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roosterforme · 8 months

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Stateside | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley made a mistake last summer when he left for his deployment without ever asking you out, and then he thought about you a lot when he was gone. He was stateside again for less than a day when the other guys coerced him to help with a fundraiser at the Hard Deck. A friendly wager with the squad might not be the only thing he wins by the end of the night.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, drinking, swears

Length: 4500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger Written for Pick Your Poison

Bradley had barely been stateside for twenty four hours when he woke up in his bed at noon to an array of texts arriving all at once. Five months on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with nothing much going for him left him surprisingly exhausted. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his friends, he just needed a full day to himself to readjust.

He groaned and rolled over after glancing at his phone and seeing the words Hard Deck in a message from Jake. He closed his eyes again after tossing his phone aside, but about ten seconds later, he cracked them open again. If there was one thing he had consistently thought about over the course of those five months, it was you. Your bright smile, your perfect laugh, your navy blue tee shirts that said The Hard Deck across the front.

When he reached for his phone and checked the message from Jake, he sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. Maybe this could be an excuse to see you again sooner rather than later.

Hangman: Hey, we need you to come to the Hard Deck tonight. It's the annual charity event, and Bob can't make it. We're short a bartender. And don't try to bitch out of this, Phoenix told me you're home.

Bradley covered his face with his hand and thought long and hard about this. The real bartenders would be there to help which meant there was a chance you'd be one of them. If he volunteered for this, then maybe he'd find himself in close quarters with you for a few hours instead of the other Naval officers he'd been stuck with for months on end. Just the idea of accidentally bumping into you while pouring a beer had him texting Jake back.

Yeah, I'll be there.

Even though he was still pretty tired later in the afternoon, Bradley took a shower and then spent some extra time on his hair before dressing in his lucky shirt. That five month deployment was the reason he didn't ask you out during the summer, and now he was nervous to see you again. He had good intel from Penny that you'd been single the last time he saw you in August, but what if you had a boyfriend now? Or worse, what if you didn't even acknowledge him when you saw him?

He groaned as he looked in the bathroom mirror. Hours, possibly even days... that's how much time he'd had you on his mind while he was away. And for what? A crush on a girl who was probably too young for him? A cute bartender at the Navy hangout who definitely got asked out nightly? Shit. He was a lost cause.

And now he was going to be late if he didn't leave right away. He grabbed his keys, and headed out to his Bronco which he had missed dearly. So if nothing else, he'd get to cruise around later after the event. But on the ride to the bar, all he could imagine was how you'd look in the passenger seat, smiling at him at every stoplight and singing along to the radio.

"Fuck," he grunted as he parked next to Jake's truck before heading inside. He let his heart fill with hope as he strolled in to find Penny, Jake, Javy and Reuben behind the bar with two bartenders. But neither of them were you.

"Rooster!" Reuben cheered, and soon he was being clapped on the back and high fived by the guys he hadn't seen in months. It was nice, but he couldn't help but think that his smile would have been more genuine if you were here.

Jake smirked. "So glad you left your perch and joined us."

Bradley laughed as he gave Penny a hug. "Come on, man, I literally just got home."

Penny smiled up at him. "Thanks for filling in. It'll be great." Bradley really wanted to ask her about you, but then Penny patted him on the cheek before turning to reach under the bar top. "This will be a breeze for you guys," she said, handing matching shirts to the four of them. "Just a basic bar menu tonight. No super fancy cocktails. Just beer, wine, some pre-made sangria, and a few different kinds of shots."

Bradley started to unbutton his lucky shirt before pulling the new one on in its place. He smoothed his hand along the front of the blue shirt that said THE HARD DECK FIGHTS CANCER, and he noticed the two bartenders glancing at him. They were both cute but decidedly not what he had been hoping for tonight.

"Hey," he asked them with a nod. They smiled in response, so he decided to just go ahead and ask them about you.

"She quit a few weeks ago," the first one told him. "After she graduated from law school."

"She moved, too," said the second one. "Left San Diego."

Shit. He was too late after all, nodding in response to them as he pressed his lips together in a firm line. He'd never been any good at this kind of thing, which was why he always fell into casual relationships. What should he have done? Asked you out, gone on a handful of dates and then tried to persuade you to wait five months for him? Just for him to get deployed over and over again? That wouldn't have been fair to you.

