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frogboy0 · 14 days

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HAZBIN HOTEL REDESIGNS!!!!

I recently watched Hazbin Hotel for the first time! I've never been into it before, and I vaguely remember it when the pilot first came out years ago but I never even watched THAT!!

It's not............. the best show ever BUT I HAD FUN WATCHING IT!!!!!! I mainly like it bc I love Catholicism and the bible SOOOOO I'm rewriting it and I'll be posting ALL MY IDEAS!!!!!! (Ppl are gonna hate it LOL)

Close-ups + notes are under the cut :)

CHARLIE: OK SO I basically got rid of all the goat stuff that she (didn't) have going on ASIDE from the hooves hahaha, I didn't draw them here but she still has those bc I think they're COOL

So taking inspo from the fact that Charlie's design was based off porcelain dolls and marionettes, Charlie is LITERALLY a doll come to life!!! Lucifer and Lilith, bc they couldn't naturally conceive a child (bc Lilith is dead + is known to be responsible for the death of newborns), basically just made a child-doll and gave it life with their demonic magic!!!

I ALSO WANT CHARLIE TO CONSTANTLY BE TEETERING THE LINE OF LOOKING CREEPY AND FUCKED UP!!!! She's literally a living doll, I need ppl to look at her sometimes and be unsettled (sheep in wolf's clothing)

VAGGIE: Like Charlie, I'm completely throwing the animal (moth) motif that Vaggie (supposably) had. I'm mainly leaning more into Hotel Manager/body guard. WELCOME TO THE GUN SHOW!!!!!!

Honestly, I've changed Vaggie's design over 4 times and it's subject to change STILL. I gave her a cloak bc I think it's epic and I think she's epic and you'll be seeing her in future posts with what her outfit looks like without the cloak, it's a sleeveless collared shirt and she's got long fingerless gloves on :) AND THE CLOAK IS ALSO THERE BC I THINK SHE'S EDGY!!!! She's edgy and emo and amazing

I WAS gonna make her with awesome battle scars but then I remembered that angels can only be harmed with angelic weapons so :(((( no hot scars

ANGEL: MY ANGEL DESIGN IS NEVER CHANGING!!!!!! I have no notes, I think I'm in love with my Angel.

I heard somewhere that Angel in cannon has one black sclera and one white one bc he died with a black eye sooo..... He died with 2 black eyes LOL!!!

I didn't wanna give him prominent wrists and ankles bc I thought it looks cute :3

HUSK: He's a tuxedo cat, I think they're adorable and I think Husk is a 70 year old man who should be adorable. And NO BOW TIE!!!! I'M TIRED OF EVERY CHARACTER HAVING ONE!!!!

He's a frazzled drunk who's still Alastor's pet LOL

ALASTOR: I took a lot of inspiration for Alastor's design from Dr. Daddy-o, a radio DJ/host from New Orleans in the 1940's!!! I LOVE his voice and I wanted to base Alastor off of a BLACK RADIO HOST bc he's you know, BLACK!!!!!!!! Idk who that white boy is in cannon

He and Charlie are tied for the tallest in the cast, they're the same height (not counting his antlers)

I wanted to make Alastor look pretty human looking, aside from his antlers and deer ears ofc bc I don't think he needs to look scary all the time, he usually uses his words to provoke ppl anyway (and if that doesn't work THEN he'll use force) (Wolf in sheep's clothing)

NIFFTY: Niffty's design is based off Rosie the Riveter (WE CAN DO IT!!!!) especially with her her top, her hair and her headband/bandana.

I also made her taller than she is in cannon bc she's not the kind of character that the audience or even the other characters take seriously so in my head adding a couple inches to her will make me take her more seriously LOL

#hazbin hotel #tw hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie hazbin hotel #angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #niffty hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel redesigns #my art #I wouldn't call these notes #its more just me talking abt NOTHING hahaha

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roosters-girl · 1 year

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Just What I Needed Pt 1

Pairing: Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x female!Reader; Rooster X roommate!reader

Summary: Bradley meets a force of nature when he comes back to San Diego

Warnings: none, some cursing, mostly lots of fluff

A/N: my submission to @roosterforme #love is in the air tgm challenge. (Just What I Needed by The Cars) This is my first fic ever, please be gentle.

Parts 2,3, & 4 posted

Masterlist

WC: 2200

Rooster had had a day. He’d recently been stationed back at Top Guns an instructor, and since it was to be his new permanent station he’d decided it was time to put down roots in the area. So he��d sold almost all his furniture and frivolous possessions, and packed up the Bronco for shipping to the west coast. He’d had trouble finding a house to buy before his move, so he was currently crashing on Jake and Javy’s couch while searching for an apartment to sublet until the local housing market looked better, because he’d be damned if he was bunking in barracks with his soon to be students. Though with the state of his back right now, it might be more welcomed.

