#Aircraft Seat Frames

[lalsingh228-blog]

Aircraft Seat Frames Market Set for More Growth

The Latest research coverage on Aircraft Seat Frames Market provides a detailed overview and accurate market size. The study is designed considering current and historical trends, market development and business strategies taken up by leaders and new industry players entering the market. Furthermore, study includes an in-depth analysis of global and regional markets along with country level market size breakdown to identify potential gaps and opportunities to better investigate market status, development activity, value and growth patterns. Access Sample Report + All Related Graphs & Charts @: https://www.advancemarketanalytics.com/sample-report/8306-global-aircraft-seat-frames-market

Major & Emerging Players in Aircraft Seat Frames Market:- Hymec Aerospace Ltd (United Kingdom), PAC Seating Systems (United States), RECARO Group (Germany), Zodiac Aerospace (France) , Mirus Aircraft Seating Ltd (United Kingdom). The Aircraft Seat Frames Market Study by AMA Research gives an essential tool and source to Industry stakeholders to figure out the market and other fundamental technicalities, covering growth, opportunities, competitive scenarios, and key trends in the Aircraft Seat Frames market. Aircraft Seat frames market is expected to mark significant growth over forecasted period owing to increasing utilization of lightweight materials in the manufacturing of aircraft seat frames which helps in improving overall performance and efficiency of the aircraft. The major companies are adding more proven technologies systematically and strategically for manufacturing lightweight and improved aircraft seat frames. Moreover, increasing demand from Asia-Pacific countries owing to growth in aircraft industry further propelling market growth. "The Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) passed a new law that requires airlines to set a minimum size for seating. The Seat Egress in Air Travel (SEAT) Act part of the FAA Reauthorization Bill, gives airlines a year to set a minimum for seat width and the space between seats."

The titled segments and sub-section of the market are illuminated below: by Application (Economical Class, Premium Economy, Business Class, First Class), Material (Aluminium, Magnesium, Composites) Market Trends: Increasing Demand for Premium Economy Seats

Emphasizing on Reducing Seat Weight

Opportunities: Increasing Number of New Aircraft Orders

Rising Demand from the Developing Countries Such As India and China

Market Drivers: Growing Investments in Commercial Aircrafts

Increasing Need for Retrofitting and Maintenance of Existing Aircraft

Challenges: High Installation Cost of Aircraft Seat Frames

Enquire for customization in Report @: https://www.advancemarketanalytics.com/enquiry-before-buy/8306-global-aircraft-seat-frames-market Some Point of Table of Content: Chapter One: Report Overview Chapter Two: Global Market Growth Trends Chapter Three: Value Chain of Aircraft Seat Frames Market Chapter Four: Players Profiles Chapter Five: Global Aircraft Seat Frames Market Analysis by Regions Chapter Six: North America Aircraft Seat Frames Market Analysis by Countries Chapter Seven: Europe Aircraft Seat Frames Market Analysis by Countries Chapter Eight: Asia-Pacific Aircraft Seat Frames Market Analysis by Countries Chapter Nine: Middle East and Africa Aircraft Seat Frames Market Analysis by Countries Chapter Ten: South America Aircraft Seat Frames Market Analysis by Countries Chapter Eleven: Global Aircraft Seat Frames Market Segment by Types Chapter Twelve: Global Aircraft Seat Frames Market Segment by Applications What are the market factors that are explained in the Aircraft Seat Frames Market report?

– Key Strategic Developments: Strategic developments of the market, comprising R&D, new product launch, M&A, agreements, collaborations, partnerships, joint ventures, and regional growth of the leading competitors.

– Key Market Features: Including revenue, price, capacity, capacity utilization rate, gross, production, production rate, consumption, import/export, supply/demand, cost, market share, CAGR, and gross margin.– Analytical Tools: The analytical tools such as Porter’s five forces analysis, SWOT analysis, feasibility study, and investment return analysis have been used to analyze the growth of the key players operating in the market. Buy This Exclusive Research Here: https://www.advancemarketanalytics.com/buy-now?format=1&report=8306 Definitively, this report will give you an unmistakable perspective on every single reality of the market without a need to allude to some other research report or an information source. Our report will give all of you the realities about the past, present, and eventual fate of the concerned Market. Thanks for reading this article; you can also get individual chapter wise section or region wise report version like North America, Europe or Asia. Contact US : Craig Francis (PR & Marketing Manager) AMA Research & Media LLP Unit No. 429, Parsonage Road Edison, NJ New Jersey USA – 08837 Phone: +1 201 565 3262, +44 161 818 8166 sales@advancemarketanalytics.com

[david843346]

Aircrafts Seat Frames Market by Emerging Trends, Share, Growth Rate, Opportunities And Market Forecast To 2027

Global Aircrafts seat frames are segmented by material type Aluminum, Magnesium and Composites.Among these segments, Aluminumis expected to dominate the global Aircrafts seat frames market. The rise in the segment exists on the back of the higher demand durable aircraft seat frames.

The global Aircrafts seat frames system market is estimated to exist at a significant level in 2017 and is anticipated to evince a noteworthy CAGR over the forecast period. Anatomical requirements aligned with safety along with the cost effective seat maintenance demand is rising rapidly. As aircraft seat frames attains to be easier to replace during seating configuration, growth in demand for seat frames tends to increase amongst near future and is evident to drive the aircrafts seat frames market across the globe

North America is anticipated to exist as a major market in the aircraft seat frames market across the globe. The high prevalence of aircraft application for the mode of transport in the countries such as U.S. and Canada manifest significant increase in North Aircrafts seat framesmarket. On the account of bolstering investment in commercially used aircrafts and high GDP sustains significant growth in North American Aircrafts seat frames market. Asia-pacific region is perceived to apprehend a noteworthy market share in forthcoming years. Developing nations such as China, India, Indonesia and Malaysia evince considerable grow during the forecast period.

Easier Replacement of Seat Frames

On the account of aircraft seat frames easier to replace along with seating configuration, the global demand for seat frames anticipated to boost in forthcomingyearsacross the globe. Manufacturingcost aligned to aircraft seats tend to be expensive the aircraft seat anatomy involves labor dependent operations. Additionally, the attributes of seat frames involved differentproportional to the location of installation in an aircraft. Elevation among the need to maintain a proper inventory holding tends to expedite the multitude of parts being kept readily available for proper maintenance. The above reasons are anticipated to exist as major challengesto the aircrafts seat frames producers across the globe.

Download Sample of This Strategic Report @ https://www.researchnester.com/sample-request-860

The report titled “GlobalAircrafts seat frames Market: Global Demand Analysis & Opportunity Outlook 2027” delivers detailed overview of the global Aircrafts seat framesin terms of market segmentation segmented by material type andby Vehicle.

Further, for the in-depth analysis, the report encompasses the industry growth drivers, restraints, supply and demand risk, market attractiveness, BPS analysis and Porter’s five force model.This report also provides the existing competitive scenario of some of the key players of the global Aircrafts seat frames market which includes company profiling of Hymec Aerospace, PAC Seating Systems, RECARO Group, ZODIAC AEROSPACE, Mirus Aircraft Seating Ltd. and Other Prominent Players. The profiling enfolds key information of the companies which encompasses business overview, products and services, key financials and recent news and developments. On the whole, the report depicts detailed overview of the global Aircrafts seat frames market that will help industry consultants, equipment manufacturers, existing players searching for expansion opportunities, new players searching possibilities and other stakeholders to align their market centric strategies according to the ongoing and expected trends in the future.

Curious about this latest version of report? Obtain Report Details @ https://www.researchnester.com/reports/aircraft-seat-frames-market/860

[reidrum]

two millimeters | s.r

a/n: this was literally born bc i saw reid lying on the couch in the jet at the end of demons and thought ‘i would literally sit against that wall to watch over him on the way back’ so i wrote it

summary: spencer gets hurt and you’re not leaving his side

cw: season 9 finale spoilers for angels & demons, cm violence, hurt/comfort, unestablished relationship

wc: 0.6k

___________________________________________

two millimeters to the right, and it would’ve hit his carotid.

the sentence replays in your head like a cursed mantra, rendering your other senses useless. you couldn’t hear the doctor say you could see him now, or feel penny tug your arm towards the room. and you certainly couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw spencer reid in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and iv drips, with a big fucking gauze dressage on the side of his neck.

you knew your line of work was dangerous, being a federal agent who hunts down serial killers should be enough to prove that. but it never surprised you seeing the panic that overtook all of you when one of your own was hurt.

the pure terror you felt in this moment though, was something without parallel.

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

you’re not even sure how it happened. they were on the way to tell the preacher he was innocent, and instead he opens fire on federal agents? it was a cruel twist of fate, spencer doing what he could to protect his people and pushing blake out of the way but getting hit himself. it wasn’t anyone’s fault either, the preacher had military grade machine guns, and spencer would have done what he did for anyone. you made sure to tell blake that.

but your spencer was hurt. and all you wanted to do was take away his pain somehow, and toss it in a river to never be seen again.

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

“hey,” you hear a voice pull you out of your head. looking up you’re met with tired soft brown eyes lying down on the jet’s couch, “i’m okay, honey. please go sit on a chair.”

if spencer had all his strength he would lecture you on the dangers of not being properly restrained on an aircraft and the statistics of plane related injuries. but that was the problem, he didn’t have all his strength. and you were not going to let him out of your sight.

which is why you are sitting on the floor of the jet, perched in front of the couch where spencer laid, resting your head on the cushion his head was on, body leaning against couch’s frame. and you planned to stay right there until you landed back in quantico.

“looks like this flight is overbooked,” your section unit chief teased upon seeing you on the ground, “hopefully the brass sees our good work and gives us a bigger jet next year.”

morgan, hotch, even jj offered you their seats to at least get some rest, something you hadn’t had in days.

“i’m fine right here.” you spoke softly.

jj and penny looked at you in concern, but knew you wouldn’t be swayed to move anyway. your stubbornness always acted as a curse and a blessing.

spencer moved his hand to graze your cheek gently, “the doctors fixed me up really good, i promise i’m okay.”

you move your hand to rest on top of his, slowly rubbing your thumb into the curve of his palm, “and i promise i’m okay right here. i’m not moving.”

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

two millimeters would haunt you for many years to come, but maybe right now you could use it to measure how much closer you can get to spencer till there’s only two millimeters between you.

spencer knew this was a war he was not winning, and let his hand intertwine with yours. if you weren’t so close to him you might’ve missed the faintest “thank you” escape from his lips. the jet takes off and the two of you are lulled to sleep almost immediately. the rest of the team unspokenly watched over you both, making sure you weren’t rattling around or spencer rolling around too much. and penny couldn’t help but take a few pics to show you later.

[raekensluver]

rekindled bonds (1)

introduction, part one, part two.

description: your first case with the bau team turns out to be more intense than you had anticipated.

pairing: spencer reid x bau agent!fem!reader

contains: talks of typical criminal minds violence (abductions, serial murders, etc.), a little fluff at the end.

song rec: trouble by cage the elephant- "you know what they say, yeah, the wicked get no rest"

w.c: 3.8k

an: let me know if you want to be apart of the taglist for this series! not much reader x spencer (i got carried away, whoops), this is more of a filler chapter i suppose.

the hum of the plane's engines was a soothing white noise that filled the cabin, providing a stark contrast to the caffeine-fueled chatter that had filled the bau office mere hours ago. you looked out the small window, watching the clouds pass by like cotton balls painted onto the vast blue canvas of the sky.

derek morgan, your new colleague, took the seat beside you, his muscular frame fitting surprisingly well into the cramped space. "so, you two go way back, huh?" he asked, nodding towards spencer reid, who was deeply engrossed in a book sitting at a matching table across the aisle from the two of you.

you felt a mix of excitement and nostalgia bubbling up as you turned to face him. "yeah, we were inseparable when we were kids. can you believe it's been over a decade since we last saw each other?"

derek leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "small world, huh?" he said. "i can't even keep track of half my college buddies. but you two pick up right where you left off, like no time has passed at all."

you nodded, watching as spencer looked up from his book, catching your eye. a silent understanding passed between you, the kind that comes from years of shared secrets and stolen laughter. "it's like we have a mental shorthand," you said, turning back to derek. "spencer always knew what i was thinking, even before i did."

"sounds like you guys had quite the bond," said, his eyes flicking over to the young genius. "how'd you end up here, with all the brainiacs?"

you chuckled, feeling a sense of pride swell in your chest. "i studied psychology and criminology. got recruited right out of grad school."

derek raised an eyebrow. "impressive. so, what's your specialty?"

