#oc silver pilot

[greatwesternway]

heya! 👋

idk if it's been asked already but: do you have any voice claims for the TFISSAB crew?

Hello!

No one has asked this yet, but it makes sense to. The structure of the letters - that Ray and I each write alternating letters as our respective characters - gives away that its a roleplaying game of a sort. Face and voice claims are quite common in those games.

As it happens though, Ray and I both have backgrounds that sort discourage getting too specific with any kind of work we'd have to outsource. Ray is an animator and so voice casting is something they were trained for in school. I studied game design and learned a lot of the same things they did. Basically that not only is it no use getting your heart set too specifically on a particular voice, but it's also limiting. It's better to go into a casting with an open mind because an actor could surprise you. You could miss out on a truly iconic voice for a character if you're too focused on casting, say, an Ann Margaret type. 'Cause after all, at the end of the day, she won't be Ann Margaret.

Not to say that we consider casting actively for this particular project (most of our engines are stationary displays and so what would we animate them doing? Maybe we could do a radio play, lol). Just that we've been schoolt not to devote much energy in that direction in any project.

That said, we do have generalized ideas about voices though.

Truro describes Pioneer as having a "radio announcers voice", which is a very short way to tell you a lot about how he sounds. Authoritative yet approachable with an air of trustworthiness. And distinctly non-regional.

Pilot and Mate would have had urbanized (read: diluted) Texan accents during their work lives, but Pilot's has been dulled further by his retirement in Illinois. In the scenario in which Mate is rebuilt, his accent remains (Ray also likes the idea of Mate having a particularly deep voice for such a small build.)

999 is a New Yorker and so has an appropriate accent. While I wouldn't call this a voice claim, I did have Jill Zarin from Real Housewives of New York in mind when writing her haranguing U-505. 999 is not quite as nasal as that though.

2903 has a more southwestern accent but it's also diluted by urbanization and the need to be understood everywhere from Los Angeles to Chicago.

Basically, most of these are dictated by where they lived out their service lives. Although Frisco 1630, the Russian Decapod, pretends to have a Russian accent when she meets new engines.

[kenchann]

cant wait for book 7 igni interaction lmao and also everyone getting outfits/cosplay

[emdotcom]

My'eah, some Sonic stuff I drew, playing with a different style!

Last 3 pages feature Terios, & the last page features Violet -- both are characters co-adored by @carnation-damnation !

[tothesolarium]

Sometimes I like the base layer of painting more than the final. Though I do plan on properly coloring the Questing Beast

[lookbluesoup]

Pacific Rim/FFXIV Crossover

Everyone's got Jaegers to fight the... Sin Eaters. And Blasphemies?? Magitek Kaijus?

Thancred & Minfilia piloting "Wild Rose"

Alphinaud & Alisaie piloting "Sharlayan Phoenix"

Aymeric & Estinien piloting "Azure Dragoon"

Lyse & Raubhan piloting "Rhalgr's Fist"

I know there could be more hrm...

[sir-avodoodles]

This batch is from quite a segment of time.

I drew the nearby mall.

Also, I might start a new comic(?) about some OCs

[oukabarsburgblr]

drabble....aftermath of Man in the Elevator

FEATURING : DAISUKE YUICHI (OC) x male reader

profile ...

fluff, con smut, root post

[START SCENE]

"Hey HEY! Where do you think you're taking me-"

(m/n)'s feet skidded against the carpeted floor, however Daisuke's grip on his wrist was tight, it didn't hurt but he managed to drag the (h/c) across his department's wing, gaining many confused looks from his coworkers.

"On a date! Well- lunch date. I was thinking fugu or wagyu beef!" Daisuke's mouth was watering as he continued to pull the struggling man behind him who was begging his coworkers to help him. His friends looked away, not wanting to intrude on (m/n) and his boyfriend- WHO TF SAID THAT??

Daisuke had bodyguards following him, tall buff men wearing suits and earpieces whispering to each other as they formed a parameter around the pair. (m/n) doesn't know how to feel that he fucked the CEO's son. No wonder Daisuke asked whether he knew him or not and his expensive attire he had adorned in the elevator.

Speaking of elevators, (m/n) violently pulled back, shocking Daisuke when they had approached the floor's lift. It was a different lift but the (h/c) was afraid nonetheless.

"I'm not going in there with you."

He hadn't stepped in a lift ever since two days ago, taking the stairs and claiming it was to burn his calories when his acquiantances asked.

The ravenette was silent, staring at the annoyed (h/c) before smiling. "Okay." "...Thanks." At least Daisuke acknowledged that what happened between them was somewhat traumatic. Deplorable and enjoyable but (m/n) wouldn't want to go through that with anyone else except if it's Daisuke- wait what?

"Is it fine if I carry you then?" (m/n) quirked an eyebrow at the ravenette. "Carry me where?" "Up the stairs. The helipad is closer than the garage from this floor. You must be sore after our whole workout right?" "Helipad???" Daisuke nodded as he crouched to slip his beefy arms under (m/n)'s knees and back who yelped and immediately clutched onto the ravenette's luxurious suit. (m/n) wasn't sure whether to address the workout comment.

"Our building has a helipad?" "Of course silly! How would I travel from my home to work every day?" (m/n) wanted to punch this privileged, first class, silver spoon in his mouth bitch. No wonder (m/n) never saw him near the lobby. He guessed either Daisuke commuted by a fancy car or a fucking helicopter.

One of his bodyguard opened the doors to the staircase, letting Daisuke pass through with (m/n) in his arms who was punching his chest, demanding to be released. "If you're worried about being heavy, then don't be! It's great for my cardio."

That was either backhanded as fuck or Daisuke was just really an idiot. They made their way up the stairs, Daisuke breaking a sweat or two while (m/n) was still squirming and screaming in his face. He was surprised Daisuke was still smiling at him.

True to his words, once they've reached the rooftop, a white helicopter was there, already running its engine and Daisuke told (m/n) to cover his ears as he continued to carry (m/n) up onto the helipad and into the helicopter itself. Once (m/n) was tucked in his seat, the pilot took off, heading god knows where as (m/n) began to choke the ravenette.

"Where are we going?!!" "To- ackk! My house- ghhackkk!" (m/n) gritted his teeth. "Are you trying to kidnap me??" "What? Why would I?" The (h/c) began to grapple away from the ravenette, pressing himself up against the window as his shoes smudged the leather seat. Daisuke tried to coax him to sit down properly.

"You dragged me here. By force." Daisuke pouted. "You looked like you wanted to run away from me as soon as you saw me. Besides- YOU LEFT ME IN THE ELEVATOR ALONE!!"

(m/n) choked on his saliva and looked away. Fuck he had a point. Daisuke was scrunching his noise as he pointed at the (h/c)'s face with his index finger. The pilot felt like two cats were fighting in the back.

"W-Well I tried waking you up. I swear! But you slept like a goddamn rock-" "I wonder why." Daisuke deadpanned as he stared at the (h/c) with his lips pressing into a thin line, hinting at the fact that even when Daisuke was tired, (m/n) wanted one last round.

Immediately, (m/n) felt flushed and tried hiding his face, Daisuke pawing at him to face him but fuck did he feel so embarassed around him. "Look at me. I want to see what kind of face you're making." The ravenette laughed as he tried pulling at the (h/c)'s arms, the latter kicking him in protest.

Soon, they arrived at their destination. (e/c) eyes bulging at the sight of the penthouse that looked even more extravagant than their already affluent company building.

"Welcome to my home. Well its my dads technically. I still live with him y'know." Daisuke held (m/n)'s hand as the latter descended from the helicopter steps. Is this what they call princess treatment? He wondered as Daisuke began to give out orders to his valets and shooed away his bodyguards.

"...I'm still in my work hours by the way..." (m/n) hoped he wouldn't get scolded by his HOD, Daisuke only tilted his head. "They'll understand. My dad is the boss to your boss yeah?" He suddenly went into a ramble, not remembering who (m/n)'s supervisor is but assuring the (h/c) that they'll definitely let it slide.

Rich people live such nice lives. (m/n) sighed as he let Daisuke pull him through the penthouse, in awe of the decorations and furniture. Looks like Daisuke was a fan of retro, Americanized. He definitely grew up with mainstream media. His eyes gazing over hung record disk on painted walls before his view was covered in green.

"Woah." (m/n) whistled at the magnificent view of his surroundings. It was a greenhouse, walls made out of glass and white pillars, vines hanging from the beige ceilings and flowers blooming from their patches of dirt nestled neatly in their respective areas.

"This is my favourite spot to eat. Since this is your first time here, I figure I'd take you somewhere nice." Daisuke rubbed his face, suddenly abashed.

Okay that's kinda cute. (m/n) hummed. "It is nice here. Wonderful even." Could never afford this place. He deemed and made a mental note, not noticing steam coming out of Daisuke's ears.

"Glad you like it." "Your favourite place to eat is your own home?" Daisuke pursed his lips, thinking of an answer. "My mouth is accustomed to my chef's food. If anything, I'd love to eat here everyday but my dad keeps saying I should go outside and explore." Again, he went into a ramble, saying that his dad won't even let him step out of the penthouse without a five-member escort.

The (h/c) rolled his eyes. How self-centered is this guy? He knocked on the wooden table they were seated at to catch Daisuke's attention. "Sorry haha. It's just really nice to talk to you." "It's not exactly talking if your mouth keeps doing all the work." "Well your mouth can do some other work-"

Daisuke howled in pain, a swift kick to his knees courtesy of (m/n) who was glaring heavily at him. "Behave." The (h/c) pressed. "...yes, sir." "Good." He looked around the greenhouse, taking note of the beautiful flora and faunas.

Feeling hunger stemming from his stomach, he turned to Daisuke who was rubbing his knee. "I'm hungry." The ravenette was eager to please his date, calling in a butler, giving him menus and showing him pictures of what his private chef could cook for him.

"I recommend the smoked salmon, the earthy taste is insane." Daisuke felt his mouth water, remembering the fish that melted in his mouth, smoky charcoal seeping in on his tastebuds. (m/n) was unimpressed. "How much can I order?" "As much as you like! You're my date so go crazy." The ravenette winked at him.

(m/n) squinted his eyes, before letting out a pleasant smile, letting Daisuke call him his 'date' and immediately ordering a five-course meal. The ravenette was impressed by his date's appetite, mirroring his order.

The meal went well, them talking to each other, albeit (m/n) cursing at him every time Daisuke teased the former, and officially introducing each other. The (h/c) found out Daisuke didn't even officially work there. He was just there to visit his dad or get some 'exposure' in a work environment.

