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tinydefector · 5 months

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Delightful distraction energyfluid Au

Soundwave x human

Word count: 1k

Warnings; smut, tiny/giant, oral, human fleshlight?, cum play.

Soundwave masterlist

The continuation of the energy fluid request I got here's the Soundwave one so I do hope you enjoy it.

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powerful digits never cease in meticulous tasks even as Soundwave cradles his lover against his midsection, optics and sensors split to focus on work while also monitoring each steady respiration and rhythmic beat pulsing through their relaxed form.

When small fingers trace patterns across his plating it makes him pause for a moment, the familiar touches exploring curiously, dimming his visor and shuttering optics in content focus upon his partner's want. A low electromagnetic thrum resonates approval through his frame as talons release datapads, instead curling carefully around the organic's form in welcome of their caresses. They hum lowly as their fingers tease against his interface panel as if trying to gain access to his aray.

His interface panel presses gently against inquisitive fingers, his powerful engine humming quietly. Hydraulics release locking clips with a soft hiss, folding armour slowly aside as his pressurised spike. Their eyesvlicker up to him with mischief as they look around to make sure no one else is around. “Getting bolder Sounds” they tease out in a husky tone trying to keep their voice quiet.

Soundwave's visor shows as ‘shh’ emoji, which makes them nearly cackle at the humour of the silent bot. They smile up at him as their hands slowly wrap around his spike, lips pressing kisses along the length as they work him slowly. Trying to keep quiet.

At the intimate contact, Soundwave vents a restrained exhalation, visor darkening, his digits pause their typing as his other servo cups around them eagerly pressing them closer, talons carefully curling yet avoiding constriction that risks harm.

Their lips eagerly work the tip of his spike slowly taking him into their mouth as they bob their head, their hands work his Length as they slowly rub their body against his spike. At his lover's mouth enclosing his pressurised spike, Soundwave ventilations stall, restraint, the sole barrier preventing unchecked vocalisations from resonating through his frame.

Held gently yet firmly against his abdominal plating, they willingly grind against him. Soundwave eager thrusts against their smaller form, evoking fresh jolts through sensory network, electricity dancing across hidden circuits and nodes as hisother servo clenches onto the bench. His partner gives so freely to him, such a small creature so eager to please him.

The Decepticon's powerful engines strains to maintain silence. Talons stroke delicate caresses across their hidden skin, talons tugging and pulling at their clothing until he finally had enough. talons peeling away fabrics with practised yet tantalising leisure. Plating radiates temperature to match delicate organic softness now pressing against his spike.

Their warm flesh presses against the heated metal and silicone of his spike. wrapping their arms around him as Soundwave slowly lifts and lowers their body grinding his spike against them as their tongue teases the head. Soundwave rumbles deeply in satisfaction, finally feeling their soft body pressed against his spike,

Powerful servos guide their willing form in rhythmic movement slowly rolling his hips to meet theirs as his helm tilts back in pleasure. Soft breathless whines leave them as they let Soundwave use them as hisown personal fuck toy. Transfluid slowly leaks from his spike and they eagerly lap it up, lips pressed to the tip as they suck. He grinds harder against them and another low muffled moan leaves him.

their eager mouth lavishes each pearl of transfluid, drinking it down as quickly as they can. Each motion pulls pleasure from him, sensors ablaze with ecstasy. His tired and overworked system crumbles as his overload hits. Control slips, pleasure takes over his systems.

"Fuck... Soundwave " they whine out as they buck against his spike. Body pressed flush against it. "God tastes so good" they mumble out before their lips are sealed back around the tip trying to drink up every little drop that leaves Soundwave.

The praise has him doubling over the desk, clenching them in his servo as transfluid spills from him. Gushing out from around their mouth and coating their body, his powerful frame stiffening as overloaded protocols flood sensory networks with white-hot rapture.

Transfluid spurts forth in thick pulses beyond containment, meeting their welcoming mouth in endless waves dripping down their naked form as he continues to rut against the slinkees of their coated skin. They eager buck against his sensitive spike, driving bliss against tingling circuits, and over-stimulated nodes.

Their name becomes a soft prayer upon a vented breath. frame convulsing Offline optics take a moment before the glow to his visor returns. They giggle as his transfluid slowly coats their body dripping down the floor and seat as he continues grinding against them as he comes down from the high of overload, their lips eagerly lap up the sweet taste of the bright pink fluid as it runs from Soundwave's spike.

Visor glows dimmed as other emojis pops up on his visor.

😘🫵🛏🍆

They nearly burst out laughing, seeing the collection of emojis. Their fulfilled laughter vibrates through his frame melting his spark His pressurising spike grinds gentle yet thorough against flushed skin now glistening with transfluid's sheer abundance. Lips lapping eagerly at each escaped pearl stealing renewed jolts of ravishing circuits leave him helpless but to adore. “how about you let me enjoy cleaning up, then you can have round two in bed. Because I want to enjoy my treat” the offer to him which earns them a thumbs up emoji. Their mouth eagerly collected as much transfluid as they could, enjoying the sweet and bitter taste of the energy drink. “Mmm gonna get me addicted to this Soundwave” they state which earns them His digits trailing down their backs, coating his fingers in transfluid And bringing it to their mouth. They slowly suck his digits, trying their best to not leave a drop left.

“Your making me have bad habits”

His visor Lights up again. Tilting his head down to watch them as a sting of saliva stretches Between his digits. A deep purr of delight rumbles from his chassis as the emoji flickers across his face.

😈

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Taglist @angelxcvxc

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers x human #transformers idw #transformers lost light #valveplug #transformers prime #mtmte #soundwave x reader #soundwave x human #soundwave tfp #soundwave transformers #soundwave #Soundwave mtmte #Soundwave idw

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jinx-xxed · 24 days

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Returning the Favor

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Something a little easy since I was too busy to do much else this week T-T I do enjoy this one though

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; During your training with Supreme Leader Snoke, you become gravely injured. Kylo Ren helps you after the way you saved him from the wounds Rey left him with.

Content; Angst, takes place between TFA and TLJ, pupils under Snoke, blood and injury, Kylo bandages your wounds, he’s very gentle and attentive, you don’t expect it, shared misery, shared hatred of Snoke, reluctant feelings, nobody wants to admit what’s going on

Wc; 2.4k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

There’s the hiss of hydraulic doors, the crisp air of your unfamiliar quarters hitting you in the face. The cold has made a home within your bones, the snow that covers the planet outside penetrating through your layers and skin. You walk into your room with an absent sort of gait, stiff and barely moving. Your fists are clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms, trying anything to distract yourself from the agony that throbs along your back. Your breath comes in through your nose, each inhale another bolt of pain, each exhale like knives digging into your flesh. Three massive gashes, tearing through the entirety of your back, starting at one side and going diagonal right to the other, so wide that there’s barely any skin left that isn’t torn off. Your uniform sticks to you from the blood, the once gray material now turned another color entirely.

The iron scent of blood has been assaulting your nostrils for the past few hours as you sat with your wounds, forced to endure until you were given the mercy of being dismissed. You wish you could say that you’ve become numb to it, but you haven’t. The pain is still eating at you, it’s impossible to breathe, to think, to do anything but just stand there because moving at all just hurts more. You settle with staring at a spot on the metal floors; there’s a scuff mark, a streak of dirt probably left there by your boots at some point. It feels like there’s something coiled around your lungs, constricting your air, clogging your throat.

