung his eyes, but Charles didn’t care.

P3 wasn’t victory. It wasn’t even P2. But as the crowd’s roar vibrated through his chest and Max’s laughter cut through the haze of carbon fiber and spilled bubbly, Charles couldn’t stop the grin splitting his face.

This.

This was what he’d craved—real competition, not just against the field, but to win against himself.

The RB21 had fought him all race, its rear snapping like a live wire, but he’d wrung its neck anyway. He’d held off Norris, traded blows with Max, pushed until his vision blurred at the edges. And when Max had finally squeezed past—god, it had been exhilarating no matter what.

Because it was progress! Tangible, real, undeniable, progress.

Now, drenched and breathless, Charles watched as Max hoisted his champagne like a trophy, his usual intensity softened into something bright, almost boyish. Their eyes met—a flash of understanding—before they turned as one, showering Oscar in a tidal wave of navy and gold.

Oscar yelped, laughing as he ducked, but Charles barely registered it. Max was still looking at him, bottle raised, that challenge glinting in his eyes.

“First of many?”

Charles clinked his bottle against Max’s, the ring of glass lost in the noise. The champagne was sticky on his skin, the podium hot under the lights, but none of it mattered.

“First of many.” he agreed.

It was the morning after the Shanghai Grand Prix, and Red Bull’s media commitments were finally starting to wind down. The last photoshoot had wrapped maybe fifteen minutes ago, and they were both running on dangerously low sleep and last night hangover.

So, way past the point of trying to be photogenic.

Max had zoned out completely, still half-dressed in whatever the stylist shoved at him, counting down seconds to be let go.

“Let’s go shopping.” Charles said out of nowhere.

Max didn’t even turn his eyes away from where the phoshoot director was still talking, and Max still not listening. “In what world do I look like someone who willingly goes shopping?”

“Exactly.” Charles countered, quietly, to not call attention to their lack of attention to the debrief happening. “You said you wanted to do more different things.”

“And shopping is where you go with that?” Max turned to glare at him.

“I just want to get out.” Charles replied with a shrug, but there was some restless energy on the way he fidgeted with a bracelet. “If we go to a mall, we can… see stuff.”

“Wow.” Max deadpanned, “a mall. So adventurous. Nothing screams culture like escalators and air conditioning.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Then let’s go somewhere culturally relevant.” he fired back, voice low but with a bite to it.

“On the weekend of a Formula 1 Grand Prix? In the city ? We’ll get recognized in five seconds.”

“Max Emilian, I’m trying trying here.” Charles… well, pouted, dragging out the words like a petulant kid.

Max sighed, because — well, honestly, why was Charles even asking ? “Why me, anyway?”

Charles blinked at him. “Because we’re bored?”

Max hesitated. Part of him — that stubborn part that came from years being forbidden to play with the other kids, with Charles specifically — was still always a little surprised when Charles actually wanted to spend time with him, without cameras, without a reason.

He must have been taking too long. Charles groaned and grabbed his shoulder, shaking him in that same annoying way Max had seen him do to Andrea a hundred times.

“Come ooooon.” Charles dragged out and Max could see a bunch of supposdely important people looking in their direaction.

“Okay, okay!” Max gave in, rolling his eyes. “But I’m not actually shopping.”

“Awesome.” Charles grinned, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll tell Sarah.”

They ended up at a narrow, crowded maze of open markets and tiny shops tucked into a cluster of old alleys — not a traditional mall, but better, with sleek storefronts of high-end brands glow beside vibrant stalls selling handmade crafts, bubble tea, and sizzling street food. A translator and a Red Bull-assigned bodyguard trailed a polite distance behind as the two drivers strolled beneath led shop signs reflected in puddles.

It was… nice. Max hated to admit it, but it was better than sitting alone in a hotel room.

Charles darted from stall to stall, ignoring the high end brands entirely in favor of the weirdest trinkets. In forty minutes, he’d bought nothing but cheap jewelry, a knockoff watch he insisted "come on is ironic, we just shoot for the real thing" and a carved wooden frog he claimed Andrea would like.

People did recognize them now and then — snapping pictures, shyly approaching for autographs — but it was mostly quick, easy. Charles handled it like breathing, pulling Max along when he slowed, waving off attention like it was nothing.

So yeah, Max was having fun, he even got some shit for himself, his cats and that half empty apartment of his.

A toy stall caught Max’s eye — a bin full of bizarre-looking plushies, their faces permanently stuck in confused, slightly terrifying expressions.

He picked one up, inspecting it. It was the type of useless, ugly thing he would’ve brought home months ago as a trinket for P. He was about to put it back when Charles appeared beside him.

“Oh, I like those.” Charles said.

“Hm?”