On top of that his first week back on base had been really weird. It started when he’d gone to the records department to request some past mission reports to use to prepare some of his flight lesson plans. When he’d got there the records clerk had to excuse herself briefly to attend to a request from Cyclone. He’d been happy to wait, but the second she’d left a woman who dressed like a hot pink Rosie the Riveter in sequined combat boots came charging in, blowing right by him fucking under the desk and running to the back, snagging a file, running up to the computer and quickly started typing something in while checking the file she was holding.

Rooster, thinking that maybe she could help him with his request approached the desk, and cleared his throat. It took a few times for her to lift her head, but when she did, he was a little caught off guard by how cute she was, and then she said in the most honeyed Southern accent, “Oh dear. I can’t help you. I know it looks like I can help you, but I have 5 minutes to get this done and out of here before Mindy gets back and attempts to fillet me for not following her 20 step records request protocol and then I’ll have to have another meeting with the Base Commander and the base security officer, even though I have clearance to do exactly what I’m doing. So I’m sorry mustache man, but you’re going to have to wait for the tiny tyrant of the records office to come back.”

And then she gave him a blinding smile and that shook him a little. Typed a few more keys and was hustling once again under the counter and winked at him while saying by and running out the records office, leaving him gobsmacked. A few minutes later the very sweet older records clerk came back and assisted him, while he also tried to process what just happened.

Then the next day when he was running through some checklists with the mechanics pool on his bird, the same woman pulled up in golf cart holding a camera with very large lens, wearing impossibly high skyscraper heels (that still barely brought her up to his chin), a dress out of Mad Men that hugged her every curve, a high ponytail, a pair of large black cat-eye sunglasses, and wicked red lipstick. He involuntarily licked his lips when he saw her, because as cute as she looked the previous day, today she looked like sin.

She smiled and said high to other pilots as she strutted across the tarmac to where he was. “Lieutenant Bradshaw,” she said as she got closer to get his attention.

He paused with what he was doing to give her his full attention. “How can I help you miss…?”

“You can call me Peaches or Peach. Everybody does. I’m hear to do you profile for the base newsletter and just general marketing purposes. Don’t worry, most of this shit is just filed away in my desk for rando reasons.” And then before he realized it he was being asked about a billion questions, about him, his dad, Mav, and his entire career with the Navy. He was still dizzy from all the questioning when he arrived at the Hard Deck that evening to meet up with Hangman for a few rounds of pool before decamping to his couch for another night.

Sitting at the bar with one of the local alt weekly newspapers he was searching for something to get him off that couch. When Penny came by to check on him.

“What you got going on here Bradley? Didn’t take you for Dan Savage column reader.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m looking for a place to rent temporarily until the housing market looks better. Figure if I can find a cheap sublet I can bank some of my housing allowance to help with a downpayment. And I don’t want to risk having to buy the whole bar a round by using my phone.”

Penny laughed, while reaching below to grab him another bottle of beer. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that to you, Rooster.”

“You did it to Mav.”

“God I love him, but Pete had it coming. You know you could stay with me Mav and Amelia until you’re ready.”

“Penny, as much as I love the idea of being with y’all, you’re as close to family as I have, it would be too much like living with my parents in my 30s.”

Penny laughed, “Fine, well I’m going to take pity on you in a different way then. One of my fill-in bartenders is looking for a roommate. She has a place not too far from here, and her most recent roommate left a few weeks ago and the place comes completely furnished.”

Rooster was considering it when Penny said, “And speak of the devil, here she is.” Turning his head toward the door and in walked you in that same sinful outfit he’d tried to ignore while you pestered him with questions and posed him for photos (“this is the federal government baby we pay for million dollar planes not unnecessary photographers,” you’d quipped). But you didn’t seem to even notice him as you charged into the bard and slammed your overly large purse down in the seat two down for him.

“I swear to god that woman needs a life. I haven’t a clue what bug is up her butt about me!”

“Hey y/n,” said Penny. “What can I get you?”

“Rye on the rocks. I’m in the mood to spill some secrets tonight,” you say with a smile. You turn and see him sitting there. “Oh hey flyboy,” you say. “Did realize you’d be here tonight. Might have saved some of my questions for when you were a few beers deep.”

Before Rooster could respond, Hangman, who had been in the back trying to hustle a couple of ensigns, came strolling up to the bar and hugged you, “Peaches, you warrin’ with Mindy again, girl?”

“If it’s a war, it’s one sided. I’m nothin’ but pleasant to that woman. Someone ratted me out about my last excursion though and I had to have another ‘conversation’ with the base security office and god help me that creep loves getting a chance to trap me in his office for an hour.”

Bradley averted his eyes while you and Hangman chatted realizing that he might have been the person who inadvertently ratted her out. When ‘Mindy’ had come back, she’d noticed that her computer had been disturbed and while he didn’t admit to seeing her behind the desk, he had admitted to having seen a person in a bright pink boiler-suit while Mindy had been gone.

Penny came back with her drink and a pair of flip flops. “Bless you Penny, and thank you for bringing me my flats.”

You take your heels off, drop them in your purse, and slip on the shoes Penny handed you.