The Force swirls at the edge of your vision, a dark creature that hisses in your ears, eager to feed off your pain and use it to boost you like it had before. It served as wobbly support pillars during training, keeping you upright when the blood loss and the choking discomfort threatened to send you to the ground. You still see the red of your lightsaber in the back of your eyes, like it’s burned onto your retinas from when you’d twisted and slashed and swung—over and over and over again. Your hands had been holding it so tight as a way to distract yourself that you thought you might break it. Your anger is still simmering, sticking around with the last of your adrenaline as it steadily drains out of your system. Use that, a voice whispers through your mind, harness your emotions. The lights in the room flicker as your Force assaults them involuntarily, needing to go somewhere but not completely sure where.

There’s a drop of scarlet that slides down your back, creating an unpleasant tingling sensation that half-snaps you out of the trance you stuck yourself in. Your head lifts slowly, like you’re in a daze, the smallest of sighs expanding your chest. You can’t just let it remain like this, you need to try doing something, despite how difficult it may be. You begin by taking off your cloak, refraining from moving your arms as much as possible. The bloodied piece of clothing drops to the floor in a heap, further exposing your wounds to the cold air, biting into the open muscles that flex with the movement of your shoulder blades. You start an attempt to remove the rest of the layers, choking back a sob as the material just barely grazes the wounds. You think about how you’re supposed to do this—cleaning and dressing huge injuries on your back by yourself without passing out from the pain. In any normal circumstance, the Fleet would be here to help, or the medics within the Steadfast, or even BB-12. But none of that is here, none of it was allowed. You’re meant to keep your pain close like a childhood companion, it’s good for your training, it makes you stronger. You’d felt it, you’d felt that strength after you’d received the lashes, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

There’s something that ripples at the edge of your Force, like a water drop falling on the rim of a spider’s web, something familiar. Your attention pivots, pain suddenly not at the forefront of your mind. That second Force signature you feel is specific, it stands out amongst all others and it’s imposing in a way you’ve become so used to. There’s a beep, and then the doors are hissing open again, your head turning just as you’ve finally gotten off the outer layers of your uniform. Kylo stands there, his hand still laid on the activation panel, scratched and dented helmet tucked under one arm. His new scar stands out starkly against his face, black plaster gone to show the still healing pink and red marred skin. The treatment you’d given him when he first got that wound helped greatly in the healing process, speeding it along nicely and preventing more damage than necessary. He looks tired, you both do, but there’s a sense of accomplishment wafting from him. “You’re back.” You say, though quiet. He’s been off on a mission for the better part of two weeks at who knows where, doing who knows what, unsure of when he’d return.

“You’re injured.” He mutters, dark brown eyes studying your form, staying trained on your wounds for some time.

“What’s new?” You respond, beginning to peel off that final layer, your gray undershirt. The entire back is red, blood having been smeared all across the fabric, pasting it to your skin. Every layer is ruined and will need to be tossed, with matching gashes slashed into each one. It’s a visible struggle, fingers shaking and body tensing beneath the pain, trying to do something as simple as removing a shirt without crying out. But then there’s warm, leather covered hands that replace your own, grabbing the hem of the shirt and ripping it in half all the way up to the neckline with ease. Kylo slides it off your shoulders, keeping it away from your wounds, avoiding further irritation.

“What can I do?” He asks softly with a slight waver to his deep voice, born from a desperation to make this go away somehow, to make it easier.

“In my bag there’s-“ you pause, taking a shallow breath, attempting to fight off the dizziness that washes over you and keep yourself upright, “there should be a can of ointment and gauze, if you could just-“

“Sit.” He orders, unclipping his thick cape and laying it on the floor for you to sit on. You don’t hesitate to oblige him, despite the way you struggle to get down to the ground, nearly puncturing your lip with how hard you bite it. He moves around the room with a Commanders’ efficiency, hardened expression set with his determination. He rifles through one of the few bags you were allowed which you used to smuggle in some basic medical supplies. You refrained from pain killers, deciding that was too risky, but the ointment is like a pain killer on its own anyway. It has stronger properties than bacta, but it’s so impossible to find and get a hold of you only use it in times of desperate need. Now is one of those times. Kylo goes into the refresher, coming out with two rags and a bucket of warm water. You wonder what the second one is for when he hands it to you. “To bite.” He says simply. Ah, good idea. He settles behind you, his appreciated body heat passing to you from his proximity. You assume he just came from a transport since he doesn’t feel like he’d been in the snow like you were.

A strange sense of guilt pricks at you; he’s exhausted, and it’s your own fault this happened. This doesn’t need to become his problem too. “You don’t have to, I could-“

“I’ll do it.” He says roughly, like he’s offended at your suggestion that he leaves you. That’s that, then. There’s no fighting with him when he has that tone—a certain one he really only uses with you. He goes to dip the rag into the water while you stick the second one between your sharp teeth, preparing for the worst of what’s to come. You stiffen at the first tap of the cloth against your skin and he hesitates, allowing you to relax before trying again. He’s methodical, working from the outside and going in, closer to the wounds that split you open. The water in the bucket turns red almost instantly when the rag is dipped back into it, a bloody shimmer reflecting the lights within the room. The slightest touch, the slightest pull on the skin sends electric shocks of pain up your spine and through your body that has you biting down harder on the rag, holes no doubt forming within the material that’s soaked in your spit.

A sudden hiss rips from your throat as he moves down to the gash in the middle, the tug on it irritating both the upper and lower wounds and creating a pain that comes in threefold. Your nails dig into the cloak beneath you, vision flashing for a second and your head swimming. “I’m sorry.” Kylo says, meaning it genuinely as he continues his work.

“Don’t be.” You manage to mutter around the rag and your pain that has you trying to clench your teeth together. He shouldn’t be sorry, it’s not his fault and he’s doing more for you now than you could’ve asked for. You think about how oddly perfect his timing was, returning to the base right when you would need him.

He finishes cleaning around the gashes a few minutes after, even though it doesn’t matter much as new blood just replaces the old. At least now it isn’t smeared up and down the entirety of your back. He leaves the bloodied rag on the rim of the bucket, the thick smell of the ointment filling your nose as the can is popped open. You take the second rag out of your mouth, tongue and lips feeling unbearably dry. You note that he removed his gloves, his bare calloused fingers scooping the slimy substance out of the container and spreading it gently along the edges of your injuries. You sigh in relief, the cooling salve immediately getting to work on fixing what was broken, putting out the fire of pain that had been ravaging you for hours. It tingles and has a strange heat to it, caused by the way it starts up cell regeneration and stitches skin back together.

Now that the worst of it is over and Kylo is coating gauze strips in the ointment, a silence settles over you. It allows you to reflect, to suspend yourself within the Force for a little while. You notice there’s a shared misery that’s covered you two like a heavy blanket; it’s already been seven months here with Snoke, trying to complete his training and to survive at the same time. It’s exhausting, it’s painful, it’s meant to break you, and it’s meant to put you back together again afterwards. It’s a path of rebirth, coming out of the darkness as something brand new and letting it become you. You both feel it, you notice it in each other, the darkening of your Forces, the amplitude of your strength and emotions. You still don’t know what to feel about it, about all of this, but you hide it. You hide that split deep down within yourself so neither Snoke nor Kylo could ever find it. Gods know what would happen to you if they do.