“They’re quite popular. You hang them on your bag.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re cute.”

“They’re ugly.” Max snorted.

“That’s the point.” Charles laughed.

Max looked at them, their little creepy faces reminding him of one of his minor childhood traumas. “They just look like Gen Z gremlins.”

Charles hid a laugh behind his hand, before pulling it away and gesturing, “First of all, nothing wrong with that, gremlins are cute…”

“The hell they were!” Max turned toward him, scandalized.

“Second of all.” Charles continues, ignoring him, “We are Gen Z, Max, so get off your high horse.”

“No, we are not.”

“Yes, we are. 1997 is the threshold.” Charles said, already anticipating the protest. “So we are like, the oldest possible Gen Z out there. But still — there.”

“You seem to have had this conversation before.” Max points out.

Charles’s shoulders dropped a bit, and his hand drifted to rest idly against the edge of the display, fingers tapping a soft rhythm against a box of keychains. His expression shifted — not quite fond, not quite annoyed, but something in between.

“Arthur is… completely annoying about it.” Charles says, growing quietly as he speaks, studying the display instead.

Max hums, watching the other check at the boxes.

“Pick one then.” Max says.

“What?”

“You said they’re cute. You’ve got a bag.” Max said, gesturing to the leather messenger slung over Charles’ shoulder, or whatever it was, he wasn’t really up on bag classifications.

Charles looked at him, puzzled, then shrugged and grabbed one.

He went to tap his phone against the reader, but Max pushed his hand down and handed over his own card instead.

Charles blinked up at him.

“I told you to pick one.” Max shrugged.

He feels a little stupid doing it — but whatever, it was thirty bucks and he wanted to buy the stupid thing. He missed gifting stuff and Victoria refused to let Max buy stuff for his niblings outside special occasions.

Charles smiled as the vendor handed him the tiny box.

“Which color did you pick?” Max asks.

“It’s a blind box. Can’t choose.” Charles explained, turning it over in his hands like a kid. Max pulled him aside, making room for people to pass. “I hope it’s the blue.” Charles grinned, showing the little chart on the back of the box.

He ripped it open, handing Max bits of paper and plastic to hold.

“Oh, that is perfect.” Charles laughed, holding up the small beige plush. “His face is orange, I'm gonna name him Max.” Charles attached the keychain to his bag, grinning like an idiot, before continuing down the street.

Max watched him go, the little gremlin thing dangling from his bag now, its face twisted in some mischievous expression like it had done unspeakable things.

God, the dude was weird.

Max huffed a quiet laugh, falling into step beside him.

Charles was again buried in his phone, scrolling between the GPS app and a text from Alex about some restaurant he and Lily swore was a must-visit.

Max was just following along, waiting the moment Charles would realize he was failing miserably into finding it by himself, when he noticed something.

He laughed to himself and prepared his phone, opening the camera app and hiting record.

“Charles.” Max said casually, getting a distracted hum back, “Hey, Charlie.”

“What?” Charles glanced up, and just as he did, Max kept recording laughing. “What is it?” Charles asked, frowning.

Max gestured up.

Charles followed the motion and visibly flinched. “Oh, shit.”

Above them, plastered across the side of a building, was a massive backlit poster of Charles himself, posing for jewelry in front of Monaco sea, half-obscured by rain streaks.

Max kept laughing, and stopped recording. “Come on. Pose.”

“No fucking way.”

“Charles, come on.” Max insisted.

“Why?”

“Because it’s funny. You’re in China and there’s a giant-ass photo of you.”

“The brand is quite liked here, okay?” Charles says defensively.

“Charlie.”

“Ugh… fine.” Charles glanced around awkwardly, suddenly weirdly shy for someone who spent his life with his face on billboards. He did a half-assed smile and thumbs up.

Max took the picture. “I’m gonna post this.”

“No, wait, what? Max! ” Charles lunged for his phone, but Max laughed, dodging easily. “Do you even know your own Instagram password?” Charles grumbled.

Max paused. That was actually a fair point. “I’ll just send it to the media team, then.”

Charles steps back, a thoughtful expression in his face before he smiles. “You do that, Verstappen, and war is on.” He warns.

Max grinned, tucking his phone into his pocket before Charles could swipe it. “We probably should follow each other for that.” he said, too casual to be casual.

Charles raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sure. You first.”

Max just hummed, he wasn’t’ folding first at that. Not even Red Bull social media team desperate pleas had worked, three months in of them in the same team and they still didn’t do that.

Instead he pivoted in the direction of their translator, not missing a beat. “Let’s just ask the lady for that restaurant.”

