#(NOT the flight deck!)

[humanoidhistory]

Inside the Space Shuttle Discovery, 1998.

[frostgears]

flight deck

you don't have to tell your handler that you're coming in messy after a bad mission. she's tied into flight ops. she knows.

she's waiting by the flight line before the grease monkeys have all your armor off, with a lubed glove on one hand and two fat purple pills in the other.

"ssshhh, pretty thing," she says. "you did your best out there. now open," she forces the pills to your mouth. "good girl. where's that water bottle… swallow. good."

her hand is already working between your legs, reinforcing her praise. they always detach the armor there first.

the pills help. the pills leave you feeling floaty, detached, enough to ignore what they've done to you to make the armor work. you probably can't climax without them by now, not that your handler would ever let you find out.

a few moments later, you spatter your built-up tension and guilt across the deck. with a sigh, you sink to your still-armored knees. your reflex weapons disarm, automatics finally allowed to take over from your own hair-trigger awareness. they're safe now. you're safe.

the grease monkeys are also safe, emerging from behind blast shields that would not have stopped any but the lightest of your armaments. more for psychological safety, really.

"she done?"

"the fuck do you think, wrenchie?"

"i think you couldn't pay me enough to do your job."

"i don't do it for the pay," you hear your handler say, as your eyelids sink towards closed. "i do it because that thing you're all scared of? she's all mine. and every landing, i get to remind myself, and all of you, and most importantly, her." □

[beastlyanachronism]

DOUGLAS: Could you, for instance, get a hundred otters on board Gerti?

MARTIN: Yes, I reckon you could.

DOUGLAS: And is it a jam-packed RSPCA-nightmare of a plane, or are the otters lounging in relative comfort?

MARTIN: Well, OK, there’s, er, there’s sixteen seats, so, say, two to a seat.

DOUGLAS: They’re good friends, these otters?

MARTIN: Let’s hope so. Then one in each overhead compartment ...

DOUGLAS: Always remembering to open them with care because otters may have shifted during the flight.

ARTHUR: And, er, one under each seat?

DOUGLAS: Yes! Good thinking.

MARTIN: But that’s where the lifejackets are.

DOUGLAS: That’s all right – otters can swim.

[nocternalrandomness]

The simplistic elegance of the Airbus A220 cockpit

[emaadsidiki]

Intrepid Museum 🚢🛩️🗽 NYC

[vinnyandthephenomena]

i feel bad for jay sharing a hotel room with tim i just know his ass snores loud as hell

[flyingprivate]

Boeing 777-200 Flight Deck !

[skyborndreamer]

Light test 737-800 NG.

[kasarian]

Decorate the Behemoth Badges! Please watch out for them <3

The first two auraboas are my progens, and the third one is a fandragon project ^^

[eupat]

[pocket-ozwynn]

Hey no one asked but I wanna talk about ✨ Freyja Montayne ✨

I love this absolutely rough-n-tumble herbo of a giant woman SO DANG MUCH.

Why?

Because when I came into G/t I genuinely felt an emptiness for the kind of thing that my heart craved. I wanted to find a genuinely Giant woman who was big and strong, loud and proud, a big dork and the absolutely purest of sweethearts. I dumped everything that brought me joy in life—both platonically and romantically—into a character and just made her so self-indulgently.

Freyja is powerful, but gentle; immense, but kind; passionate, but patient. She truly is the kinda giant woman that I daydream about all the time because she just is all of my favorite parts of G/t and more.

I’m so excited to share more about her with y’all 💖

[frostgears]

port leave

the slap rings loud in the half-empty food court. your face smarts, your eyes water, and your handler's other hand, the one holding her cone of frozen yogurt, doesn't even bobble.

"if your audio didn't pick up 'no', pretty thing," she continues, "then maybe we need to get it serviced. it'll be a shame about the rest of your port leave."

you sense movement and then see: the large bearded man at the next table over. he steps between your seats, interposing.

"miss, are you all right? i just saw her hit you. do you need me to call the cops?"

your handler sighs a sigh born of professional weariness. she puts her yogurt on the table.

"sir, you need to step back. step back slowly."

"the hell i will! you just slapped her! right in front of me!"

"sir. seriously. put your hands down. step back. it is not a 'her' like you think you know. ignore the cute little skirt; it is not a person, it is a weapon system…"

she's talking to him the way she talks to you.

"…you've probably never seen one out of its armor, i get it, i'm not in uniform either, it's my day off. but sometimes these things get confused about the difference between cran-apple juice, avgas, and blood, and they need a reminder of where they are…"

sing-song, reassuring.

"…i'm just going to reach for my service ID here. all above board. again, please don't make any sudden movements…"

"you're sick, lady," the man growls, as he pulls something from his pocket.

you don't wait to find out what. by his next blink, your teeth are at his throat.

"shit! stand down!" your handler shouts. "position 4!"

by your own next blink, you are kneeling at her feet.

there's a large blob on the floor, but it's irrelevant. you have eyes only for your handler.

if you were wearing wings, you'd fan them a little bit. she likes that.

you remain in position 4, hanging on your handler's every word. there's a glow of heat kindling between your legs.

"just a cell phone," she mutters. "hell, sir, i told you, no sudden movements. keep this pressed to your neck, it's clean, just bought it, she didn't get deep."

"somebody," she yells at the gathering crowd, "go get mall security or something. this man needs first aid, and we don't want to risk moving him."

you do not move or signal. you are not somebody. you will hold position 4 until given other orders. you remain in position 4 until all the explanations are done, all the mess is cleaned up. there are stares. you're used to them.

then your handler gazes down at you. your eyes lock to hers.

"you need to listen, pretty thing, when i tell you we're not going back to base yet…"

the heat between your legs grows.

"…now i've got to get another scarf. and i still want to swing by that place with the cute bags… the rest of your leave is cancelled, obviously. maybe shouldn't have even tried. but when we're back at base, i'm for sure gonna need to blow off some steam."

her expression flicks from tired to sharp, hungry. it's all you can do not to squirm, until, finally, she says,

"at ease." □

[tuxedo-floracat]

MOOPSY !!!

the new dark eye type is PERFECT for him omfg.

[nocternalrandomness]

Seagull SOC-3A from VS-201 onboard the carrier USS Long Island photographed on 16 Dec. 1941

[chelshiart]

professionals, these two