“Well Peaches, if you truly want to thank me, take pitty on this poor soul over here. He’s looking for a place for a bit. Not permanent, but he’ll probably be with you through at least the winter,” she said pointing to Rooster. You narrowed your eyes at him a bit, and then said, what are your thoughts on pizza?”

Confused Rooster answers, “An essential food group?”

You seem to consider that, and then ask, “Can you respect that the grill is my domain?”

Rooster is taken aback at this now definitely pint-sized bombshell insisting that the realm of fire and meat is hers. “As long as you let me assist you, I prefer to be of use when the meal is being prepared.”

You look him over, and say, “You wanna come see the house tonight? Maybe you can move in this weekend.”

Rooster smiles, “I’d like that.”

You slam your rye, throw a few bills on the bar and say, “Well get your shit together and follow me. The house is only a few blocks away. If you hate the place you can get back here before barracks bunnies descend.”

You wink at him, and he shakes his head grabs his pack and follows you out the door.

***********

When he joins you outside, you say, “Which one is your car big boy?”

Rooster points to his blue Bronco and you try to contain the thrill you get seeing that car. It’s your absolute favorite. Your Granda had one in cherry red he used to drive you round in when you came out to visit them. When you approach it, he makes a point of opening and closing the door for you. Then letting you direct him to your home rathe than insisting on punching it into his phone.

He pulls into the driveway behind your Gran’s very broke down Mustang you’ve slowly been restoring, and then before you even get the chance, he’s rounded the car to help you out.

“You know I’m quite capable of getting in out of cars myself,” you say.

“Not as long as I’m around,” Rooster insists.

“Is that so Lieutenant Bradshaw?”

“My mother wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You raise your brows at that, but don’t comment any further. Heading up the stairs you talk to him a little about the house.

“So, this was my grandparents house, but it’s mine now.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Oh god, no. They’re staying at a retirement community in Palm Springs. We just came to an understanding long before they died. I moved in with them right after college, and then they decided they wanted to live in a retirement community. I help offset the cost of their living arrangements, and I get to stay here super cheap, which is helpful cause my god! I have a shit ton of student loans. Yes, I’m the fool who decided to go to freaking USC when I’m from Georgia! I could have gotten a damn good education for a fraction of the cost if I was willing to be a Georgia Bulldog instead of a Trojan. Can you imagine?”

Rooster who was sorta enjoying your rambling at this point, and had his own tails of college woe responded, “I can imagine.”

“I am another 8 months of working for the United States Navy before I’ll get all my god damn loans waived, but until then, every roommate counts.” You open the haint blue door to your home that you love dearly, and lead Rooster into your home that is full of color and vibrance. You know it could be a bit much for people who’d never lived in Low Country or Caribbean cultures, but when your grandparents had moved out to San Diego for your granda’s naval career, your gran had insisted on painting their bungalow with not only the proper warding colors but with the vibrance they were used to at home. It was comforting to you. Even though you’d pretty much become a California girl over the last bakers dozen years, you still found a part of yourself was strongly identified to home.

Opening the door to your home, Rooster enters and looks around at the space. Traversing the living room, kitchen, dining area, and sticking his head out the backdoor. He turns and asks you to see the bedroom, and you lead him up to the second level. “The bed isn’t that old, and I swear Jeanne, my last roommate, probably slept in it twice. She was mostly on post with her now fiancé, and I mean good for her, but mostly good for you, cause I bought that bed right before her.” He looks around the room and inspects the closet, and you do your best not to think about him in relation to that very comfortable bed in there.

***********

Rooster couldn’t believe his luck. Here was the perfect answer to his prayer, a ridiculously reasonably priced room, in a desirable location, but his landlady was a fucking wet dream who talked a mile a minute. He wasn’t sure if he could deal with living with you, and then you bent over to pick something up, and he got a great look at your ass and he realized that maybe he could make this work.

“I’ll take it.”

***********

Part 2

If you’re interested in more, there’s two more parts (at least), regardless thanks for letting me be a part of this

#love is in the air tgm #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster x y/n #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw fluff #rooster x female reader #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction

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bobparkhurst · 2 months

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@sweatynightmarecollection-stuff, who is not in MotA fandom, kindly nevertheless prompted me 09- rebirth from this prompt list for "your favorite ship in Masters of The Air".

Now, it's too early for me to have decided on a favourite ship, but this was one that sprang to mind embarrassingly quickly and I can feel myself getting a bit feral about it already.

Anyway, have 975 words of Ken Lemmons/Rosie Rosenthal.

[from: bobparkhurst is back in the tags celebration prompt list: one word prompts]

---

Ken’s hands are never clean. He tries, sometimes, scrubbing till his palms shine pink and raw, but he can still feel it on his fingers, the oil, the paint, the remnants of scorched fibre and metal. Other things, worse things, linger too, the stain of their sensation impossible to shift even as he scours himself with soap and water and tries not to wonder if the indelible, invisible scum that spreads over his skin will stay stuck to his memory in the same insidious way.