They did talk about the whole elevator thing, Daisuke mentioned how he tried to investigate who was behind the intercom and the aphrosodiac but all lead to none. (m/n) groaned, taking note of how the lift he usually used was scheduled under maintenance and the one in the incident was usually used by VIPs.

"I just...don't want to go through that again." Daisuje shoved a piece of beef in his mouth before holding the (h/c)'s hand, expressing his empathy. "I hope you're okay after all that." "I am. It was just confusing?" The ravenette nodded.

"Same. I thought I was crazy, y'know? Cuz' I woke up all alone. Drenched in weird stuff on the floor." (m/n) glowered. "I said I was sorry..." "No you didn't. And what'd you say?" Daisuke teased, leaning in closer and the (h/c) pulled away, embarrassed.

"I said I'm sorry." He hissed. The ravenette laughed as he pulled away to recline in his chair, stretching his muscles. "You're cute." "I know." "But you're really cute." (m/n) slapped his hand on Daisuke's mouth.

"Just shut up and keep eating."

A scream left his mouth as Daisuke licked across his palm. A butler had to intervene when he tried to drive a butter knife into Daisuke's face who only cackled at the attempted murder. It continued like that for the afternoon, Daisuke chatting and ruffling up (m/n)'s feathers, the latter eating as much as he could while responding as little as possible to the ravenette.

The setting was nice, evening had dawned, (m/n) forgetting about his work, Daisuke trying to romance the (h/c) and a bottle of expensive wine was served to them. No cheap alcohol here, only the best for Daisuke Yuichi and his new 'lover'.

(m/n) downed the wine, a fruity taste lingering in his mouth. Maybe Daisuke likes sweet things. He kept that in mind as his eyes lingered on the flushed ravenette who was swirling his own glass, still being the chatterbox he is.

The alcohol in the wine was mild but it did its job, intoxicating the two as Daisuke drunkenly brushed his hand over (m/n)'s thigh, the tip of his ears red and his nape burning hot. Him switching places to sit beside the (h/c). His body slowly caging him in, his face leaning closer.

(m/n) knew what he wanted. He had his own desires as well.

Daisuke brought the (h/c) deeper into his penthouse, touching him all over, (m/n) leaning more into his hold.

(e/c) eyes fluttered shut, Daisuke pushing him down on his desk in his supposed office, the lights dark and curtains closed. It was contrast to their first which was a small space with glaring white lights.

"Haa hah hangh slow down Daisuke- mmff!"

(m/n) laid down on the mahogany desk, papers astrewn on the floor while Daisuke went to town on his neck while unbuttoning his work attire. "Sorry, it's so hard around you. So handsome." He kissed his cheek. "So cute."

The (h/c) panted while holding Daisuke's shoulders. "Don't call me cute." "What should I call you?" The ravenette questioned endearingly while pecking his neck.

"Hot, sexy, suave, drop-dead gorgeous."

Daisuke laughed as he swiped his hair back, (m/n)'s legs were loosely wrapped around Daisuke's, caressing them with his shoes. "Alright then. My hot-," A kiss on (m/n)'s hand. "so fucking sexy-," He purred while brushing his lips down the (h/c)'s arm.

"not really suave-," A slap to Daisuke's chest, the ravenette teasing the fuming (h/c). He chuckled as he leaned in, their forehead touching, black optics covering (e/c).

"my drop-dead gorgeous lover." He kissed the edge of (m/n)'s lips, the (h/c) sighing as his hands gripped Daisuke's bosom. "Lover is quite fast, don't you think?" "My mind is quite a few chapters ahead. Will you be willing to speed up your pace?" "Only if you wait."

Daisuke paused, not expecting the (h/c) to give a serious answer, a genuine smile stretched on his lips. "...Of course." He was willing to do as much for this man in his arms. Something in his heart tells him that he would regret to not give chase.

(m/n) stared at the man above him, sighing quietly as his hand cupped Daisuke's face. "You're lucky you're rich." The ravenette leaned into his palm. "You're welcome to use all my inheritance." (m/n) laughed for the first time.

"Don't say that. I might actually suck you dry. You're not so bad, Yuichi."

Something jumped in the ravenette's pants, (m/n)'s crotch lightly feeling it. "Sorry, I got really hard hearing you say my name." (m/n) rolled his eyes. "I should expect that from someone like you, huh?" "Yup!"

Daisuke cheered as he kissed the (h/c), the latter wrapping his arms around his neck, pressing his lips back. The ravenette's tongue soon licked his lips, begging for entrance as (m/n) opened his mouth.

They were both moaning and sucking on each other's tongue, Daisuke's hips bucking and humping (m/n)'s bottom, the latter gasping into the sloppy tongue-tying session letting Daisuke thrust his wet muscly organ down his throat.

Choking on his saliva, (m/n) squirmed, patting Daisuke's chest, who immediately pulled away. "D-Daisuke-" "Please, please, I wanna do it so badly." Daisuke mewled, his face entirely flushed. "You can just sleep here after this, not worry about work tomorrow but please, pretty please, let me have you."

The (h/c)'s bottom jerked, feeling Daisuke grind himself on him. He sloppily licked (m/n)'s bosom, his eyes all teary, begging the (h/c) to sleep with him.

(m/n) grinned, he was also intoxicated and suddenly liking Daisuke's behaviour. He pulled Daisuke's hair up, swiping his tongue onto the latter's teeth, Daisuke moaning loudly into the kiss.

Hurriedly, he shuffled his clothes off of him, pulling (m/n)'s own as well. Fingers pumping in and out of the (h/c) who threw his head against the table, Daisuke used his precum as lube and pull his fingers out once he wringed an orgasm out of his new 'lover'.

(m/n) didn't have time to recover, Daisuke immediately pushing his cock in and the (h/c) yelped in pain, scratching the latter's pale back. Both of them liked the pain, Daisuke jamming himself into (m/n) rapidly, the (h/c) digging his nails in and screaming every time the ravenette's huge cock dragged against his tender walls.

The ravenette's eyes rolled behind his head, his mouth open as he came so early into the (h/c), his hips twitching as he stuffed his cum inside (m/n)'s hole. Arching his back, (m/n) mewled feeling his ass filled with something so wet so fast.

"Sorry..." Daisuke was heaving, his eyes droopy, apologising for cumming so early. "You idiot..." (m/n) pulled Daisuke's hair, reeling him into a kiss as he rubbed his ass onto the ravenette's penis.

They went wild, fucking like bunnies all over Daisuke's office. Almost every furniture was used and tainted with the smell of sex. Daisuke was extra hyper with the help of the wine and him being so happy that (m/n) was so willing to have sex with him. (m/n) was taking advantage of Daisuke's fondness and huge cock, letting him split him open in so many ways, bent over the couches, pushing him up against the wall and even pressed him facing the windows, his own cock rubbing against the glass, smearing it with his cum.

Daisuke came so much that every time he thrusted inside, semen leaked out with a squelching effect, turning on the (h/c) more. Eventually after the tenth round, Daisuke dropped himself on the luxurious sofa, the one (m/n) was folded into a mating press two rounds prior. In his arms was (m/n), breathing heavily, his body sticky and dripping cum.

The ravenette's beefy arms were holding (m/n) more securely, perhaps he didn't want the (h/c) to disappear like last time. "...Let's sleep like this. When I wake up, I'll carry you to my bedroom." Daisuke mumbled, his eyes closed, so tired having his dick pumped dry.

(m/n) hummed, adjusting himself on top of Daisuke, . "Mkay." He felt a hand rubbing his hair which eventually turned into small massages on his scalp. How sweet was this man?

"...Don't just leave...like last time...please..." It was barely a whisper, (m/n) couldn't read Daisuke's expression, his eyes shut tight. "...I won't."

He could feel the man underneath him flinch, not expecting the other to hear him but the latter's body relaxed, loosing his tension and worry.

Daisuke passed out before (m/n), his light breathing was comforting and the (h/c) placed his face in the crook of Daisuke's neck, sleeping soundly as well. He had a good meal, oh and the food tasted great too.

True to Daisuke's words, (m/n) woke up in an ornate bedroom, the color scheme mainly consists of royal blue and dark greyish except for its furniture. The ravenette had woken up way before him, spooning the (h/c) being so giddy that (m/n) was still with him the next morning.

Instead of turning up for work, (m/n) went shopping, Daisuke insisting he wanted to treat him with clothings and jewelries and he did, getting pampered by the rich man all day and he finally returned home with an abundant amount of shopping bags. He also did not let Daisuke into his apartment, knowing that he wanted to sleep with and in his room. That horny bitch ISTG-.

Although Daisuke assured him that he could retire at an early age, (m/n) still continued his normal work life, although his manager and supervisor were extra respectful to him and his coworkers had so many questions on how did he manage to bag the CEO's son. Said CEO was wary on how did his precious son managed to fall for someone so quick but after meeting the (h/c), he realised his son was a tender-hearted idiot and wished the best for the pair.

Maybe (m/n) was thankful for the whole elevator shenanigan, he managed to end up with a lovestruck rich boy after all. His life didn't change much except the fact that a certain priviledged puppy would steal him during lunch hours and promptly fuck him in the long nights.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts :

How long/short a drabble should be? Haha cuz i think i went way overboard. Daisuke would feature in more aus and their official(?) storyline including spinoffs (what ifs) with another oc i will introduce next week maybe.

Please leave a comment! Although there will be no part 3 for this au haha. Keep an eye out for my next AU [Reversing the Tropes]!

I had smoked salmon w my bf the other day and IT WAS SO GOOD WHAT ANSBAKHAUAH. I think its funny me writing all these smuts while being a virgin LMAOOOO

more of daisuke yuichi! ☾

[wexhappyxfew]

Silver Bullets Writing Masterlist (a Masters of the Air Fic-Collection)

AO3 link: coming soon!

OCs Featured: Women of Silver Bullets

Pairings: SB Pairings

Collection of writings of the women of the B-17, Silver Bullets, and their stories through the Second World War, alongside the Masters of the Air men. Features replacement pilot, Lieutenant Annie Bradshaw, stepping into the role of command pilot for Silver Bullets, working to lead a crew of an all-female bomber crew throughout missions out of Thorpe Abbotts, England. Silver Bullets recently went through the tragic loss of their previous command pilot, Captain Birdie Faulkner, which leaves the crew reeling - Annie Bradshaw hopes to do justice to this bomber crew and the war. Follows canon for the most part, an alternate universe with women as a B-17 crew.