But he didn't feel like it was fair to him either, because right now he was having a hard time even remembering exactly how pretty you were and the precise tone of your laughter. Probably for the best. At least he only needed to do this event for a few hours before he could leave and go for a long drive. He swallowed down his disappointment and turned toward the guys who were in the middle of conversation.

"How about a side wager?" Javy asked, tossing a bottle of vodka up into the air and catching it over and over again. "You know, for the charity?"

"What did you have in mind?" Bradley asked as Penny went to peek outside. "Because I doubt Penny will let us strip for charity again after last year. The two of you scuffed up the bar top," Bradley added, gesturing at Jake as well.

They both started laughing like idiots before Jake said, "Nah, let's give Penny a break this year and just tally up our tips at the end of the night. Whoever donates the least amount of tip money to the charity is the loser."

"Oh, that's a great idea," Javy said as he ate the orange slices and cherries that were meant to garnish the drinks. "What's the punishment for losing?"

Reuben smirked and said, "Loser has to report to the tarmac on Monday in his underwear. Instant push ups from Mav."

"Deal," Jake said.

"Absolutely," Javy agreed.

Three pairs of eyes settled on Bradley, and he slowly said, "Okay." If he strolled out of the locker room in just his underwear and boots on his first day back from a long deployment when he was supposed to sit down with the admirals and Maverick and have a debrief, he'd probably earn a greater punishment than just a few push ups. But it was for the charity, so he'd do it.

But he soon learned he'd made a mistake after Penny called out, "Let's get started," and propped the doors open. The first person through the door was Reuben's wife, followed by Javy's fiancee and Jake's girlfriend. And all of her sorority sisters.

"Shit," Bradley grunted. "Did you make me come here just so I would lose?"

Javy was handing out pint glasses that they could use as tip cups as he smirked, and Bradley was wondering if there was any way he could actually stuff his discreetly with cash from his own wallet.

"You'll be just fine," Jake drawled as the jukebox came blaring to life. But even the music was mocking him as Slow Ride started to play, and Bradley had people in front of him expecting him to make them drinks.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jake's girlfriend open her purse and start stuffing Jake's tip cup full. "I feel like that's considered cheating," Bradley told her, and she rolled her eyes and smirked before tucking five dollars into his cup as well.

"Don't tip Bradshaw, Sweets," Jake complained. "We made him come here as a buffer!"

"I knew it was a setup!" Bradley groaned as he listened to someone ask him for some wine and some beer. That was easy enough. He knew how to do that. Or at least he thought he did, but then one of the bartenders who had volunteered for the night told him he poured too much wine into the glass.

Then a woman asked him for a green tea shot, and he stared at her blankly. He leaned closer to Javy and asked, "What the hell is in a green tea shot?"

"I don't know," he replied as he poured two pints at the same time. "But you better figure it out, because your tip cup is still practically empty."

"Shit." He was scrambling to flag down the young bartenders again when he froze. He only caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye, but he knew it was you simply by the way you moved and the color of your hair. And then you sat down in the only empty stool left at the bar and smiled at him, your voice drawing his eyes up to your perfect face.

"Rooster. You're back."

The little thoughts and fantasies he'd indulged in while deployed had nothing on the real thing, and he knew he was blushing as you smiled and waited for him to respond. But it had been months since he'd been this close to you, and now he was really beating himself up for not trying to make you his sooner. Because if you were his, he could do all the things he wanted to do right now. Like kiss you.

"Rooster," you repeated with hesitation in your eyes, your voice softer, nearly drowned out by the jukebox.

"They said you quit," he blurted out as he leaned on the bartop, curious as to why you were here tonight. "And that you moved."

Your eyes went a little wider as you nodded, your smile still soft. "I did. You asked about me?"

"Can you make me a green tea shot or not?"

Bradley begrudgingly switched his focus to the woman next to you and sighed. He was about to tell her he didn't even know what that was, or that maybe she should fuck off so he could talk to you, but then you reached out and ran your fingers along the back of his hand.

Your touch was brief but intentional, and all of the irritation seemed to ease out of his body as his gaze snapped back to yours. "Yeah," you told the other woman as your finger grazed his knuckle one more time. "He can make you a green tea shot."

"I don't even know what's in it," he told you, with a helpless smile, trying to fight the urge to reach for your hand.

You kind of shrugged as you said, "I do. I'll talk you through it."

Bradley's smile grew which left you giggling as he said, "I'm kind of helpless back here. Nothing like you."