"profiling and interrogation techniques, mostly," you replied, trying to keep the nerves out of your voice. it was one thing to know you were capable; it was another to explain it to someone with years of experience under their belt. "i've always had a knack for understanding people, even when they don't want to be understood."

derek's smile grew wider. "you're gonna fit right in here, then." he clapped you on the shoulder before standing up, his tall, muscular frame casting a brief shadow over you. "welcome to the team. we're gonna need all the fresh perspectives we can get on this one."

his words of encouragement sent a jolt of excitement through your veins. "thanks, morgan," you said, as he made his way down the aisle to check in with the rest of the team. you watched him go, feeling a mix of pride and trepidation.

with a deep breath, you opened the case file that had been placed on the table in front of you. the cold, stark reality of the situation settled in your stomach like a rock. the smiling faces of the victims stared back at you from glossy photos, each one a silent plea for justice.

spencer looked up from his book, noticing the shift in your demeanor. "are you okay?" he asked, his voice a gentle inquiry in the buzz of the aircraft.

you nodded, but your eyes remained glued to the case file. "it's just… these people," you murmured, flipping through the pages. "i've studied cases like this before, but now it's real. we're going to be the ones trying to save them."

spencer closed his book and slid it aside, his gaze earnest and understanding. "i know it's tough, but you're not alone. we're all in this together."

you managed a small smile, grateful for his reassurance. "yeah, i know." you paused, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. "but it's just so… heavy."

spencer leaned across the aisle, his brown eyes searching yours. "it's okay to feel that way," he said softly. "this job, it's not easy. it's not supposed to be. but we do it because we can make a difference."

his words hung in the air, resonating with the solemn truth of your new reality. you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "you're right," you murmured, closing the file. "i just need to remember that."

two hours later, the plane touched down in chicago, the bustling city sprawling out beneath you like a patchwork quilt of steel and glass. as the team gathered their belongings and deplaned, you felt the weight of the case settle heavier on your shoulders. the adrenaline of reuniting with spencer had given way to the gravity of the task ahead.

once you arrived at the local precinct, you were ushered into a briefing room that smelled faintly of stale coffee and stress. rows of uniformed officers and detectives filled the space, their eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces of the bau team. spencer took a seat beside you, his hand briefly brushing against yours in a gesture of comfort.

the lead detective, a stern-looking woman with a no-nonsense attitude, began laying out extra details of the case. the victims were all young women, each found in a different part of the city, their bodies slashed in a way that suggested a twisted form of ritual. the mood grew heavier with each detail she shared, the air thick with the weight of unspoken fear and anger.

spencer's fingers tapped a rhythm on the armrest, his eyes distant as he listened intently. you knew that look; he was already piecing together the puzzle, his mind racing with hypotheses and theories. you felt a twinge of envy - his intellect was something you had always admired, but also something that had made you feel a bit like you were playing catch-up.

the briefing ended and the team dispersed to their designated tasks. as you and spencer headed to the local morgue, the stark reality of the case hit you like a cold slap in the face. the smell of antiseptic and the cold, sterile environment were a stark reminder of what was at stake.

the coroner, a middle-aged man with a gentle demeanor, led you to the first body. "this is the earliest victim," he said, pulling back the sheet. "same m.o. as the others." the sight was gruesome, but you steeled yourself, focusing on the details that could provide a clue to the killer's identity.

spencer leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he studied the pattern of the injuries. "the precision of the cuts suggests a certain level of experience or a professional background," he murmured. "possibly medical or military training."

the coroner nodded in agreement, his expression grim. "i noticed that as well. it's almost… surgical in nature."

you tried to keep your stomach from turning as you took in the gruesome sight. the precision of the cuts was unsettling, each one deliberate and calculated. "anything else that stands out to you, reid?"

spencer's eyes flitted over the body, his mind racing. "the lack of defensive wounds suggests that the victims were either taken by surprise or incapacitated before the attack. we should look into any reports of missing persons or unsolved abductions that fit the profile."

his phone buzzed in his pocket, the sound cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. he pulled it out, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the unfamiliar number. "excuse me," he murmured, stepping out of the room to answer.

his voice was tight with tension as he spoke. "reid."

spencer stepped back into the room, his expression a mask of professional calm, though his eyes had a haunted look to them. "we've got another one," he said, his voice low. "another abduction, same m.o."

you felt your stomach drop. "how recent?"

spencer checked his phone again. "less than two hours ago. the unsub is escalating."

you nodded, gritting your teeth. "we need to move fast."

spencer agreed, his eyes flashing with determination. "i'll have garcia run the latest intel through the system, see if we can find any connections or patterns."

you followed him out of the morgue, feeling the urgency of the situation pressing down on you like a physical force. as you made your way back to the precinct, the chilly wind cut through your jacket, a stark reminder of the race against time you were in.

once back at the precinct, spencer wasted no time in telling garcia what he neede from her. he dove into his laptop, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he sifted through the latest data she sent. you could see the gears in his mind turning, piecing together the puzzle of the unsub's behavior. the room was abuzz with activity, phones ringing and officers moving back and forth with new information, but the two of you remained in a bubble of focused concentration.

prentiss, called everyone to attention. "we need to identify the common link between these victims and find a way to predict where the unsub will strike next." her gaze landed on you. "you're our newest addition, what's your take?"

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on you. "the unsub seems to be targeting young women with a certain look, possibly similar to someone he has an obsession with or feels wronged by." you paused, glancing at spencer, who nodded in silent encouragement. "we should look into any recent events that might have triggered this spree - a breakup, job loss, or a significant anniversary."

prentiss nodded thoughtfully. "good point. let's get to work on that."

as the team dispersed to follow up on various leads, you and spencer remained at the board, surrounded by the stark images of the victims and the cold, hard facts of their cases. you felt a sudden pang of doubt, wondering if your theories would hold water in the face of such a cunning and elusive killer.

spencer, sensing your uncertainty, placed a hand on your shoulder. "we're going to catch him," he said, his voice steady and calm. "you just have to trust your instincts."

his confidence bolstered yours, and you nodded, rolling up your sleeves. together, you began to sift through the files, looking for any shred of information that could lead to the unsub's identity. as the hours ticked by, the tension in the room grew palpable. phones rang incessantly, and the murmur of hushed conversations filled the air.

finally, a break came in the form of a frantic call from the local pd. a suspect had been identified, a man named james conrad, with a history of stalking and assault. your heart raced as you and spencer grabbed your gear and followed the rest of the team to the suspect's house, the adrenaline making your senses sharp.

the neighborhood was eerily quiet, the only sounds the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant wail of a siren. the house was a small, nondescript bungalow, the kind that could easily blend into the suburban landscape if not for the squad cars that lined the street in front of it. as you approached, you could see the curtains twitching in the windows, a sign of life inside.

spencer's hand tightened on the grip of his gun as he scanned the area, his eyes missing nothing. "remember, we don't know what we're walking into," he murmured, his voice low and serious. "stay sharp."

you nodded, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you approached the house with the rest of the team. the silence was unnerving, broken only by the crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional squawk of a distant bird. the house looked like any other on the block, but the knowledge of the horrors that could be occurring inside sent a shiver down your spine.

as the team fanned out, you and spencer took the lead, moving up the cracked concrete path to the front door. prentiss was on the phone with the local swat team, giving the final go-ahead for them to move in. the air was electric with tension, the kind that made your skin prickle and your pulse race.

spencer turned to you, his eyes intense. "we're going in low and fast. we need to find that girl." the gravity of the situation settled on your shoulders like a heavy cloak.

you nodded, feeling the cool metal of your gun pressing against your side. "got it."

with a swift nod from prentiss, the team moved into action. the door was kicked in, and you rushed inside, your senses on high alert. the house was cluttered, the air thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and something else, something that made your stomach turn. you moved quickly, following spencer's lead as he cleared each room with a practiced efficiency that spoke of years on the job.

the living room was a mess, newspapers and fast food containers scattered across the floor. the walls were covered in photos of the victims, their faces cut out and arranged in a disturbing mosaic of obsession. your eyes darted over the scene, searching for any sign of the latest abductee. your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a silent plea for her to be found alive.

spencer paused in the doorway to the kitchen, his gaze flicking to the basement door. "this way," he murmured, his voice tight with focus.

you followed him down the narrow staircase, the creaks echoing through the otherwise silent house. the basement was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of mold and despair. the walls were lined with shelves filled with books and knick-knacks, a stark contrast to the horrors you knew you might find.

spencer took point, his gun held steady in front of him. the beam of his flashlight bobbed as he moved, casting eerie shadows on the floor. your heart was racing, each step downward feeling like you were descending into the bowels of hell itself.

at the bottom of the stairs, you spotted a faint light coming from a room at the end of the hall. spencer gestured for you to stay put, his eyes never leaving the source of the light. with cat-like grace, he approached the door, listening intently. you could see his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, his focus absolute.

the seconds stretched out like hours as he reached for the doorknob. then, with a swift turn and a kick, the door flew open. a scream pierced the air, and you rushed in, your heart hammering in your chest.

the room was a twisted reflection of a doctor's office, with a makeshift operating table in the center. the latest victim, a young woman with matted hair and bruised eyes, was strapped down, her clothes torn and bloodied. she saw you and her cries grew louder, filled with hope and terror.

you sprinted to her side, tucking your gun into the waistband of your pants, your training kicking in as you quickly assessed her injuries. "you're safe now," you murmured, trying to soothe her as you worked to free her from the restraints. she flinched at your touch, but her eyes remained locked on yours, searching for the truth in your words.

spencer's voice was firm and steady. "we need to find james," he called over his shoulder. "he could still be in the house."

you nodded, taking a moment to reassure the victim. "help is on the way," you promised, your voice gentle as you worked to free her trembling form. "we're going to get you out of here."

spencer's voice grew more urgent as he called out to the rest of the team. "clear the upper floors and then head down here!" he ordered. "our unsub might still be in the house!"

you stayed with the victim, whispering comforting words as you worked to untie the complex knots that held her down. Her cries grew softer, and she nodded weakly as you assured her that help was on the way.

spencer's footsteps echoed up the stairs, his voice sharp with urgency as he called out to the rest of the team. "clear the upper floors, now! we need to find james before he escapes!" the thunder of boots on the floorboards above sent a shiver through the house, a stark reminder of the danger that still lurked.

you stayed with the victim, her eyes locked on yours as she clung to the promise of safety. you could feel the warmth of her tears on your hand as you continued to work at the knots. "it's okay," you murmured, your voice soothing despite the racing thoughts in your head. "you're going to be okay."

spencer's voice grew distant as he called the others down to join the search. "garcia, run a background check on james conrad. i need to know everything about him, now!" the urgency in his tone was palpable.

you managed to free the victim's last restraint, and she collapsed into your arms, sobbing with relief. "thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "thank you so much."

you held her tightly, feeling the tremors of fear and pain that wracked her body. "just stay with me," you murmured, stroking her hair. "help is coming."

spencer's voice grew more distant as he and the others moved through the house, their footsteps thundering above you. you heard the occasional crash, the sound of breaking glass, and muffled shouts as they searched room by room. the basement remained a cocoon of relative calm, the only sounds the victim's sobs and your own racing heart.

you managed to get her onto her feet, supporting her trembling legs. "we need to get out of here," you whispered. "can you walk?"

she nodded, clutching onto you for dear life as you guided her towards the stairs. every step was a victory over fear, each one bringing her closer to freedom. as you reached the middle of the staircase, you heard a thud from upstairs, followed by a muffled shout. your heart leaped into your throat.

derek's voice, loud and clear, pierced the silence. "got him! he's down!"

relief washed over you as you helped the victim up the stairs, her legs wobbly but determined. the living room was in chaos, with the rest of the team surrounding a figure on the ground. derek had james conrad pinned to the floor, his toned arms holding his wrists tight as he snapped on the handcuffs. james' eyes were wild, a crazed grin stretched across his face as he laughed maniacally.

moments later, the wail of sirens grew louder, and you heard the thunder of footsteps as paramedics and county police officers flooded the house. their arrival brought a sense of order to the chaos, their calm professionalism a stark contrast to the frenetic energy of the past few hours.

you handed the victim over to the medics with a silent prayer, watching as they worked to stabilize her. spencer took you aside, his eyes filled with concern. "are you okay?" he asked, his voice a gentle counterpoint to the cacophony around you.

you nodded, still feeling the tremors of adrenaline coursing through your veins. "yeah," you murmured, your voice shaky. "just… processing."

spencer's eyes searched yours, understanding written in the lines of his face. "you did good," he said, his voice firm and steady. "really good."

you managed a nod, the reality of what had just happened starting to set in. "thanks."

as the house was secured and the suspect was taken away, the team gathered their things, the adrenaline from the operation dissipating into a tired buzz. the sun was setting outside, casting long shadows across the floor. you followed spencer out to the waiting plane, feeling the weight of the day's events settle heavily on your shoulders.

once aboard, the atmosphere was subdued. the usual banter and camaraderie had been replaced by quiet contemplation. the team had faced the grim reality of their job and come out the other side, victorious but haunted.

spencer sat beside you, his eyes still scanning the case file, his mind clearly racing. his hand brushed against yours, a silent comfort that spoke volumes. you studied his profile, the sharp lines of his nose and jaw, the furrow of his brow as he focused on the information before him.

prentiss looked up from her own paperwork, her expression a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. "good work today, everyone," she said, her voice sharp but sincere. "especially you, agent. you handled yourself well under pressure, especially considering this was your first case." she said acknowledging you.

you felt a flush of pride at her words, but it was quickly followed by a wave of fatigue. the adrenaline was wearing off, leaving you feeling drained and a little overwhelmed. "thank you," you replied, your voice a little shakier than you would have liked.

spencer looked up from his paperwork, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle concern. "how are you holding up?" he asked, his voice low.

you took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "i'm okay," you said, the tremor in your voice belying your words. "just… it's a lot to take in."

spencer nodded, his gaze understanding. "it always is," he said softly. "but you did great. you saved her life."

you leaned your head against the cool plane window, watching the lights of chicago fade into the distance as the aircraft climbed into the night sky. the case was over, but the memories of the day lingered like a bad taste in your mouth. the faces of the victims, the smell of the basement, the terror in the young woman's eyes - it all played on a loop in your mind.

spencer noticed your withdrawal and reached over, grabbing your hand firmly in his. his thumb rubbed soothing circles on the back of your hand, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the chill that had seeped into your bones. "it's okay to feel this way," he said gently, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the drone of the engines. "it's part of the job."

you looked down at your hand in his, feeling the strength and comfort that flowed through the connection. "i know," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "but it's just…"

spencer squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "it's okay to feel overwhelmed," he said, his voice soothing. "this job… it's not for everyone. but you're here, and you're making a difference."

you took a deep breath, letting his words sink in. the warmth of his hand was grounding, a lifeline in the sea of doubt that threatened to pull you under. "thank you," you whispered, feeling a lump form in your throat.

spencer gave your hand a final squeeze before releasing it, turning back to his paperwork. "just remember, we're in this together," he said, his eyes never leaving the file in front of him. "no matter what happens, we've got each other's backs."

edited 8.26.24

taglist: @yokaimoon

[austinbutlerslovers]

Well I’ll Be Damned

Label Mature 18+

Summary Even though Major Gale has been captured in a war camp, it doesn’t stop him from being located and receiving letters from back home. One day, amidst the routine stack of mail, he receives an unexpected letter scented with a familiar perfume. The letter ignites his passion for his love back home, rousing him and giving him hope amidst the bleakness of his captivity.