[Instagram - Image Description: Photo 1. Close-up of Max in the cockpit, helmet visor up, eyes locked ahead as he adjusts his gloves; Photo 2. Max leaning against a Red Bull garage table, arms crossed, smirking at the camera, personal moving around him; Photo 3: The podium, Oscar in middle of Charles and Max; Photo 4. Another podium photo, Charles and Max drenchet in champagne posing together, Max’s arm around Charles’ waist, their bottles touching; Photo 5. A plaque with MAX P2 and CHARLES P3, the drivers at each side while the Red Bull team cheers; Photo 6. Charles looking put upon by having his picture taken, a hoodie above his head, posing in front of a giant APM ad featuring his own face, a Loewe leather bag on his shoulder with a Labubu charm on it.] @maxverstappen Shangai weekend! @redbullracing

[Instagram - Image Description: Photo 1: A low-angle shot of Charles Leclerc standing beside his RB21 in the pit lane, helmet tucked under his arm, staring down the straight. Photo 2: A head-on, low-track-level shot of Charles’ RB21 storming down the main straight. The halo and front wing sharp in focus while the background smears into streaks of wet asphalt and grey sky. Photo 3: Candid shot of Charles in the Red Bull garage, sitting on a stack of tires, headset half-off, smiling as Rocky leans over to explain something on a tablet. Photo 4: A trophy-side table shot: Charles’ Red Bull cap tossed next to his trophy, champagne stains on the tabletop. Photo 5. A plaque with MAX P2 and CHARLES P3, the drivers kneeling at each side of it while the Red Bull team cheers, water spraying high. Photo 6: Closed up photos of Charles on the podium, champagne bottle in hand. Photo 7. Max mid-chew, eyes narrowed, struggling to wrangle a pair of chopsticks around a dumpling, a few stray noodles on the table.] @charlesleclerc First podium of the season! Amazing work, team! Let’s keep going!

⸻

F1 STANDINGS · 23 MAR 2025

#1 L. NORRIS - MCLAREN | 37

#2 M. VERSTAPPEN - RED BULL| 33

#3 O. PIASTRI - MCLAREN | 29

#4 …

⸻

Max found him in the hotel restaurant again the night before Suzuka’s free practice. The Monegasque driver sat alone, fiddling with his phone in a way that made it clear he wasn’t truly engaged with whatever was on the screen.

Suzuka was hard.

The track itself didn’t give drivers much room to breathe—its sharp curves and high-speed straights left no space for error.

Every year, Charles faced this place, postponing the realization of the dream they’d once shared—a dream Jules had passed on to him. Usually, his brothers were here. They’d have dinner, reminisce, say a prayer for Jules. But this year, they weren’t. Neither of them was even in the same country.

And so Charles sat, alone, sipping on virgin cocktails and swallowing back the tears threatening to escape.

That’s how Max found him.

“I think we might be turning this into a tradition.” Max joked lightly, stopping at Charles’ side.

Charles tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. Max must’ve noticed, because his expression shifted, a flicker of concern softening his sharp features. “I can go sit somewhere else.” he offered, not unkindly.

“No, no!” Charles protested quickly, pulling out the chair beside him. “I just…” He trailed off, grasping for an excuse but coming up empty.

“Is it the car?” Max asked, his voice quieter than Charles had expected, but still direct in that uniquely Max way.

“No.” Charles said, shaking his head. The pause that followed was tense, and then, finally, he admitted, “I just hate racing here.”

Max blinked, his eyes widening as realization dawned. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

Of course. Max remembered the news. He’d been not much more than kid, but he remembered how everything went quiet for a while. And he remembered Jules. Not as a headline. As the calm, soft-spoken man who used to ruffle Charles' hair after karting heats and compliment Max driving.

It was strange—almost surreal—how kind the man had been. Not just with Charles, but with everyone. That wasn’t how things worked in Max’s world. In his world, most adults were transactional. They praised success, ignored failure, expected more always. Jules had been different. Gentle.

Max had been a bit jealous, back then. He didn't know what it was called at the time.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything.” Charles said quickly, his voice steadying. “I guess the whole team change is making it harder to be here, but I’m fine.” He said. Lied.

“What do you usually do?” Max asked after a beat.

Wasn’t that the question? Charles thought for a moment before answering, his voice low.

“I usually have dinner with my brothers, by call if needed. We’d talk about him.”

“What about your brothers?” Max asked. He’d heard mention of some family tensions before, but it wasn’t a topic they’d ever delved into.

Charles sighed, his fingers tracing the edge of his glass.

“Let’s just say I’ve never been the biggest Tifosi in my family.”

“They don’t like the team change?”

“They don’t even accept it. They took it personally and…” Charles stopped himself, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters enough to have you sitting here crying alone before a race at the place that killed your godfather.” Max said, blunt as ever.

Charles looked at him. The bluntness of the words, with whatever limited closeness they’d been growing, could probably offend someone else.