"Well, you can learn from the best," you told him, reaching out to squeeze his wrist before pointing to the many liquor bottles behind him. "Irish whiskey and peach schnapps," you told him, leaning on the bar now, so close that he just couldn't bring himself to turn away from you.

"Okay," he said, memorizing the exact color of your eyes. "Thanks for doing this."

You bit your lip and smiled up at him, and when Bradley moved just slightly closer, he thought he heard you whimper. Your eyes were full of emotion that reflected his own as you said, "Focus, Rooster. Irish whiskey and peach schnapps."

He nodded once and then finally moved away from you as he scanned the bottles and grabbed the two you told him. "Good," you said, pointing to the mini fridge and saying, "now get the sweet and sour mix. It's in a pink jug. Yeah, you got it. Now you need a half ounce of each."

Bradley listened to you explain how to use the shaker while he gave you another helpless look. "I'm just a simple beer or bourbon drinker," he said as he strained the drink that his customer had been waiting several minutes for into a shot glass.

You laughed and said, "I know you are, and it's kind of endearing that you don't know what you're doing. Now top it off with a splash of Sprite."

Bradley grabbed the soda gun, pressed the little green button and then looked up at you again. "This is endearing?" he asked, finally sliding the shot to the annoyed woman who unenthusiastically put a dollar in his tip cup and turned away.

"Very," you promised him. "And now I want you to make me a kamikaze shot."

He gave you a bland look, but his heart was pounding. "Are you joking right now?"

Bradley was hyper focused on your lips as you said, "Not at all. You can handle it. It's vodka, triple sec and lime juice. I prefer Finlandia. Impress me, and I'll leave you a nice big tip for the charity."

Then he groaned. He had forgotten about the wager and the other patrons looking for drinks and just all of it. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Thanks, but I'll probably still end up in my underwear at work on Monday morning."

When he pushed away from the bar again, your eyes dipped down to his jeans before snapping back up. "Underwear?"

"Yeah," he grunted as he reached for the type of vodka you liked best. You told him how much to use, and he dumped it in a shaker. "The guys coerced me into volunteering tonight. I literally just got home from deployment, but here I am... their scapegoat," he said, arms held out at his sides. "They threw out a side bet based on tip money, and next thing I know, all of their wives and girlfriends show up with a bunch of cash."

While he shook your kamikaze shot, he watched you turn first to your right and then to your left, eyeing up the overflowing tip cups in front of Reuben, Javy and Jake. Your lips parted, and you gaped at Bradley, but your eyes looked a little devious now. "You know, all of this makes a lot of sense since the guys made me come tonight."

Bradley carefully poured out your shot and asked, "What do you mean they made you come?" He realized his voice sounded annoyed, but how did they all have your phone number anyway? He'd been standing here thinking about asking you for it, but they were apparently already texting you.

You accepted the shot and took a small sip to taste it. "They kept messaging me earlier today, saying I absolutely needed to be here tonight. They said it was important I made it to the charity event." Then you tipped your head back, and Bradley was treated to the soft looking expanse of your neck as you swallowed down the rest of the shot he made. When you were done, you set the glass down and licked your lips as you dug some money out of your pocket. "That was delicious."

While you loaded his cup with all the cash in your pocket, Bradley tried to ask you where you lived now. If the guys were bugging you earlier today, you couldn't be that far. But before he could get a word out, you pushed yourself up so you were kneeling on the bar right in front of him, and he looked up at you as you grinned down at him.

"Don't worry, Rooster," you said as you ran your fingers through his hair. "I got you." Then Bradley was reaching for your hips. He didn't fucking care if the place was packed, he was ready to haul you off to the back hallway and ask you if he could kiss your pretty lips. You beamed at him as his hands met your body, but you just cupped your fingers around your mouth and shouted over the music, "Come get your drinks from Rooster! He knows how to make everything! But kamikazes are his specialty! And he's hot!"

His eyes went wide as you slipped out of his grasp and back onto your stool while an influx of mostly women queued up in front of him. "What did you do?" he asked, trying to mentally process an order for a cosmopolitan while stumbling over you calling him hot.

"I'm helping you not embarrass yourself at work. Keep the vodka out. Grab the Cointreau and a martini glass. We're about to show the guys what's up."

Bradley struggled through drink after drink as quickly as he could, but you never gave up on him. Occasionally you'd slide things out of his way or point out where he could find something he needed, and at some point you grabbed a second pint glass for his overflowing tip money. And all the while, he stole as many glances at you as he could while he worked.