💝Romantic Smut 💝 lovelorn•edging•handjob•ejaculating •semi private

Master List ••• Upcoming List

Gifs @seaside-storm @mads-nixon

Well I’ll Be Damned

Major Gale awoke from his bunk and prepared for his mission of the day. He was stationed on an American base in Germany far from the comforts of his base back home. The barracks were cramped, each soldier allotted a narrow bed with barely enough room to store their personal belongings. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and metal.

Once showered and dressed Gale dug into to his rucksack at his bed and pulled one of your letters. It was one of his favorites when you teased him about a lingerie set you had purchased. As he unfolded the paper the picture of you wearing it untucked from the page. He looked over it with a smile before tucking it into his breast pocket.

Your professional portrait was always tacked into the windshield frame of his aircraft, serving as a constant reminder of you. But this one was special he looked at it almost every night.

On this particular day, he carried the lingerie photo with him instead of leaving it on base, the weight of separation from you feeling heavier than usual.

You had both written each other as frequently as possible, just as you had promised. Despite the distance, your words were a source of comfort for him in the midst of uncertainty. As he headed to the tarmac for another transport mission the longing for home weighed heavily on his heart.

Major Gale inspected the exterior of his plane before takeoff, a ritual he followed religiously. As a superstition he ran his hand along the hull feeling the smooth surface where previous bullet holes had been plated and painted over. The scars of past battles served as a reminder of the dangers that awaited them in the skies.

His men greeted him as they loaded into the aircraft, their expressions betraying the tension that hung heavy in the air. Each one understood the risks they faced, but their determination to complete the mission remained unwavering.

The mission over Germany promised to be just as dangerous as those that came before. With a sense of foreboding gnawing at his insides Gale felt a tightness in his as he sat his pilots seat and placed his hand on the hull taking a moment to let it settle.

His copilot’s concerned inquiry broke through the silence, “You alright, Major?” He asked. Gale’s response was stoic but strained, “Yeah I’ll be fine.” He reassured him.

As Gale buckled into the pilot’s seat the weight of the impending danger pressed down on him. Despite his attempts to shake off the uneasiness, it lingered casting a shadow over his thoughts. With a steely resolve he performed his preflight checks but each motion reminded him of the risks that awaited them in the skies above the enemy.

He gazed at your picture nestled in the seal of his windshield and traced his finger along it the last of his set rituals before takeoff. It was a moment of quiet reflection amidst the chaos of preparation, a final connection to you beyond the confines of war. With a lingering touch, he silently drew strength from your image, a reminder of the love and support that awaited him on his return.

As they took off that day, the roar of the engines drowned out any sense of impending danger. Major Gale’s crew had become accustomed to the risks of flying over enemy territory, but today, their luck seemed to have run out.

With a sudden jolt the aircraft shuddered violently as enemy fire tore through its metal frame severing cables and rendering the engine useless.

Major Gale’s heart pounded against his chest as he wrestled with the controls trying desperately to stabilize the plummeting aircraft. Amidst the deafening cacophony of gunfire he barked orders to his men his voice cutting through the chaos like a beacon of hope.

“We’re in a controlled descent. Let’s hope we make it across the border. Prepare to bail!” he yelled his words tinged with urgency. His co-pilot guided the men through the cramped cabin ensuring each one was securely fastened into their parachute harness.

As the aircraft continued its descent Major Gale made the split-second decision.

“Bail out! Now!” he commanded his voice unwavering despite the imminent danger. With practiced precision his men leaped from the aircraft their parachutes unfurling like giant billowing sails against the stormy sky.

With his last man safely away Major Gale took a deep breath and prepared to make his own exit. With a swift motion he left the controls donned his parachute and flung himself from the doomed aircraft. The rush of wind whipped against his face as he hurtled towards the earth below his senses on high alert.

As he descended Major Gale scanned the landscape for a safe landing zone. Spotting a farmhouse nestled amidst the rolling fields below he adjusted his course and steered towards it. With a practiced hand he deployed his parachute feeling the reassuring tug as it billowed open above.

Overshooting his landing Major Gale crashed through the front door of the farmhouse and through the kitchen colliding into the stove sending pots and pans clattering to the ground. His heart was still racing from the adrenaline-fueled descent.

His abrupt entrance startled the inhabitants. A Mama and Papa who stared at him with a mixture of fear and anger.

Amidst the chaos in the kitchen, the Mama’s cries filled the air accusing him of being a Luftgangster a ‘terror flyer’. The Papa fueled by anger and fear for his safety grabbed a nearby pitchfork and joined his wife in the kitchen.

As Gale lay on his back, attempting to calm the situation in broken German with his hands outstretched, the Papa approached him and raised the pitchfork threateningly. Desperately, Gale tried to convey that he meant no harm, that he was merely a soldier caught in the chaos of war.

With a tense standoff in the cramped kitchen, Major Gale slowly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, using the other to unhook his parachute to show he was unarmed. The Papa, still wary but sensing no immediate threat, allowed Gale to stand.

Backing out of the ruined kitchen onto the porch Major Gale turned to look over the field in search of any of his men, instead he was met with a chilling sight. The horizon was dotted with German soldiers converging on his location. With a sinking heart he realized the grim reality of the situation they had been discovered by the enemy.

As German soldiers closed in Gale’s mind raced, his thoughts consumed by the harrowing prospect of captivity. Despite his best efforts, he was no match for the overwhelming force of the German soldiers and soon found himself being dragged away, his fate along with his fellow soldiers captured nearby now in the hands of his captors.

War Camp

In the grim confines of the POW camp, Major Gale found himself thrust into a world of harsh realities and stark contrasts. Surrounded by towering barbed wire fences and guarded by soldiers whose cruelty seemed endless Major Gale and his fellow prisoners faced each day with a mixture of resilience and despair.

As he adjusted to life in captivity, Gale was struck by the surprising quaintness of the camp’s conditions. The barracks though sparse and cramped, resembled dormitories rather than the grim cells he had expected. Wooden bunks lined the walls their mattresses worn thin from years of use. Despite the grim surroundings companionship flourished among the men, their shared experiences forged bonds that went beyond the confines of their captivity.

Amidst the bleakness of his surroundings a glimmer of hope flickered within Gale knowing that the American army was aware of the imprisoned US soldiers. They sent food and supplies frequently keeping the men fed and healthy. The realization that they hadn’t been forgotten lifted his spirits and renewed his determination as he endured.

Days turned into weeks and he even began receiving letters from home once the military confirmed his location as a prisoner in the camp. It fueled his hope dramatically especially the heartfelt ones he received from you in the US.

Each word penned with longing and affection became his lifeline amidst the harsh realities of captivity. He longed for your touch, your voice, your presence to soothe the ache in his heart.

Each time he received one of your letters his heart skipped a beat. With trembling hands he would retreat to his barrack, finding solace at the table inside as he read every word as if it were a precious gift. But it wasn’t just the words that lifted his spirits. Nestled within each envelope was a picture for him a beacon of light in the midst of darkness.

Despite the hardships of his captivity, Gale always responded to your letters with stoic resolve his replies reflecting his strength and determination.

One afternoon as he received his stack of letters, a surprising one stood out among the rest with the scent of perfume. As he opened the envelope the faint smell of your aroma gently filled the air exciting him. He began reading the letter slowly, and his eyes widened in surprise as he read the contents. A departure from your usual tender words the letter was filled with daring and provocative sexual language.

Quickly closing the letter Gale felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks and his heart was pounding in his chest. Undeniably aroused by the unexpected turn he carefully stored the letter away for later that night, eager to indulge in its contents in the privacy of his bunk.

After the final count and the lights out Gale waited until the cabin fell silent the only sound the soft breathing of his fellow soldiers. With practiced stealth he climbed out of bed and made his way to the window, the moonlight was casting a radiant glow across the room.

Opening the window he let the cool night air wash over him a welcome feeling from the stifling confines of the barracks. Then with anticipation, he climbed back into bed, his heart racing as he retrieved the letter from its hiding place under his pillow.

In the soft glow of the moonlight Gale unfolded the letter once more his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. As he opened the pages an unassuming photo of you slipped from its confines, falling into his hand.

He gazed at the new image and a sudden rush of warmth flooded his senses. Your hair had grown longer, framing your face with a natural elegance. Your eyes were bright and expressive and your skin glowed with a healthy radiance as a gentle smile played on your lips. The image of you made Gale smile in return. He traced the contours of your face with his thumb lingering on your eyes and lips feeling a deep connection despite the distance.

He then pressed the letter to his face inhaling deeply. The scent of your perfume on the paper was a delicate reminder of your presence momentarily transporting him away from the grim confines of the camp to a place where he felt your warmth and love.

He glanced at the photo of you in his hand again noticing its unusual thickness compared to the others, he felt a flicker of curiosity.

As he began reading your letter, the anticipation for the provocative words built within him and by the time he reached the explicit part, his pulse was racing with excitement.

—“I had my best friend set up this photo for you Gale, she saw me fully nude and everything. Then I took risqué photos of her to send to her man of war too. Quite the little harlots we are as you would say, but I’ll tell you more about that later. I tacked the naughty photo to a harmless one and put it in this letter. I plan to send you more, I want you thoroughly satisfying yourself while you’re away from me.”—

Gale’s eyes widened in shock as he looked over at the photo in his hand, quickly setting your letter down on his stomach. He carefully peeled the photos apart, revealing one of you fully nude underneath.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked meticulously over your form; every curve and contour seemed to come alive in the soft glow of the moonlight streaming from the window. His eyes lingered on the gentle slope of your breasts, the curve of your hips, the elegant line of your legs, with his gaze pausing at the thin patch of hair between your legs making him overcome with sexual desire.

The realization slowly dawned on him that he wouldn’t have to rely on the lingerie photo of you anymore.

Gale felt a surge of arousal coursing through him the longer he stared at the image, his length already hardening just from the mere sight of you. Every inch of your body seemed to captivate him, igniting a fire within that made him feel alive in the bleakness of captivity.

Gale’s breathing grew heavy as desire surged through him, his body responding instinctively to the tantalizing image before him. He reached down and lowered his pajama pants and boxers, allowing his cock to spring free in anticipation.

Grasping himself firmly at the base, he picked up your letter once more, the paper slightly crumpled from his earlier excitement and he began to read again.

—“Before I penned this letter, I want to tell you what you made me do to myself, and your hand better be on that large of cock of yours as you read it Buck.”—

Gale chuckled you knew him all to well. He read your words with eagerness as he began to stroke himself knowing you planned to make him finish as he continued:

—“I laid in bed fully naked for you, trailing my hand over my body as I looked at your handsome picture. I pretended it was your large hand teasing me, imagining the warmth and roughness of your touch. I rested your photo down beside me, your image captured in my mind. I closed my eyes, picturing you above me, your strong body pressing against mine, your breath hot on my skin. My own fingers became your fingers as I traced delicate patterns over my clit, each touch a tantalizing prelude to what I imagined you would do. When I pushed my fingers inside myself, it felt as if it were you, each thrust igniting a fire of desire within me. As I lost myself in the fantasy of you, the intensity built until I was writhing with pleasure, and finally, I orgasmed, your name a whispered prayer on my lips as waves of ecstasy washed over me.”—

Gale dropped the letter on his bed, already fully stroking his erect cock. His head rested back on the pillow as he tried to stifle his soft sighs. He imagined, instead of your fingers, he was plunging his cock inside your tight walls, recalling how he could make you moan so loudly you would wake the neighbors.

His hand moved faster, his jerking becoming almost violent, each tug bringing him closer to what he wanted. His strokes shortened and his grip tightened, and he began making quicker, more intense movements. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the familiar tightening in his groin.

With his free hand, he reached down to gently cup his testis squeezing them to add an extra layer of stimulation. He alternated between firm and gentle strokes, his breathing growing more ragged. The image of you, lost in pleasure, fueling his arousal. He increased the pace, his cock slick with precum, the friction driving him wild. His hips bucked instinctively, pushing into his hand as if he were inside you.

Gale’s soft sighs turned into low groans, each one more desperate than the last. He could almost hear your voice, whispering words of encouragement, spurring him on. The pressure built to an almost unbearable peak, and his movements became frenzied. His hand moved in a blur, every nerve in his body focused on the growing sensation in his groin.

Finally with a sharp intake of breath and a final forceful stroke he felt himself tip over the edge. His body tensed and he released with a powerful orgasm, his cum spilling over his hand and stomach. He continued to stroke himself through the aftershocks, his breaths coming in heavy, ragged gasps, the intensity of his release leaving him momentarily lightheaded. Gale lay there spent and satisfied with the lingering image of you in his mind comforting him in the darkness of captivity.

He removed his shirt using it to clean his cum from his hand and stomach. Then with careful hands he folded your letter back up along with the pictures tucking them both securely under his pillow.

He quietly slipped out of his bunk, now shirtless, and closed the window, ensuring everything was as he left it before he settled in for the night.

As he lay back in bed, he felt more relaxed than he had in weeks. The release had brought him a rare sense of peace. Thoughts of you swirled in his mind as he slowly interlaced his fingers over his abdomen, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

The familiar ache of longing was soothed by the intimacy of the moment he had shared with your image and words. With his eyes closed he allowed himself to drift into a deep sleep.

That night, Gale slept more soundly than he had in weeks. The comfort of your love wrapped around him like a warm blanket, chasing away the cold harshness of captivity. His dreams were filled with vivid images of you, your touch, your voice, your presence. In his dreams, he was in your embrace. The peace of his slumber showed the powerful connection he felt for you even from afar, giving him the strength to endure.