Beyond that, beyond the shared misery, there’s something else. It’s fleeting, barely noticeable unless you really focus on it. It’s a gentle trill, almost like a purr within the atmosphere of the Force, coming from Kylo. It’s muted, hidden away behind his usual shielding but bits of it slip between the cracks, showing itself to you. It leads to a sense of contentment, like he’s happy to be helping you, to take care of you for once after what you’ve done for him. Your fingers twitch absently, just a small tell of your own emotion, bubbling up in your chest.

Gauze is plastered across your wounds and secured by being wrapped across your chest with care, the bottom most layers already getting soaked through with blood. “What happened?” Kylo asks—something he’s been wanting to ask for a while now.

You consider your answer, eyes trained forward on the wall. “I disobeyed Master and so I was punished.” You leave it at that. You remember the pain you’d felt, forced to take what you had earned, and to then use it to your supposed “advantage”. You know he wonders what you could’ve done to result in something like this, but he doesn’t press, it’s not his place.

He secures the last strip of gauze, looking over his work with satisfaction. “There.” He stands, taking the bucket of bloody water and rags back into the refresher, cleaning up the small mess of supplies he’d made. He slides his gloves back on, then grabbing his helmet from its resting place by the door. “I have to meet with the Master, I’ll return later to help redress them.”

“Kylo,” you say, just as he’s about to leave, the door already open. He pauses and turns, eyes meeting yours. “I’m glad you’re here.” It’s one of the most genuine things you’ve ever said to him, because you do mean it. If he wasn’t here, you most likely would’ve passed out and died from blood loss. If he wasn’t here, you don’t think you would’ve been able to make it as far as you have in Snoke’s games. He makes it that much more bearable, that much more survivable. It feels strange to admit that to yourself after all the struggle between the two of you. It’s easy to look past the hatred you felt for him when you’re both suffering the same fates.

Kylo holds your gaze for a moment longer, swallowing thickly, his throat bobbing. There’s something he wants to say, something that sits on his tongue, but he holds it back and shoves it behind those walls within his mind where it’s safe and unknown. But there’s a shift, a change in his eyes, that gives him away. There’s a second more of hesitation before he leaves quickly, seemingly eager to get away from you.

Feeling it between your fingers, looking down, you realize he left his cape behind.

#he looks like a kicked dog all the time I can’t #I need him so bad #can you tell I’m a fan of this trope #star wars fanfic #star wars #star wars x reader #kylo ren #kylo #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren x reader #kylo fanfic #kylo x reader #kylo x you #Kylo ren angst

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carionto · 4 months

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Pressure and Release

Human: *hmm-ing at a set of dials and gauges*

Alien: What seems to be *translation unit catches up with the information they're displaying* OH MY GOD IT'S GOING TO EXPLODE!!! GET TO THE ESCAPE PODS NOW!!!!

H: Shh, it's fine, I'm just experimenting.

A: OH MY GOD WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE HORRIBLY!

H: Hey! Rude. *turns a dial causing a loud hissing noise* It's just air compressors and hydraulics.

A: *due to not dying, is beginning to relax* Why do you need up to 200 atmospheres running through these systems. We have invented alloy-specific magnetization mechanisms. Please, why do you keep insisting on these volatile and explosive means?

H: *turns the dial up* Because... *releases the pressure again, loud sudden hissing sound again* That's a cool sound.

A: Just because you think something is 'cool' doesn't make it-

H: *interrupts with another air build up and release sound without breaking eye contact*

A: *leaves*

H: *continues to play around*

_________________________________________

Okay, so I wanna get this off my chest. I find myself now for the fourth time starting a fun little activity, doing it for months on end, having a blast, and then almost suddenly dropping it entirely. First time I wrote some short stories or something every day for about six months and put it on deviantart. Then some longer form stuff started cropping in, sort of continuous narratives or whatever, and I stopped. Second was running a open D&D campaign with a persistent world but ever changing party, each session a sort of one-shot with a decision that would impact the whole world and what future sessions would exist. Not even 10 sessions in I felt under pressure to continue and build upon what I had already and just couldn't and stopped. Third was another kind of TTRPG, this time running my own server for Lancer. Again, open one shots, but less connected and I would hopefully get some of the players to want to run their own games within this freeform framework that I directly lifted from a D&D server I was in, even had some of the same people join as players. Few months later, I felt this massive pressure from myself to run games and come up with new scenarios that I just froze up. I cancelled game after game and just eventually abandoned the server and the resources I had made. Fourth time was here on tumblr itself. Back to writing some short form stuff on a fairly regular basis, almost daily for some time even. Had a blast, and then longer form content started creeping in. I thought I wanted to write some stories with an overarching plot and recurring characters and connected storylines, build up and pay off, that sort of thing. Again, I created this massive pressure by myself for myself of myself to do something I apparently can't. I created this sense of expectation of myself "Well, I started this, I should finish it, but where do I go, what do I do, how can I connect this?" And then this self-inflicted pressure got to me, again. And I stopped.

What I have known for a while, but couldn't put into words is that I don't want to tell a big long epic story or anything like that. I don't have one of those in me and forcing something like that only makes me shrivel up and run away. I have a world, several in fact, in my mind. Entire continents of a low fantasy character driven political intrigue and drama based world with tons of rules and restrictions, thousands of years of history, strong personalities for the main actors and so many individual scenes with them and the supporting cast, and a timeframe for when the overarching story happens and how it ends. But no story itself. Just scenes. I have a high fiction sci-fi world, again, with very distinct factions and races, most of the details I have written out back when I was a teen in a physical notebook with pen and pencil. Lots of historical points and events, how the races work, their domains if you will, near magical powers I try to explain with plausible science. Tons of specific details. Even drew each of their common symbols, how one of the languages is structured, schematics of how their cities are planned, and details on other planets in the system and how those might be important later. But, not a single individual character or story. Just dry facts. And then we have the loose sci-fi world I've created here. Bunch of different angles and perspectives, some comedic, some more serious, even put Cthulu in there. Many short and mostly self-contained stories and episodes of various humans doing things an exaggerated version of humanity would do. There is potential for a number of expanded and longer form stories here, some I attempted, and as mentioned, what ultimately made me stop. I don't have a book in me, and I don't want to write one. I just like to write little snippets and I want to get myself to accept this idea that, no, it does not need to become more than that. Because every time I start going down a path where it feels like it should be more than a one page thing, I seize up, start thinking that I need to do this, panic when I can't come up with anything, go silent, and give up. It just does not work for my brain. And that's fine.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto #introspection

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estarengineers · 21 days

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Two Post Hydraulic Parking Solutions Enhances urban areas with advanced hydraulic car parking systems, lifts, and two-post car parking systems. Innovative Two-Post Hydraulic Parking Solutions are innovative systems designed to maximize parking efficiency in limited spaces. These solutions utilize hydraulic technology to vertically lift and store vehicles on a two-post structure, effectively doubling the parking capacity in a given area. With a focus on safety, durability, and ease of operation, these systems are perfect for residential buildings, commercial garages, and urban environments where space is at a premium. The hydraulic mechanism ensures smooth and reliable lifting, while the compact design allows for easy installation and minimal maintenance. This modern approach to parking not only optimizes space but also provides a user-friendly experience, making it an ideal choice for any facility looking to enhance its parking capabilities.