-> Current Writings <-

-> to be updated as new writings come out!

Meeting Annie Chattaway (Bradshaw)

Annie Chattaway (later becomes Bradshaw in rewrites) meets John Egan and John Brady for her first introductions to base. Story is later reworked into Silver Bullets writings and a larger crew.

Sweet-Talking Silver Bullets

Annie Bradshaw heads to the flying club after an introduction to Thorpe Abbotts and an invitation from John Brady - and gets to meet Margie Harlowe, flight engineer on Silver Bullets, as well as some commentary from John Egan.

Package Deal

Bombardier, Carrie Achterberg, falls sick and misses a mission - navigator, Bessie Carlisle, visits her for some well wishes - James Douglass pays the duo a visit.

Introductions and Pleasantries

Bessie Carlisle and turret ball gunner, Judy Rybinski, discuss the future and meet the newest pilot on base, Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal - Marianne Salinger, tail-gunner, sets her sights on letting her orange cat, Frank, get a feel for the newest addition.

Solemn Reminders

Co-pilot, Francis Montez, has been struggling ever since losing Captain Birdie Faulkner those few weeks ago - Annie Bradshaw attempts to get through those layers and let Francis know she's there to stay.

Lie Down Next to Me

Annie Bradshaw's is sure of a lot of things - but sharing a bed with Captain John Brady when things start getting tough is not one of them.

Quiet Reprieve

A mission gone haywire leaves the crews at Thorpe Abbotts in a mental recovery - John Brady attempts to get Annie Bradshaw out of her head. Ken Lemmons offers a few jokes in return.

Next Time I Wake

Judy Rybinski suffered a serious injury after a rough mission, and is joined by Rosie Rosenthal at her side when she wakes.

When All Else Fails

The 9-remaining members of Silver Bullets discuss their newest pilot, ponder their last replacement who went down the drain and the future of their B-17 bomber.

Very Thought of You

Judy Rybinski's in her head. Rosie Rosenthal can see that. He offers her a dance. She finally feels at home.

Crash Landings and All

Annie Bradshaw and John Brady share some coffee in the early morning and discuss their rather embarrassing mishaps of first-time-flying.

Home is an Anchor

Annie Bradshaw reminisces on her miserable youth as John Brady attempts to comfort her. Annie recognizes what it means for someone to be an anchor, as well as a place.

You, Me, and the Stars

Judy Rybinski and Bessie Carlisle discuss life and love. Judy shares a conversation with Rosie Rosenthal and makes a few bolder moves than she would have thought.

Guide and Guard

The crew of Silver Bullets dutifully awaits the signal for wheels up. John Brady makes a visit.

No Hard Feelings

Carrie Achterberg just wants to enjoy breakfast. James Douglass comes asking for a favor. Greenland mention!

I Found You Again

Annie Bradshaw and John Brady share a moment in a bunk, with quiet contention and silent confessions.

You Pinky Promise?

James Douglass visits a sick Carrie Achterberg. Conversation ensues about Dougie's time in the skies under Lieutenant Annie Bradshaw's wing.

Let It Linger

Judy Rybinski gets promoted and thinks Rosie Rosenthal has a little something to do with it.

Bergie Doesn’t Strike Out

Carrie Achterberg and James Douglass both feel they have ‘struck out’ in their own ways. Lingering eyes follow.

You In My A-2

Annie Bradshaw and John Brady share another night in the bunk. A few honest statements seem to slip. A sort of Pt 2 to this piece.

Looking Out For Me

Judy Rybinski grieves what is lost and Rosie Rosenthal tries to offer an olive branch of connection. They share an orange and an understanding.

Run Along Lover Boy

Kennedy Farley and Bucky Egan share a conversation that might just change both their minds about their futures.

Didn't Think You'd Notice

Carrie Achterberg and James Douglass share a dance. And a whole lot more than just that.

A Little While Longer

Annie Bradshaw gets herself into a bit of a fight, but John Brady isn't afraid to step up for the people he loves.

Through the War

Judy Rybinski enjoys the sunshine of the flak house, but couldn’t help but have a conversation with Rosie Rosenthal about the truth of this war.

Ease the Pain

Vivian Ratcliff remains emotionally distraught over not hearing from long-time boyfriend, James Pennington, and Everett Blakey tries to help with that.

Greenland

Carrie Achterberg ponders her dislike for Greenland, alongside James Douglass, in the pre-Annie Bradshaw era of Silver Bullets.

Stray Bullets

Kennedy Farley and Bucky Egan share a few words with each other after a terrible mission and an even worse-off interrogation.

Folklore or Whatnot

Annie Bradshaw continues to prove her role in these shoes she must fill after Birdie Faulkner. She proves herself in more ways than one.

And Then I Breathed

Kennedy Farley can't stop her thoughts from ruminating on her final moments before jumping out of the plane that final time. Bucky Egan tries to mend that in any way he can.

My Bessie Marie

Bessie Carlisle lives by fact and truth. Her world turns upside when that’s all off the table and her boyfriend, Thomas McKenzie joins the Marines.

Cold Hands

Annie Bradshaw revels in her reckless youth alongside a battered and bruised John Brady who is in need of nothing more than someone willing to listen to his ramblings.

Lips Itching To Grin

Kennedy Farley and Bucky Egan talk baseball, big bands and their mothers. Bucky also thinks Kennedy would make a great cleanup hitter in the lineup.

Gone to the Earth

The Annie Bradshaw and John Brady reunion piece.

Far Less Losses

Kennedy Farley, Judy Rybinski and Paulina Stagliano want to enjoy a night away from base. Bucky Egan joins in on the ‘fun’.

You Worrying About Me?

Kennedy Farley and Bucky Egan share a few tender moments in her first week after her arrival at the Stalag.

Know It’s You

Judy Rybinski and Rosie Rosenthal share a moment together on a summer night.

Always, Always, Always

Margie Harlowe is the last of the Silver Bullets girls to get to the Stalag. And she's been through hell and back. Benny DeMarco is there to bring her a bit of comfort. Always.

We All Lost Birdie

Marianne Salinger and Francis Montez discuss the recent loss of the Silver Bullets' crew. And what the future might hold. At 0400.

You Found Me

Bucky Egan’s POV of Kennedy Farley as he wrangles in his feelings in the dark corners of the Stalag.

A Little Imagination

Kennedy Farley and Bucky Egan find themselves in a rather precarious situation.

Whispering Prayers Into Her Hair

Annie Bradshaw and John Brady hold a heartfelt discussion about the future, all while contemplating what is going on in this very moment.

Porcelain, Silk, and Starch

Annie Bradshaw and Francis Montez enjoy the sights of B-17, Silver Bullets. Annie also runs into John Brady and experienced a rather embarrassing mishap on her part.

It Was a Wonder

Margie Harlowe wakes up from a coma in the Med Bay and one of her first visitors is none other than Benny DeMarco himself.

The Waiting Game

Annie Bradshaw's fine (she's not). John Brady wants to help (she tells him no, he still helps).

She'd Fight a War Herself

Kennedy Farley finds John Egan reeling in the quiet library of the bunkhouse - and she's determined to figure out what's going on in his head.

It's In The Jar

Carrie Achterberg is hiding out in Silver Bullets, trying to get through grief, pain and sadness. James Douglass is also seeking her out - to help.

[kiwisa]

genesis ✩ the harpy

F1 Grid x Fem! F1 Driver! OC

fluff, angst • 5,500 words • series' masterlist

IN WHICH... astrée makes her debut on the track and proceeds to also make history.

Like many other stories, it all started with a mistake. 

✩ March 28, 2021

“Latifi crashed after taking Bahrain’s tightest corner too fast! He lost control of his rear axle which sent the rest of the car in a violent spin! And — oh god — he just hit the wall!”

...

“For the moment, no news from Latifi. The red flag has been raised.”

...

... 

“The drivers are gradually returning to the pits while the rescue services are still trying to get the number 6 out of his car. The car was, one could say, literally smashed to pieces after having rolled over a dozen times.”

...

...

...

“According to what I'm told in my earpiece, Latifi is unconscious but breathing. His vital prognosis is not engaged. The race will resume.”

...

“Will the Canadian driver be fit to compete in the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix, which will take place from 16 to 18 April?”

✩ April 2, 2021

And then fell the verdict. 

NICHOLAS LATIFI WITHDRAWN FROM THE 2021 F1 SEASON FOLLOWING HIS ACCIDENT IN BAHRAIN

Astrée watched all this from her flat in Paris, far from the scene of the accident. After the chaos the announcement of her inclusion in the category had been, Williams, its tail between its legs, had decided not to show her on Bahrain’s paddock. 

“We'd rather wait until the storm has calmed down,” came the lame excuse from a communications guy whose name escaped her. Probably Jack or Harry. Some shit like that. 

Thus, far from the warmth of Bahrain, Astrée, like all the other fans, was reduced to a spectator. The tone on how she would be treated during the season seemed to be set.

So, because it was not yet time to show them her true personality, she quietly observed all this panic from the screen of her television: the continuous news, the imprecise answers of the commentators, the worries of the fans, as much for Latifi as for Williams' future. Because after all, everyone knew what that future would look like. There was no uncertainty about it, and that was precisely what the chauvinistic fans feared.

LATIFI'S BAHRAIN ACCIDENT MARKS ASTRÉE IRAKLIDIS' HISTORICAL F1 DEBUT WITH WILLIAMS

To see her come along and disturb what they knew – the male-bondage that the Frenchwoman had broken through – terrified those misogynistic assholes. The tweets spoke for themselves. Astrée had not yet appeared on the paddock and people were already hating her. She almost enjoyed this, laughing heartily at their mediocre insults, at their fear that she almost fed off. 

How she loved to see men cry. There was nothing more beautiful. 

The radical decision to end Nicholas's season sent shockwaves around the world, not so much for the health of the pilot as for the fear of who would replace him. 

Jost Capito's confirmation that “yes, Iraklidis will be in the second Williams car at the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix” was enough to finish off the last survivors of what many on social media nicknamed “The Williams disaster.”

With her eyes fixed on her phone screen, her eyes fixed on her future, Astrée gloated. This accident was the chance of a lifetime: hers. 

She was being offered a year on a silver platter to prove herself and secure a permanent place in this closed Formula 1 clan. Because one thing was certain, Astrée Iraklidis would not remain a reserve driver for another year. At the mere thought of this title, she scoffed. The woman was better than some of those so-called first drivers but, because she had breasts, she was relegated to the background. 