🪖 END 🪖

🏷️ Always Tag Me List 💌

@burnthheparaphilia @abswifey @faegoddessog @lindszeppelin @purejasmine @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @magicovento @thegabbyh @fallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @unicoreads @lovereadingfanfic @elvismylove04 @denised916 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @meetmeatyourworst @rougegenshin @avidreader73 @jkdaddy01 @mamawiggers1980 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @majestyjade

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

Bullet on Wheels: The 1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

Easily one of the wildest General Motors dream cars of the Motorama era, the Olds Golden Rocket was the epitome of Jet Age design. Let’s take a closer look. 

Throughout the 1950s, Harley Earl and his forward-looking crew at the GM styling studios frequently turned to aircraft and space travel for their inspiration. There might be no better example of the automaker’s guided-missile design theme than the far-out Golden Rocket, Oldsmobile’s Motorama dream car for 1956. “The Supersonic Age comes to automobile styling!” the company proclaimed.

1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

Constructed in fiberglass on a shortened Oldsmobile passenger car perimeter frame with a 105-inch wheelbase, the Golden Rocket was essentially a bullet on wheels in side view (above.) But under the skin, the show car was fairly conventional with a 324 CID, 275-horsepower Olds Rocket V8 up front, Hydra-Matic automatic transmission, and leaf-spring rear suspension. The custom wheels employed integral brake drums, and a pair of fuel tanks were housed in the rear fenders. Note the “dotted-line” segmented whitewalls, a novel feature that never went any further.

1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

At a little more than 200 inches long but less than 50 inches tall, the Rocket sported an impressively low silhouette, which required some ingenuity in the packaging of the two-seat cabin. For easier entry and egress, a roof panel popped up when the door was opened on either side, while the steering wheel rim swung upward and the bucket seats rose three inches and pivoted on their mountings. Upholstery was blue and gold leather, while the speedometer was housed in the steering wheel hub. The lap belts and driver pedals display a strong aircraft influence.

While the Rocket seems to be one of the more obscure GM dream cars in current times, it did include some ideas that turned up later on the General’s production models. The stubby rocket-type tailfins would adorn some memorable Cadillacs of the early ’60s, while the split-window teardrop rear window is extremely familiar. It was next tried on a dead-ended 1958 Corvette styling proposal, then famously appeared on the 1963 Corvette Sting Ray coupe. As with a number of GM Motorama dream cars, the fate of the Golden Rocket was not officially documented, reportedly, but it hasn’t been seen or heard from in years and is presumed destroyed.

1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

[natalievoncatte]

Nothing has ever hit Lena like this.

She’s been abducted by aliens. She was almost shotgun married to an alien. Her ex was eaten by nanobots in front of her. She’s been tried to a chair while her brother tried to murder the world’s most beloved hero, and nearly vaporized by a man with a radioactive chunk of another planet for a heart.

Not to mention the mundane stuff. The L-Corp logo in the lobby almost crushing her. Bombs, bullets, blades, being thrown off a balcony, thrown off a roof, left to die in a plane crash.

Almost killed when her brother sent drones to shoot down her helicopter and a golden vision of inhuman beauty came from the sky to save her life.

Of course, that golden vision had tarnished, turned brass. She could be bossy, sanctimonious, paranoid, prone to snapping at Lena one moment… then making her knees weak the next.

Because sometimes, Supergirl wasn’t bossy, sanctimonious, or paranoid. Sometimes she was all dashing grace, with a profoundly frustrating tendency to scoop Lena into her arms and carry her there with surpassing tenderness, as though she were the most precious treasure the alien had ever seen.

Poor Lena’s heart had suffered terribly through all that, yet never skipped a beat.

It skipped now.

Kara looked up from her burger, apropos of nothing. Or, that’s what Lena would have thought a moment ago, before she recognized that scar.

The world spun crazily. Lena grasped the sides of her seat for dear life while alarms and sirens blared in every direction. Smoke coughed noisily from the remains of the turbines that had powered her chopper’s rotor blades. As the world seemed to grow weightless, Lena finally accepted what was happening- the chopper was going to crash. She was going to die.

And then there was a wind.

No, not a wind. A blur of motion, a red and blue streak cutting through the brilliant afternoon light and then a stomach-churning lurch as the falling aircraft just stopped, gently floating to a safe landing on the roof.

With a squeak of tearing metal, she was there. A goddess in primary colors, soft waves of golden hair framing her devastatingly lovely face as she checked the pilot and then turned those arresting blue eyes to Lena and then asked-

“Are you okay? Lena?”

With trembling hands, Lena reached up. Kara froze, a thousand emotions flashing on her face, fear flickering in the oceans of her eyes. They both paused, testing the moment. This was it. They had their choices: Lena could stop, make some excuse. Kara could flinch and offer some gee golly shucks reason to move out of reach and dissemble her way out of it. They could decide not to do this.

Lena did not stop, and Kara did not move. The frames of Kara’s glasses were surprisingly heavy in her grasp as she softly tugged them free and set them aside. Lena raises a hand to Kara’s cheek, ever hesitant quiver of her palm a question. She closed the gap between them on the couch and brought her other arm back up, circling Kara in something that was somehow more intimate than a hug. He best friend sat stone still as Lena worked loose the band that held her hair.

Golden locks spilled about her shoulders, and Lena gasped. She caressed her hand up Kara’s shockingly soft cheek and touched the scar lightly with her thumb.

Lena felt the tears trembling in her own eyes as Kara’s welled with her own. The moment had come; the river was crossed, the decision made.

And yet in this moment there was another one, at once simpler and more profound. Lena’s lip trembled. Anger welled in her chest, burning hot and bright.

It’s not a great question for a Luthor to ask someone in my family.

It twisted in her like venom, burning at her insides, trying to eat through her from the inside out. The fury rose until she thought she’d be sick, and then…

Kara Danvers believes in you.

Take me instead!

I can’t hold both! You have to jump!

I will always protect you.

“It’s you,” Lena whispered. “It’s always been you.”

Before she knew what was happening, Kara drew her forward with surpassing tenderness. Hands that could crack marble gently guided Lena’s weight into Kara’s lap. What had not been meant as an embrace became one, and Lena made her choice.

It was her.

It had always been her.

Noticing small details about them (physically)

[simp-ly-writes]

Radio Signals

Pairing: Stardew Valley Harvey x Reader

Summary: Harvey shows the reader how to operate his aircraft radio to end up having a heart to heart moment with one another.

Warnings: I don't know much about how radio systems work.

A/N: inspired by the Eight Hearts Event.

Masterlist | Taglist | un-edited.

Imagine… you and Harvey were well on your way to getting to know one another, between date nights at the Saloon to Movies on the weekends and dinners throughout the weekdays. It was easy to see you both were passionate about one another. And you both were invested in each others passions.

One afternoon, while the clinic is slow. Harvey invites you into his apartment and gives you a more in-depth tour of the place. From every individual model plane to every jazz record he owns. You feel yourself falling deeper in love with this mans adorable rambling.

As you get lost, listening to him talk and admiring how his eyes crinkle every time he smiles at the objects around the apartment and glances your way, you soon feel him gently grabbing your arm allowing you to fall a little less than gracefully into his lap with a thump.

Laughing at the Doctors antics you push his glasses up for him and turn around to face the desk. There you see all sorts of wires, buttons flashing a gradient of colours and a few large books settled with coffee mugs on-top.

Harvey picks up a headset and places it over his ears, and then doing his own after. He then presses a multitude of switches and buttons with memorized precision as you watch his long fingers work themselves across the desk.

You shuffle a little bit in his lap, trying to get more comfortable to only receive a small grunt in return. Harvey then begins to explain how the radio machine works, you can hear the slight roughness in his voice coming through the headset as you do your best to focus on his lecture.

--

A few moments go by with more than a few kisses shared between the two of you, cozied in the plush office chair. Lost in your own little world, it takes the both of you a second to realize that someone through the radio was trying to contact you!

Upon hearing this Harvey bursts into action, with you almost falling off his lap, latching onto his core frame in an effort to steady yourself from his harsh movements.

Harvey eventually clears up the signal and has a conversation with the pilot. Looking giddy as ever, his smile lines are out in full force as his chest rises slightly with pride. You had never seen him in such a state before and could not help but look up at his face in awe.

--

Harveys conversation with the pilot comes to an end as they go out of range. Still smiling widely, he bursts out laughing gleefully as he stands up and swirls your frame around his in a hug.

You wrap your legs around his core once more as he walks you both other to his couch. Giving you a kiss once you both are seated. Still lost in the moment, Harvey looks towards the ceiling, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

You begin to grow concerned when he refuses to look your way, wondering what you did wrong. You take his face into his hands and start to rub circles on his cheeks in an effort to console your loved one.

With slight tears in his eyes he begins to explain his past dreams of becoming a pilot himself, and that this situation for better, and for worse made him remember everything that got him to this point. Though he makes a point to prove, placing his hands over yours that he is forever grateful that you ended up in his life to make everything up until now worth it.

Not knowing what to say, you kiss the man softly, tears forming in your own eyes at the pure kindness this man radiates from his soul. You remind Harvey on that couch that he is your forever too.

[kottekonst]

Birthday Fanfic - Soft 14

Diving headfirst into Tumblr by posting the little birthday fanfic I wrote for my bestie @davidtennan-t Because she deserves all the soft 14th Doctor content 💖

Ten glorious months had passed since the Doctor had bi-generated, and subsequently sent his 14th regeneration into not-quite-retirement, or perhaps more aptly a retreat-for-emotionally-damaged-time-travellers. Time was a funny thing for anyone to grasp, and even though the Doctor had lived seemingly for eons, he suddenly found himself with oodles of spare time – a concept he had never experienced nor grasped before. He was still struggling to adjust to it, and the restlessness could make him absolutely insufferable at times. Donna had never seen someone illustrate the idiom “climbing the walls” literally before, but if she’d ever expect it of someone it would only be her freakishly nimble Spaceman.

During the first couple of months, she would often find him out in the shed in the dead of night tinkering with everything from a Silurian hibernation unit to model aircrafts, or in the kitchen experimenting with the ideal pH-level for water to make the perfect brew. Other times he would be sat next to Rose either deep in the most random conversation, or complete silence, or listening to one of her playlists, while he handed her tools and materials to put together her latest design. Her gonks had changed since she let go of the lingering Meta-Crisis, but she kept coming up with new ideas, some that Donna heavily suspected were inspired by actual aliens from trips they kept sneaking off to. Truthfully, Donna simply loved the fact that her daughter was able to explore time and space as she had once done, but she was also very protective of her. The universe could be an incredibly dangerous place, but there was no one she trusted more when it came to protection than the Doctor.

After a couple of months, the Doctor had finally started unwinding. His restlessness declined and the lines in his face became softer as the broodiness eased up, and he would often sleep through the night rather than tinker or aimlessly wander. He rarely spoke of his experiences during the time they had been apart, but he would bring something up on occasion to any of them. He and Wilf seemed to have a special understanding, as they had both experienced their fair share of battles. The bond between Donna and the Doctor went far beyond words though, and while there were times when they spoke endlessly and tirelessly, they often sat in comfortable silence. It wasn't uncommon for the Time Lord to seek Donna out for a comforting hug, or he would wordlessly take a seat next to her and curl his skinny frame up against her, with a sigh as deep as the Universe.

 The Doctor was slowly healing from his trauma, which in turn made their whole little household more harmonic. It was only in the last month or so that Donna noticed another sign of healing in the Time Lord. His hollow cheeks had filled out not long after settling down, but now she realised he was actually filling out in other ways. Those tight suits were looking tighter still these days, and his lower shirt buttons were definitely struggling to contain a certain softness that had never been there before. It didn't surprise her, but she could tell the Doctor was oblivious to it, initially at least. Even though he still had the energy of a toddler on a sugar high, his days of endless running and fleeing were done, and retirement came with creature comforts the Doctor had never been able to partake in before now. There was suddenly time for three course dinners, or meals that lasted hours, not to mention countless cups of tea and biscuits. It wasn't just meals shared with friends and newfound family - the Doctor became rather popular in the village, particularly the sweet old lady in the house next door. He had started doing odd jobs for her the day he moved in and to show her gratitude and appreciation she would make muffins, cakes, and sugary biscuits, meaning his larder was always stocked with freshly baked goods. One might even suspect she was actively trying to fatten him up, since she kept fussing and fretting over his skinny frame, and Donna didn’t blame her – his gaunt appearance had been rather harrowing when he’d finally conceded to settling down. The soft roll that had slowly formed around the Time Lord’s waist was a testament to the healing and decompressing he’d experienced thus far, and it was honestly reassuring to see it.

To a stranger’s eye, the Doctor would probably still appear as lean or lanky, but to those who knew him there was no denying the subtle changes. A few weeks ago, the Time Lord had finally caught up with it himself, and the realisation hit him when he encountered two issues at once. Firstly; he tore a button off in his struggle to button up his shirt, and secondly; he couldn’t get his trousers closed and zipped up either. He had marched in on the family eating breakfast, wearing only a vest and boxers, ranting and raving about this perplexing issue. They had all sprung into action in their own ways, showing support and patience for the brilliant yet simultaneously dim alien. Rose had wordlessly taken the Doctor’s trousers and went straight to her craft room to let them out enough to make them wearable, until he could get himself a new pair. Shaun had gone to his closet to pick out one of his own shirts, which certainly wouldn’t be a perfect fit, but would definitely be big enough for the Time Lord. That left Donna, and Wilf to a lesser extent, with the task of explaining the changes that had been so obvious to everyone but the Doctor. He had been relentlessly running for so long that the consequences of not doing so had clearly slipped his mind, and it was evident that the notion of putting on weight both intrigued him and irked him simultaneously. Now that he’d settled into a routine, the Doctor was less apt at dealing with changes, either for good or bad. There was also a certain vanity that came with being a Time Lord, but it had certainly lessened with this regeneration, and Donna couldn’t help but smirk to herself when she thought how the Doctor might have reacted to putting on a few back when they’d first travelled together.