#hydraulic car parking system #hydraulic car parking lift #hydraulic parking system #two post car parking system

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cazzyf1 · 5 months

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James Hunt with his budgie collection

An article about it under the cut

Last weekend, I found myself at the World Budgerigar Championships, held at Doncaster race course. My guide was James Hunt, world motor racing champion for the 1976 season and of late an ardent breeder of budgerigars: greens, grey- greens, sky blues, dominant pieds and the like. In return for carrying my share of his nine chosen birds in and out of the hall he would transport me from Flood Street to Doncaster and back again. We put our budgies under wraps in the Estate boot and drove north. As we drove, James ex- plained budgies, their infinite variety and perfections of type. Looking straight at a show budgie one should not be able to see the eyes; broad- ness of head is commendable, as is a steep lift to the plumage, a long straight back, sleek body and proud tail. The spots under the neck merit special attention. Usually there are six forming a broken ring but false spot feathers can emerge and these have to be tweezered out. Another area of concern is the head plumage, which can develop waxy quill feathers and blood specks.

Budgies moult in October. Doncaster, the most prestigious show of them all, is held annually in early November. It is therefore a race to bring them back into good condition. Ten days before James had visited a couple of top breeders and found their birds in a shocking state. He doubted that they would be ready in time. I commiserated with him on their behalf. We then moved on to the question of breeding. James only shows birds he has bred himself. His prize accolade so far is second place in the Beginner Breeder class at Blackpool, almost as big an event as the one we were heading for. Pairing takes place in late November, so he was absorbed with the permutations. After this season, his second in the budgie world, he intends to put it all on a computer prog- rammed by an acquaintance in the blood stock industry.

`It's like breeding racehorses, only cheaper,' he explained; 'a good budgie can sell for a thousand pounds, more to a German or Swede, not that I pay anything like that. The most so far is a hundred pounds.' James, like many self-made millionaires, is prouder of his caution about money than its possession. If he gets his pairings right this year, the basis will be laid for a first-class stud. Cock it up and he's back at square one.

The action takes place in his back garden, an acre and a half just off Wimbledon Common. As he travels heavily for the BBC during the motor racing season he has a curator, the correct word, of budgerigars. Indoor and outdoor flight pens give his birds the freedom and communion which he believes are essential to their development. Not all breeders agree, holding that show budgies are as far removed from their cousins who flock in the Australian out- back as those dying generations are to Yeat's artifice of hammered gold and gold enamelling. It was not a simile I tried on James as I wanted him to concentrate on the road.

`Under your feet are some supplies for the journey.' I had already heard the odd crackle and rustle. Sure enough, there were packets of crisps and chocolate, all now washed in a litre of orange juice that had spilt from its plastic bottle and in- formed the road map. I apologised for my ineptness, but there was worse to come. Throughout the journey, which was nearing completion in the Doncaster one-way system, James had fretted about his feather-pulling tweezers, hoping they were buried deep in a trouser pocket. This proved not to be the case. They had fallen between his seat and the doings of the German hydraulic system. His hand could not reach them with ease. I volunteered mine as being slimmer. He warned me that if the tweezers fell any further they would be unsalvageable, lost forever. In went my hand, down went the tweezers. 'That's very naughty, Napier. I told you to be careful and what do you do? Charge at it without any thought.' So my first task on reaching the Danum Hotel, Doncaster, was to ask the lady receptionist — still agog at matching her booking name of J.S.W. Hunt to the reality — for tweezers without which our budgies might as well stay in the boot. Thank God for Allens the all-night chemist and their range of broad-, slant-, and curved-headed tweezers at £1.29p a shot.

By the time I returned, James and the budgies were in my bathroom — smaller than his, so less problematic if one escaped. Two needed their heads washed free of quill wax and blood specks. A sky-blue cock had developed an extra spot feather. The tweezers were presented and found adequate. Deftly he probed to the base of the feather and pulled. Out it came and we both felt relieved. Washed and petted, the budgies, each in a black- enamelled portable showcase, looked their full importance. It was time for us to take them to the show where they would spend the night, be judged in the morning and thereafter open to public view.

A night on the town in Doncaster. In our second pub there was a fight. Three girls, about 18, fell to the ground, two tugging at hair while their friend inevitably paid the higher price for interfering. No one else made the same mistake. A pause for breath and acrimony, then back into the routine. The moment they decided that no man was worth such punishment the bouncers moved in and swept them out. Later in the evening we saw the three of them together enjoying a joke. The pub and club centre of Doncaster is small enough to walk round. We kept on seeing the same faces circling and finally asking for James's autograph with lines like 'I know who you are, at least my father does'. In London he barely incurs a glance. But at the night club, Rotters, we found our entrance barred by a further charm of bouncers. `Where do you come from, please, gentlemen? London? What, may I ask, are you doing in Doncaster?'

`We're up for the budgie show.' The door was flung open. Budgies are great levellers.

Next day, James admitted what I had already begun to suspect, that exhibiting budgies was far more exciting than winning a Grand Prix. 'After the first third of a race you usually know you can win, barring mechanical failure. With budgies the adre- nalin is there right up to the moment you walk in and see how you have done.' We walked in. Stretching the length of the Doncaster Race Hall were showcases in three tiered lines, nearly 6,000 entries in 392 classes. It took adrenalin-pumped minutes to find any class James had entered. The world became a clearer place, full of stewards in purple badges, men last seen in our hotel lift, now turned into awesome judges, serious punters in cloth caps with a jaunty budgie feather. The floor was covered in brown seed, scuffed by the birds out of their cages. We passed the cages of successful champions, surrounded by plush velvet boards and trios with red, blue and green rosettes on them and sometimes extra awards from provincial bodies affiliated to the Budgerigar Society. We passed classes with names like 'Recessive Pied Breeder Hens' and swatches of colour the like of which Scott Crolla only dreams. We overheard snatches of conversation: `That's a big bird, champion,' Not enough feather on the little blighter,' and men rattling bars to get the birds onto their perches for a better look or photograph.

At the far left of the hall we reached the Beginner Breeder section and the end of our quest was bitter disappointment. A fourth, a fifth, and two sixth places. Not one rosette to show for it all, let alone the Best Beginner Breeder trophy that had seemed possible.

`Bad luck, James, it's a bloody high- standard show. Nice looking birds, I must say. Wouldn't swop your one for anything but the winner.'

The commiserations in broad and know- ledgeable Yorkshire were far more effective than my plaintive twittering. James took his disappointment well: 'It's all good experience. I now know how good one's birds have to be, so good that there's no dispute.'

`So you'll be coming back then, James?'

`Certainly.'