Women were never taken seriously, even though they were just as capable – even more so sometimes – than men. All her life, Astrée had to face these prejudices. Even in 2021, she was still a victim of it. The world would not change. 

“Be a stand-in and shut up,” that is what she had been told, word for word, when she signed that cursed contract. A one-year contract. Renewable, of course, but Astrée knew perfectly well that she was just a publicity stunt, a new toy for the media to play with. Williams would not renew this contract. She knew that for a fact. It was as if her entry into Formula 1 had only been possible because they had first made sure she would leave it just as soon. 

 “All eyes are now on Astrée Iraklidis,” the nasal voice of the sports channel presenter gave her a headache. “A woman in F1 is almost unheard of. I'm curious to see how she will do in the big league. It's bound to be a change for her. It's a far cry from her karting days or Formula 2. If she manages to land herself in P20 instead of a DNF, that will be an achievement on itself. She'll–”

Her knuckles turned white as her fist clenched against the remote control, which she restrained herself from sending into the wall. 

She had no choice. If Astrée wanted to stay, she had to win. Fortunately, that was her speciality, and these nineteen men would soon understand that, as others before them – in karting, in Formula 4, in Formula 2 – had done, by dint of repeated humiliations and podiums stolen by a "weak woman." 

The taste of victory was even more delicious, sweetened by the karma that always knew how to deal with men who were a little too sure of themselves. 

Her phone rang for two seconds. An employee – she didn't know his first name either, he was simply registered as “CM dude” in her contacts – asked her to react to the news. She posted a simple tweet that said, “You can count on me to do everything I can to bring Williams to victory.” The first responses called her a “whore.” Others told her to crash at the first corner. The usual, which was no less bitter. 

Astrée locked her phone, her jaw clenched, determined to make her words a reality and, above all, to make them eat theirs. 

Her parents had always told her: “you will do great things, Étoile.” And the Greeks were never wrong when it came to prophecies. It was time to make it come true. 

The brunette stood up and, deliberately ignoring the clock in her office which read 11.30PM, switched on her simulator before selecting the Imola circuit. Her fingers wiggled alone ⏤ as if they had a mind of their own ⏤ and tapped on the gears. First, second, third... Soon the woman fell into a trance that could only be triggered by racing: slowing down at the sadly infamous Tamburello corner, starting again, overtaking, never giving in to the pressure of the opponent, not flinching at the Rivazza, winning. 

It was April 2. D-16. 

Astrée pressed “restart the race.” The clock already read twelve past one. 

✩ April 5, 2021

Then came the first practice. 

With an umbrella in her left hand and her helmet tucked under her right arm, Astrée cursed the English weather almost as much as she cursed the fact that she was in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. 

It was D-13 and the first practice in real condition would occur on a – very – wet track. She could see from here the large puddles that dotted the training track in a patchwork of elements – between earth and water – that made her cringe. 

Astrée was not afraid – she never was. On the contrary, she even found that the rain always added a welcomed challenge. However, it was obvious that she would have preferred to test the limits of her car in dry tires before putting it on full wet blue tyres. 

Since signing her contract, the woman had obviously trained in real conditions, ready to step in if she was needed during the first race. But, as Imola was approaching, the pressure was increasing and so were the demands of the team.

Astrée nearly burst out laughing at this. She refrained from pointing out the nerve of Williams to put so much pressure on her when Latifi had not won any points in 17 races the previous season. 

The record to beat was literally zero. 

She did not know if she should laugh or cry. 

Astrée did not want to think about whether Nicholas Latifi had been put under as much pressure or if it was something that was reserved just for her. 

A hand came to rest on her shoulder. She looked at it in dismay before glaring at whoever had dared to do this. John – or was it Harry? (she still hadn't resolved the dilemma) – immediately withdrew his hand and apologised. 

He had been awkwardly reassuring her for a good quarter of an hour, ever since she'd let out a big sigh at the sight of the soaked track.

“It's okay, Astrée. You'll just have to be a little less abrupt in the corners, otherwise you'll –”

“I know how the car works, John. Thank you.”

“My name is Adam.”

“Oh.”

Shit, she gritted her teeth, neither of them then. Without a word, the woman got into the car – fucking awkward, she thought – and closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying that first feeling in her single-seater. 

This is it. 

"So, how do you feel?" a new voice to her right startled her. 

George Russell looked at his teammate with a rather creepy smile ⏤ a good intention of course, just poorly executed. She returned the gesture, although hers was somewhat tense. Astrée had never been good with strangers. 

They hadn't met yet. Or at least, not spoken. A handshake when she signed her contract, two or three words of courtesy exchanged during the inaugural photoshoots, and an almost obligatory follow back on Instagram: their interactions had stopped at that. 

“More enjoyable now that it's mine.”

Hers. Her car. Her place in Formula One. The 10-year-old Astrée would probably be crying. The 21-year-old Astrée just nodded in approbation. 

Don't show your emotions, they'll think you're weak, her father's voice echoed in her head like a mantra.  

“You can go now, Astrée,” Jo– Adam told her. “Elijah is ready.”

The only name she had remembered, the only name that mattered to her: her engineer's, her second conscience. 

"Radio check, Astrée, do you copy?”

“Copy.”

“Great. Whenever you're ready.”

Inhale. Exhale. The void. The tar. The car. The corners. Nothing else. A roar echoed through the silent track and rekindled the flame in her heart. Birds that had been perched on the edge of the pit flew away as the engine purred. Immediately, she exited the garage and zig-zagged down the track to warm up her new tyres. 

“We'll do two warm-up laps to be safe.”

Taking advantage of being alone on the track, Astrée braked sharply, feeling the rear end take off, and accelerated again to see how well the tyres gripped, how responsive the steering system was, and the overall handling of the car. 

“Just warm up your tyres for now.”

“I want to see their limits when they are still cold.”

“Copy. Just be careful.” 

The first two laps alternated between zigzags, braking, accelerations, and corners taken too short or too wide. When the third lap finally began, already a little more comfortable with her car and her tyres – now warm –, the driver let the pleasure dominate everything else, so that she did not see the laps go by, nor the turns follow each other. Soon Elijah's voice signalled the end of practice. 

“Box.”

“Copy.” 

When she got out of the car, her legs shaking, a dozen people rushed to share their first impressions of her driving. They had already seen her drive in many other tests as a reserve driver. They had witnessed it, but had they bothered to pay attention at it on those occasions, when she was only the reserve driver, the product of a marketing stunt? 

“It was better than I imagined!”

“That's pretty good for a woman.”

She took these half-hearted comments without complaining, reluctant to make enemies within her own team, but thanked her helmet, still pressed down on her head, which hid her dark expression. 

Soon, in the midst of this group, a figure stood out and stepped forward. George, his own helmet in hand, ready to go for a series of laps himself, reached out for hers with the other one in a symbolic gesture: “It will be a pleasure to be on the same team.”

Astrée was careful not to share her opinion – quite different from his – and shook the dark-haired man’s hand, with the same tight smile on her face. He may have been her teammate, but on the track, they were – above all – opponents. She couldn't forget that, as she had never been able to in the past. Her journey in motorsports had been a lonely one because of her competitive spirit, and it would continue to be so for the rest of her life. 

“Likewise.”

✩ April 16, 2021

On her first real day on the paddock, Astrée had to face her worst nightmare: media day. Wearing the compulsory mask – a sort of protective barrier for the introvert she was – reassured her a little but did not totally calm her racing heart, nor her annoyance. Because Astrée knew, she knew exactly what kind of questions she was going to be asked. 

Journalists had the rather impressive capacity of never renewing themselves and having the same ideas. If the human brain normally sought to distinguish itself from others, the journalist's brain thrived for lack of creativity and repetition. From karting to Formula 2, everyone had had the same annoying questions for her. A routine of boredom that had a knack for annoying and sending her into despair. 

Her doubts were soon confirmed. 

“Not too scared?”

“What kind of underwear are you wearing right now?”

“How does it feel to have George Russell as a teammate? He is rather handsome, isn’t he?”

Beside her, because all the segments were done as pairs today, the aforementioned George was trying to calm things down, defuse the question or just change the subject altogether. At one point, he even held back her fist when it almost – voluntarily – came into contact with the cheek of an old pervert, who had made a remark about her tight suit. 

Astrée appreciated the gesture – she didn't want to be called hysterical on her first day – and let him know when, finally, the line "interviews" was crossed off their to-do list.

“Thank you for holding me back. It's bad enough no one likes me, I think it would have made things worse.”

“Yeah, no problem.” There was a rather awkward pause as they both walked towards Williams’s garage, the crunch of their footsteps on the tarmac their only melody. Finally, George decided to go on, unable to bear the heavy silence. "I mean… If I could, I would have hit him myself. Don't listen to them, okay? All those... people? assholes? whatever,” he gestured vaguely with his arm at her haters. “They’re not worth it. You drive a Formula 1 car and they don't. In the end, you're the winner.”

Astrée decided at that precise moment that George was perhaps worth it. He had not, after all, made any remark about her gender, nor had he let her eyes wander lower than necessary: two criteria – low, certainly, but the standards had to be revised downwards – that would have seriously hindered her wish to maintain a semblance of friendship. 

If her loneliness in Formula 2 was mostly explained by her introverted personality, many deliberate choices had put an end to any hope of creating links with others within the championship. Astrée had been treated as an object of desire and fragility by many of her teammates. Voluntary isolation had been the wisest decision to make, especially if she didn't want to be penalized or excluded for assault and battery against another driver. 

George, on the other hand, had treated her as an equal – which she was, but then again, the bar was at the lowest – which already set him apart from every other driver she'd encountered in her career. 

“Would you like to eat something? I could introduce you to some of the guys.”

Astrée winced, reluctant to be thrown into the lion's den so quickly. The lion being a dozen boys who would look at her as the latest attraction or as the enemy to be shot. Take your pick. 

“I promise you they're nice,” George reassured her, seeing her reluctance very clearly. 

“I don't doubt it.”

The woman especially hated the nicey-nicey spirit almost imposed by the new generation. She wasn't in F1 to make friends, just to win. George would be the exception to that, she decided. Surely her choice was encouraged by the fact that he was not really a threat to her. 

Astrée had researched all the pilots, mainly their point totals. It was a way to give her a quick statistical overview of what she had already deduced from her viewing of each race. Thus, she knew that last season George Russell had come away with 4 points, failing to stand out from the rest. 