Dawn finds him, most days, already working, rising sunlight glinting off fresh repairs sometimes hours after they have been made. Today is no different. He rests his head all but flat against cold metal, inspecting each rivet with an intensity that dries his eyes to stinging. In his periphery, he is aware of other bodies moving, of the clanking of tools and the scrape of boxes against concrete, but he has long since learned how to keep distraction at bay. He has seen the outcome of slipped focus and he will not bear it again.

“She good, Kenny?”

Ken hesitates before answering, sliding his thumbnail against a bolt, testing the resistance there with a practiced understanding. He smiles.

“Patched up and ready to go. She’s the best, sir.”

“That’s my girl.” A small thump as Rosie’s hand lights across a panel. “We’re all grateful for the care you take of her.”

In the sunrise, the shadow Rosie casts is long and moves quickly across Ken’s eyeline, in and out of the light deftly enough that he does not interrupt the work before he is invited. Ken likes that, has always liked that, the courtesy and the interest both. He glances across, straightening his back and waits for Rosie to step in closer.

“Do you want me to take you through it, sir?”

Rosie grins, shakes his head. “Maybe in a minute. It’s not why I came out here.”

“Something else you need?”

“Here.”

Something small and wrapped is held out to him, slightly squashed from the pocket Rosie retrieves it from. Grease smudges against on the paper as he takes it.

“Admittedly it’s probably stale,” Rosie says, sheepishly. “But if you will insist on being out before I can scrounge up some actual breakfast, you get what you get.”

Ken takes a bite. He’s not sure he’s tasted anything better in his life. “Does me fine, sir,” he says. “I’m grateful for it. You didn’t need to.”

“Hey, you take care of her, someone’s got to…” Rosie’s voice trails off and he points, slightly too sharply at the doughnut. “You know.”

There’s no need to reply. The bold grin of earlier has faded from Rosie’s face, something more diffident, more private in its place, and Ken finds he likes that too. Early morning suits him, he thinks, painting flush pink over his features, though there’s a tiredness lurking beneath the tilted corners of his mouth that was not there when they had met. He figures he must look much the same.

Ken swallows the last of the doughnut with pleasure and a puffed-cheek nod of thanks which is met with a small huff of a laugh. He moves to lick the last residual traces of it from his thumb and finds his hand immediately caught with a hold so delicate it almost hides the determination of it. It’s surprise, as much as anything that stills him in place.

“I can’t believe I let you eat that with hands like these,” Rosie says. He fishes in his pocket for something else.

Ken looks down. He hadn’t even noticed the black smearing across his fingers, the clinging residue of his night of work. He shrugs. “It’s part of the job. I’m used to it.”

“Hmm.”

A handkerchief, gleaming white is pressed against his skin and dragged, carefully and methodically over the stains there with infinite gentleness. It’s a losing battle, Ken knows, but Rosie’s touch is warm and it is kind; he has been here too long to dismiss either of those with unthinking callousness now. So he lets his right hand be held, be washed as far as a small, increasingly grubby piece of fabric might succeed in that impossible task, and holds up his left for the same treatment when Rosie seems satisfied with the first.

“It’s a little late for that,” he says at last. Rosie freezes, still holding his left hand in both of his. He looks down, to where the pads of Ken’s fingertips are curled around the joints of his little finger.

“Are you sure?”

Ken remains silent. He tightens his hold, just cautiously, lightly on Rosie’s hand.

The handkerchief begins moving again. Breath tickles against him, as his palm is raised. Lips press with deliberation in the centre of it.

“You should rest when you can,” Rosie tells him. Each word trails across feather-soft over his wrist.

He lifts his head again, stepping back and out of Ken’s space. He’s not smiling now, his features shifting back into something long learned and studiously practiced, only belied by the blush on his cheek, by the minute clenching of his jaw. “And I should let you-” He indicates the plane. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you,” Ken says, as he turns to go. “I won’t object if you want to bring me stale doughnuts again.”

He can’t see Rosie’s face as he walks away, but he can see his shoulders shake a little as he nods and waves back in Ken’s direction. For a few more moments, Ken allows himself to follow the movement, allows himself to watch as Rosie sets himself to touring other duties.

He turns back. There is work yet to be done. He ducks beneath the plane and begins to sort his tools in place again.

His palm burns with the echo of a kiss.

#masters of the air #mota #mota fic #ken x rosie #ken lemmons #rosie rosenthal #rosielemmons #bob: fic #like my first fic in this fandom wasn't going to be some wild rarepair

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thatsrightice · 1 month

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Hey fellow aviation people, check out iloveahangar because their merch, especially their shoes, are insane!!!

They have high-top (and even more low-tops) for tons of popular aircraft squadrons and individual planes themselves fit with logos and paint schemes and accurate serial numbers. You can get most of them with either black or white sides/laces.

They’ve got F-14 Tomcats squadrons, U-2, A-10 squadrons, Tuskegee Airmen aircraft, individual SR-71s, individual B-17s, individual P-51s, and soooooo many more to choose from.