#so wholesome what he got up to after racing #classic f1 #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #james hunt

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thatonebirdwrites · 9 months

Text

Crossover Shenanigans: Korrasami and Supercorp

Korra and Asami stand in front of a strange purple portal. Korra: You know, I'm a little relieved I'm not the reason for this portal for once. Asami: True. Mako: I don't think it's safe to mess with it. Maybe stay here? Asami: How will we be able to determine where it goes? The best way to test a hypothesis is through an experiment. *proceeds to tie the rope around her and Korra's waist and then spools it around hte pulley-crank system she's built. It's several hundred meters of rope* So all you two have to do is keep an eye on this. If the rope is tugged three times, then crank us back. Bolin: *digs into his bag of cookies* Easy enough. Mako: *sighs dramatically* Don't yell at me when this goes badly! Korra gives him a thumbs up, takes Asami's hand, and enters the violet portal. A brief moment of weird stomach-churning nausea hits them, and then they enter a large white room. Two people stand behind a counter with strange devices that Korra and Asami have never seen before. Asami: Wow. That looks like a fancy typewriter. *Points to the keyboard with a strange square attached to it, that looks like a very thin mover screen.* Brunette-and-very-pretty-woman: Who the hell are you two? Korra: Hey! That's not very nice! We're explorers. Investigating the new portal. I'm Avatar Korra. *jerks her thumb at Asami* and this is my super awesome girlfriend Asami Sato. Asami: *blushes* Do you have to introduce me like that every time? Tall-muscular-blonde: Oh, hey! Great to meet you! I'm Kara Danvers, and this is Lena Luthor! *grins and holds out her hand* Asami stares at it for a long moment. Korra rolls her eyes and shakes Kara's hand. Asami bows instead. Lena: Okay, so nice to meet you, now go back through so I can shut this down... Asami: Wait, you made this? How did you make it so small? When Korra made a spirit portal, she energybended a massive explosion, which ripped open the fabric of reality... Lena: What is energybending? Asami: Oh, it's something only the Avatar can do. She manipulates energy in people or the environment. Lena: So she manipulated a massive explosion to create a portal? That seems a very destructive way. *gestures to the portal behind Asami* I built this using Nth metal, magnetic coils, and... Asami: *whips out a notebook from her jacket* What is Nth Metal? And magnetic coils? That's actually a brilliant idea. I've been experimenting with those lately. . .

Kara and Korra watch as the pair dive into an intense conversation about electromagnetics and engineering.

Korra: Yup, that's Asami there. My girlfriend.

Kara: Yup. That's Lena. My girlfriend.

Korra: Huh. So what can you do? I can bend all four elements and metal! *shows off by waterbending the water from Lena's glass, then uses airbending to boost herself upward briefly, and bends stone around the room* Lena: Would you please put my water back in its glass? Asami: It could short-circuit the electronics. Korra: Whoops. *Drops water carefully into glass but then bends the metal bar that's lying on the table into a knot*

Kara: Okay, but that was really awesome. So, as Supergirl, I can do this. *Flies into the air, shoots lasers from her eyes, then lifts up half the lab with one arm.* Lena: Kara, please, if you're showing off, do it away from the portal. *turns back to Asami* So you're saying, you build a powered suit using pistons, hydraulics, and platinum? Are you sure its platinum? Because the hardness and tensile strength you described sounds like titanium to me. Asami: You know, maybe that's what it's called here. Let me show you. *proceeds to draw the chemistry diagram for the metal*

Lena: Fascinating. That's definitely titanium.

Korra: I bet I can beat you in a fight.

Kara: No way. I could beat you.

Lena and Asami: If you're going to fight, take it outside please.

Lena: I'm also filming it. *Reaches over and picks up a round ball and then proceeds to type something into her keyboard. Asami watches fascinated as the ball rises into the air and follows Kara out of the room and onto the porch area of the lab* Asami: Was that a tiny mech? Lena: Robot. Asami: Wait, so what powers it? I've struggled with decreasing the size of batteries due to... Korra unhooks herself, cracks her knuckles, and follows Kara outside. MEANWHILE IN AVATAR-VERSE: Mako: Why did the rope go slack?

Bolin: OH NOES. Do you think they got eaten?

Mako: Bo, by what? *his eyes widen* Oh no, they could really be in trouble then.

Bolin: We go to save them! But we need someone to man the ropes for us.

Mako: Let me radio Jinora. *picks up the portal radio* Jinora? Can you send some help to the new portal?

Opal and Jinora soon join them. They agree to man the ropes while Mako and Bolin head into the portal. MEANWHILE ON EARTH-38:

Mako and Bolin exit the portal and stare in shock at Asami standing by a brunette, while Korra and Kara battle outside. The walls are transparent, and the fight is intense.

Bolin: Asami! We're here to save you! *puts up his fists*

Asami: Wait what? No! Korra and I are fine.

Lena: Who the hell are you two?

Mako: So you're not about to be poisoned or something? *has fire blades ready in his hands*

Asami: NO! Lena here was chatting with me about the technology here. Korra is just sparring with Kara. Lena, that's Bolin and Mako, our friends.

Bolin: Oh. Do you have any snacks? Because I got to see this.

Mako: *sighs* whatever.

Lena: *grumbling but opens snack cabinet and tosses food at Bolin* I hope no one else comes through. I still need to calibrate... Asami: For the calibrations, do you have to manually type commands? Lena: Actually, no, I write code for that. Asami: TEACH ME.

Mako and Bolin sit down with their snacks to watch the increasingly intense fight. Korra has all four elements and is in Avatar state while flying in the air. Kara is blocking all the attacks using invulnerability and trying to get close enough to do a right hook.

After several minutes, Jinora and Opal rush through the portal.

Jinora: Are you all okay?

Opal: Woah, nice place.

Lena: What the fuck is with you people?? Go home! I can't turn off the portal with y'all here!

Bolin: Can't! Got to see who wins!

Jinora: I apologize for the intrusion! I'm Jinora and this is Opal. We were worried about the brothers.

Asami: Here's some snacks. Korra is battling Kara to see who is stronger. *gestures to the windows* I think it's an even match so far.

Lena: *scoffs* Kara is obviously winning. She's invulnerable to all of Korra's attacks. She also has the ability to fly, and her laser vision can easily incinerate most of what Korra fires at her.

Asami: *laughs* So? Korra's ability to dodge with airbending keeps her a moving target. Kara has yet to land a punch. Also, the fire blasts, ice daggers, and stone spikes keep her on the defensive.

The pair fall into an argument into the science of their girlfriends' powers and how they may work scientifically. The argument ends up so heated that Lena finally throws up her hands in defeat.

Lena: FINE. Let's find out who wins then?

Asami: FINE. More snacks are needed though. Bolin eats enough for three, I swear.

Lena grumbles under her breath about insatiable eaters, while she makes popcorn for all of them instead using her bunsen burners.

Alex, Kelly, Brainy, and Nia burst into Lena's lab.

Alex: Are you okay? We heard about the invasion!

Asami: Invasion? We're just visiting.

Lena: Don't interfere! This is important research.

Alex: Who the hell are these people? *gestures to the Avatar-verse people*

Mako: Who the spirits are you? *jumps to his feet with his fire blades ready*

Bolin: We need more popcorn! *waves an empty bowl*

Nia: Did you say popcorn? Yesss. You're my new friend.

Opal: So you're all friends of Lena? *Opens snack cabinet and ignores Lena's glare at her touching Lena's things. Takes out snacks and tosses them at Jinora who hands them to the others*

Kelly: Yes. Don't tell me, she had an accident in the lab?