That was already four points higher than Latifi, she couldn't help but think, a mocking smile on her face. 

“We’re here,” her teammate's voice brought her back to reality. 

The moment they walked through the door, a collegiate atmosphere engulfed them. Laughter, conversation, the smell of coffee and the sound of spoons banging on cups immediately gave her a headache. 

A glance at the clock on her phone. 9AM. An hour before the first free practice. She could allow herself a croissant or an apple, but no coffee. Throwing up during her first real F1 race would not make a good impression. No doubt about that. 

"George, over here mate!"

Lando Norris had been the one shouting: an orange blob in the middle of the black-clad staff. Beside him were Pierre Gasly and Daniel Ricciardo. All eyes turned to the newcomers and Astrée felt like dying at that very moment. 

So much for discretion. 

George grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her – against her will, mind you – towards the trio who were too noisy for her taste. It was far too early to have that much energy, or had they taken too much coffee? 

“Nice to meet you, I'm Lando! This is Daniel and Pierre, whom you might know. You're both French.”

She restrained herself from saying that sharing a nationality with someone could not guarantee an acquaintance.

Of course, Astrée and Pierre had crossed paths before, at the FFSA Academy in Le Mans in particular, but always from a distance. He probably had better things to do than talk to a ten-year-old girl. 

“I know who you are, thank you.” The woman smiled, hoping that this one didn't look too fake. “Astrée Iraklidis, nice to meet you.”

Not really. In an hour, Twitter will ship me with one of you three.

“We know who you are,” Daniel laughed. “I don’t know if you noticed but you’re the talk of the town since you were announced as a reserve driver, but hey, you're not that anymore. Congratulations, by the way, and welcome to Formula One!”

“Thanks!” she smiled, frankly this time, always happy to be reminded of her achievement.

“The interviews weren't too annoying? It's bad enough that we get crappy questions, it must have been worse for you,” asked Pierre. 

“Well,” Astrée shrugged, “they just asked me what panties I was going to wear under my suit. You know, the usual.”

The three pilots winced as George sighed at the memory of the old man. Maybe he should have let her hit him. 

“Why don't they ask me that?” Lando complained. “I've invested in Calvin Kleins. With the price I paid for them, I’ll show them off in a heartbeat.”

Astrée laughed – to her great surprise – which she tried to hide by clearing her throat, but the four men saw right through her and smiled. 

It was obvious to them that the woman was reluctant to bond. 

In the WhatsApp group they all had – which she had yet to be added in – Sebastian Vettel had emphasised the importance of making her feel welcome and comfortable on the paddock. Since they were the same age, Lando had been given the task of breaking through the shell that surrounded her. 

The speed with which her face fell back into a neutral expression told him that this would be no easy task. 

“If you have a problem,” Daniel smiled at her, “you can come to me anytime.” 

“And if you get tired of speaking English, je suis là,” added Pierre. 

Before the woman could respond, George butted in.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but we've been asked to return to the garage, Astrée. We have to get ready. It's nearly ten o'clock.”

The two of them said goodbye to the trio – who also decided to leave, seeming to remember that they too were expected somewhere – and went back to Williams’ to change. 

As she closed her white and blue jumpsuit up to her neck with one hand – a difficult task to execute with a helmet under her arm – the Englishman called out to her and asked her what she thought of the three drivers. 

“They are nice. It's hard to form an opinion. We only talked for a few minutes. But Daniel is very… sunshin-ey.”

She left it at that, her mind already focused on the free practice session. 

These went without a hitch. Astrée chose not to fully display her capacity, to even appear clumsy, taking some turns much too wide while still pushing the car to its limits so that the mechanics could make modifications if necessary. Elijah asked her what was going on – why was she driving like that when the practices in England had gone perfectly well? – but she didn't answer, knowing full well that all their communications were recorded, and sometimes even broadcasted live.

Make them think you are impressionable and fragile. They'll underestimate you and be more distracted, her mother had once told her, a wise piece of advice she was now following to the letter. It had worked in Formula 2, there was no reason why it couldn't work in the top category. 

To win, you had to know how to use all possible means. The other drivers’ internalized misogyny was one of the most effective tools. 

When she got out of her car, leaving the engineers and mechanics to do their job once she had given them her impressions – in particular on a problem on the left side of the front suspension – Astrée winced, already feeling the stress rise in her throat and roll up into an impossible-to-dislodge ball. 

In the garage, she put her helmet on the table intended for that purpose. As soon as that was done, the woman unzipped her suit and tied it around her waist, wanting at all costs to free her neck, which was already under strain from her growing anxiety. 

“I'm going to stretch my legs,” she signalled to Adam – she had finally remembered his name. 

Glances burnt the back of her head, but Astrée ignored them. In the midst of the constant hubbub of the paddock, between the cameras, team members, drivers, assistants and guests, she blended in and was forgotten for a while.  

Whispers tickled her ears as she passed by some of the journalists. 

“Astrée Iraklidis was disappointing during the free practices. If we don't ask the pilots to bring out the heavy artillery during these four hours, we ask them to have a minimum of knowledge on what they are doing. The number 95 didn't manage to show this.”

And then, that question. Always the same.

"Should women drive in F1?”

She deliberately scoffed loudly as she passed by the idiot who asked that. This had the desired effect as the journalist stammered. Not even his mask could hide his cheeks, which were flushed with embarrassment. A sly smile stretched her lips. Good. 

“Astrée! Hey! I believe we haven't talked yet?”

She turned around and almost collided with this stranger – a familiar one – much too close for her taste. Taking her step back, she immediately recognised the newcomer. The Dutch accent was quite a clue. 

Max Verstappen. 214 points last season. 3rd in the championship. A threat. Maybe even the worst of all. She was immediately suspicious. This reflected in her tense shoulders and calculating eyes. If the Dutchman noticed, he pretended not to. 

“Max, nice to meet you.” He shook her hand with great gusto and immediately began to speak again. His gestures and words followed each other at the same speed as he drove. Astrée felt dizzy. “I saw your free practice. I must say I'm a little disappointed because I've been watching your races since they announced your arrival. But it must be stage fright.”

“Probably.” 

“I think you could make up for it by accelerating more and playing with the gears a little.”

On Twitter, everyone was constantly talking about “maxplaining.” The woman didn't think she'd have to pay the price so soon, and on her own performance on top of that. 

“You could try to play more on the inside. In fact, for example, in the third turn, you took it much too wide, which made you lose a lot of time. And then...” The rest of his explanation soon became background noise.

He continued to follow her, not understanding that she was walking faster to lose him. 

God, give me the strength. 

“I'll do all that,” she finally cut him off. “Thank you for the valuable advice.”

He grinned brightly at her. 

For a man whose harsh attitude was a trademark, he didn't quite understand sarcasm. 

✩ April 17, 2021  

And then there was the adrenalin of qualifying, lulled by the voices of the commentators who paid special attention to her every move. 

... 

“All eyes are on number 95, of course! This is a historic moment, ladies and gentlemen. For the first time, a woman is taking part in the F1 World Championship!”

...

...

...

“The Williams driver's debut seems rather complicated. She’ll have to realize we're not in F2 anymore if she wants a good place on the starting grid!”

...

...

“Astrée advances in Q2, but it is clear the Frenchwoman seems to have some difficulties to find her marks.”

...

“Look at this! Iraklidis seems to systematically take her corners too wide, which makes her lose valuable time. Is she trying to save energy and preserve her car for the race? Or is it simply a lack of skill?”

...

...

“Astrée will not advance to Q3. It's a P11 for the Frenchwoman. Already very impressive for a first race, but it's still far from the capacities that Williams had made us hope for.”

Over the radio, Elijah's sizzling voice tried to reassure her: “If you don't get a point in the first race, it's not bad, it's even normal. Don't worry.”

“Oh, I'm not worried.” You could almost hear her smile. “P11 is fine. You have to give them a head start. It's not as much fun otherwise.”

This sentence was broadcasted live. Insults rained on Twitter. She ignored them all, high on adrenaline and confidence. 

She was going to show them that women could and should drive in F1.  

✩ April 18, 2021, 3PM. 

Blackout. Just flashes: the warm-up lap, the zigzags, left right, left right, her heart speeding up, the lights turning green. 

The first acceleration. 

Take advantage of the confusion during the first corner. 

The total absence of hesitation. 

The Tamburello, taken tightly. Three places already won. 

The routine that sets in.

The fear of all other drivers. 

The laps, one after the other. 

The nonstop overtaking. 

“Astrée Iraklidis seems to have woken up! It's like we’re witnessing a different driver. Look how fast this Williams is going! Was her hesitant attitude during qualifying just a decoy? It sure seems like it.”

…

…

“22 laps! 41 more to go!”

…

“Box,” said Elijah. “Tyre change.”

“Copy.”

...

“It seems that Williams has chosen to favour the undercut. If Astrée risks losing time and places, she will get them back when the drivers in front of her also have to pit.”

...

“The Williams pit crew was very effective on the stop. It’s as if the whole team is riding on the adrenaline that Iraklidis' performance triggers!”

...

...

“George is DNF. He crashed with Bottas.” Elijah informed her. “You're on your own. Only 33 laps left.”

“Merde! Okay, copy.”

...

...

...

“And now Iraklidis overtakes the two Ferraris in a stroke! What's going on?” The commentator laughed in glee. “Williams is putting on a great show, as Verstappen and Hamilton continue their fierce battle!”

...

“The Williams is one place away from the podium! Only Lando Norris stands as a barrier between her and her goal. Will she succeed?”

...

“Incredible! Iraklidis overtakes Norris in the very tight Tosa! It's clear that the new driver is not afraid of doing what must be done. It was a very risky move, especially with worn-out tyres and less grip. But the risk paid off! Now the number 95 will have to defend her position for ten laps and maybe – maybe! – chase an even higher standing!”

...

... 

...

“Only 5 laps to go and Iraklidis is still third! Four seconds ahead of Norris who seems to have been destabilised by his fall in the standings! Verstappen, on the other hand, seems untouchable with his 20 second lead over Hamilton!”

...

...

And then, the liberation. 

“Max Verstappen wins the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix! Hamilton takes 2nd place while Iraklidis closes the podium! The first woman to do so! This is a historic moment, ladies and gentlemen!”

✩ April 18, 2021, 6PM. 

Finally, there was the podium, without its famous cooldown room and with a mask on.

