The Juggernaught

Independent Mitternacht Marine (JKMM) RP Account for the Republic P-47 Thunderbolt May become NSFW JKMM is soley owned by Rokuzaki.

[beautifulwarbirds]

A Spitfire with the larger P-47 Thunderbolt.

[retrowar]

P-47 takeoff

[artyrambles]

[waffle-skinned-negro-deactivate]

Playing WOT with scouts. 

[libertarian--princess-deactivat]

tanks-a-lot

[tanks-a-lot]

holy shit it is

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

You aren’t wearing the sweater vest. Don’t want you cold. *Also he’s seen other hung-over men be sensitive to light, so he isn’t taking any chances. It makes perfect sense to him, and he stands over him, blocking out the dim light from the bulbs overhead with his enormous, chunky body*

You’re a person. Not a bird.

Fly like one, though.

[lloegr]

“Just coz I’m not wearing a sweater vest doesn’t mean I’m cold.” He tugs the blanket back just enough so that his head is poking out.

“Well, I don’t really fly on my own, do I? I don’t think that counts.”

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

Well, it may have made perfect sense to him, but evidently, it didn’t mean much to Arthur here. Closing a hanging seam to keep drafts from getting in, he settled down on the floor with a heavy, dull thud, the glasses rattling in the cabinet as he sat.

“Can’t fly without you, so. ...Pretty good bird for not being born with wings.”

[uss-edsall]

Impression of a Ki-51 “Sonia” kamikaze on the hull of County-class heavy cruiser HMS Sussex. The Sonia (reported as a Val, as often happened), is said to have hit the water before hitting the hull, probably losing its bomb in the process.

On 26 July 1945, her Task Force was attacked by two bombers acting as “Kamikaze” suicide weapons. One made an imprint on the side of the HMS Sussex, from which it could be identified as a Mitsubishi Ki-51 “Sonia”.

[artyrambles]

[the-other-lexington]

tanks-a-lot

[tanks-a-lot]

where is the lie?

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

*drapes a blanket over his head*

[lloegr]

His immediate response is to bristle, but after half a moment he decides it’s not even worth it and thumps his forehead down on to the table. “…Am I a bird now? Is that why you covered me?”

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

You aren’t wearing the sweater vest. Don’t want you cold. *Also he’s seen other hung-over men be sensitive to light, so he isn’t taking any chances. It makes perfect sense to him, and he stands over him, blocking out the dim light from the bulbs overhead with his enormous, chunky body*

You’re a person. Not a bird.

Fly like one, though.

[lloegr]

“Reasons I’m not allowed to binge drink anymore: a novel by me.”

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

*drapes a blanket over his head*

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

lloegr:

ridgebackjuggernaught:

“Mmn.” He rumbled, buzzing low in his throat as the englishman gave him a proper dressing down. To be honest, he hadn’t seen either of them in weeks. They were incredibly busy, and as angry as Arthur seemed, it was the first bit of positive contact he had had since he saw either of his Boss-planes.

“If you aren’t always cold, why do you wear so many sweaters.”

Oh Bruno, he wasn’t actually angry. He’s just…well. Arthur. He let out a loud, indignant huff, before roughly nudging a nearby chair out with his foot. “Stop sulking all the way over there, you can sit right here. Just not in my bloody lap.”

“And it’s just the style of clothing I like to wear, okay? Sweaters are nice and they look proper.”

Oh, oh good! He wasn’t angry. He was just the Sheridan-angry.

“...Yes sir.”

Prompted by the englishman, he slithered into the offered chair, the poor wooden legs creaking precariously under his weight. He didn’t seem to care all that much, staring blankly at Arthur for a moment or two as he tried to come up with something resembling a conversation. Usually, what counted as social interaction for him involved following his pilots around, or sitting outside of mess-hall and listening to the chatter.

-Wait! He DID have pertinent news! His eyes lit up, his lips twitching as his throat buzzed.

“...There is a hole.”

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

lloegr:

ridgebackjuggernaught:

“Keeping you warm.”

Oh no, senpai rejected him. Oh well. He knew when he wasn’t wanted, and slithered off of his lap to go skulk off somewhere else in the room. The end of the table looked nice. He’ll just loom over the other side, then. That’ll do.

“Didn’t see any blankets.”

Arthur sputtered and gave the American another useless shove as he removed himself from his lap, roughly brushing off his trousers upon being freed from the weight.

“And I just looked cold to you, did I?! Thought you could just stroll on over and have a cuddle? Good lord, boy, what are those two teaching you?!”

“Mmn.” He rumbled, buzzing low in his throat as the englishman gave him a proper dressing down. To be honest, he hadn’t seen either of them in weeks. They were incredibly busy, and as angry as Arthur seemed, it was the first bit of positive contact he had had since he saw either of his Boss-planes.

“If you aren’t always cold, why do you wear so many sweaters.”

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

lloegr:

ridgebackjuggernaught

Mmng.

*He hasn’t seen you in so long, give him some slack. …Why, is Sheridan looking? Boss Lady shouldn’t see this. It’s embarrassing, but sitting at his table in the middle of tea would be impolite. Nothing in his etiquette manuals said lap-crawling was impolite. It’s kosher, right?*

So this sort of thing was considered acceptable if Sheridan wasn’t around? Look at all that bollocks he just found. Arthur let out an exasperated grunt, shoving uselessly at the massive plane.

“Get off, you great hulking brute! What are you doing?!”

“Keeping you warm.”