Lena: Not an accident! I might have unintentionally created a bridge to another multiverse that is directly parallel to ours per M-brane theory --

Asami: M-brane theory? Spirits, we're way behind. We just figured out quantum entanglement exists and how to build planes. Tell me all about M-brane theory please.

Brainy: I posit that if you tell her that could alter the trajectory of their world with dangerous consequences--

Lena and Asami: Shut up Brainy!

Bolin hands out more popcorn for the now TWO shows: Kara and Korra fighting still -- the fight has gotten more and more intense with no sign of either being able to land a significant blow on the other. On the other hand, Asami and Lena fall into an intense argument about physics, which is interspersed with yells at Brainy to stop interrupting them.

Brainy: Sharing this with a person of lesser technology may interfere with the time modality of their multiverse --

Lena: Brainy, if you don't shut up, I'm kicking you out!

Asami: It's not like I'm going to completely rebuild the entirety of all engineering in my world. I mean, I could, I am rich, and you know, that would be a fun project...

Lena: Ah, shaping society through money and technology. Sounds like me... *she trails off and stares at Asami*

Asami: Oh my spirits

Lena: Oh my god

Asami and Lena: ARE WE THE SAME PERSON?

Bolin: *throws popcorn into his mouth* Yup.

Nia: And those two fighting are probably the same person too.

Brainy: I calculate that the probability of two identical people from alternate universes could disrupt the time continuum-- Everyone but Nia: SHUT UP BRAINY.

Nia: *shoves a beer into his hands and pulls him down next to her* Shush, just enjoy the show.

THE END... FOR NOW?

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dronebiscuitbat · 3 months

Text

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 40)

It was weird, being alone again.

Uzi was in her workshop, wiring up key parts of her railgun with the precision only a drone could have, Tera was curled in her lap upright, gripping onto her like monkey would it's parent, purr emanating from her core periodically.

N had left that morning brimming with excitement about asking her dad for a job at the WDF, he'd said something along the lines of “what's better then a living weapon to protect the bunker?”

She'd wanted to argue, to tell him he wasn't a weapon, but he'd been giving her a chaste kiss goodbye and was out the door before she could even say a word.

“Mama?” Tera's voice wafted up towards her, causing her thoughts to immediately get lost in the sea of her consciousness, she looked down, one hand already on the toddlers back.

“Yes, Jellybean?”

Tera didn't know any more words yet, but she did know that she had her mother's attention, and opened and closed her mouth, a bit like a baby bird, only with less terrifying open mouthed screaming.

“Hungry?” Uzi laughed, and Tera flashed her a big grin, clearly proud of her communication skills.

“Alright, come on then.” Uzi put down her tools and lifted her daughter up to her chest as she stood, Tera giggled, though it was intermingled with a low trill that sent a pleasant haze through the older drones system.

Kit is happy.

Don't need your freaking input.

She made her way to the fridge, the appliance didn't get much use, but it did allow her to preserve several bottles of oil for Tera, keeping it cold. It didn't seem to help cool her down anymore, but it did give her side a much needed break.

Which was helpful, if she was going to doing this for the next six years. Ugh, her systems recoiled from that, maybe her side would eventually get used to it.

Speaking of, she was checking her oil for any signs of being contaminated, considering the head wound she had gotten bled, but the oil coming out of her side panel seemed to be normal, thankfully.

She was still a little wary, Tera had been showing signs of… solver bullshit. But nothing entirely concrete had cropped up yet, and she was hoping it would stay that way. What she knew of it, it was code, something genetic or the closest thing drones had instead, Tera had none of her code, so she should be safe.

At least, Uzi really, really hoped so.

She gripped one of the tiny bottles and tipped it into Tera's mouth, and while Tera's hand rested on the side of it, she made no attempt to grab at it, her moter functions were about the equivalent of a 8 month old human baby, just… combined with JCJenson industrial strength hydraulic grip.

“There you go.” She cooed, slightly embarrassed at herself, she'd never thought of herself as being maternal, not really, she knew how to care for a baby from her mom and the time they spent in the nursery, but she had fallen into this quite… naturally.

She couldn't ever imagine leaving her daughter alone, not when the droneling looked up at her like she was the greatest thing ever, even when she was working, Tera was with her, or, at least, so long as what she was working on was relatively safe enough for her to be nearby.

Right now, her railgun was completely depowered, and whatever parts could discharge were now housed safely in the railguns frame, leaving the only one to get shocked if Uzi misplaced a wire, was herself.

Tera finished up her meal, and Uzi took the bottle away from her mouth, wiping what was left away with her finger, Tera giggled at the ticklish sensation, before blowing a raspberry and sticking out her tongue.

“What? Tickle?” Uzi smirked, before poking the toddler in the stomach lightly, causing several more giggles to erupt from the droneling, which of course, caused Uzi to rapid fire a couple more until Tera began to try to swat her away (clumsily and unsuccessfully).

“Mmm.” Tera made a noise, before pouting with a look that Uzi probably made this morning, all that was missing was the crossed arms.

“Jeeze, I hope you're not a mini me. That would be depressing.” She commented, she'd turned out the way she did through the absence of her parents, and Tera would always have her and N, so at the very least, she wouldn't be alone.

As long as she could help it.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

N got to the front door of the WDF office extremely quickly, aided in part to his height but also his extreme excitement in being useful again, both to colony and to Uzi.

After all, isn't that what he was supposed to do? Provide?

He blinked, before smiling, Yes! Yes that's exactly what he was supposed to do, provide for his family, protect them, and this way, he could do both!

He was given weapons for a reason, right?

He knocked on the door, it being a deep, ancient wood instead of the automatic steel ones of most the bunker, a bronzed plaque pinned on the front; Worker Defense Force HQ.

“Comin’!” A gruff muffled voice came out from behind the door, it wasn't Khan, the voice wasn't deep enough, but it did sound like a throat destroyed by years of drinking battery acid.

N felt nervousness bubble up into his core, he'd come here to talk to Khan, but he'd entirely forgotten that there were more people who were actually in the WDF, which made sense… now that he thought about it.

The door opened to reveal dull blue eyelights, permanent stress lines below them, speaking of battery acid, he smelled like it, it radiated off him like a particularly strong colone.

His eyes went hollow for a moment, having to look up despite the fact he was fairly tall for a worker drone, but still N eclipsed him entirely, N's tail wagged idly as he tried to make himself slightly smaller, trying to be non-threatening with a brilliant, sunny smile on his face.

“Hello!” He waved, both hands held in front of him to show he wasn't going to attack unexpectedly, his head tilted to the side.

The worker in front of him went from startled, to visibly annoyed.

“What do you wan’” His accent was comicly southern, bordering on unintelligible, N blinked for a moment, running the gruff voice through his processors another time before he really understood it.

“Uh- I wanted to talk to Khan, is he here, Mr….?” The need to be polite had been programmed (and beaten) into him, regardless of how hard to understand the drone in front of him was.

“Baylef, Yeah ‘es here, why you askin’ for him?” The older drone squinted at the taller one, N did his best to not let it get to him.

“I wanted to see if he would let me get a job here! I've been living here awhile, and it feels kinda bad to not give anything back.”

“Yer a Murder Drone.” The drone said back dryly, as if he wasn't just pointing out a fact.