They still gave the three pilots time to recover from their emotions and to discuss their race a little. Astrée immediately detached herself from the two men and threw herself on the water bottles, drinking the transparent gold greedily. It was without any delicacy that she wiped the few drops that had fallen on her chin, almost choking when she saw who was coming towards her. Her cheeks flushed within seconds and her hands began to tremble. 

If nothing else compared to the feeling of finishing third in her first ever Formula One race, meeting Lewis Hamilton was a close second. She'd never seen him up close and personal. The television didn't do justice to his beauty. 

Damn, what is his skincare routine? 

“The dermo-system range from Dior.”

“Huh?”

“My skincare routine. It's Dior.”

“What? I– OH! No! I mean... I– You know what? I'm gonna shut the fuck up,” she muttured, making him laugh. 

The Englishman was one of her idols, one of the figures who had taught her it was worth fighting for your dreams and that hard work was always rewarded. This was the first time he had spoken to her and she was thinking out loud in front of him. 

Idiote. 

“You were great earlier. I saw a couple of clips after the race. Your overtaking of Norris was impressive. Well done, not many people would have risked that in the Tosa, especially on their first race.”

Stay calm. Look normal. 

“I can't afford to make mistakes; I have to try risky things.”

“I get it. By the way, I'm Lewis,” he held out a tattooed hand, which she shook, secretly hoping hers wasn't sweaty. His eyes were crinkled. He was smiling. Even with the mask on, she could picture his teeth gap. 

Her whole face felt warm. Once again, she thanked the pandemic and its masks. 

“Astrée. It is truly an honour to meet you, and to be able to drive on the same track? Incredible.”

The woman left it at that, knowing full well that if she continued, she would end up saying something embarrassing. Fortunately, they were soon asked to go on the podium, Astrée first, to the sound of the teams’ applause only – no audience was allowed – but especially that of Williams employees, unused to seeing their drivers up there.  

Once the Dutch anthem finished playing and the trophies were distributed, the champagne flowed freely. Astrée was happy to pour the gold sparkling liquid over the other two and to be sprayed, sometimes running her tongue over her lips to catch a few drops. 

The taste of victory was delicious. 

No one paid any attention to it, but Astrée was not blind to the subtle shift in Max's attitude. Silent, avoiding her gaze, spraying Lewis more than her, he was far different from the one ready to give her advice the day before to help her in qualifying. 

The woman always found it funny how people's behaviour could change dramatically when they felt in danger, when they realized that she wasn't just a political statement. Even if he had been 20 seconds ahead of her today, he knew for sure that she could easily decrease the gap with a better starting position tomorrow. 

Astrée smirked.

She had won a fucking podium on her first ever race. Damn right, he should be afraid of her. 

✩ taglist !

@xcharlottemikaelsonx @i0veless @simping4marauders @muglermami @fxllfaiiry @exatse @lilsiz @iloveandsuffer @notaceventura @missamericana69 @kageyamama-hinatatata @gentlemonsterjennie1 @sad1esgf @16solace @kenanlotus0 @till1am @itsnotgray @starkwlkr @missflobelova @mehrmonga @crimeshowjunkie @anicega @kosmosgalore @lovemarvel16 @charles-dimple @hiding-behindmy-glasses

[silvernyxchariot]

Wriothesley x GN,Engineer!Reader

Word count: 2,764

⚠️Warnings⚠️ Platonic vibes, no smut💔sowwy; only indication that Reader could be an OC is a pair of glasses; Reader has they/them pronouns

Mechs and Visions

Some say that father issues create artists.

Mother issues create writers.

If that is the case, what does that make me?

“Your… project is no longer necessary.”

The prophecy that once held a guillotine over Fontaine’s neck had just pasted. The engineer from the Fontaine Research Institute of Kinetic Energy Engineering pushed up their glasses. “Monsieur Neuvillette, I proposed the Guerrier not to prevent further flooding but to combat the giant whale that interrupted Lady Furina’s trial.” They broke out into chilled sweats, “Just a precaution for the safety of Fontaine.”

Although Neuvillette nodded in understanding, he looked over the engineer’s drafts and research notes. A giant combat robot that needed to be piloted by Vision wielders, their will to protect Fontaine. “I understand you take great pride in your work and the safety of Fontaine dear to you, but as the Iudex of Fontaine, I would never allow such a calamity invade our home. This precaution you propose, would it not also cause more destruction should it fail to defeat the whale?” The engineer furrowed their brows and clenched their fists.

But Neuvillette was right. Although he looked like a distinguished gentleman, he showed above average human capabilities even among Vision wielders. It was safe to say that Neuvillette was strong enough to fight off a prophecy whale too, since no one has ever seen him fight full force. And the Guerrier could easily crush a building if made the right size or even Fontaine citizens.

“Yes, right!” The engineer said with full gusto, “But thank you so much for meeting with me today!” They placed a hand over the area of their diaphragm and gave Neuvillette a small bow before excusing themselves from the office. They grumbled to themselves in disappointment.

Waiting outside, luckily for them, was one curious scoundrel. “You made quite the interesting proposal there.” Or one should say, a curious Duke. The man clad in a large coat over his shoulders, black and silver clothing, and small chains clapped. The sound echoed in the engineer’s ears, as everything else became white noise.

“Your Grace… of the Fortress of Meropide,” the engineer said in a soft and surprised tone. “You’re above ground. Or sea level… I mean,” they cursed themselves for being flustered. First a botched meeting and now being an embarrassment in front of yet another Fontainian of noble status. The engineer paused and sighed to calm down, “Thank you.”

Wriothesley raised a hand to get them to stop speaking and placed his hand on their shoulder. “Why don’t you meet me at the entrance to the Fortress of Meropide,” Wriothesley handed the engineer a note.

On it, the engineer observed, was the specific location to the entrance to the Fortress was and the time Wriothesley wanted them to be there. It’s not like they knew first hand. “Am I being arrested for... being a “mad scientist?”” the engineer dragged out the last words in a high pitched voice, which only made Wriothesley laugh rather heartily. Rather unexpectedly.

“No, no. Let’s discuss your combat bot in my office. I think I’ve got the perfect solution for you.” And with those few sentences, Wriothesley entered Neuvillette’s office, leaving the engineer to their own devices until the allotted meeting time.

The engineer had bided their time sitting at a café drawing and scraping designs for his machines. “If there’s going to be more than one pilot, then the cockpit needs to be bigger…” and “No. No. No. The wiring is going to cut itself. How about the Vision here…” were some of the few things that could be heard as they muttered to themselves. Closer to nightfall, now they waited behind the Opera Epiclese.

“Look who actually showed!”

The engineer jumped as they were brought out of their racing thoughts. Wriothesley stepped closer and the plateau behind the Opera house transformed, to the engineer’s curiosity, into a descending staircase. Wriothesley gestured for them to enter first, “Don’t worry about getting lost. I’ll be right behind you,” Despite his serious face, his voice was light-hearted, “just watch your step.”

On the way to Wriothesley’s office, inmates and guards alike would greet him with a “Your Grace,” and if they felt particularly awestruck they would stare wide-eyed as if Wriothesley was a spectacle. He offered the engineer a spot of tea, a polite tone in his voice yet cautious eyes, before gesturing them to make themselves comfortable. “I only heard small pieces of your proposal to Monsieur Neuvillette but give me the full details,” he finally said. His pale grey eyes with hints of lavender bore into the engineer. “A machine that will copy its pilot’s movements, right…”

The engineer laid out spreadsheets all over Wriothesley’s desk, each paper and scattered note came together like a ornate puzzle. Even with words scratched out, Wriothesley nodded and analyzed each piece, making sense of the engineer’s work. At some point, the engineer noticed that they were the only one talking and paused to look at Wriothesley; suddenly developing heated cheeks and a certain bashfulness.

The Duke had been too busy looking at the blueprints, the scribbles, and the indent of pencil marks that were erased. The parts needed to make said machine were right here in the Fortress. The arms were similar to his own gauntlets. “When can you start building?” He asked with deep conviction. His tone was much less friendly from what the engineer felt not too long ago.

“Wait, what—” was all they got out of their mouth before Wriothesley explained how he was to save his inmates and citizens of Fontaine from the prophesied flood using the Wingalet he had built within the Fortress. The Wingalet was the massive ship that rose from the sea and hovered above the waves. On that day, it saved many lives and Wriothesley had felt a deep sense of pride in that. Now, the Wingalet was sitting idly in the Fortress of Meropide’s factory. “Better safe, than sorry,” Wriothesley thought. With extra consultation from fellow researchers, Jurieu and Lourvine; the engineer always wondered where they went; a ready combat machine was attainable.

There was no estimated completion date, but Wriothesley helped redesign the Guerrier into a smaller more manageable size, about 6 meters tall, making it easier and faster to complete the building in just under 12 months.

Although they didn’t have to always stay within the Fortress of Meropide, the engineer couldn’t help but find new smaller projects to tinker with to make them stay. The engineer examined Wriothesley’s gauntlets, “The use of a Cryo… maybe a steel joint… how would I make it lighter…” they mumbled while hunched the work bench. So engrossed in their work they didn’t, they didn’t notice Wriothesley having taken a seat next to them on a stool. His chin rested in the palm of his hand and the elbow cushioned on his thigh as he watched the gears in the engineer’s mind work. A slight smirk graced his his lips as he listened to their little rambles. It wasn’t until they made a long stroke with their pen, extending their arm, and jabbed Wriothesley in the stomach that the engineer noticed they had company. “AAH!”

Wriothesley only huffed with a little groan at the end. “Not bad. But you should get some real experience if you want to hurt me.”

The engineer stared at him with a deadpan expression. “You’re like a giant puppy… Your Grace,” still not used to using that name. “Did you need anything more from me,” they raised their eyebrows.

“You know, we still need to test the machine, right?”

The engineer hesitated and scratched the back of their neck. “Er, it’s a machine intended to be built for Vision wielders. The only one who can fit into the cockpit for the two pilots are yourself.” They paused in thought. “Unless Jurieu or Lourvine suddenly gain a Visio—"

“No,” Wriothesley interrupted. He pointed to the glowing orb to the engineer’s side. “You will be my partner for this test. Afterall, there’s only five people who really know what’s being built here.” Wriothesley rose from his seat and dragged the engineer by the collar of their shirt, the scruff of their neck, and to the secluded cavern housing the Guerrier. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.” The engineer only groaned knowing they wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. “Don’t you want to see the fruits of your labor?”