“You definitely need some meat on your bones, Doctor – frankly, you’ve earned it,” Wilf insisted robustly.

“He’s right, you know. This is nothing but a bit of comfort weight,” Donna reiterated.

“I don’t know… it just makes me feel so…” the Doctor faltered, unable to find the right word.

“…human? Normal? At peace, at long last?” Donna suggested. She noticed him making the tiniest of grimaces at the first word, and she couldn’t help but give him a playful glare – as much as he loved humanity, he still found it hard to fully embrace anything human about himself, which only made it easier to tease him.

“Oh, stop sulking, you big dunce. If I threw a fit every time the scale didn’t show the number I’d like, Shaun would have walked out within our first week together. That tiny excuse for a belly would hardly even be enough for three Adipose, you know,” she remarked, which made them both chuckle reminiscently.

Since that morning, the Doctor had grudgingly allowed the TARDIS automated tailoring unit to alter his suits, but it certainly improved his comfort levels. He didn't alter the trousers that Rose had let out for him as her work was impeccable, and the gesture meant the world to him. Donna had even seen him lovingly stroking the fine stitches at the waistband, which nearly made her burst into tears out of love for the alien uncle's adoration of his human niece.

Just before the weekend, Rose had begged her parents to let the doctor take her for a quick visit to Greece. She had desperately wanted to see the Acropolis, but Donna didn't want her messing about with time, so they had compromised and allowed them to go to modern day Greece. They were only gone for half an hour that Saturday, but had spent an equivalent of 6 hours in Athens. Apart from visiting the ruins of the Acropolis, they had done some shopping, or rather, Rose had. No matter how much Donna tried to discourage it, the Doctor wouldn't stop spoiling his niece. And she was thankfully too sweet to take advantage of him… at least most of the time. She had picked out two dresses and a lush fabric for her sewing projects, and even managed to convince the Doctor to buy himself a new pair of swim trunks as well as vegan moussaka for the whole family’s supper. As it turned out, that wasn't the only thing they'd ended up bringing home.

“That is not what I think it is,” Donna protested when they exited the TARDIS.

“We couldn't leave him, Mum. He was nearly run over by a car, but the Doctor saved him,” insisted Rose, who was clutching a tiny ginger kitten to her chest.

Donna turned her pointed gaze on the Time Lord, who merely shrugged helplessly.

“I might not be the biggest cat lover, but I couldn't let the poor beast get squished,” he said.

“I'm not saying you should have let it die, but you can’t let her drag home every bedraggled creature you happen upon, or you’ll have to turn the whole village into a sanctuary for kittens, Oods, and God knows what else,” Donna sighed in exasperation.

“You got to keep your bedraggled alien,” Rose pointed out with a cheeky expression.

“Oi, don’t get snippy with me, missy. Now you’d better sort out a flea bath for that baby – we can’t do with an infestation on our hands… again,” Donna ordered.

Rose merely giggled as she handed the small creature over to the Time Lord, while she hurried for the gate – the old lady next door had plenty of flea shampoo to spare, as they’d found out after a particularly hairy alien (quite reminiscent of a certain Meep) had paid them a visit… and brought along a few unwelcome pests. The Doctor held the tiny cat as if it was a very delicate, yet also repulsive, figurine.

“What is this strange aversion you have to cats?” Donna chuckled at his perturbed expression.

“Not sure… suppose it’s got something to do with their glands,” he muttered.

Donna merely shook her head and stooped to pick up the shopping that had been left just outside the TARDIS to bring it inside. 

Within the hour, Rose had managed to give the kitten a bath and its first meal. It had also knocked over two potted plants, gnawed a hole in one of Wilf’s slippers, and caused the Doctor to curse loudly in Gallifreyan as it used his long leg as a climbing pole while the Time Lord was trying to reheat the moussaka. By supper time, she had set up a playpen for it, so they could all enjoy their meal together without the ginger furnado causing mayhem around them. Once they had enjoyed their Greek cuisine, Rose turned her attention back on the kitten, while Donna took care of the dishes. By the time she had finished wiping the kitchen down, she went to see how her daughter was getting on with her new pet but was surprised to find Rose by herself in her craft room.

“Where did you put that kitten then?” Donna wondered.

“I asked the Doctor to keep an eye on him – I forgot I had a deadline to keep,” Rose replied and gestured to the purple gonk sat on her desk.

“If that’s going to be your pet, you’ll need to be responsible for it, love – no handing it off the moment you get too busy, that’s not how animals work,” Donna pointed out.

“Oh Mum… you honestly thought I kept that cat just for me?” Rose chuckled as she turned to focus on her sewing.

Donna was about to argue since it was evident the Doctor really didn’t care much for the critter, but there was a knowing sort of gleam in her daughter’s eyes that made her curious.

“All right, if you say so. We were thinking of watching a film later, if you’d care to join us,” she said.

“Thanks – if I get this finished I might take you up on that,” Rose replied. 

Donna left the craft room behind and decided to see how the Doctor was getting on with the furry menace. His bedroom was empty, but she hadn’t expected him to bring the kitten in there anyway, and so she headed to the first floor sitting room next. There was the Time Lord and the ginger beast, but not in a position she had expected. The alien was sat on the sofa, long legs sprawled over the floor, his body slumped against the cushions in a deep sleep. His head was tilted back, his mouth slightly agape as he breathed calmly and steadily. On his ever so slightly rounded middle lay the kitten, curled into a tiny ball of soft fur and whiskers, also deep in sleep. The sight was almost too endearing to handle – Donna nearly wept at it. This was all she’d ever wanted for her best friend… A life of love and comfort, with friends and family ever present. For him to be safe, to be saved, but her daughter had spotted a different need; the Doctor’s need to save others. A kitten might not compare to rescuing an entire town, planet or species, but it was a life saved all the same. Donna carefully pulled out her phone to snap a picture of the picturesque scene, before taking a seat across from the snoozing Time Lord. The sound of her movement caused him to stir, and he slowly came to with a yawn.

“Looks like you’ve gotten soft, Spaceman… in more ways than one,” Donna teased him fondly.

The Doctor blinked sleepily at her, before peering down at the kitten still sleeping soundly on his recently softened middle.

“I suppose once you look past the glands they may not be so bad after all,” he conceded with a crooked smile.

“That niece of yours has got you wrapped around her little finger, you know,” she remarked.

“She does. I am helpless against her charm,” he chuckled.

“You’re both absolutely hopeless,” Donna pointed out.

“I’d say she gets it from her mother,” the Doctor retorted, while he gestured for Donna to join him, since he was reluctant to shift his position even slightly. She had long since stopped second guessing what anyone else might make of their physical closeness – if it didn’t bother her husband, what did it even matter? So she didn’t hesitate to switch seats and settle down next to the Time Lord, where he instantly let himself sink down further until he could nussle his head up against her shoulder. Donna reached out and stroked the tiny ginger furball, and the kitten instantly started purring in its sleep. There they sat in comfortable silence, Spaceman and Earthgirl, and all was well.

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

somewhere only we know

—or, herc visits captain fairbairn’s new office.

They walk through the terminal, the same way they once did all those years ago, though now Herc can sometimes be a little unsteady on his feet. It should be difficult to reconcile with the robust captain Linda remembers from the beginning of her career, who had been a bit of a health-nut even before it had been overly trendy, but—everyone who has loved Linda, and she has loved in return, is getting older. Such, she reckons, goes the arc of life.

“All right?” she asks him, who has a hand looped through her arm. He sends her a positively sappy look, and she rolls her eyes. Beside them, a respectful distance away, walk the two other pilots on this long-haul flight. The first officer operating out tows Linda’s flight kit along with hers.

“You’ve come such a long way, my dear,” Herc tells her as they continue down the terminal to their gate. He hasn’t been flying for a little over two years now—he had seen his last student to a multi-engine certification before hanging up his hat and bowing from the flight-school enterprise that Carolyn’s airline had metamorphosed into, the one Arthur had inherited and was currently managing back in Fitton. “You’ve worked so hard.”

“But you are to thank for…a lot of it,” she returns, focusing on guiding him onto the moving walkway ahead of her first officer and relief pilot.

“I’m honored to have been part of your journey, in that case.” He pauses, and Linda looks aside and sees the twinkle in his eye. “Captain Fairbairn.”

She feels her ears grow a little warm, and she ducks her head with a shy smile. It has taken some getting used to, but after moving from short-haul legacy A320 to long-haul A330 and subsequently bidding into one of the inaugural A350 captain positions, she finds that it’s less of a foreign title than when she began at Swiss. It’s just that when Herc calls her Captain, or her dad…those are the only times it makes her blush.

They approach the gate; a gate agent comes up to them. “Good morning, captain. You requested a non-rev seat for a guest today?”

“Yes,” Linda nods aside at the man on her arm, who’s now staring outside the terminal windows at the glistening A350 on stand at the apron, its fuselage narrowing into a daintily pointed nose and its wings gracefully curving up at the tips. She doesn’t blame him—the A350 is objectively a beautiful aircraft. “Hercules Shipwright,” she tells the gate agent, and Herc tears his gaze away from the airplane to acknowledge the agent with a nod.

She can’t wait for him to see inside of her aircraft.

“Wonderful,” the gate agent says. “Welcome, sir,” she says to Herc. “We’ll give you priority boarding, as requested.”

“Thank you.” Herc disengages himself from Linda, and she misses the comforting presence of her friend at her side. “Linda, I’ll find a seat by the window. I’ll see you out there, yeah?”

“See you,” Linda tells him, and leads her flight crew down the jetbridge.

The previous crew has left the plane turned around and ready for them; Linda pops her head into the galleys while her first officer starts preflight checks, greets the flight attendants, and reminds the purser about her guest.

As preboarding approaches, the first officer excuses herself to do the walk-around, and Linda is left alone with her thoughts in the flightdeck.

She peers out of the wide windows, past the six touch-screen LED displays. Though kitted out with more technology than she could ever have dreamed of, the family resemblance is clear in the design philosophy of the flightdeck—it’s very clearly an Airbus, from the fold-out tray tables to the blatant absence of a yoke. There had been a time when she’d thought she might make the switch to Boeing, but when Swiss had decided that the A320s it had taken in the merger with Cal would stay in the fleet, Linda’s future as a true-blue Airbus pilot was cemented.

Not that she’s complaining about it, when some of her happiest memories are framed by an Airbus-designed flightdeck.

Herc, true to his word, has taken a seat by the window of the terminal and is staring out at her with a smile.

Linda gets up, leans over the displays, and holds a hand up to the window in greeting; in return, Herc languidly waves at her. She grinned as he holds up a finger, one minute, and gingerly takes his phone from his pocket to snap a picture. Once finished, he lowers his phone, checks the photograph, and flashes a thumbs-up at her through the terminal window.

A knock at the doorway, and Linda turns to see the redcap peeking inside. “Captain?”

“Yes,” Linda acknowledges, and rises from her seat.

Before long, her first officer has returned, and the boarding time is flashing on the chronometer. Linda feels strangely nervous.

“You okay?” the first officer asks. “You look a little…” she trails off.

Linda shakes her head. “I’m fine, it’s just…” she casts a look out the flightdeck windows. Herc is no longer at his post by the terminal window. Her heart begins to pound.

“He’s…” The first officer ponders a little. “He’s not your dad, right? I forgot. I know you told me earlier.”

“He’s my best friend,” Linda replies automatically. “We haven’t been in a flightdeck together in—years.”

“I see. Well, I’ll just greet passengers outside,” her first officer tells her sympathetically, squeezes outside, then Linda hears her say, “Oh! Welcome onboard, sir.”

“Thank you,” says a voice she would know on any frequency, anywhere in the world, and Linda is immediately at ease. A second later, Herc pokes his head through the door, bracing a hand on the doorway. “Hello there, Captain. May I enter?”

She rises from her seat. “I’m coming, Herc.”

Linda stands at his side once more in the doorway, and he stares all around the A350 flightdeck with an expression of wonder on his face. “Good Lord, Linda, so many screens. How do you manage?”

“You pull the stick for up and push the stick for down,” she replies dead-pan, and Herc lets out a laugh so loud that several flight attendants and boarding passengers look in their direction. “Herc!” she hisses reproachfully.

Still grinning from ear-to-ear, Herc loops an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close to him. “Yes, Linda?” he asks, maddeningly innocent, and she rolls her eyes.

“Come on, let’s sit,” she says, and begins to lead him further into the flightdeck.

“You’re on the wrong side,” he points out, and Linda realizes she’s automatically drifted to the right seat and her first officer’s already-configured chair.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are, Captain Fairbairn,” Herc returns with the patience of a primary school teacher.

“I want you on my left.” She knows she sounds like a child insisting it, though she’s got several strands of silver running through her hair and glasses on her nose, but—she knows also that having Herc on her right in a flightdeck like this is not what she had envisioned when dreaming of bringing him up here. “Please,” she adds, as an afterthought.

He cracks a smile. “How very silly,” he says, and it doesn’t sound patronizing from him—it’s got all the affection she remembers. Yet he sits anyway, situates himself in the captain’s seat next to her, and—

The technology is so different from the ancient A320s of Caledonian, and yet—the flightdeck is so familiar.

Like they never left it.

Herc looks across the console at her with a breathtaking smile, and it’s like he’s de-aged about twenty years—maybe more.

“We should have done this,” he says softly, and despite the smile on his face, his eyes are suspiciously bright. “Even if it had been just once.”

“Done what?”

“Long-haul.” He casts a glance over the screens, the evolution of the same instruments that must have guided him for longer than Linda has existed. “Linda, I’ve half a mind to steal this plane,” he changes the subject.