Instead, yet again Max was just putting out the words Charles was too controlled to do so. It was reassuring.

It stroked a part of him that was angry.

Angry at his brothers. Angry at Ferrari. Angry at himself.

The part of him that wanted to yell that he got where he was by merit, that he had earned the right to make choices. That he wasn’t betraying Jules’ memory by chasing his dream in a different uniform.

That this was the only way to fulfill it.

He couldn’t stop thinking Jules would understand if he were here. That he would hear him out, at least.

“I miss him.” Charles admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’ll be ten years in a few months, and… I hate this place, I hate racing here.”

Max hesitated, then offered, “I’m not your brothers, but… you could talk to me, if you feel like it.”

Charles tilted his head, surprised.

“I remember him from when we were kids. He used to be your mechanic, right?” Max half-joked, and Charles laughed. “He was… so calm. He would congratulate me when I won.”

Max remembered. The rare warmth in Jules’ smile. The way he spoke to Charles after bad days like nothing had shattered. He may not been able to understand french, but he could see the tone, the way Charles would nod attently, like losing was just part of the learning.

Nobody had ever told Max that growing up.

A small, sad smile tugged at Charles’s lips.

“He was like that. You know, when I was little, he’d let me win at karting sometimes. Pretend like he made a mistake, spin out. I’d be so smug about it.” He laughed softly, eyes distant. “When I got too angry after losing, he would sit me down and explain what I did wrong, and what you or Albon did right. He just… always pulled me down to Earth.”

Max stayed silent, letting him speak.

“I’m putting his picture on my helmet tomorrow.” Charles went on, his fingers absently tracing the condensation on his glass.

Max hummed, his agreement quiet but firm. “What does it look like?”

“It’s a replica of a style he liked. In all white, with his number and his name on the side, just like his helmet.” Charles paused. “I miss his face sometimes.”

Max reached out awkwardly, his hand settling on Charles’ shoulder.

“It hurts worse since I left Ferrari.” Charles admitted. “It was his dream too. And it feels like I gave up another part of him.”

“Charles…” Max started, not knowing what to say.

“He was the project, not me.” Charles said, letting the silence settle for a moment. “I just inherited it.”

There were days he could pretend Ferrari hadn’t broken something in him—days where the Red Bull garage felt like a clean slate. But Suzuka brought it all back.

Jules had wanted him in red. Had told him, as a child, he’d get there.

And he had.

And somehow, Charles still wasn’t sure he’d deserved it.

He had always tried to earn it. Every point, every podium, every drop of performance. But deep down, he’d never stopped hearing the voices that told him he only got there because Jules had paved the road. That if he hadn’t died, Charles wouldn’t have made it to F2, let alone F1.

“You deserved that seat.” Max said. “You deserved more than it.”

Charles just shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “I just wish I could’ve raced him once.” he said instead, his voice cracking slightly. “You know?”

Max leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes scanning Charles’ face, assessing.

He wasn’t good at this. Not comfort, not softness. But Charles didn’t seem to mind.

So Max did what he always did: defaulted.

“You know, Suzuka isn’t that different from Monaco.”

Charles raised a brow, the heaviness in his expression softening just enough to let curiosity through. “If you’re about to call Monaco boring…”

“It is, but,” Max interrupted, cutting off whatever defense Charles was about to make, “it’s about pole position and pit stop strategy. And those are things Red Bull can give us.”

Charles watched him.

“I’m still learning the car. And McLaren’s still faster.”

“But we’re better.” Max insisted. “Lando and Oscar are good. But you’re the better qualifier.”

Charles stared at him, the words settling like dust over the ache.

Max exhaled, forcing the words out. “You don’t need a red car to make him proud.”

The engine’s rumble thrummed through his chest, but Charles barely felt it.

He rested both hands on the halo, eyes closed, head bowed. It wasn’t a long prayer—just a moment, barely a breath, for Jules. For the boyy who dreamed of a seat, in this very sport and handed the dream down to him like a legacy. For the man made possible for Charles continue his dream.

Be with me today. Just this one. He let go of the halo. The lights blinked red overhead.

Pole position.

Suzuka spread before him like a ribboned blade—merciless curves, sudden drops, speed so violent it blurred the edges of vision. But Charles wasn’t afraid. Not today.

Rocky’s voice crackled in his ear. “Okay Charles, let’s bring it home. You know what you have. You know who’s behind.”

He did. Max.

In his mirrors, Verstappen’s car shimmered like a threat. A Red Bull twin, but driven with the sharp, relentless force Max had perfected over the years. Aggression was Max’s love language on track. He attacked gaps that didn’t exist, dared others to blink first.

Charles had blinked before. He wouldn’t today.