“Ah- Disassembly Drone, please. But y-yes.”

“The WDF was founded to keep th’ colony safe from you lot, and you wan’ a job here?”

Well, he should have expected something like this to be honest, it wasn't like those many years spent killing every single worker drone on sight just didn't happen.

“Uhm… Yes?”

The drone just about shut the door in his face, but another voice called put from further in the office. A very familiar, fatherly one.

“Dale, who's at the door? They sound familiar.”

“Err.” The drone stopped mid-shut, looking like he'd just been caught trying to steal cookies from the top shelf.

“It's me Mr. Doorman!” N called into the room, hoping it was loud enough for Khan to here.

“N!”

Dale, the drone that had not-so-politlely nearly told him to fuck off, opened the door all the way before Khan came into view, a smile on his face as he held a clipboard in his hand.

“What are you doing here? Is my daughter hurt? Oh! Is Tera-” Khan was already working himself up, but N stopped him with a friendly laugh.

“Uzi's fine Mr.Doorman, and if my daughter wasn't, I'm sure the whole bunker would know!”

“Daughter?” Dale grumbled out confusedly, looking surprised.

“Yes! Dale you remember me talking about my granddaughter? This is N, my daughter's fiancé.”

N blushed heavily, finding some of the words in his throat dying there before he could say them.

“Boyfriend… we're… not, I haven't uh-” He tried to quickly clarify, but Khan wasn't having it.

“Bah, you love her, she loves you, if it hasn't happened yet it will soon and I'll be ahead of the curve!”

“You can't- uh, you can't just tell people we're engaged though! That's not true!” Even if he agreed with the words coming out of Khans mouth, and he did, he did want that… eventually. But he hadn't thought about it in any degree of seriousness aside from how Uzi would look in a wedding dress.

Which was incredible, but he didn't think either of them were ready for that… yet.

Khan just shrugged, N was left embarrassed, Dale, standing back a few feet from the two, looked like someone just dunked him in a bath of coolant.

“Why are you here then?” Khan carried on the conversation like it was nothing, so N had to gulp down whatever emotion he was feeling to continue as well.

“I uh, wanted to ask for a job.” He repeated what he'd told Dale, only now more sheepishly.

“You? Want a job? Here?” Khan repeated slowly, eyes slowly growing hollow as he turned back around to face N.

“Yeah?”

“Oh! Absolutely! This is great news! I'm gonna teach you so much about doors!”

Oh… great…

Next ->

#murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #nuzi #biscuitbites #n and uzi #oil is thicker then blood #tera doorman #hey look racism #or botism i guess #also Tera and Uzi being cute AF

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cetaitlaverite · 2 months

Text

Anything to Anywhere

Masters of the Air - Bucky Egan x OC

hi!!! welcome!! meet stella - hope you love her <3 masterlist is here

01. An Overfull Rain Cloud

“This bastard plane will not land!”

The buzz of radio static and then: “Tower to Finley, requesting explanation for why you aren’t landing, over.”

Stella’s teeth were gritted, the knuckles of both hands white with how hard she was clenching the yoke. Her arms were on fire and only aching more and more with every reclimb and circle over the airfield runway. “Finley to tower, I already told you, this nasty fucking bastard plane will not fucking land!”

“Tower to Finley, we don’t understand what you mean, over.”

“Get your CO on the radio!” Stella demanded. She did not have the time, nor the strength, to keep pressing the radio button to converse with wireless operators who couldn’t understand simple sentences.

“Tower to Finley, this is Squadron Officer Jones, what seems to be the problem?”

Stella’s face was aching with how hard she was frowning. “This plane will not land,” she gritted out. “Something wrong with the hydraulics - I’ve lost the system. I can get it down but only just, and it’s taking everything I’ve got in me. But it won’t be a safe landing nor a pretty one. Can you clear the airfield?”

“How far?”

“As far as you can.”

Squadron Officer Jones screeched out her demands to her wireless operators and then addressed Stella again. “Send out medical crews?”

“Fire engines would be more useful.”

“Sending both.”

“Thanks.”

There was a pause. Stella’s breath was coming heavy, her entire chest heaving with the reverberating impact of each wheezing breath. When Jones came back on the radio it was to deliver a clipped, “Tower to Finley, we are ready for your landing.”

“Coming in,” Stella warned.

It took all the remaining strength in her body to get the plane anywhere close to the runway. The speed of the thing was incredible. A steep approach and a rapid one, too, Stella only just about managed to tip the nose back up in time to prevent a fiery wreck, but she knew the force with which the wheels hit the ground would have snapped them.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” she exclaimed as she bullied the plane into a bumpy, staccato stop. She sat in the stillness for a moment, listening to the furious protests of the engine, to the squealing of the broken hydraulics system, and to the siren of the approaching fire engine.

Climbing out of the plane, Stella wrenched off her aviator hat and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. She slung the strap of her gas mask over her shoulder, tucked her pilot’s notes under her arm, and batted away the medics who rushed for her, assuring them with little patience that she was fine, just sore. She narrowed her eyes as she caught sight of her commanding officer standing to one side, out of dangerous distance of the runway, with his arms crossed and a furrow to his brow, a man unknown to Stella beside him.

She quickly turned her eyes away.

“Finley!” Commodore Knightswick belted across the airfield. He never was one to let her get off lightly.

Stella glanced back at him, lifted her hand in a brief salute, and continued on her way.

“First Officer Finley!” Knightswick shouted again.

Stella halted in place, considering her options. To ignore him would only get her in more trouble later. To acquiesce and head over would allow him to hand her arse to her in front of everyone. Her body pulled her towards the jeep waiting to ferry her to the ATA hut, her head pulled her towards him.

In the end, her head won out, if only because she had plans to spend the evening reading and didn’t want to have to cancel them for a disciplinary meeting.

“Sir,” Stella greeted as she jogged over. Her voice was clipped, her eyes narrowed once more when she found him frowning. She shoved her hands behind her back and wrung out her aviation hat to make sure she didn’t do something stupid with them.

“What was that?” Knightswick asked, gesturing with his head towards the plane currently swarmed with mechanics and ground crew.

“What was what, sir?” Stella asked as levelly as she could manage.

“That piss poor landing,” Knightswick said with a scoff. “Here I was, talking up how good my pilots are to our fresh Yank arrival, and you botch up the landing so badly the wheels snap off.”

Stella scowled. Her eyes were hard. She didn’t know who this American Air Force observer was, nor did she care, but her CO most certainly should not have been speaking down to her in front of him. She had earned her reputation through blood, sweat, and tears and Knightswick was about to set her back two years in one fell swoop among the new Americans.

“Sir, let’s not have this conversation right now,” she replied calmly.

Knightswick stared at her hard. “Don’t tell me what to do, Finley. I asked you a question, now answer it.”

Commodore Knightswick was a man granted far too much power for his few years, if you asked Stella. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-seven and yet acted like he was sixty and had all the experience in the world. Hard brown eyes stared back at her, thick, bushy eyebrows raised as he awaited a response he was sure to scoff at. His thin lips were set in a hard line.

“Hydraulics were gone, sir,” Stella finally replied. She held Knightswick’s gaze unflinchingly, because she refused to be intimidated by a man five years her senior who wasn’t half as good a pilot.