The two of them took the lift further down and came face-to-face with the slumbering machine. Cobalt blue armor, silver joints, and browned glass to filter the light outside, the Guerrier stood proudly in the center of the soulless space, a sense of fighting vigor emanated from it as it waited for its pilots. The engineer pulled out a little vile with a diamond shape, glowing green, popped open its top and drank the contents. When Wriothesley looked down at them with a raised eyebrow, they dusted themselves off. “It’s… a safety measure,” they started to explain, “when our Visions are plugged into the compartments we’ll be connected to the Guerrier on a physiological and psychological level. Since we’re going to become a part of the machine, we will have access to each other.”

Wriothesley paused as he climbed into the pilot’s cockpit. The look on his face was solemn but he switched when facing the engineer. “Well, you’re entitled to your secrets.” He shrugged. “Besides, I’m an open book. There’s not much to me besides what my records say.” Wriothesley successfully settled into the higher pilot’s chair and patted the headrest of the lower seat in front of him for the engineer to nestle into. They took a calming deep breath and complied, settling into the stiffness of their creation.

“Place your Vision in the glove compartment in front of you.” Both inserted their respective Visions into a small slot and the Guerrier seemed to eat it, covering their Visions in little spikes and lacing them with wires. It hummed to life around them. The cockpit closed, cutting them off from the rest of the world. “Close your eyes.” When the two of them did so, the Guerrier stood still for a long moment. The feeling of being inside of this humanoid war machine started to disappear and they seemed to be floating in a blank space.

Wriothesley woke with a shock. The space around him was still the endless black void but he heard a sip next to him. It was the engineer, sitting on a cushioned single’s couch and enjoying a cup of, what Wriothesley assumed, tea. He furrowed his eyebrows and swiftly stood up.

“Relax.” The engineer stated plainly. “It is a part of the serum I drank earlier. With our Visions and minds melded together, I had to think of a… less crude way for the pilots to cooperate than just “jumping in head first.” I probably should have told you.” A seat similar to the engineer’s appeared from a whisp of smoke and the engineer motioned for Wriothesley to sit. He calmed down. “As you said, “You’re entitled to your secrets,” as are you,” they paused with more reverence and calm than before, “Your Grace. The serum gives pilots the power to “ask for consent” before letting their partners delve into their minds. Quite a grisly thing it is in taste. It’s made of Whopper Flower nectar and slime.” They shook their head and shivered in disgust. “But I have found out it does what I needed it to do.” In the void, the two of them enjoyed small talk. A date in the back of their minds with little proxies of themselves.

But back in the cavern, Wriothesley and the engineer could see everything tinted through an orange lens. The Guerrier’s right leg faltered when they tried to take a step forward, and the entire machine jostled as the two of them tried to move, unaccustomed to having a metal body.

“Stay with me… Your Grace.”

“Hey, you’re the one that was too scared to even get in.”

“We’re moving!”

Albeit sluggishly, the two of them started to pilot the Guerrier in sync. The buzzsaw on the right arm smashed through solid rock and got stuck when the engineer hesitated after feeling the vibrations up their arm from the impact. “That’s normal,” Wriothesly reassured them. “Fight through it. It’s like feeling the resistance from punching someone in the face; they have flesh and bone that happens to be in the way of your fist. Oh,” he thought about the different experiences they’ve had.

Eventually, the engineer became adjusted to the feeling of Wriothesley’s movements in sync with their own. His will seemingly overpowering the engineer’s nervous system and the feeling of discomfort the engineer felt causing damage even to inanimate objects disappeared. Gashes lined the cavern walls and debris littered the floor as they tested the durability of the machine. The Guerrier leaped into the air with fluid motion and grace equivalent to the Icewind Suite in the Court of Fontaine, and they landed after a full somersault, shaking the ground.

Back in the void, the emptiness started to fill in with a mechanical landscape. Giant churning gears filled the sky and robotic birds lit up as they flew about, their eyes lighting blue on a sunset background. “Play time is quite over now, don’t you think?” the engineer said in a peaceful trance. Wriothesley only hummed contently in response. His eyes were closed, and a small smile decorated his face.

The pull of reality felt like riding out of a dark tunnel on Aquabuses. They both blinked and the Guerrier reset itself into an idle standing position. The cockpit popped open with a hiss. Wriothesley and the engineer stretched. When the electrical white lights of the cavern hit them, they squinted and blinked until their eyes adjusted. A small button blinked red next to the compartment that held their Visions, signaling them to remove the glowing orbs that symbolized their ambitions.

Although the engineer wobbled as they regained a grasp on reality, Wriothesley had little to no trouble and jumped out to catch them as they flopped out of the cockpit.

“I’m never doing that again.”

“But hey, we didn’t explode.” Wriothesley smirked down at them, which quickly turned into a full grin, “And it worked!” He lifted them up and threw the engineer into the air, just to catch them again in celebration. Lourvine and Jurieu had witnessed the performance of the two inside of the Guerrier and clapped as the machine shut down and watched as he tossed them around. “Heh, see. All you needed was a few parts here and there. A little elbow grease. And someone who had a little faith in your designs.” While they were still recovering from being disassociated from their physical body, Wriothesley put them down and let them hang off him with one arm over his shoulders. “I’m honored to have worked on this project with you. And maybe we can work on having a few more produced. Don’t want to scare anyone with an army, now do we?”

The look of scrutiny the engineer gave Wriothesley was nothing new to the warden after a year of cooperation. ““We didn’t explode,” he says. And if we did, what then?” Their somewhat cheerful mood from a successful test run slowly turning sour.

“Mmm,” Wriothesley thought about the repercussions, “then, I guess we’d be dead, if not injured.” He shrugged. “But two out of two machines have been successful so far.”

The engineer had to pause. Their mind needed time to connect what Wriothesley had just said. Until it clicked that the Guerrier wasn’t the only underground machine that the Duke had built. They took a deep breath and placed their hands together over their lips, “You mean to tell me; you never tested the Wingalet…” Wriothesley nodded with a small grin. “And expected it to save the people of Fontaine?” With every sentence uttered, Wriothesley only seemed more amused. “And if it never worked from the get-go?! At least a quarter of the people in Fontaine and the Fortress would have dissolved into the Primordial Sea!”

“Yeah,” Wriothesley shifted onto a nearby stool to sit down so that one foot rested on his knee, “I know. It was worth a try, though. And it did succeed,” he said matter of fact.

The engineer let their arms drop to their sides. “You’re insane, aren’t you?”

Wriothesley raised a hand and rubbed his index finger and thumb together while mouthing, “Just a little bit.”

[A/N: I can see Wriothesley as bisexual. Although I don't ship Wriolinde or even Wriolette, anyone shipping them is fine by me.

In all seriousness, thank you sincerely to anyone who read this in its entirety and enjoyed it. I’m sorry to those of you expecting SSSSMUT. But I cannot see this man in a romantic light for myself, more of a mentor/older brother figure. So, I’ll leave the sexy to other fans. As for what I have written here… It was inspired by Pacific Rim and Code Geass for the Guerrier.

On a side note, my university Prof's would rip people a new whole for using grammar editing programs like Grammarly. It's best to just research yourself what grammar rules your country or school uses. Although, I'm still guilty of using them.]

[adhd-coyote]

The next batch of ocs to be formally introduced!! It's Corries this time!! I limited myself to just ten, though I've got about 20 Corries total (the rest'll be introduced gradually later)

@whiskygoldwings @grackle-draws @thivell (if anyone else would like to be tagged for future ones just lemme know :3)

Blush

Any pronouns

Named after their silver tongue and how easily he makes others turn red as Corrie paint

Soft, sultry, and oh-so-sweet. But can and will play rough, if you ask nicely ;3

Firefly

She/Her

Medic

The best big sister

Sweetest person you'll ever meet. Gives the best hugs and forehead kisses, and always knows just what to say to soothe a distressed vod.

A calm, steady presence who seems to never get stressed or overwhelmed. She does, but she's very good at hiding it and saving any crying sessions for when she's alone.

Mouse

He/Him

Shy, quiet baby

Hates having his helmet off outside Corrie HQ- he panics if his hair is visible

Loves pancakes

Doesn't like loud noises

An amazing pilot, but doesn't get to fly since he's stuck on Coruscant

Trot

He/Him

Fox's adopted ad and office assistant

Clever as his buir, and just as much of a little shit, though his tooka eyes are so good you’d never guess

Was named by Thorn, because 1) He's always trotting after Fox and 2) Foxtrot- it's a pun

Dating Spider from the 404th (Krell's battalion- to be introduced later)

Dahvi

He/Him

Married to Kas

Has a bite to match his bark and his bark is very loud

Will fight anyone that provokes him; Kas has to hold him back sometimes

Kas

He/Him

Married to Dahvi

A hunter. He loves a good chase

Blunt and unafraid to talk shit, but knows when it’s best to keep his mouth shut

If needed, will make himself a target to take the focus away from a vod

Sparks

He/Him

Skilled with tech and slicing

An idiot, but somehow also a genius

Fidgety and talkative

Rabbit

They/He (Gender fluctuates between masc and enby)

Bouncy and excitable, when they aren't a bundle of anxiety

Loves caff

Hair is dyed

Chatterbox

He/Him

Will not. Stop. Talking.

This man can chatter for two hours straight about absolutely nothing

Talks with his hands

Not a trained medic but decent at field medicine

Shortstack

He/Him

A bit shorter than all of his vode

Ready to throw down at all times, likes to go for the knees

Fights dirty

Feel free to send in any questions, I'm always happy to answer asks!!

I now have an oc masterlist!

[greatwesternway]

I have an question NOW

How do what have you engines happily employed to just sit around feel about random people climbing on them?

Most of them, I think, would not mind this. Steam engines especially were designed to enable climbing all over.

See, here, 2903 has rails to hold on to, running boards to stand on all the way down his boiler, and steps down from his smokebox.

Gettin' climbed all over is part of the job. Obviously we don't have any examples of our engines acting as jungle gyms so here's some from TTTE:

Edward's fireman hanging off his railings to lasso James.

Edward's fireman hanging off his railings again to pour sand under his wheels.

And my favorite example of this:

Sir Topham Hatt and his guards using Duck (whose top is notably flat, rather than rounded like most everyone else's) as a podium on which to announce the trip to Big City to all the engines.

2903'd not mind really if letting people climb on him were still part of the job. He's strong and his parts are made for it. Some engines weren't designed for this - certain streamliners for instance - and would be less happy with it, if indeed they had any grabholds to facilitate it. But some engines are also too afflicted with Midwestern politeness or survivor's gratitude to complain if they did.