Jules once told him how Max raced—back when they were still kids, back when Charles would get furious watching Max divebomb into corners like he had a death wish. Jules had leaned on the karting fence, arms folded, voice calm.

"He pushes until you yield. You don't have to yield. Stay close. Make him show his hands. You dance with him—don't fight. Dance."

The lights went out.

Charles launched off the line clean, the car humming like it wanted this as badly as he did. Behind, Max was already there—barely a heartbeat behind. They barreled into Turn 1 side-by-side, Max nosing up the inside with a hungry lunge.

Charles didn’t yield.

He turned in with precision, holding his ground even as Max’s tire nearly kissed his sidepod. No contact. Barely. He held the line, exited clean. Max didn’t fall back.

They danced.

Sector after sector, Charles placed the car exactly where Max didn’t want it—tight into the Degners, wide on the hairpin exit to kill momentum, defensive but fluid. Max’s aggression was like thunder; Charles responded with lightning.

Lap after lap blurred together. Rocky’s voice anchored him.

“We’re faster in clean air. If he gets DRS, we’re still safe into Spoon.”

They’d planned for this. Two-stop strategy.

Medium–medium–soft. Max had mirrored it, of course. Red Bull left nothing to chance, and Max never accepted a slower plan. So Charles changed the tempo instead.

He slowed in places Max expected him to fly, then punched the throttle early where Max set up to dive. Forced the overtake to come in a zone Max hated, outside into 130R. Not even Max could justify a move there.

And still, he tried.

Charles saw the shadow move. Max angled in just a hair too wide. Jules’ voice echoed in his memory.

"Let him show you the move. Then shut the door, gentle. Make him doubt it next time."

He did. Charles lifted half a beat early, tricked Max into taking the outside, then edged him onto the curb. Still clean. Still legal.

Max swore into the radio.

Charles smiled.

They came in for the second stop—clean, fast, perfect. Rocky was calm.

“You’re still leading. He’s pushing hard, gap’s under one.”

He knew. He could feel the pressure like a phantom hand on his neck, but the final stint was softs. And Charles had saved his best for now.

The tires gripped like claws through the esses. Charles threaded the car between apexes with surgical control, using every centimeter, every twitch of the wheel Jules had taught him to trust. The final laps were a storm of precision, Max looming large behind him, trying everything—feints, braking late, crowding lines.

Charles danced.

When the checkered flag waved, the Red Bull pit wall erupted in cheers, but Charles barely heard it over the static of his heartbeat. Max crossed just behind, no more than half a second back.

He exhaled.

Rocky was in his ear, laughing. “That was it. That was everything.”

Charles smiled, slow and exhausted, looking up at the sky above Suzuka. The pain hadn’t gone. The ache for Jules, the anger at his brothers, the doubts—none of it had vanished.

But he had raced like himself.

[Sky Sports F1 Coverage - Live: Footage fades in from the final seconds of the race. Charles Leclerc brings the car to a halt on the main straight. The Suzuka grandstands are a sea of red and blue, flags waving, the crowd on its feet.] CROFTY (voice over): "Listen to that crowd. You can feel it, can’t you? This isn’t just another victory—it’s the moment. Charles Leclerc wins at Suzuka… for the very first time in his career, in his 150th Grand Prix start, and it’s his first win in Red Bull colours. What a story." SIMON: "It’s monumental, Crofty. For Charles, this circuit has always carried a shadow. Jules Bianchi’s memory is woven into every corner of this track for each driver." Cut to Charles standing on the car, arms raised, helmet lifted high for the cameras. On the back, a tribute photo of Jules Bianchi is visible. CROFTY: "There he is. That helmet says it all. Jules, his sport race godfather, childhood friend. One of the biggest and most recent losses of the sport. That’s not celebration. That’s tribute." Charles carefully climbs down, places the steering wheel back in, then walks toward the barriers, where Red Bull, including Max stand. Max offers a hand. Charles claps it and Max pulls him into a hug. SIMON: "And this… this is special. These two have known each other since they were kids. Karting rivals. Formula 1. And now, teammates. Max is seems saying something and Charles visibly starts crying in Max’s arms. CROFTY (voice quieter): "That is the image. Two rivals, and look at that. Max offering more than just congratulations. He knows what this means. You can see it in his face." Max holds him, saying something with a smile and Charles laughs, pulling away. Max slaps his shoulder and pulls him in back again before they walk off toward their team together. SIMON: "That’s what sport is about. That’s what Formula 1 is about. Legacy. Rivalry. Respect. And emotion that cuts through the noise." Footage cuts to Charles and Max leaping the barrier together into the waiting arms of their Red Bull crew. The crowd continues to roar.]