When Penny eventually walked behind him, patted him on the shoulder and said there was less than an hour left of the event, she also shared a smile with you. But there was no hope. The other guys were already working on their third tip cups each. "I don't think I can make up the deficit," he groaned, pulling up the hem of his shirt and wiping his brow with it.

"Oh, that's a great idea," you mused, leaning across the bar and pulling his shirt up higher. "Take it off."

He stared at you as you tugged on the fabric. "Take it off?"

You nodded, the moevent exaggerated as you said, "Absolutely. Take your shirt off." As he looked around awkwardly before pulling his shirt over his head, you cupped your hands around your mouth once again and said, "He has six pack abs!"

Now the guys were glaring at him. "So do I!" Reuben complained.

"Don't you dare take your shirt off!" his wife told him, pointing at him in warning.

Bradley knew his cheeks were flushed, and all he really wanted to do was talk to you and hopefully kiss you. And he really wanted to do all of that with his shirt on, because he felt a bit like a stripper now as you reached for a third tip cup. The cash was filling it up quickly, and he smirked as he thought about Reuben, Jake or Javy in their underwear instead of him. And it was all for a charity after all.

"Make him use the shaker!" you urged a woman who looked like she was in her seventies and holding a crisp fifty dollar bill. "Make him flex."

Bradley groaned your name which sent you into a fit of laughter, your second empty shot glass still in front of you. "This isn't right," he complained half heartedly as he shook the older woman's Mai Tai with flexed abs and biceps.

"It is so right," you told him, and he appreciated that you were scoping out the other guys' tip cups instead of looking at him right now. "Keep going. It's going to be so close." And then that fifty ended up in Bradley's cup when he handed over the cocktail, and you said, "Or maybe not!"

"Last call for the fundraiser!" Penny shouted over the crowd, and Bradley almost sighed in relief when the last few people ordered beers and a glass of wine. And then it was all over, and he had a huge amount of cash in front of him along with you. But he didn't care about the tips as much as he did getting to finally talk to you. The fundraiser was technically over, and you were looking at him the same way he was looking at you.

When he took a breath to suggest you and he go for a walk, he felt a hand on his bare back. It was one of the young bartenders who was helping out, and she said, "I can count up your tips for you," with a smile.

"Nope," you said, reaching for his cups yourself and shooting her a glare. "I'll do his. You go help Coyote." You didn't move again until her hand slipped off of his back and she walked away, and then you looked at Bradley and asked, "What are you going to do for me if you win?"

He watched as you quickly sorted the bills into efficient piles as he pulled his shirt back on and leaned against the bar. It had quieted down significantly, and now Penny was taking a few drink orders while everyone else seemed to move to the tables. He felt like he had a moment of privacy with you as he said, "I guess that depends. Apparently you moved away, Sweetheart."

"I did," you confirmed with a smirk as you counted up his twenties.

"But you came back tonight."

You rolled your eyes, still smiling as you moved to the pile of tens. "I'm not too far away. I took a full time job and moved to Del Mar. The guys told me I needed to be here tonight for a special surprise. They said something I had been missing was returning. So I came down."

Bradley's fingers flexed on the edge of the bartop. "They did?"

You looked a little vulnerable as you stacked the bills in one pile and said, "Eight hundred and seventy one dollars."

He nodded once and pushed the money aside without really looking at it. "You'd been missing something, Sweetheart?" he pressed gently, heart pounding in his chest.

You bit your lip as your eyes drifted closed when he rubbed his thumb across your cheek. "I guess I must have asked the guys one time too many if they knew when you'd be back from your deployment."

"Oh," he rasped as you looked at him again. "You missed me?"

"Yes," you whispered. "I was going to ask you out, but then you were just gone. And they told me you were deployed, and I thought I really missed my chance. And I didn't even know if you were single or not, so I-"

Bradley had heard enough, so he kissed you. Just a soft press of his lips to yours, but you practically crawled onto the bar to get closer to him. And it was better than he spent the last five months imagining it might be. He could taste the vodka and lime on your tongue as it met his. Your fingers gently combed through his hair again, and he moaned, "I missed you too, Sweetheart."

Your laughter was soft and sweet as your nose brushed against his, and then he jerked back a few inches as Reuben shouted. "Yo, Rooster! There's time for that later, man! How much tip money did you make?"