She laughs at him, knowing that regret and Herc are two things that she’s careful not to let mix too much, and goes along with it. “I’m sure you could figure it out if I set it up on the ground,” she says lightly. “If I weren’t concerned about such things as, you know, keeping my job.”

“True, that is of slight importance.” Herc looks behind him, then curls his left hand around the sidestick lightly. The sight sends a wave of nostalgia through Linda—he could very well have been preparing to lift the nose at V1 on Bristol’s runway. “In any case…” He lets go of the sidestick, turns to Linda, and smiles gently at her. A single tear is tracing the groove of a smile line. “I wouldn’t steal an A350 with anyone else in the flightdeck but you.”

Linda reaches across the flightdeck, brushes the tear away with her thumb, and rests her hand on his face.

He leans into it, still smiling.

[daggerspare-standingby]

THE CHASE - PART 4 | Hangman x Reader

first off, HAPPY NEW YEAR!! and second, thank you so so so much for your patience with this next part! As some of you know, I was between 36-37 weeks pregnant when I started writing and posting this story, I gave birth at 39 weeks (Nov 9) and have been soaking up all the time with our little girl that I can. However, I was also suffering from a HUGE bout of writers block - I wasn't happy with how this part was turning out and actually deleted a bunch of it and re-wrote it. On top of that, I was (and still am) going through some PPD and PPA - I am doing better but I know it's still there, so your continued patience is ridiculously appreciated. Then the holidays came and I'm sure you all know how stressful those can be!

Anywho - Here's 1475 words of a little filler and some fluff and Jake realizing his feelings are stronger than what he originally thought.

--

A frustrated groan slips past your lips as you swipe the clothes hangers in your closet from one side to the other “how am I supposed to dress appropriately if I don’t even know where we’re going.” 

After their game of dogfight football, the daggers had brushed off the sand and returned to bar, Jake sidling right up to the nearest barstool to you “so, I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at 7.” for a hot moment, you’d forgotten what he was talking about and cast him a confused look as you were pouring beer for another patron. His smirk didn’t falter “for our date, of course.” You nodded and set the beer down for the other guest and turned to him “beer or whisky tonight?” His grin stretched, showing off his pearly white teeth “Beer, and I’ll see you tomorrow at 7.” He took the opened bottle you handed him and almost strutted over to the remainder of the group by the pool tables. 

So here you were, standing in your closet wrapped in a towel from the shower, your hair pinned up in a clip, and wondering what in god's name you were supposed to wear on this date with Jake and it was already 6pm. There was a little black dress that was staring at you from the rack with flutter sleeves and an open back, short but not too short to be deemed too risque, you could never go wrong with a little black dress. You grabbed it, and laid it on your bed as you got to work with your hair and makeup. 

Jake was nervous. More nervous than when he realized he was the one who threw his CO out of the bar the night before meeting him officially, more nervous than hearing the mayhem that took place on the dagger’s mission while he was sitting on an aircraft carrier as the spare and unable to do anything about it. He glanced over at the bouquet of flowers in the passenger seat and took a deep breath before pulling up in front of your house. Shutting off the engine he checked the time, just before 7, he was nothing if not prompt. He grabbed the flowers, wiped his hands on his dark jeans once more and got out of the car, making his way up your path to the front door, one more deep breath, and he knocked. 

You looked frantically at the clock on your bedside, it was already 7pm, and he was here. “Shit” you hissed as you hastily grabbed a clutch and slipped on a pair of trusty wedge sandals before making your way down the stairs. You opened the door, not fully taking in his appearance “sorry, give me just a second, have to switch some stuff from my purse” you turned so quickly you didn’t even really give him a chance to appreciate your attire either. Grabbing your larger bag, you grabbed your ID and some money from your wallet and slipped it into your clutch, and as you were buttoning it closed you finally looked up to see him standing in your doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers, in a button up that showed off his muscles just enough to know he had them and jeans that you were sure if he turned around would frame his ass perfectly, your mouth went a little dry. “Hi”

Jake felt like he was staring, he probably was, you looked so beautiful. He couldn't help but smile as you fluttered around taking things out of your other purse to put into your smaller one, his tongue swiped across his bottom lip when he saw the open back of your dress and your legs stemming from the tasteful hem of the dress down to your very cute wedges, he could get used to this. When you turned around to finally face him, his smile grew. “Hi” Your eyes widened a little as you took in his appearance as well and he held the flowers out to you “these are for you, should probably go in water before we leave…” You nodded, lips still parted slightly as you approached him and took the flowers from him “of course, come in just a minute.” You turned and walked towards the kitchen, Jake walked into the entryway and closed the door behind him, and he took in your decor as he waited.

Flowers. He got you flowers, and how did he know hydrangeas were your favorite? You took them into the kitchen, smelling them with a small smile on your face as you set them next to the sink and grabbed a vase to put them in. Snipping the ends and setting them in the vase, you left them on the kitchen counter as you picked up your purse and returned to where Jake was standing at the entrance, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He smiled at you as you approached “you look incredible” holding out his arm to you “ready to go?” A light blush covered your cheeks, as you took his arm and he led you out of the house, allowing you to lock up, before leading you down to his truck and opening the passenger door for you. 

This was more than you expected, he was being quite the gentleman. The radio was playing softly in the truck when he started it up after closing your door for you. You stole the brief minute it took for him to walk around the front of the truck to take a deep breath and calm yourself. It never occurred to you that Jake would be a complete southern gentleman, even though he’s never shied away from being Texas born and raised. Thinking back to what you’d always heard from everyone, Penny, your predecessors at the bar, several other scorned women, his name on the bathroom stall, Phoenix… Hangman only cared about one thing. But this wasn’t Hangman tonight, this was Jake and you promised to give him a chance.  You were shaken from your thoughts as he hopped into the truck himself and turned the engine. 

Jake took a deep breath before climbing into the truck and heading towards the San Diego bridge that would bring you both into downtown San Diego. He had made reservations at a restaurant overlooking the marina that wasn’t cheap, he really wanted to impress you. As he drove, the music playing off the radio softly in the background, he looked over at you again “Penny for your thoughts?” Your eyes snapped up to meet his “truthfully? This is a lot more than I expected, the flowers, opening my door, you’re dressed very nicely and not in a cocky way” a very small smile graced his lips for a moment as he turned his attention back to the road “this is a real date, darlin.” 

You didn’t know what to expect, when you told him you wanted to be wined and dined you hadn’t expected him to take it seriously. But you were pleasantly surprised with how he was taking it, and before you knew it you were heading across the bridge into downtown San Diego and down the highway towards the Marina. The lights from downtown reflected on the water and you rolled the window down slightly to let the salty air into the cab of the truck and allowed it to calm you as Jake pulled into the parking spot.

Jake’s hands were still sweaty, he was still nervous - uncharacteristically so. But he stilled the engine, and turned to look at you sternly “don’t you dare reach for that door handle, I know you’re an independent woman but my momma would hang me by my bootstraps if I didn’t get the door for any woman - independent or not.” You blinked at him in surprise and stifled a small giggle as he got out of the truck and jogged around the front to get the door for you and unbeknownst to you, wiped his hands on his jeans again before offering one to you to help you out of the truck. “Thank you, Jake” you whispered as you took his hand and stepped down from the truck. As he held your hand and walked into the restaurant, he realized the feeling of your soft hand in his felt better than any throttle of any plane he’d ever sat in, giving him a feeling of euphoria he didn’t want to ever fade. There was no doubt in his mind, as you both followed the waiter to the table near the window set for two, and as he pulled out your chair for you and watched you sit, face alight with the flickering glow from the candlelight, he was totally, utterly, and completely hooked on you, and he never wanted the feeling to end.

--

Jake's got feels and he's got them bad!!

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[bekolxeram]

Sorry to bother you, but I thought maybe you could answer a question I have since I saw episode 2 :

For context, I have never been on a plane and all I know about them legit comes from all of your post 😶

But I didn't know a plane could fly and especially people in it could survive if they were a hole in the plane ?

I know it's probably a stupid question but if a plane can fly and people survive then why can't we open the windows during a flight ?

Is the hole in the show unrealistic or is there a perfectly reasonable reason for us to not open the windows ?

Thanks for your answer 😊

Yes! This one I know how to explain.

As I've said before, fixed wing aircrafts fly by directing airflow around their wings.

The higher pressure air stream naturally wants to move up into the lower pressure region, but because the wing is in the way, it pushes the wing upward as well, together with the rest of the plane.

At lower altitude, you have denser air, so more lift, but also more air resistance (we call it drag), so the engines have to work harder and use more fuel to just fight against the incoming air.

If your goal is to get from point A to point B as fast as possible while using the least fuel (it's expensive and not eco-friendly), you'd want to fly in thinner air at higher altitude, just enough air to keep the plane afloat, but not enough to slow it down too much.

The typical cruising altitude for a commercial jet airliner is between 31,000 to 38,000 feet. As comparison, Mount Everest has a height of 29,035 feet, so a bit higher than that. You see climbers at the Himalayas struggling to breathe at higher altitude, some even suffer from altitude sickness that can leak fluid into your lungs and brain. Planes flying that high are pressurized, keeping the air condition in the cabin close to that on the ground, so that the passengers can breathe comfortably.

If there's suddenly a hole in the plane at high altitude, the high pressure air inside the cabin will immediately starts rushing outside to the lower pressure environment. Anyone not wearing a seat belt (like Captain Dominguez) will be blown out of the plane, and those who are still on the plane will soon experience hypoxia due to the oxygen rapidly leaving the cabin (hence the oxygen mask). It's not a comfortable experience. Standard procedure in case of such rapid decompression for pilots is to make an emergency descent to below 10,000 feet, so that there's enough air to breathe for everyone, before they come up with a plan to land the plane.

A plane can fly with a hole in its fuselage, as long as you don't have passengers in it that need to breathe air. NASA used to have a 747 with a window at the back for a telescope, called SOFIA.

The window frame itself needed special reinforcement so that it didn't fall apart mid-flight, but it flew like a normal plane otherwise. The frontal half of the plane was pressurized though as a work space for scientists.

As for the survivability of being on a plane with a giant hole on its roof, it's possible, as long as the plane doesn't completely fall apart and there's no major damage to flight controls. Aloha Airlines Flight 243 in 1988, a Boeing 737, lost a sizable section of its fuselage skin, but it still managed to make a successful landing, with only one fatality (a flight attendant was blown out of the plane when the roof came off).

It's not comfortable or fun, but we've seen bigger holes in aviation history.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 27-Thomas and the Rocket Sled

Traintober 2023

Other Stories

Day 27-Record Breaker

Thomas and the Rocket Sled

1979

The Island of Sodor was even busier than usual. It was the 150th anniversary of the Rain Hill Trials and a gala was being held on Sodor to celebrate.

Engines of all types from the mainland and all over the world were coming to visit. 

Thomas arrived at Tidmouth Harbor one morning to collect a unique piece of rolling stock. He had been enjoying the lead-up to the gala immensely. There were so many new and strange engines and cars to meet that at times his head spun. This might have been the strangest one yet. Sitting on a special flatbed was a heavy metal frame with a seat on it. Behind the seat sat something that reminded Thomas of the jet engines on the planes at Tidmouth airport.

"It's a Rocket sled," Nicole explained as the flatbed was coupled behind Thomas. "The Americans use it to test systems for their aircraft."

"It must be very fast then," Thomas said.

Samantha snorted, "Try faster than the speed of sound. "

Thomas gave a mischievous smirk, "No one tell the Gresley's."

The engineers in charge of the rocket sled were ensuring it was properly secured, so Nicole climbed back into the cab to drink her coffee while they waited.

***

The lead engineer looked dubiously at her coworker. "John prepared it? Are you sure it's okay?"

Her coworker rolled his eyes good-humoredly, "Relax Beth, John knows what he's doing."

Beth glared, "Is that why Jasmine is regrowing half her hair?"

"Everyone makes mistakes every once in a while?" He offered unconvincingly.

She snorted, "Paul, John makes weekly mistakes. If his dad wasn't an admiral..."

"He's not that bad," he protested with a laugh.

Beth rolled her eyes, "Yes he is, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he forgot to drain the fuel."

"He didn't forget to drain the fuel, here watch."

Before Beth could stop him, "Hey Crane!" He yelled up at Cranky.

Cranky was not enjoying the preparation for the Gala. It seemed every day more ships arrived with heavy locomotives and carriages, and he was expected to unload them all. "What is it?" He snapped towards the annoying human beneath him.

"Can you flip that lever with your hook?"

Had Cranky been in a better mood, or had had more sleep, he would have questioned the wisdom of flipping a lever on an unknown machine.

As it was, he gave the equivalent of a shrug. "Sure."

The lever flipped and for a moment everything was quiet.

"See? He didn..."

Thrrrremmmmmm

***

Thomas was patiently waiting for the engineers to finish when he heard the rocket rumble to life

"Are they testing the rocket?" He asked curiously.

Nicole's head snapped around to see the glow of the rocket's exhaust as it powered on.

"Brakes!"  She shouted, but it was too late.

Thomas began rolling forward as the rocket pushed him, faster and faster.

Samantha slammed on the brakes, but they quickly proved no match for the rocket's power.

Thomas whistled in alarm to the signal mam as he was pushed out of the docks and onto the mainline.

The signal men quickly threw the points and set the signals at danger. He rang control, "Clear the Mainline, we have a runaway."

***

Beth, Paul, and Cranky stared as the tank engine and sled raced out of view. 

"Uh...oops?"

Paul winced as Beth slowly turned to glare at him.

***

Thomas shot through Tidmouth Station, whistling as loudly as he could, startling James and Henry who were waiting with their trains.

Samantha released his brakes, realizing they could do nothing against the rocket but wear out.

Nicole hung on desperately as Thomas rocketed around the bend through Lower Tidmouth.