[Instagram - Image Description: Charles stepping on the car his helmet high, Jules’s image on full display. The crowd is blurred in the background, a smile streachs despite the raw emotions.] @charles_leclerc "Forever grateful. For the car, the team, the lessons, and for him. Merci, Jules. This one’s for you. #1 for Jules #Suzuka2025"

The party at Suzuka was everything one would expect from a Red Bull celebration - loud, alcoholic, and brimming with energy. The private lounge glimmered with a mix of neon lights and sleek, understated decor, ensuring it felt exclusive but not over the top. Half of the grid was there, along with team members, engineers, and a smattering of familiar faces. It was a night to revel in success, and Charles’ victory was the crown jewel of the evening.

Charles was standing near the bar, a half-empty drink in hand, when Pierre made his way over. His grin was wide, the sort of expression that immediately set Charles at ease.

“Well, well, look at you.” Pierre teased, nudging him lightly. “Keeping those Honda fans out there happy, huh?”

Charles laughed, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all evening. “Took me long enough. You know, no pressure or anything. Just the need to prove myself to my new employees.”

“Right.” Pierre said, raising his drink in mock solemnity. “No pressure at all. You just casually pulled off one of the cleanest wins of your career. And breaking Max’s streak, no less.”

The two shared a laugh and a side hug, but as the noise of the party swelled around them, Pierre’s expression shifted, the humor dimming slightly. He helf his shoulder so a moment, his tone quieter. “Jules would’ve been proud, you know.”

Charles froze for a moment, the mention of his godfather cutting through the haze of champagne and adrenaline. He swallowed, then nodded, his voice steady but soft. “Yeah… I thought about him a lot today.” Pierre simply, nodded, knowing. Charles looked at his friend, a lump forming in his throat. “Thanks, Pierre.”

For a few moments, they stood in companionable silence, letting the roar of the party fade into the background. Then Pierre leaned in slightly, his voice dropping further.

“You know… I gotta say, kinda weird you didn’t tell me about Red Bull. Not a text, not a ‘hey, I might be leaving Ferrari,’ nothing.”

Charles stiffened imperceptibly, his fingers tightening around his glass. He glanced away, his gaze sweeping over the crowded room.

Well, that was a long time coming talk.

“There wasn’t much to talk about. It was just… the right time.”

Pierre raised an eyebrow, his skepticism unspoken but palpable. “The right time.” He took a sip of his drink, then tilted his head. “You really wanna deal with Helmut though?”

Charles grimaced with a dry laugh. “Helmut kinda likes me.”

Pierre made a face. “I’m not surprised. You’d be able to manipulate Putin into liking you. It’s honestly terrifying.”

Charles snorted, shaking his head. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.” Pierre leaned back with a grin.

Charles forced a smile, raising his glass in mock cheer. “Come on, let’s have fun and enjoy the party. You owe me a dance after this.”

Pierre laughed, the tension dissolving. “You wish.”

Charles excused himself quietly, leaving Yuki and Pierre mid-story, their laughter chasing him down the corridor. The lights in the hallway were dimmer here, the bass of the party pulsing faintly through the walls, but it all felt a world away. He needed a moment to breathe, to cool the mix of champagne and adrenaline still buzzing in his blood.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he pushed open the door, a little too tipsy, far too tired.

He turned the corner, heading toward the bathroom—eyes slightly unfocused, mind on nothing in particular—until movement in the alcove just beside the door pulled him back to the present.

Then he froze.

The scene before him was not what he expected.

Max was there — which wasn't surprising, it was a Red Bull party about their 2 podium earning drivers, of course Max was at attendance, they had seen each other before.

But it wasn’t Max' presence that was surprising in this, but how. For one, he wasn’t wearing a team shirt, which alone was shocking enough.

And then there was the person with him.

Max had one hand pressed firmly against the wall, the other resting casually at the waist of his companion. He was smirking, his lips curved in that self-assured way he often wore on the grid–but now, it was different. Intimate. Personal. The kind of look Charles had never saw on the man.

Charles blinked, his gaze shifting to the person Max was practically pinning against the wall. They were shorter than Max, noticeably so, with dark, fluffy hair. Asian, Charles noted absently, his brain lagging as it worked to process what he was seeing.

Max was about to kiss him.

Charles felt his stomach flip. He blinked again, harder this time, as if he’d walked into some alternate universe. Max. Kissing a guy.

Oh. That was new.

Charles shook himself, forcing his legs to move before he stood there too long and made it even more awkward. As he stepped past them, the pair shifted slightly, and Charles caught a better look at the guy — pretty, with a sharp jawline and an easy confidence in the way he leaned into Max’s space.

He caught a snippet of Max’s low voice, murmured words Charles couldn’t make out, but that were clearly meant for no one else.