For my F-14 Tomcat people, they have the following squadrons (that I’ve seen):

VF-1 WolfPack

VF-2 Bounty Hunters

VF-31 Tomcatters

VF-41 Black Aces

VF-84 Jolly Rogers

VF-143 Pukin’ Dogs

I was hoping they’d have VF-213 Black Lions and VF-114 Fighting Aardvarks, but maybe it’s for the best they don’t because then I would have to buy them both IMMEDIATELY on top of the pair I already bought.

For my Masters of the Air friends, they have a collaboration with the 100th Bomb Group Foundation where you can custom make your own pair of B-17 Flying Fortress high top shoes. They also have some of the most popular aircraft in the group’s history with the nose art, for example: “Our Baby”, “Our Gal Sal”, “Rosie’s Riveters”, and “Alice From Dallas.” They come in drab green and some are in silver!

I just got a custom pair of these with the B-17 serial number 42-3393 Just-a-Snappin’ and I am soooo excited to wear these to EAA!!

I recommend browsing some of the individual collections for particular museums and historical foundations by going to the three lines and selecting “Museums and Collections”. Check out some of the others I mentioned below and check out their website for tons more, including other products like bags and duffels and wall art!

#SERIOUSLY GUYS GO CHECK THEM OUT #airplanes #aviation #wwii #f-14 tomcat #b 17 flying fortress #masters of the air #top gun #p 51 mustang #p-38 Lightning #sr 71 blackbird #a 10 warthog #tons more #I would cry if they had a VF-213 or VF-114

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mercurygray · 2 months

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Short Days Ago

Several months ago I promised all the TDS girlies a special command performance by our favorite actress/dancer/comedienne. So, fresh from her record-setting bond tour with John Basilone - EILEEN HAMMOND!

Felt like a lot of nonsense, just to see a show.

Ken didn't know what business the USO had, trucking a whole bunch of dancers in here in the middle of a war. It wasn't like the Clubmobile girls, who came in their own truck and could pack themselves out at the end of the day. Everyone on the base seemed to be on high alert the whole week before they were due in, sprucing up paint and setting a stage up near one of the empty hard stands, like they didn't have anything else they should have been working on.

"C'mon, Lemmons!" one of the new fellows said with a grin on the day of the concert. "You can take an hour off!"

But he couldn't take an hour off - not really, not when everyone else was doing the same thing. They'd be on mission alert the next day and every single one of these forts needed to be able to go up and he wasn't making that mistake again. He could hear the music across the fields a little, when the wind shifted, but he wasn't missing much, he felt. He was needed here.

The show was just wrapping up when he drove by the parts store, looking to get a replacement magneto. The dancers had all come down from the stage, posing for pictures with one and all, and the biggest crowd, by far, was around a black-haired beauty with a smile that just wouldn't quit. Well, I'll be. She's back. Lemmons pulled up short and joined the crowd.

Eileen looked around the sea of faces with a big, take-all-comers grin. "You know, the last time I was here someone said I was so pretty they ought to paint me on a plane. They had a new fort in and they were looking for a name. Irish Eyes, I think they said."

Lemmons spoke up. "Yeah, sure, Miss!" The crowd parted a little, deferring to the sound of their crew chief. "She's still here. Hammond's Hornets." He pointed off into the distance, where the plane was parked out on the far side of the field. Wing damage - needed new levers in an aileron. But anyone who walked by the nose today would have seen Eileen Hammond in all her perfect pin-up glory, casting that same grin out into the sky in a yellow and black bathing suit.

The crowd around him buzzed a little, and Lemmons felt a twist in his chest. Would any of them have known that was where the name was from? After all, Rosie's Riveters were named after Rosenthal himself, not his girlfriend, and that visit had been long ago.

"And it was - it was Waitley who asked me to kiss the plane!" Eileen remembered with a grin. "Bob Waitley - from Tennessee. He was trying to go for the main chance and I told him I only had so many to go around - so he had me kiss the plane instead."

Lemmons nodded, smiling and remembering. What a joker, Waitley - always trying to get a pretty girl to catch his eye. "We painted the outline that afternoon - even tried to match your lipstick. The fellas used to touch it when they got in. For good luck."

"Is he still around?" Eileen asked, searching the crowd for a familiar face. "Bob Waitley? I don't think I saw him when I came in."

Ken felt cold. "He was… shot, ma'am." He didn't want to tell the rest of that story, about how Bob had taken a piece of flak through the thigh and bled out on the way home, and his co-pilot had brought the plane down with a dead man in the front seat and three more in the back. He also didn't want to say anything about what had come after, about scrubbing blood out of the cockpit and replacing the covers on the seats, and how they would open the cockpit windows, when crews like that came home, so the souls of the dead wouldn't stay with the plane on her next mission. Pilots were a superstitious bunch, but crew chiefs could be, too. And he'd still kept on having the crew touch up that kiss mark, though it was getting a little wavy now. Good intentions, that's all that was - nothing bad luck about a friendly kiss from a girl.

And Eileen Hammond, for all that she was a showgirl, knew what he meant when he said shot and ended his sentence early, and had enough sense not to ask more questions after.