"Eight hundred and seventy one," you replied as your fingers trailed down his scarred cheek to rub his mustache before you pecked him on the lips. The three guys groaned in unison, and Bradley watched your face light up in a beautiful smile.

"This is not why we told you that you had to come tonight!" Jake whined, pointing at you and pouting. "You were supposed to distract him, not help him win! He was just supposed to turn into a bumbling mess and admit he has feelings for you!"

You turned away from Jake, and you asked Bradley, "So, do you have feelings for me?"

He huffed out a laugh before he hopped up to sit on the bar, swung his long legs over to the other side and hopped down again. You jumped from your stool and into his arms when he said, "I thought about you the whole time I was away, Sweetheart. I wanted to ask you out in the summer, but I didn't think it was right to hope you'd wait almost half a year for me to be stateside. For us to be together again."

"Bradley," you moaned. His hands found your hips just like earlier, and this time he pulled you snug against him while your fingers teased through his hair. "If a guy is worth waiting for, then I'd wait forever."

He kissed you again, tasting and nipping the lips that he'd dreamed about. Inhaling all of your sweetness that his mind didn't do justice to when he'd been away. Feeling your smile against his lips for the first time.

"Let me ask you again," you said, pausing between kisses. "Since I clearly helped you win the bet, what are you going to do for me?"

"Anything you want," he said immediately as you started to push him toward the door with a grin.

"How about we go for a long drive? And we can talk about how the next time you're deployed, your girlfriend will be waiting patiently for you to return?"

Bradley scooped you up, sending you into a fit of laughter as he carried you directly to his Bronco.

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Bradley was exhausted on Monday to the point where the travel mug of coffee you sent him with did nothing to keep him from yawning out on the tarmac at 8:00. But every yawn ended with him smiling as he thought about how perfect the weekend had been. In the very early hours of Sunday morning, you'd agreed to be his girlfriend. And now he was waiting for the cherry on top of it all.

He didn't have to wait long as he stood between Reuben and Javy, the three of them looking nearly identical in their matching flight suits and boots, standing at attention in front of Maverick. Then Jake came strolling out, and Bradley instantly started laughing.

Maverick turned, took one look at Hangman in his boxer shorts and combat boots and said, "I don't even want to know what's going on here, I just want five hundred push ups."

Jake's eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his face as everyone else tried their best to hold in their laughter. Bradley took his phone out as discreetly as he could and snapped a picture of Jake panicking on the tarmac before he dropped down onto the ground and started on his punishment.

"Everyone else to your jets," Mav barked, and Bradley didn't stick around to hear him say it again. Instead he texted you the photo of Jake along with a short message.

Couldn't have pulled it off without your help, Sweetheart.

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The way I would die of this man just casually started calling me his Sweetheart. I love that he swept the guys to win the bet! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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c1qfxugcgy0 · 3 months

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adventures in aerospace

So I recently started working at Large Aircraft Manufacturer. (LAM) The plant I work at employs 30,000 people. The company as a whole employs 170,000. Usually you only hear about LAM when something goes wrong. But no matter how bumbling it seems from the outside, it's way worse on the inside.

Three months after my first day, I have been "graduated" from "training." In reality, I'm still completely worthless on the floor: the training center has given me a paltry subset of the production certificates I need to actually to do my assigned job. A commonly cited statistic at LAM is that a hundred men a day are retiring, each one representing decades of experience, walking out the door, forever. The training center is in the unenviable position of managing a generational replacement, and have resorted to shoveling heaps of zoomers through as fast as possible. (As one of the few people with a visible hairline and who is not wearing a Roblox graphic tee; I am frequently mistaken for an instructor, and asked where the bathroom is, what time the next class starts, etc)

In theory, the training center knows what shop I'm assigned to, and can simply assign me all the required classes. In practice, they do the absolute minimum amount of training in a desperate attempt to relive the crowding in their handful of computer labs and tell graduates to pick up their certs later.

Of course, the irresistible force of the schedule meets the immovable object of the FAA. If you don't have the required production certificate to perform a particular job, you don't touch the airplane. Full stop, end of story.

And so the curtain opens on the stage. It reveals a single senior mechanic, supervising a mechanic who finally received all the certs and is being qualified on this particular job, surrounded by another three trainees. Trainees are less than nothing, absolute scum. At best we can fetch and carry. Mostly we are expected to stay out of the way. And the senior mechanic is only senior in title. He is one of six assembler-installers who is certified to actually work on the plane, out of twenty people on the crew, and spends every day with a permanent audience. He is 23 years old.