"Ooooooohhhh Lady!" Thomas cried as his speedometer broke 100 miles per hour, suddenly very grateful that Crovan's Gate had fit him with roller bearings. He would have worn through his old ones!

***

Percy had having a nice quiet morning when he heard Thomas. He had been taking a drink from the water tower when he heard the frantic whistling, and behind it, a dull roar.

"What in the name of..."

Thomas blasted past, the flyers on the station board flying from the force of his passing.

Percy sat there a long moment.

"It's too early for this."

"It's nearly tea time," his driver said.

"It's too early for this."

***

Several miles down the track Bertie heard Thomas's whistle rapidly approaching in the distance. "Wanna race Thomas?" He called eagerly.

Thomas roared past, whistling furiously.

"Never mind," Bertie said quietly.

***

Gordon was racing towards Wellsworth with the express when the radio in his cab went off.

Rain answered it.

"There's a runaway on track 3," she called out to Gordon and Amanda, "They'll overtake us soon."

Amanda smirked, "oh will they?" She said as she opened Gordon's regulator.

Gordon chuckled and surged ahead, even since he had been rebuilt back into a 3-cylinder in 72, he had taken every chance he could to test his speed.

As Rain shoveled coal like a woman possessed, Amanda watched the Speedometer creep up, smirking when it broke 100 mph.

Gordon however, frowned as he heard the runaway's whistle in the distance.

"Is that...Thomas?"

Rain snorted, "Don't be silly."

But it was.

Thomas raced up alongside the express coaches, he was going so fast the express seemed to be standing still.

"Hi Gordon, Bye Gordon," he managed to whistle as he shot past.

Amanda and Rain stared in shock.

"There's no way we can catch him," Amanda said in disbelief.

"But we have to try," Gordon called. He forced himself even faster, charging after the runaway No.1.

***

Finally, mercifully, the rocket ran out of fuel. Every joint and rod on Thomas ached. Even though Crovans Gates were known for over-engineering their rebuilds, Thomas was never meant to break 100, and he had far exceeded that.

To make matters worse, it had run out on Gordon's hill. Thomas wasn't sure he could make it up the hill without further damaging his motion. He rolled to a stop, panting heavily.

"Owwww." He moaned quietly.

"Are you alright?" Samantha asked, carefully setting his brakes and climbing down.

"I can't tell," Thomas winced, "maybe once everything cools down it'll be alright."

A deep whistle was heard as Gordon pulled up behind, curious passengers leaning out the window to look.

"Are any of you hurt?" The Pacific asked with concern.

"Nicole and I are alright. We're not certain about Thomas though."

"Is he well enough for me to push him up the hill?"

Thomas shifted his motion, "Probably better than rolling down."

Gordon gently buffered up and pushed Thomas and the sled up the hill to Maron station at the top, going slowly to keep from aggravating Thomas's motion

Jinx was waiting for them with a flatbed for Thomas. Gordon set off with the express again, as Thomas was loaded onto the flatbed, eager to make up the lost time.

The rocket car was left in the Marom sidings as Jinx set off for the works with Thomas.

***

The next day Gordon visited Thomas at the works as he was inspected for damage.

"So how's the new record holder?" The pacific teased.

Thomas had been lifted off of his wheels while they were inspected for damage.

He sighed in exasperation, "Not you as well."

Gordon smirked, "I'm afraid it's official."

"The steam speed record is for speed achieved under your own power," Thomas said baffled.

"Which my cousin still officially holds," Gordon agreed, "but you now hold the new record for the fastest a steam engine has traveled by rail."

Thomas stared for a moment, then groaned, "I'll never get your family to stop trying to adopt me now."

Gordon chuckled," You could just accept."

Thomas just sighed despondently.

A/N: Did I just adapt Thomas and the Jet Engine for my AU? Yes, yes I did.

[severussnapedamagedlove]

Chapter 33, now posted 🔞

Chapter Summary:

The Harkonnen's finally rally to Sietch Tabr, where Mintha is finally forced to confront the twisted nature of her one and only. There is no escape when she returns to the castle either. She is forced with a reminder that being Feyd's favorite has a cost to the ones she adores beyond him.

Free the Animal a Feyd-Rautha//DUNE fanfiction

Read a little: [mature readers ONLY]

The warship was unlike any I was passenger on. It moved and operated differently than a thopter. It was smaller than a heighliner. The only two framings of what air travel were vastly different. This warship being a third, very different option, too. 

The warship was much larger than a thopter. It was modern, too. It did not have the constant thrumming of wings. The silence was eerie. 

Even with the many soldiers seated in the cargo area, it was silent at the control table.

I held on with my fingers to prevent flying backward. Feyd knew when to brace himself. His hand would grasp mine in place to keep me upright. 

Captain Rurik guided the ship’s navigator to the coordinates in the desert. His gruff words were easy to discern.

When in sight, he fled the co-pilot position. The echoing of his boots approaching felt like an end drawing nearer. 

It was the end.

The attacks, the Fremen. Their vigilante leader, Muad’Dib. 

Feyd would gather enough control and spice to begin the plot to overthrow his uncle.

It was all so near our fingertips.

If only, we surmounted this.

The feeling of the rumble within the air as large ancient rocks crumbled to dust. The sietch blended with the rest of the jagged rocks cutting through the warm sands. Now, it was being rendered to nothing.

Blasts from the warship filled the air like electricity. My skin hummed alive with each sensation. I felt every painful shock.

For the death of many, we could live untethered.

Our child would never know the haunted touch of that man’s fingers against their body. They would never know the fear- true fear - of being powerless under that man. 

Still, guilt churned from my darkest depths. If death was the only way to live, was the life worth living? Death would grant us all reprieve from this constant fight of living. We could be free forever, in no other way to be stolen from our hands.

“The ground.” Feyd bayed. He paced urgently. The stomp of his boots vibrated up through the metal plating floors into my feet, into my legs, into my being. Anxiety and thrill, his, only made me more aware of every sensation around me. “I want to be on the ground.”

“We’ve not cleared the-.”

“Open this door. Now!” Feyd banged his fist against the hatch.

They complied with their na-Baron’s order. 

“Do not leave this ship, Lady Mintha.” He shouted over his shoulder as he fled the confines of the aircraft for softer grounds. 

The rush of heat surged against my body from the open hatch. The planets scorn, its wound hotter still. Opening and crumbling, like its blood flowing. 

I looked into the dim darkness, growing darker with every moment. The sounds of the shelling stopped. Calm was alive. It crept through the warm winds, but I knew better than to listen to its lies.

Harsh tongues broke out against the still. Harkonnen. The tongue I used as a language to my own lover broke out against the still night as an invasion to the natural order. A colonizer of an ancient land that was immemorial. Tongues answered back. The desert’s language. It was one I knew from the castle, the staff and the locals.  Sounds echoed. Out in the night, dancing around in torment of the never ending shift of the sands. There were screams and grunts. Fighting.

I pulled myself away from that open ledge before I convinced myself that the dunes were a better choice than living on with the knowledge of what had been done here.

What I had let be done.

The front of the ship was open. The navigator remained fully encased in the equipment around his eyes. The many cords connected into the board of the ship.

“Are you looking for worm sign?” I asked to distract myself from the slaughter. 

“No, my lady.”

“Can you see…” 

“No. They are not capable of seeing through rock.”

“Oh.” My fingers pulled at the edge of my taut bodice. “So, what are you looking for then?”

“Outlying Fremen scouts. If they are close, they might ambush us here,” he explained. “Muad’Dib specializes in entrapment.”

I swallowed. “We are vulnerable here.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“No one survives ambushes from Muad’Dib.”

“Rarely. Yes, my lady.”

“Would na-Baron be their target?”

“Their patterns do not indicate any personal vendetta.”

My hands rested atop my stomach. I let them hold the womb the way that Feyd often did. It was loving and protective and all I knew to do.

There were ends I would bring to my child to spare them pain, but this. A death in the desert in fiery explosion did not bring me peace.

It brought me fear. Hot and angry fear.

I disembarked from the aircraft into the dunes. The collapsed rocks jutted the ground. There were bodies. The ground showed Fremen and Harkonnen alongside in death. The rock wall was half collapsed in on itself and showed its hollow depth. 

The crunch of sand breath my feet filled my ears. 

A pair of guards walked with a small child between them. She struggled against the unstable sand. Around her neck was two ropes. Each secured tight within a soldier’s hands. Her tiny chubby baby hands were cinched taut together in front as she walked.

When our eyes met, a strange connection zapped through my entire being. They were filled with unfathomable depths. Something about that unnerved me. My hands held tighter to my stomach as I passed.

Blue. Her eyes were a bright, blinding blue.

“You killed nine of my men with one single blade,” Feyd said. I followed the sound of his rasp through sunken sandy corridors.

Read the rest below:

[thatsrightice]

When Slider closes his eyes, he’s back in the cockpit. He’s yanking hard on the ejection straps but nothing happens. Smoke infiltrates the cockpit as fire licks at the exterior of the aircraft. Tom is yelling his name. He tries to yell back but nothing comes out. He pulls harder and his ejection seat triggers, sending his entire world into slow motion. Tom’s ejection seat hasn’t gone off. He’s still inside and Slider is forced to watch as the flames make their way into the cockpit. They swallow the pilot whole. Slider screams over the comm system to anyone who’ll listen but no one responds.

He wakes up crying. Even as Slider lays in bed awake, Tommy’s screams, begging for help, echo in his ears.

He props himself up on an elbow, running a rough hand over his face and through his hair. He hears the frame of the bunk bed creak above him

“You awake, Ice?” he asked quietly, staring at the bottom of the top bunk. After a moment there was a quiet response.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep… You?”

“Nightmare,” Slider replied honestly. The RIO groaned as he laid back down on the bed, arms. He paused. “Come ‘ere?”

Ice huffed softly. “I want wall. I’m not letting you push me off the bed again.”

“Deal,” he agreed readily, grinning as the other man shuffled awkwardly out of the top bunk and dropped down to the floor. Ice stumbled upon contact with the floor, one hand gripping the frame tightly to hold himself upright. Slider was already out of bed by his side but Tom waved him off.

Ice crawled on to the bed, putting himself between his RIO and the wall. He laid on his side so that he and Slider were face to face. He reaches out a hand to cup Slider’s face, gently brushing away the tears with his thumb.

“You’re okay, Ron,” he affirmed, though it came out as more of a question.

“I’m okay,” Ron reassured with a watery smile. “You okay, Tommy?”

Ice’s face scrunched at the use of the nickname, the rolling of his eyes accentuated by his physically turning over to face the wall.

“I will be.”

——

Here’s a little snippet of a WIP fanfic I’m currently writing on that will ft. heavy angst and Iceman-centric. Will be set on the USS Enterprise sometime after the USS Layton rescue mission and after Mav and Merlin left for top gun. Can be read as platonic or romantic!

[undressmewithyoureyes]

Let There Be Light - Forty Seven

**Ghost’s POV**

               When the plane landed in Montana, my boots were the first to hit the ground. I was ready and nothing was going to stand in my way and anyone that tried was going straight to Hell. Price had two black SUV’s waiting for us with bullet proof windows and armored grills. It looked like your average vehicle to the regular people, but they were toys for us soldiers.

               Price wasted no time and waited for no man once we were off the aircraft – it was every man for himself if you were left behind. And if it were up to me, don’t even bother tagging a ride back to base. Drag your feet somewhere else. Price, Soap and I rode in the leading SUV. Of course, Price drove – I rode shotgun and Soap sat in the middle seat in the back. The third rows were taken out of each vehicle to add more room for guns and ammo. Gaz, Alejandro and Rudy followed behind us with just as much vengeance an adrenaline.

               It took maybe thirty minutes to get to Harleys parents house, but I swear to God it felt like a lifetime. Price was driving well over the speed limit, but I wasn’t about to tell him to slow the fuck down. The house was something I could see Harley growing up in. A huge two-story brick and stone house. Lots of windows and a three-car garage that sat separate from the house. For it to be in a location far away from any cities and just sitting by itself, it did seem out of place – but definitely a family that had money.

               No guards were outside – which was odd to us especially since we pulled up in broad daylight. A rookie thing for us to do, but with as much rage as we all had, even we could make the Devil himself cower. The doors to the SUVs open before the vehicles came to a stop. We wasted no time getting out and running towards the front door of the house. We had a plan, find Harley. It didn’t matter how we did it, just as long as it got done.

               All six of us reach the front door. I stood on the left, Soap beside me and Alejandro behind him. Price stood on the opposite side of the door, Rudy behind him and Gaz in the back. Gaz takes out a brick of C4 and a detonator from Rudy’s backpack and hands it to Price so he can place it on the door. Price places it on the center of the door, looks at all of us and I nod. Lets lights this motherfucker. We brace against the side of the house as Price mashes the detonator button twice and immediately, the door to the house explodes.

               Coughing can be heard inside along with footsteps of people running around. We waste no time and enter the house. One by one on each side as we filled the foyer – guns drawn.

               “Убей их! [Kill them!]”. Fucking Russians. Luckily the house was an open floor plan inside past the foyer - the smoke and dust evading rather quickly. Upon entering the foyer, two doors mirrored each other on the left and right. Both rooms being offices with glass paned doors. Straight ahead was a large living room with stairs on the far wall that led upstairs. I could make out the kitchen to the left of the living room, but quickly darted into the right office as bullets started whizzing by us.

               “Flashbang out!” Gaz yelled as bullets were taking out chunks of the wooden frame we were bracing against. As soon as it hit the ground, it exploded this bright white light that blinded the scumbags and discombobulated them for several minutes. The rain of bullets stopped as we waited a few seconds – hearing the loud sounds of men moaning. I look across the foyer and hold my hand out in front of me with three fingers. Two fingers. One finger.  I come out of the room and see four men blinking their eyes fast trying to steady their vision as their hands are holding their head. Flashbangs are a bitch for sure, but I promise you, I’m a bigger problem.