Behind him, the newer crew was shuffling their feet. "No one told us that story about the kiss." "I just thought it was a joke." "Is that why we couldn't name it ourselves?"

"Well, I'm sure Miss Hammond has a very tight schedule," one of the pilots said quickly, noticing the frosty turn in the conversation. "We should let her get going, gents."

The crowd moved off, but Eileen stayed put, catching Lemmons' sleeve as he turned to leave. "Can I go and see them, Sergeant? If you've got time."

Ken looked her straight in the eye and realized she meant it. "Sure, Miss Hammond. I got time."

It was quiet, out here on the tarmac, speeding off to the far side of the airfield, and Eileen wasn't singing now. Her black curls were going to catch hell from this ride in the open jeep, but she didn't seem to care. Ken pulled off to the side of the taxiway and pointed where they were headed -a half-hidden mound of stones, the remnants of some ancient wall, sheltered under an equally ancient oak. The oak's spread roots had tumbled the rocks here and there, but there were plenty of crevices for dog tags and cigarettes and lucky pennies, and plenty of moss to soak up beers. Plenty of privacy to sit and remember, or to drink and forget. Here's where you bury the guys who don't come home.

"Every base has one," Eileen said, quietly. "Visit enough and you know to ask." She swallowed and looked out across the fields, the low mountains of distant planes far away. "Rather pretty out here. They have a nice view."

"Sure do, miss."

She nodded, and turned to look at the wall, smiling at the beer bottles carefully perched on the top, the half-full bottle of whiskey at the base and the series of small round stones stacked here and there. She stepped gently around the items on the ground, and kissed the largest stone, the print of her lips uneven and red on the rough surface of the rock. "There you are, Bob. A few months overdue." She stepped back to survey her handiwork and took a deep breath, in and out. Behind them the wind was in the grass, and there was a rustle in the oak overhead. All was at peace.

"Don't paint that one on, Sergeant," she said, quietly. "Wouldn't want the other fellows getting jealous."

"'Course, miss," Ken nodded. "Some times the best things fade."

She smiled at that, looking at the stone and the bottles and the way they were catching the late afternoon light. "You want me to re-do the other one? While I'm here?"

"If you like, miss," Lemmons said with half a smile. "But good luck kisses don't expire."

"Maybe so," she said with a shrug. "But it can't hurt, either, can it?"

---

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields. -In Flanders Fields, John McCrae

Though we never see this in the show, archeological excavations at Thorpe Abbotts indicate that the fliers did have some kind of memorial spot for their dead. A team from a nearby university excavated the site in 2017.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #eileen hammond #all the crossovers #tds cinematic universe #yes it's sad but you need that every once in a while

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mastersoftheair · 6 months

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hi! question!! ok so like. I've been in hbowar fandom for awhile but I must admit I haven't followed MOTA news quite as religiously so I'm sorry if this has been answered before but like...... can I ask why there was such an emphasis on austin butler and callum turner's characters? is it because they're the "leaders" of a sort? (and if so, in like a dick winters way? in that they're the leaders of their unit? or is it in a sledge, basilone, leckie way? in that the narratives of the shows are based on their memoirs of the war?) or is it because they're the actors you're bound to recognize at first glance and therefore are pandering to the audience?

piggy back riding on that question..... do you think mota would follow a band of brothers kinda story telling where the povs sorta change almost every episode? and there's an emphasis on the group as a whole? or is it gonna be like the pacific? where it centers on 3 pov characters, as i said before, based off the irl guys' memoirs of the war?

thank you for running this blog, btw. it's good to have all the news in one place instead of having to go hunting for it!! have you tried to appeal to tumblr staff about getting the blog unshadowbanned? maybe they could help?

i think this website gives a very helpful overview of who the "main players" are (it's a bit dated tho, last updated in 2019!) lots could've changed by then, and even the author admits that it's all speculation. but by 2019, there were 5 confirmed "main characters": john "bucky" egan, gale "bucky" cleven, rosie rosenthal, harry crosby, and ken lemmons. they're palyed by austin butler, callum turner, nate mann, anthony boyle, and raff law, in that order.

the focus is on the 100th bombardment group ("the blood hundredth"), with likely a narrower focus on the 418th and 350th squadrons, with probably some focus on the 349th. cleven's part of the 350th, egan and cruikshank (also important) are part of the 418th, and major william veal's part of the 349th (which is likely less important, but i'm adding it bc i saw his name among egan and cleven's name in this behind the scenes photo almost 2 years ago, but not much on veal otherwise).

so, this is one group and (more or less) two different squadrons. the narrowed focus is meant to lean more "band of brothers" and less "the pacific".

to answer your first question, the focus on butler and turner is probably 1) better for promo (they're more well known to the public) and 2) cleven and egan were both the commanding officers of their respective units. the leaders, for sure. also known as "the two buckys", as they both had the same nickname and were very close friends (as the above article puts it, they "were roommates throughout flight school…[they were] roommates during training, but they would eventually become roommates in a POW camp as well.")