Charles felt his face and neck warm.

He moved, focusing straight ahead, determined to pretend he’d seen nothing. He pulled open the bathroom door and slipped inside, the cool air hitting him all at once. He didn’t look at the mirror. Just stood at the sink and washed his hands, fingers trembling slightly beneath the stream of water.

He washed his hands quickly, the running water masking the faint murmur of conversation behind him. By the time he left back to the corridor, Max was standing casually now, his companion adjusting his shirt. They looked... normal. Like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Charles swallowed hard and left it behind, stepping back into the buzz of the party. His mind raced as he walked, the scene replaying in his head.

Yeah, that was definitely new.

⸻

F1 STANDINGS · 06 APR 2025

#1 M. VERSTAPPEN - RED BULL | 51

#2 L. NORRIS - MCLAREN | 49

#3 C. LECLERC - RED BULL | 48

#4 …

#fanfic #lestappen #97'sbulls

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bekolxeram · 11 months ago

Text

7x03 analysis part 1 — Everything Air Ops

I promised helicopters, so now we get helicopters. I want to look into how Air Operations work in the 9-1-1 universe, in comparison to its real life counterpart in this first part. Then, I will try to figure out the location and intensity of "hurricane Ethel" during the clandestine operation in the second part. And finally, I will prove how risky it is to fly a helicopter into a storm and why Tommy deserves every bit of his Medal of Valor.

Location

Real!LAFD Air Ops operate (Station 114) out of Van Nuys Airport (VNY/KVNY). It's not only one the busiest general aviation airports in the world, it's also smack dab in between major green areas of the city of LA itself.

This location makes perfect sense in real life. Air Ops might get the occasional highway car wreck or urban structural fire calls, but most of their missions still consist of wildfire suppression and rural search and rescue. Being based at Van Nuys makes sure they can respond to emergency in a timely fashion.

in the 9-1-1 universe, the LAFD Air Ops are based at "Harbor Station", or Station 217. (Harbor and 217 are the same station, Chimney especially asked if Tommy was still at the 217 in 2x14 when requesting air support, unless the 911-verse LAFD has 2 different air operation units, which I highly doubt.) Obviously it has to be at an airport, because that's where the hangers and helipads are, and going by "harbor" I can only speculate that it's in the Harbor Region of LA.

The only non-military airport in the LA Harbor Region is Long Beach Airport (LGB/KLGB), but it's quite a busy commercial airport, probably not a good one to run emergency services from. There's also the Zamperini Field (TOA/KTOA) nearby in Torrance, although not exactly inside the Harbor Region, it's coastal and close enough to the 2 LA ports I guess? Feel free to create a whole new airport using your imagination though, as you know 9-1-1 is set in an alternate universe where geography and physics work differently.

Helicopters

The LAFD Air Ops have 5 medium (FIRE 1-5) and 2 light duty (FIRE 6/7) helicopters, you've heard Tommy in 7x04. Everything applies to the real world counterpart, but the medium type that real!Air Ops operate is AgustaWestland AW139, the Italian-made medium sized twin-engine helicopter with a 5-blade main rotor primed for emergency response and off-shore oil rig transportation.

It has auto-pilot, an anti-icing system for harsh weather and even auto-hover suitable for hoist rescue missions. In a passenger transport configuration, it can carry up to 15 passengers in a 3 row seating plan. In an SAR (search and rescue) configuration though, the middle row can be removed for gurney space. It's big and powerful enough to transport multiple patients, but at the same time, light and agile enough to get into difficult terrain.

The AW139 is designed to be flown by 2 pilots, flying solo is also possible, but only under VFR (Visual Flight Rules), with an additional certification, which LAFD pilots can and do. To fly it under IFR (Instrument Flight Rules), it always requires 2 pilots according to the FAA last time I checked.

The light helicopter type real!LAFD flies is the Bell 505 Jet Ranger X, a single engine twin-blade made in Canada. It's an relatively new airframe, set to replace the aging Bell 206, which the LAFD used to operate. It's quite a bit smaller than the AW139, it can only fit 1 pilot and 4 passengers.

While it's perfectly capable of carrying a Bambi bucket to assist with aerial firefighting missions, it's mainly used as a training aircraft for new pilots and HLCO (Helicopter Coordinator) when there is a major catastrophe that requires on-the-site air traffic coordination.

These are all brand new and sophisticated aircrafts that a mere TV channel can't get their hands on without a government budget. So for 911!LAFD Air Ops, ABC went to their usual helicopter service company for prop aircrafts.

Helinet Aviation provides all sorts of helicopter services from aerial journalism, medevac, delivery to regular chartering. All the 911!Air Ops scenes in 7x03 and 7x04 are naturally filmed in the Helinet hanger, for convenience's sake, at VNY, just a runway across from real!Air Ops.