Oh no, senpai rejected him. Oh well. He knew when he wasn’t wanted, and slithered off of his lap to go skulk off somewhere else in the room. The end of the table looked nice. He’ll just loom over the other side, then. That’ll do.

“Didn’t see any blankets.”

[lloegr]

*Sir. Sir. Sir. Hello sir. Sir. You have a lap and my gigantic 8-ton ass is just going to crawl into it like a really fat cat, yes good-*

What - IS THERE SOMETHING I CAN HELP YOU WITH JESUS CHRIST

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

Mmng.

*He hasn’t seen you in so long, give him some slack. ...Why, is Sheridan looking? Boss Lady shouldn’t see this. It’s embarrassing, but sitting at his table in the middle of tea would be impolite. Nothing in his etiquette manuals said lap-crawling was impolite. It’s kosher, right?*

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

itamiwowakeaeru started following you

This is another Nation-kind. He doesn’t like this. This is supposed to be the enemy, or at least the enemy’s boss, but he’s so small, fragile almost. Hayato was more heavily built than this man was, and he’s just an underfed army fighter.

This doesn’t sit well with him. Gut instinct says ‘Pound that pretty face into the dirt’, but polite doctrine dictates discretion is the better part of valor....Well, at least he’s pretty to look at.

[peerintothepast]

Spitfire during the Battle of Britain.

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

“I told you what I was.”

At least he seemed to be catching on. He was wrong in his assumption, but at least he got the period right. He blew a soft breath out of his crooked, curled nose, his breath still carrying the distinct note of gasoline.

“…Not a state. Flew for the states, but not them. Last functioning Tiger, 131, is in English hands. He is still running, and I can still speak to him. Tigress is new. You restored her, if you named her.”

“…Please. Take me to her. I have to apologize.”

[tangentially-displaced]

“You told me you were an aeroplane, and despite being what I am, I find your story to be pushing the mark a bit. After all, I’ve never heard of your ‘kind’ existing before now, and I’m not exactly new to things.” Not anymore, though the possibility of the stranger’s claims being true nagged at the back of his mind. His own kind’s existence was equally improbable and if there were more… well, it might open some interesting doors.

“Alright, let’s say I believe you. Let’s say I’ve had a woman living in my garage for the last few months and have somehow not noticed. What incentive do I have, save seeing her, for acquiescing to your request?”

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

“...I am one. P-47-D model, the Thunderbolt. One and only.”

 Bruno shifted, buzzing awkwardly in his thick throat, visibly made uncomfortable. The Juggernaught, the Flying Bath Tub, the Dragon, or just the Yellow-tailed Demon if you were an unlucky ME pilot; Once upon a time, he had wrecked havoc to German armored lines like an angry bull in a china shop, ripped the early jets apart, cut his teeth in the English skies, and chased V2′s mid-flight. Bruno knew what kind of man Volker was by the smell clinging to his skin. He had sort of hoped that this man would just let him see her. He had a lot of ground to cover, after all. He hunted her kind to near extinction back in the day, and may have personally made this man’s life a living hell. Old wounds had to be settled, however, and how he was demanding a price.

Ooohhh, this bugged him SO MUCH. The idea of letting this guy into his cockpit made him queasy, but it was literally the only option he had. He didn’t have an endless supply of bodies anymore, and neither did Tiger. If one of their engines stopped, that was it. He’d never have a chance to talk to either of them again. He was lucky with 131, but Tigress was a whole different kettle of fish. Between her and Panther, he had a very little time to spare. He had to see them soon, or else one of them would break down, and he’d lose his chance to settle things forever.

“...I can’t offer you anything other than my thanks, or letting you fly. I have to see her. Didn’t think I’d get the chance again. Been 70 years since I bombed the last, and I have to settle things.” Bruno paused, his enormous shoulders sagging just a hair as his amber eyes dropped to his shoes. “My kind don’t get to have graves. This is the only way I can say ‘I’m sorry’.”

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

Him blowing smoke didn’t seem to phase the giant at all. It would take a lot more than a lit match to blow him sky high. Granted, this Bavarian ‘driver’ didn’t seem aware of Bruno’s kind. So be it. They were of the same sort, so he might as well be honest. “I thought you were him.”

“I thought you were Tiger 131. Got to appear in Fury recently, thought he was out roaming again. I followed you here. You stink of axle grease. Rust. Petrol. You work with one. The scent clings to your skin, but you aren’t British. You must have the second one. Following you means I would see her again. …I want to see the Tigress. Unfinished business.”

[tangentially-displaced]

‘”I should hope I’m not British, if I accomplished nothing else then I have accomplished that- Tiger 131? I heard of the unit, but not that tank. I never drove it, I still haven’t. They wouldn’t sell.”

“I did drive a Tiger during the war, against your country. Not sure why you’re so interested. What state are you? Texas? I’ve little incentive to show you my Walburga. Especially when you seem unduly attached.”

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

“I told you what I was.”

At least he seemed to be catching on. He was wrong in his assumption, but at least he got the period right. He blew a soft breath out of his crooked, curled nose, his breath still carrying the distinct note of gasoline.

“...Not a state. Flew for the states, but not them. Last functioning Tiger, 131, is in English hands. He is still running, and I can still speak to him. Tigress is new. You restored her, if you named her.”

“...Please. Take me to her. I have to apologize.”

[katouhayato]

ＤＡＮＧＥＲ　ＺＯＮＥ　♫

[ridgebackjuggernaught]

*STARES AT*