i like that you brought up leckie and sledge tho, bc while the bulk of the show is based around donald miller's book, it seems like they'll also be leaning on harry crosby's memoir- a wing and a prayer. he was a group navigator in the 418th. also, the smithsonian has a little scrapbook that you can read here.

i'm thinking that, yeah, the povs may change depending on the episode (given how it seems they want to follow the "band of brothers" playbook, to a point). there's definitely gonna be time devoted to the ground crew (lemmons was a mechanic in the ground crew and stayed in england for the duration of the war) and rosie rosenthal, especially (his crew was called "rosie's riveters"). then, there's the inclusion of black soldiers in the 332d fighter group, part of the tuskegee airmen (hence the casting of ncuti gatwa, branden cross, josiah cross, among others).

keep in mind that these are all just my guesstimations! i don't want to predict what's gonna happen, given that i still want to be surprised lol

and i'm happy you enjoy the blog! it's fun keeping it regularly updated (despite tumblr hiccups, like thinking i'm a spam bot apparently?? but i think it's been sorted out for now *fingers crossed*)

(also, i recommend everyone to go play around in this website, bc it's stuffed with all the 100th bg information you could ever want!)

#it's all about theorizing!#masters of the air #hbo war #history #asks

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whirligig-girl · 11 months

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Rosie the TRANS CORPS tank engine.

Image ID: Sketchy grayscale digital art drawing of an american steam locomotive, specifically a six-wheeled tank engine with external cylinders, more specifically a USA Tank built in America and Europe for use in Europe during WWII. This one is in America with American knuckle-coupler, and has “Transportation Corps U.S. Army” written on the side, but the text is obscured by a painting of Rosie The Riveter such that the text instead reads trans corps. The locomotive is sentient, and has a face on her smokebox door, with one eye closed. Her female crew (engineer and firewoman) are standing on her buffer beam, applying makeup to her face, painting eyeliner and lipstick on. End ID.

(original drawings below the cut)

Image ID: five drawings of Rosie the Tank Engine. The lineart is the same, they differ only in facial expression and livery. In the first drawing, he is dark gray with a gray smokebox and chimney, with “Transportation Corps U.S. Army” written on her side-tanks. He is frowning and looking down. In the second drawing, a painting of Rosie The Riveter--a determined woman worker flexing her muscles--has been painted on her side tanks. She (the engine) is smiling and looks determined at the viewer. In the third drawing, she’s been painted pink with red lining and white side-tanks, and has had her knuckle-couplers switched out for chain-screw and buffer couplers. She has the number 37 in red on her cab, and NWR painted on her side tanks. She is smiling and her face looks cuter. In the fourth drawing, she is painted magenta-red with white lining and white text. In the fifth drawing, she is painted black with magenta lining and text and magenta wheels.

#WWII #Steam Engine #Tank Engine #Rosie TTTE #Rosie The Riveter #train #ttte

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thechanelmuse · 1 year

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Betty Reid Soskin, the oldest National Park Service ranger

She was first assigned to the Rosie the Riveter/World War II Home Front National Historical Park in Richmond, California the age of 84 and retired in 2022 at the age of 100. Sixteen years. And they said she didn’t play about her position. Her mom and her grandma both lived to their centenarian years as well. A lot of life to live. I know Ms. Betty is looking forward to the next thing in the next chapter in her life.

Here’s a excerpt from her PBS interview in 2022:

Geoff Bennett: “You have said that you have lived lots and lots of lives. You grew up in a [Louisiana] Creole Black family in Oakland, California. You later worked as a file clerk at a segregated union shop. You and your late husband founded one of the first Black-owned record shops, which was in existence for nearly 75 years. You're also a mother to four children. You are a songwriter. You're active in politics throughout your entire life. How has all of that shaped you?”

Betty Reid Soskin: “I have never known how that happened. I know that had I grown up knowing what was ahead. I would never have been able to do it. But I grew up with a sense of surprise. And I also felt that I was jumping out of bed every morning, wondering what was life going to be like? I still am. I'm still jumping out of bed trying to figure out what life is like.”

SN: In the fourth photo above, Ms. Betty is in the middle with her sisters, Lottie and Marjorie Charbonnet. In the fifth photo, Ms. Betty is pictured with her late husband Mel and their kids: Rick Reid, Bob Reid, David Reid and Dorian Reid.

And did I mention she wrote a book?

#betty reid soskin #betty charbonnet #sign my name to freedom #national park service #national parks #louisiana creole #black american history #black history month

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thatscarletflycatcher · 1 year

Text

A Jane Eyre fancast

(Because I have enablers that let me rant about these things)

Bella Ramsey as Jane Eyre

I sometimes regretted that I was not handsomer; I sometimes wished to have rosy cheeks, a straight nose, and small cherry mouth; I desired to be tall, stately, and finely developed in figure; I felt it a misfortune that I was so little, so pale, and had features so irregular and so marked.