               I quicky, but quietly walk up to the closest man to me. His gun is hanging by his strap around his neck, just ready for its owner to grasp it and open fire. I reach down in the cargo of my pants and grab one of my knives and flip it around in my hand to get a better grasp. I sneak up behind the disoriented bastard and cover his mouth with my other hand and plunge the knife through his right eye – going right straight through the soft tissue and into his brain. Instant death.

               The mans body went heavy in a matter of seconds without any struggle or noise – just like how I wanted it. Soap goes past me and to one of the other men from behind – just like I did. He brings his right hand to the man’s chin and the other hand to the back of his neck and before the man knew what was going on, Soap moved both hands quickly – snapping his neck. A loud pop filled the air as his bones broke and stuck against his skin making his once smooth neck now having a large lump off to the side. The man body dropped making the floor beneath us shake and rumble.

               The other two men that were trying to come to their senses ready their rifles. They jerk them back and forth at any sort of sound they hear since their vision hadn’t come back yet. I take the knife I drove through the bastard’s socket and throw it into the wall past the man in front of me. He and the other guy immediately turn around with their guns pointed at the knife in the wall.

               I couldn’t help but smile as I enjoyed taking their lives away. It was always such a pleasure to take the life from someone who didn’t deserve it. It was my addiction, and I was only feeding the fuel to my fire. I look over at Soap and our eyes lock. He nods to me, and we both creep up behind the last two souls.

               I firmly wrap my hand around my pistol in my right thigh holster and press the cold steel against the back of the man in front me head. “Where’s Harley?” I say in a low tone. The other man turns around quickly. Soap disarms his guy, throwing the rifle to the floor. The man goes to reach for his pistol that’s tucked in the back of his pants, but Soap quickly unholsters his and presses it to the man’s forehead – causing the coward to stop.

               The stupid fuck in front of me didn’t bother or attempt to move – knowing his life was now in my hands.

               Silence.

               “Let us go and we will tell you where she is!” the other man urgently bartered. “Please! My son and I got forced to do this and we wish you no harm!”

               I keep the gun pressed against his sons head as I turn and look at the middle aged man. “Son?”

               “Yes,” he says with tears in his eyes.

               “Drop your weapon boy,” I warn.

               Nothing.

               I shove my gun forward against his head causing his head to jolt forward.

               “He doesn’t understand English,” the older man said with worry in his voice.

               I let out a frustrated sigh, “Then you fucking tell him.”

               The father nodded rapidly, “Сын [Son],” he begins. “Все нормально. Положите пистолет на пол... медленно [Its okay. Place your gun on the floor…slowly],” he says as he holds both hands in front of him and slowly brings them down. I don’t know a damn thing about the Russian language, but I could make out from his hand movements he was telling him to be cautious of some sort.

               The man in front of me no longer kept contact with the barrel of my gun. He was lowering himself and carefully taking the strap of the gun off around his neck and gently placing the gun on the floor.

               “Stand up,” I demand.

               The father moves one of his hands up and down real fast as his son comprehended – the back of his head resting against the front of my gun. Soap moves around, the gun still pointed at the father’s head until he stops behind him.

               “Now,” I say as I remove my pistol and let it rest at my side as I let my arm rest.

               “Thank you, sir!” the older man pleads as he brings his hands together and up to his face. “Thank you!”

               I walk over to the father and stop when I get beside him facing the opposite direction. I can see out the corner of my eye the rest of the team watching us and watching the son since my back is to him. “How many more of you are there?”

               “Five more. They’re downstairs,” he says almost immediately.

               “And why haven’t they come up?” Soap asks as he presses the gun more into his head causing his head to inch forward.

               “It’s soundproof. You cant hear anything up here, down there and you can hear anything down there, up here,” he answers.

               “Where’s Harley?” I ask again – my tone the same.

               The mans eyes scan over the room quickly, “I’m not going to ask you again,” I warn.

               “Downstairs.” The way my heart fluttered almost sent me to my knees. Finally, she was here.

               I turn around – still standing beside the man but now facing the same way he is. “I’m not going to kill your son,” I tell him.

               “Oh my God, thank you! Thank you!” he praises as I see a glimpse if hope in his eyes.

I bring my pistol up as my pointer finger hits the mag release on the side and the mag slides out. I hand the man my gun as he cautiously takes it with a confused look across his face, “You are.”

I cross my arms as I see his son turn towards us, weaponless. Four other men, my men had their guns pointed to the son, while Soap still had the father’s life in his hands. “Three,” I say lowly.

“I did what you asked!” the father now pleading with a mixture of sorrow and rage.

               “Two.”

               The man raises the gun and points it towards his son’s head. I watch as his sons shakes his head back and forth with a look of desperation in his eyes.

               “One.”

               The loud sound of a .45 went off and his son’s body dropped to the floor. The man quickly turned and held the gun to my head and pulled the trigger.

               Click.

               Click.

               I slowly turn my head towards him and stare at him with dead eyes. I hold up the filled mag in my hand. “You really think I’m going to give you a fully loaded gun?” I ask rhetorically. “How do you feel knowing you killed your child?”

               “Fuck you!” he spat.

I grab the gun out of his hand, slide my mag back in, pull back the slide to cock my gun. “I would have let your son go in exchange for your life.” The man opened his mouth to speak, and I forced the barrel of my gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The crimson color that blew out the back of this mans head sprayed over the hardwood floor and white furniture that was in the living room. His body falling back as his eyes stayed locked with mine. Coward.

“That was bloody cold LT,” Soap says with a grin on his face.

I hear the rest of the team move up to us. “I’m done being nice Johnny. Being nice got us in this situation were in now.”

“What’s the plan amigo?” Alejandro says looking at me.

“We move downstairs, get her and get the fuck out,” I reply to him. The rest of the team nod their heads as we make our way downstairs – stepping over the bodies that lay on the floor. We kept our footsteps light and our guns tight against out shoulders. If anything moved, we were sending it to Hell.

Alejandro, Rudy and Gaz broke off to sweep the rest of the house while Price, Soap and I headed downstairs. I took the lead. I wanted to be the one they saw coming and my skull face imbedded in their minds as this was the last thing they would ever see. I wanted to see the fear in their eyes once they realize there was no way out except by death – and by yours truly.

The walls downstairs were a dark grey as we quietly made our way down the stairs. I could hear the soft chatter of the few guards that were downstairs. It did seem a bit odd that Michael didn’t have more guards here, but I guess a house that isn’t supposed to exist, I wouldn’t worry about it either. The man said there was five. That’s five more added to my confirmed list.

There was a door at the bottom of the stairs and the closer I got to the door, the louder the voices were becoming – to the point their conversations were clear.

“You think they’re coming?” One of the voices asks as I listen. Definitely American.

“Who?”

“The guy with the skull mask…”

I laugh to myself as I kick the door open – gun drawn. The two men that were by the door talking turned around instantaneously and drew their weapons. I pulled the trigger on my rifle twice, and dropped their bodies before they even knew what was coming, but the terrified look on their face will forever live in my head. It’s like heroin in my veins and I needed more.

Three other men raise their guns and point them at us, yelling in words I couldn’t understand. I almost wanted to roll my eyes at their masculine behavior, but I couldn’t afford to take my eyes off my targets.

“Simon,” I hear Price say lowly. I nod my head just enough where Price and Soap could see it, but the three other men couldn’t. In unison, we fired our guns and the other three men dropped to the floor – meeting the same death as their friends. To my left was a door that was cracked open. Soap opened the door with the barrel of his gun and turned the light switch on. A bathroom.

“Clear,” Soap calls out.

We move forward, stepping carefully – our eyes scanning over the plastic that hung from the ceiling to the floor. There were doors covered by this plastic, but it didn’t look like anyone or anything would be coming out of there. The last door on the left was left uncovered, but this one was different. It was metal supported with a metal frame.

My heart beat harder against my chest with each step I took towards the door. I hope she’s in there and I prayed to whoever that she was okay. “All clear up here. Heading to you guys,” Gaz said through the coms.

“Rog. All clear down here. We need Rudy asap. Got a metal door that needs some C4,” I reply.

“Copy that.” I stood with my back against the wall on the left side of the door since I was taking point. Soap was behind me, and Price was on the opposite side while we wait for the other half of the team to get down here. It took them maybe a minute and a half, but it felt like an eternity. I’ve waited for this moment for four months and I’m just as anxious as I was when all this started.

“Here Captain,” Gaz said as he handed Price the C4 and another detonator. Price stuck the C4 on the door and looked at me.

“You ready son?” Price asks.

I nod my head and watch as his thumb hits the red button twice. The metal door blew into the room as dust and dirt took its place. I wasted no time and neither did Soap or the rest of the team entering the room – our boots heavy.

“Harley?!” I yell out for her. I couldn’t see shit thanks to the fucking bomb and my ears were ringing. The faint sound of someone coughing and the high-pitched ringing in my ear was making me paranoid

“Harley?!” I yell out again. I started walking forward as the dust and debris was starting to settle. I could make out two figures but couldn’t confirm if it was her or not. The rest of the team stood behind me with their guns drawn – letting me have the moment I had so desperately been wanting.

“S-Simon?” It’s her. It fucking her. I nearly fell to my knees hearing her sweet voice in my ears.

“Fuckin’ hell. She’s here!” I choke out. I hear a deep sigh from a few of the guys. Sighs of relief.

The dust in the room was almost completely gone and for once in four months, I could actually see her and it be real. Not a dream, but real. Her eyes tear up when they lock onto mine and oh how I missed looking into them. They went from mine to the team as I could tell what she was thinking – it was the same as me. It’s all real.

Tears swell in my own eyes as I look over her body. I couldn’t take in much since she was on her knees, but her hips are a little wider and her stomach as grown quite a bit. Her baby bump is adorable on her, and despite her captivity, she’s glowing. She’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and the fact that she’s carrying our child makes all of this worth it. The restless nights. The never-ending missions. The dead ends. In this moment, it was all worth it.

I start walking towards her and stop in my tracks when I see him. König. He roughly grabs her by the back of her hair and jerks her up forcing her to her feet.

“What did I tell you? You.Are.Mine,” he said to her in a dark tone. A small yelp comes out of her as he tightens the grip in her hair.

“Let her go!” Soap yells out.

“Or what?” König plays back.

I still had my gun drawn, but he had Harley in front of him, making any shot too much of a risk.

“Weve got six guns on your one. Now let her go,” Price demands.              

König lets go of Harleys hair and she lunges forward. Before I could even let go of my gun to attempt to catch her, he grabbed her by her arms with just one hand and presses a pistol to the side of her stomach and his finger hard on the trigger. My heart dropped.

“NO!” I yell out. This couldn’t be it. I’ve come too far to watch her, and our child be taken away from me.

“Fuck your six guns,” König spits out. “You drop me, that’s one body. One bullet from me can drop two bodies. Now who’s winning Captain?”

The room fell silent, and nobody dared to move – Harley being the stillest. “König,” her voice barely over a whisper as she shakes her head.

“Don’t whisper now baby. Tell your boyfriend over there how much you have enjoyed screaming my name since the first time he watched.” König said as his eyes locked onto mine. “Or should you tell your other boyfriend, Soap, is it?”. His eyes now shifting over to Soap. “Does the team know about your love triangle Harley? Do they know that you not only fuck the Lieutenant, but one of the Sergeants too?”

My blood boiled and the fucked-up thing was there wasn’t anything I could do. Nobody had a clear shot. The coward hid behind her. König applied more pressure on the side of her stomach as I watched her face scrunch in discomfort.

“This child doesn’t deserve to be born.” The words were like a knife through the heart. I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat. Harleys eyes were fluttering, and I couldn’t tell if she was batting away tears or if she was having a panic attack and about to pass out.

“Simon,” she whispers out to me. No, I couldn’t take it. I refuse to believe this is the end of us. Our family. Tears fell from my eyes as I watched them fall from hers then to her belly. “I will always love you.”

I close my eyes as the words leave her lips. The sound of a gunshot going off caused me to jump and my eyes open wide. Her body falls forward and I lunge to catch her in my arms. I fall to my knees as I cradle her body against mine.

“Harley!” I say frantically as I softly pat the side of her face. “Harley baby, wake up!” Tears streamed down my face and into my mask as my hand went to her chest to feel her heartbeat and I feel something wet. I slowly turn my hand around and see it coated in blood. “H-Harley baby! I need you! Please wake up!” I sob out.

The team wastes no time running up to me and circling König. I wrap my arms around her tightly to bring her closer to my chest as cry after cry leaves me. Why does everything have to be taken from me? WHY?!

“Simon?”

I freeze when I hear my name. I freeze when I hear my name come from…her. She moves in my arms as I remove my arm from around her.

“You came for me,” she says softly with a small smile on her face. I stare back at her and rub my hand over her stomach. There wasn’t a bullet wound. I jerk my head up and see blood pouring out of König’s shoulder. She was fine. My girl was safe.

“Good shot Soap,” Price praises as my eyes find Soaps. The rest of the team circled around König with their guns drawn on him. I get to my knees and help Harley to hers – König staring at her the whole time. She wraps her arms around my waist and hugs me. It was a feeling that I would never get tired of. Before I could wrap my arms around hers, she reaches down and grabs my pistol from my thigh holster.

Harley slides the slide back just enough to make sure there was a bullet in there. She turns around and presses the cold steel to König’s head. “Any last words?” she says coldly. König opened his mouth, and she pulled the trigger before he mutter a single sound. “Didn’t give a fuck either way.” That’s my girl.

The rest of the team gave her hugs, and she was excited to see everyone. Soap held onto her so long, I didn’t think he would ever let her go and I knew the team was going to have questions, especially after what König said, but we could handle that another day. Right now, I had my Harley. Her and our baby were finally coming home.