As it is, 2903's cab is plexi-glassed off, preventing anyone from touching his empty SunKist and Dr. Pepper cans. He is also quite rusty these days. You practically need a tetanus shot just lookin' at him, let alone climbing about.

My impression from what Ray's written in Pilot's letters is that the IRM did permit visitors to climb on the engines quite a bit more in the past than they do now. Largely, I'd expect this changed as a precaution because we've become a much more litigious society than we were in the 60's and 70's. If you fell off a stationary train in 1974, everyone would probably have a good laugh. If you did it now, that might be a multi-million dollar lawsuit for negligence.

[nerdnproud]

Didn't really plan it like that, but I finished painting a warhammer oc that is hardcore lesbian just in time for pride month

The House she's part of is based on dragons. If I get anymore, they'll all have the silver trim to represent Bahamut the platinum dragon, but they'll be different color dragons. Lucille pilots the blue dragon.

Also her personal emblem is the two-headed axe. Simply because that lesbian flag is the best flag in all of history.

Lucille Von DeLancy pilots the blessed knight Yvantia, a member of the House of Bahamut. Her world was fairly calm, even doing some trade with nearby T'au. The Votann also showed up and started being a bit more... aggressive with wanting supplies and goods and such. Eventually a war breaks out between them. The House Bahamut tried to reach out the their T'au allies only to get "lmao, get fucked. We're busy doing our own war with the Votann." In response.

The Imperium did eventually send reinforcements in the form of Inquisitor Emilia Brey and her entourage of Deathwatch. Lucille was very quickly smitten with the Inquisitor and followed her directions to free her planet.

As the fighting began to wane and the remaining Votann were hunted down, the T'au, who had just finished their side of the conflict came to assist. The xenophobic Inquisitor treated them with the same disdain as she did the invaders. Being forced to fight her former allies, Lucille began to see the truth of Emilia, but it was too late. Her world had been all but destroyed in the fighting, leaving a barren waste.

With nowhere else to go, Lucille Von DeLancy joined the retinue of Emilia Brey. There still remains a part of her that hopes she'll be able to make the Inquisitor see reason, but that part gets smaller every day after seeing endless counts of xenophobia and radicalism after their hands.

I think she's fun. Fell super hard for the Inquisitor and then realized how terrible of a person she is, after being stuck in their service. Cause if she leaves, what little remains of her planet will be destroyed for breeding heresy.

"No no no. The chain represents my commitment and dedication to the Inquisition. I don't feel trapped or like a prisoner... no... not at all..."

Still a little bit left on her technically, like the basing and some custom decals I'm waiting on. But she's solid.

[basilone]

Sometimes, war is the province of women. An alternate take on the battle for air dominance over the skies of Europe during World War Two, as told through the stories of an American all-female bomber crew and the people around them.

This is a collection of standalone works that all interlock to form one big patchwork quilt of stories. It will see new additions every so often, especially because a lot of it is written to prompts. The collection on AO3 is my best attempt at organizing it in chronological order.

[click here for the WIP story collection!]

Want to know a little more about the OCs featured in this collection? Please click the readmore below!

Charlotte “Lottie” Rivers-Mayhew Fighter pilot turned bomber pilot Can fly anything, will try anything. Big mouth, little heart. Lives in the land of innuendo and crude jokes. Loud about her whole existence. Very smart, but downplays that like whoa. Julie “Jules” Langdon Bomber pilot Runs this gig and everyone else just needs to get with her program. Great at reading people the riot act. Comically unimpressed by everything that lands in her path. Nosewrinkles at any and all delays. Known for slipping people an extra bite to eat. Christina “Tiny” Heartfield Bomber co-pilot Needs five hours to get ready for any kind of social event. Silver spoon baby. Knows all the gossip and all the good songs. Gets a little bit stressed about flying in warzones. Loves a good ghost story. Eleanor “Nora” Graham Navigator The Mom Friend. Prone to giving hugs and peptalks. Bossy and quite rude when things don’t go her way. Cannot flirt her way out of anything. If you see her running, that’s just standard procedure. Valerie “Val” Hodges Radio operator Absolute poker-faced ballsy liar. Most innocent face in the whole crew. Smokes more than her job should allow. Will try to wiggle out of any lectures by offering the most inane excuses. There’s not a puzzle she can’t solve. Genevieve “Two” Hodgson Tail gunner Shows up late to everything except the war. Always chewing gum. Queen of half-hearted salutes and vague politeness. Keeps saying she’s too poor for this level of bullshit. Has a mean right hook. Madeleine “Push” Perrault Flight engineer Making lists calms her down. Can and will call you stupid in four different languages. Thinks planes are better than people. Voice like a foghorn with the attitude to match. Believes she can fix anything. Evelyn “One-Eye” Carter Ball turret gunner Happy-go-lucky baby of the group, rolling with life’s punches. Will talk your ear off. Could probably get away with murder. Best gunner in the crew. Can be painfully naïve. Dorothy “Dee” Llewellyn Waist gunner Born a pessimist. Genuinely thinks no man should ever sport a mustache. Has a limitless supply of stories about her family. Very protective. Would inspire a riot if anyone ever let her talk long enough without interruptions. Maxine “Max” Morrison Waist gunner Bold and brash and crackling with energy. Cracks more bad jokes than anyone alive. Has developed some rather complicated handshakes. Will interrupt any event or conversation. If you see her running, something’s probably chasing her. Stella “Frosty” Lombardi Bombardier Icy calm in any crisis. Can calculate any bomb drop. Complains about the food. Is a true girl’s girl and refuses to so much as speak to most men. Never wants to miss out on the fun.

Lucille Dorrance-Jones, goes by Lucy Jones Nurse The singlemost stubborn person on the planet. Thinks some injuries are fascinating. Harbors a healthy distrust of bureaucracy and paperwork. Can probably drink you under the table. Encourages anyone to sing. Cressida Dorrance-Jones Interrogator Sharp as a tack. Does not forgive, does not forget. Secretly more big-hearted than people would give her credit for. Really wants to fly a plane. Has an ongoing one-sided vendetta with Meatball. Darlene Mayfair Mechanic Cheerful and spirited. Very gifted storyteller. Turns shy when complimented. Ride or die for people and sticks with them longer than they might deserve. Marches to the beat of her own drum. Georgina “George” Campbell Mechanic Has a soft spot for strays. Suffers no fools. Is here to win a war, not ogle cute men. Perpetually fighting a losing battle against the grease stains on her uniform. The best co-conspirator you could ask for. Imogene “Genie” Chapman Clubmobile girl Very outgoing people-person. Better at giving advice than at taking it. Designated hair-cutter. Loves movies and dancing. Knows just about anybody by name. Jack Ellis OSS Doesn’t miss a beat. No-nonsense natural leader. Very determined to do what he believes is the right thing. Talks about the war in terms of “the game”. Warm and caring once he lets his guard down.

[thedeviltohisangel]

Do you have any masters of the air fic recs? Love your writing!!!!!!!!!!!!

I do!!! also thank you for loving it, nonnie

@precious-little-scoundrel (particularly her Dear, John series but honestly just reading her responses to asks bring me joy)

@claireelizabeth85 has a really great and inventive fic

@mercurygray is queen of all things hbowar

@softspeirs and her rosie x grace series make me sob

@prettyinlimegreenboots has a really great pilot OC

@gloryofroses19 my literal beloved writes incredibly for a multitude of fandoms but understands the john egan curl worship assignment

@major-mads and silver bullets

[ghostermctoaster]

Ciao!

So, uh, welcome to my blog! There’s honestly not much going on here. I draw and write and I get lucky if even get ten notes on my posts because I really only post my ocs :’)

ANYWAY.

If you see two (maybe more??) goofy goobers tromping around in here, the little gay Greek/Italian dude with silver hair is Alex and the bisexual Colombian blond is Alystyr.

These are my two original ocs that I’ve grown and developed since I was REALLY young. Like- these bitches old as FUCK.

*ahem*

~~~

ABOUT ME:

I’m gender-fluid, asexual, and demiromantic! Any pronouns go (she/he/they)

Boys 🫶🫶

I’m Italian/Irish (I’m a fucking redhead BURN ME *SOBBING*)

I’m the oldest of 4 children, I’m super grungy, but like also kinda chill??? 😭

ADHD/autistic

I love all of Rick Riordan’s books, the PJO show was so well made, PRAISE LEAH SHE’S AN AMAZING GIRLBOSS

~~~

I’ve read all of the following: The Hunger Games, Diverent, I’ll Give You the Sun, Wings of Fire, Harry Potter (didn’t like that one-), The Chronicles of Narnia, Vampire Academy, Twilight, Crave, ALL Riordan books doing with mythology (PJO, HOO, TOA, KC, and MCATGOA)

My favorite shows: Voltron: Legendary Defender, Gravity Falls, The Owl House, Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Dragon Prince, Stranger Things, Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Wanda-Vision, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, Heartstopper, a lot more but I’m tired and can’t remember

MOVIES!: Cruella, Do Revenge, Luca, ALL MARVEL (well- no. Not all of it, but most), The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2023), Mean Girls, The Greatest Showman, there’s more, but again, I tired

Video games: Hades, Hades II, Minecraft, FNAF (all games), Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey, Mario Brother’s franchise (because I have a little sister who forces me to play-), Dead Plate, Married in Red, anddd…that might be it

Bands/Artists I like/love: My Chemical Romance, OneRepublic, Shawn Mendes, 5 Seconds of Summer, Olivia Rodrigo, Sia, Lauv, Imagine Dragons (FUCKING SUE ME), Halestorm, Lady Gaga, Maroon 5, Lil Nas X, twenty one pilots, Cavetown, Coldplay, AJR, P!nk, Vance Joy, Halsey, Melanie Martinez, Mad Tsai, Paramore, Jake Webber, Magnolia Park, Jelly Roll, Benson Boone, and more!

~~~

Uhhh…hmm..well, I really like Monster, my favorite is Mango Loco. I consider myself to be friendly, I’ll talk to anyone so long as you respect me and boundaries and whatnot. I’m an ambivert so if I seem like I’m being shy, I just think you’re really cool and I don’t wanna fuck up making a potential new friend. If I talk to you like we’re already friends instantly, go get checked for autism /JJJJ

Anyway! All likes and reposts are so, SO appreciated and I cherish them all. Thanks for getting to know me! Feel free to DM or crash in the ask box.

PEACE AND CHICKEN GREASE 😘