Sam Riley as Mr Rochester

I knew my traveller with his broad and jetty eyebrows; his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of his black hair. I recognised his decisive nose, more remarkable for character than beauty; his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler; his grim mouth, chin, and jaw—yes, all three were very grim, and no mistake. His shape, now divested of cloak, I perceived harmonised in squareness with his physiognomy: I suppose it was a good figure in the athletic sense of the term—broad chested and thin flanked, though neither tall nor graceful.

Robbie Kay as St John Rivers

Had he been a statue instead of a man, he could not have been easier. He was young—perhaps from twenty-eight to thirty—tall, slender; his face riveted the eye; it was like a Greek face, very pure in outline: quite a straight, classic nose; quite an Athenian mouth and chin. It is seldom, indeed, an English face comes so near the antique models as did his. He might well be a little shocked at the irregularity of my lineaments, his own being so harmonious. His eyes were large and blue, with brown lashes; his high forehead, colourless as ivory, was partially streaked over by careless locks of fair hair.

Synnove Karlsen as Blanche Ingram

“Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful neck: olive complexion, dark and clear; noble features; eyes rather like Mr. Rochester’s: large and black, and as brilliant as her jewels. And then she had such a fine head of hair; raven-black and so becomingly arranged: a crown of thick plaits behind, and in front the longest, the glossiest curls I ever saw. She was dressed in pure white; an amber-coloured scarf was passed over her shoulder and across her breast, tied at the side, and descending in long, fringed ends below her knee. She wore an amber-coloured flower, too, in her hair: it contrasted well with the jetty mass of her curls.”

Olivia Cooke as Miss Temple

she looked tall, fair, and shapely; brown eyes with a benignant light in their irids, and a fine pencilling of long lashes round, relieved the whiteness of her large front; on each of her temples her hair, of a very dark brown, was clustered in round curls, according to the fashion of those times, when neither smooth bands nor long ringlets were in vogue; her dress, also in the mode of the day, was of purple cloth, relieved by a sort of Spanish trimming of black velvet; a gold watch (watches were not so common then as now) shone at her girdle. Let the reader add, to complete the picture, refined features; a complexion, if pale, clear; and a stately air and carriage, and he will have, at least, as clearly as words can give it, a correct idea of the exterior of Miss Temple—Maria Temple, as I afterwards saw the name written in a prayer-book intrusted to me to carry to church.

Emily Watson as Mrs Fairfax

A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an arm-chair high-backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the neatest imaginable little elderly lady, in widow’s cap, black silk gown, and snowy muslin apron; exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax, only less stately and milder looking. She was occupied in knitting; a large cat sat demurely at her feet; nothing in short was wanting to complete the beau-ideal of domestic comfort.

Kate Winslet as Mrs Reed

Mrs. Reed might be at that time some six or seven and thirty; she was a woman of robust frame, square-shouldered and strong-limbed, not tall, and, though stout, not obese: she had a somewhat large face, the under jaw being much developed and very solid; her brow was low, her chin large and prominent, mouth and nose sufficiently regular; under her light eyebrows glimmered an eye devoid of ruth; her skin was dark and opaque, her hair nearly flaxen; her constitution was sound as a bell—illness never came near her; she was an exact, clever manager; her household and tenantry were thoroughly under her control; her children only at times defied her authority and laughed it to scorn; she dressed well, and had a presence and port calculated to set off handsome attire.

Dakota and Elle Fanning as Eliza and Georgiana Reed

Two young ladies appeared before me; one very tall, almost as tall as Miss Ingram—very thin too, with a sallow face and severe mien. There was something ascetic in her look, which was augmented by the extreme plainness of a straight-skirted, black, stuff dress, a starched linen collar, hair combed away from the temples, and the nun-like ornament of a string of ebony beads and a crucifix. This I felt sure was Eliza, though I could trace little resemblance to her former self in that elongated and colourless visage.

The other was as certainly Georgiana: but not the Georgiana I remembered—the slim and fairy-like girl of eleven. This was a full-blown, very plump damsel, fair as waxwork, with handsome and regular features, languishing blue eyes, and ringleted yellow hair. The hue of her dress was black too; but its fashion was so different from her sister’s—so much more flowing and becoming—it looked as stylish as the other’s looked puritanical.

Emma Mackie and Margot Robbie as Diana and Mary Rivers

I thought them so similar I could not tell where the old servant (for such I now concluded her to be) saw the difference. Both were fair complexioned and slenderly made; both possessed faces full of distinction and intelligence. One, to be sure, had hair a shade darker than the other, and there was a difference in their style of wearing it; Mary’s pale brown locks were parted and braided smooth: Diana’s duskier tresses covered her neck with thick curls.

#Jane Eyre #fancast #Bella Ramsey #Sam Riley #Robbie Kay #Synnove Karlsen #olivia cooke #Emily Watson #Kate Winslet #dakota Fanning #Elle Fanning #Emma Mackie #Margot Robbie #don't shoot me #I couldn't find anyone I liked for Mason and Mr Brockelhurst #and I'm not casting Bertha Mason #so

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