911!Air Ops

Helinet hangar Street View

I believe I've identified all the helicopters shown in 7x03 and 7x04, but let's get the 2 in the background which probably do not belong to 911!Air Ops out of the way:

N72EH, a Sikorsky S76C++, still in its Boston MedFlight livery. Sold to Helinet in 2022, possible used as a medevac vehicle currently? Unlikely to have anything to do with 911!Air Ops, probably just happened to be in the background to make it seem like there were many helicopters.

The one Tommy flies Eddit to Vegas in is N67TV, an Eurocopter AS350B2 Écureuil (aka squirrel). No fire department would ever let employees take their expensive equipment out for a joy ride so it's likely that in universe, Tommy rented it from somewhere outside of the station. IRL though, according to this forum post, it's used as a backup helicopter for all its customer news stations, but also any TV or film production purposes outside of journalism.

Now, for the one seen in the hangar, therefore explicitly belonging to 911!LAFD:

N29HD, also an AS350B2, also a news helicopter. According to this reddit comment, it used to be shared between CBS and FOX, but now it seems to be configured as a dedicated aircraft for ABC7.

The one the who cares gang stole to rescue Bobby and Athena though has a fake registration number on it:

You just have to look up Helinet's fleet, and you will see this is obviously a DHL livery, and it's quite easy to find out that this is actually:

N211FN, an AS350B1 (so an even older variant than the previous two), operated on behalf of DHL for package delivery service.

Don't get me wrong, the AStar (how the AS350 is called in the US) is a versatile and reliable aircraft. It the 4th most produced rotorcraft in the world, someone even managed to land one on top of Mount Everest. But it's kind of small? It can seat only up to 5 passengers with 1 pilot, and there is hardly room left for any gear. There is also no space for stretcher, so anyone they rescue would have to sit upright. It's just not very realistic.

I have no idea what medium duty helicopters 911!Air Ops operate, we're unlikely to see them in the future. There is this Bell 205 in 4x12 Treasure Hunt, but it clearly says L.A County Rescue on the tail.

youtube

Pilots

Real!Air Ops pilots wear beige flight suits, it's the aeromedics who wear blue, and helitac crews wear orange. I'm not complaining too much though, Tommy looks good in blue. (I think the chief pilot wears dark blue, but I'm not sure.)

Helicopter pilots in general usually wear helmets, in case a particularly strong pocket of turbulence slams you against the body of the aircraft, or a bird decide to fly through the windshield into your face, but I get that it gets in the way of the camera, so I'm just gonna enjoy Tommy's beautiful face.

Real!Air Ops pilots work on a 24/48 shift schedule just like any platoon firefighters. Due to the danger of pilot fatigue on aviation safety, they do try to limit their continuous flight time to 6 hours before taking a prolong break.

There are 5 levels of pilots: pilot I (trainee), pilot II (probational), pilot III (full pilot), pilot IV (lead pilot) and pilot V (chief pilot). The chief pilot oversees the entire Air Ops and work on a 10 hour per day, 4 days a week schedule. The rest of the pilots are put into 3 shifts, each shift with a pilot IV, 2 pilot IIIs and 2 trainees/probies, together with 4 aeromedics. (Can't find the most updated version, the lastest one I can get my hands on is from 2022, so good enough?) Therefore Tommy's Bobby would not be a captain, it would be a lead pilot.

I've already explained in detail the timeline of Tommy's career as a firefighting pilot, but here is the short version of it: Once accepted into the LAFD pilot training program, he would have to train with the LAPD for 180 hours then back to the LAFD for 200 hours, that takes around 2 years, and by then he would be a probie. After that, he would have to slowly build up flight hours then train and certify for all types of missions on the medium duty helicopter, that would take another 2-3 years, and after that he would be promoted to a pilot III, which is probably the rank he holds now.

We can see from the form Hen submitted in 7x03 that she initially asked for Lucy as their pilot, as she's forgotten that Tommy also worked there. Fortunately Chimney called Tommy, as Lucy most likely would've still been a probie if not just a trainee.

Melton

I have no idea who he is.

I can sort of see his badge says "firefighter"? At real!Air Ops, everyone wears a flight suit as uniform, so that they can hop into a chopper in an emergency. I don't know what a dude in a regular uniform with the regular LAFD patch on his arm doing there.

Tommy's arm has the Air Ops helicopter patch on it.

Real!Station 114 though do have a crash unit staffed with regular firefighters, maybe Melton is with them? But then, why is he doing with Hen's helicopter requisition?

#911 abc #911 on abc #911 show #911 meta #tommy kinard #tagging the ship for fic writing reasons #bucktommy #tevan #kinley

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