“What do you mean, the hydraulics were gone?” Knightswick demanded.

Stella clenched her hands tightly behind her back, her nails digging into the leather of her aviation hat. “I mean,” she spoke slowly, carefully, as though speaking to a child about things much too complex for them to understand, “you sent me out to fly a plane with no pissing hydraulics, sir. I circled for half an hour trying to get the bloody thing down and I’ve got the war wounds to show for it.” She dropped her hat to show him her palms, rubbed raw and cross hatched with deep, angry indentations. “The only pilot you’ve got who would’ve been able to get the bastard thing down at all is me, so excuse me if I’m not all that bothered that the bloody wheels came off while I was doing it.”

Stella stared at him hard. They’d played this game before and it always ended one of two ways. In his more merciful days, he understood the situation and gave her the benefit of the doubt, sending her on her merry way. On other days, he chewed her out and took away her weekend pass but still wrote up a formal note to ensure she didn’t get into trouble.

Beside Knightswick, the Yank laughed.

Stella cut her eyes at him.

“You’re dismissed,” Knightswick decided. His voice was cold. When Stella turned back to him she got the impression he was only letting her go because he feared what she might say to the American airman while she was in such a foul mood.

He needn’t have gone to the trouble. As Stella snatched her hat up off the ground and turned to leave, she heard the American thanking him for his tour and hurrying to catch her up.

“So,” he began, a grin clear in his voice.

“Shut up,” Stella snapped.

Infuriatingly, he only laughed. “You got a first name, First Officer Finley?”

She snorted. “No, I’m the only person in the world who was born without one.”

“All you British girls this feisty?”

“Only on our good days.”

He grinned at her. “Bucky Egan,” he introduced himself.

Stella smiled sarcastically, offering a lazy salute. She’d noted his oak leaf clusters marking him a major but didn’t, quite frankly, care.

Turning on her heel, she headed on her way once more, speeding up into a jog when she caught sight of the jeep driver frowning at her.

Bucky sped up beside her.

“You gonna follow me into the changing room and all, Major Egan?” she asked when they reached the jeep.

His grin was wolfish. “That an invitation?”

“No.”

He stepped back, still grinning, and raised both hands in mock surrender. “I’ll just wait outside.”

“Don’t.”

He climbed into the jeep beside her and they spent the entirety of the journey in silence. He clearly didn’t know Thorpe Abbotts well enough yet, however, to know that the vast majority of buildings had two entrances to help with evacuations to air raid shelters when bombers flew overhead. So, having written up and handed in her flight report, Stella promptly exited the ATA hut through the back door and headed to the female pilot’s dressing room to change.

The officers’ club was tame that evening. It wouldn’t be for too much longer, Stella knew, what with preparations in full swing for their American invasion, but for now it was only wireless operator girls who were being kept on to work with the American crews and the few straggling American air executives who had arrived in advance of their men in there.

Stella had been curled up in a leather armchair in the corner ever since dinner. The lighting wasn’t all that good but it afforded her peace, and hardly anyone noticed her sitting there. She’d been invited to the local pub with some of the other ATA ferry pilots but had politely declined; wrestling with that bloody Lancaster earlier had taken all the energy out of her, and while she wanted a beer she did not much feel up to all the drunken revelry which inevitably accompanied a trip to the pub.

The lighting was warm but low, almost moody. The chatter was quiet but the music was loud, like whoever had set all of this up was trying to fill the room with music the way it couldn’t be with people. Chairs and tables were all neatly pressed together, freshly cleaned and as yet unused. The hardwood floors shone in the low light with wax.

Stella was immersed in her book, sipping from her beer intermittently. She hadn’t had an awful lot of time for reading between all the ferry chits she’d been assigned in the last few days. She didn’t notice when Bucky Egan walked in, but he noticed her almost immediately.

“Evening,” he greeted her as he pulled a nearby armchair opposite hers and threw himself down into it.

Stella raised her eyes only momentarily, quirked an eyebrow at him, then returned to her book. “Hello.”

“What’re you reading?”

“Book.”

“About?”

“Birds.”

He angled his head sideways and leaned forward until he could read the front cover. “Huh,” he said when he discovered that her book was, in fact, about birds. It was some sort of guide to birdwatching, as far as he could tell.

Stella sat, pretending to read her book, anxiously awaiting the moment he would confront her about leaving him outside of the ATA hut earlier. But he didn’t. He simply sat back in his armchair, each arm laid out across the armrests, and craned his neck around to survey the officers’ club.

“Get rowdy in here often?” he asked suddenly, turning back to Stella with a curious expression.

Stella looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. He’d caught her off guard. “Um, not much anymore. Used to, back when all the RAF pilots were still around, but they’ve gone now to make room for you Yanks. It’s been calm for a little while.”

Bucky nodded his acceptance of this and returned to looking idly around the club.

Stella watched him, her eyebrows still knitted together, and frowned. She didn’t understand him. She’d expected him to come over here and flirt. Why wasn’t he? It’s not like she was being particularly good company.

“I was rude to you earlier,” she blurted, her cheeks in flames. It was the elephant in the room and she couldn’t go on ignoring it any longer. “I was stressed out and you were annoying me, but I don’t like to make a habit of telling people to shut up. So.” She cringed. “I’m sorry.” She hated apologising, but knowing she needed to always hung over her head like an overfull rain cloud. She wouldn’t be able to rest until she’d done it. At least now, blushing though she was, she could relax.

Bucky was staring at her with a slowly growing grin, his eyes twinkling.

Stella scoffed and looked away. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Quite a way to apologise,” he said, and she could hear that his smile had only gotten bigger, “telling a guy he was annoying you.”

“You were,” Stella insisted. “You know you were as well.”

Bucky shrugged, still with that glint in his eye.

He sat quietly while she returned to her book but she could tell he was itching to do something with himself. She watched him in her peripheral vision while he watched the wireless operators before, eventually, she replaced her bookmark in her book and sighed. “There’s a pub down the road which is always full. That’s where all my mates are tonight.”

Bucky wasn’t quick enough to hide the flash of surprise in his eyes.

Stella scoffed. “You thought I had no mates, didn’t you? Cheeky bastard.”

Bucky tipped his head back and laughed.

Stella rolled her eyes. “Thank you kindly for your act of charity to the friendless but I think you’ll find I actually wanted the peace and quiet. So. I’m sure one of the wireless ops would be happy to direct you to the pub in the village.”

Even while he was still grinning, Bucky attempted to mock a pout. “You won’t show me?”

“No.”

“Will you tell me your name?”

“You know my name.”

“I know your last name.”

“Why would you need to know anything more than that?”

Bucky stuck around for a little while longer, trying fruitlessly to engage Stella in conversation, before, evidently, he realised she was serious. So, making a show of stretching out his back and tapping the arms of the chair, finally he stood and looked around the club.

“Think I’ll go see about that pub,” he declared.

Stella hummed noncommittally, her eyes set firmly on her book.

“I’ll see you around, Finley?”

“Not if I can help it,” she answered breezily.

He laughed before turning on his heel and heading off to speak to the gaggle of wireless operators huddled together around the bar.

Finally, with a happy sigh, Stella slumped down into her armchair and settled into reading her book in peace.

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