("Mechanic"? If you think the jargon at your job is bad, try joining a company that's a century old. Assembler-installers are universally referred to as "mechanics", despite doing work that's nothing like what a car mechanic does, and who are generally paid far worse than FAA certified A&P mechanics. Mechanics are the 11 bravos of LAM, grunts, the single largest category of worker. The tip of the spear. Hooah!)

Large Aircraft Manufacturer is in a dilly of a pickle. All of its existing airframe designs are hilariously antiquated. It tried designing a brand new plane from a clean sheet, and lost billions of dollars to a decade-long integration hell. After that, to save money, it tried just tacking bigger engines on an older design without changing anything else, and the stupid things plowed into the ground in an excruciatingly public manner.

LAM is now trying a middle road. It is upgrading one of its designs that is merely middle aged, rather than ancient, and with proven, de-risked components built in-house, rather than scattering them to subcontractors across the world. And it's still blowing past deadlines and burning billions of dollars LAM really doesn't have to spare.

This is the program I've been assigned to.

Advanced Midbody - Carbon Wing has taken the bold step of just tacking on carbon fiber wings to a conventional aluminum fuselage. Shockingly, AMCW is now stuck in lightning strike testing, due to that troublesome join between conductive aluminum and conductive...ish carbon fiber. But LAM, confident as ever, or perhaps driven by complaints of its customers, has announced that full rate production will begin just next year. Thus the tide of newhires. According to the schedule, we're supposed to jerk from one wingset a month to one wingset a week. That's not going to happen, but, oh well, orders from above move down at the speed of thought, while reality only slowly trickles upwards.

"120 inch pounds? Really?"

I startle upright. I have observed one hundred pi bracket installs, and I will observe a hundred more before I can touch aircraft structure. This is the first disagreement I've witnessed. A more advanced trainee is questioning the torque spec on a fastener. It is not an entirely foolish question-- most sleeve bolts we use are in the 40 in-pounds range. Doubling it that is unusual. I cough the dust off my unused vocal cords and venture an opinion.

"Well hey I could look it up? I guess"

The lead mechanic glances at me, surprised that I'm still awake, then looks away. Excuse enough for me!

I unfold myself from the stool I've been sitting on for the last four hours then hobble over to the nearest Shared Production Workstation.

We do not get Ikea-style step by step instructions on how to put together the airplane. Like any company that's been around for long enough, LAM is a tangled wad of scar tissue, ancient responses to forgotten trauma. If you state a dimension twice, in two different places, then it is possible for an update to only change one of those dimensions, thereby making the engineering drawing ambiguous. Something real bad must have happened in the past as a result of that, so now an ironclad rule is that critical information is only stated once, in one place, a single source of truth.

As a result, the installation plan can be a little... vague. Step 040 might be something like "DRILL HOLE TO SIZE AND TORQUE FASTENERS TO SPEC". What hole size? What torque spec?

Well, they tell you. Eventually.

(Image from public Google search)

You are given an engineering drawing, and are expected to figure out how things go together yourself. (Or, more realistically, are told how it's done by coworkers) Step by step instructions aren't done because then dozens of illustrations would have to be updated with every change instead of just one, and drawings are updated surprisingly frequently.

Fasteners are denoted by a big plus sign, with a three letter fastener code on the left and the diameter on the right, like so: "XNJ + 8"

To get the actual part number, we go to the fastener callout table:

(Note the use of a trade name in the table above. There is nothing a mechanic loves more than a good trademark. Permanent straight shank fasteners are always called HI-LOKs™. It's not a cable tie, it's a Panduit™. It's not a wedgelock, it's a Cleco™. Hey man, pass me that offset drill. What, you mean a Zephyr™? Where'd the LAMlube™ go? This also means you have to learn the names of everything twice, one name on the installation plan, and one name it's referred to in conversation.)

We find XNJ on that table, and fill in the diameter: BACB30FM8A. Now we look up the spec table for that fastener:

The eagle eyed among you might note that there is no "diameter: 8" on that table. As a LAM mechanic, you are expected to simply know that "diameter" is measured in 32nds of an inch, which simplifies down to 1/4.

(LAM preserves many old-school skills like fraction reduction and memorizing decimal equivalents like this, like flies caught in amber. Not least is the universal use of Imperial units. Many American manufacturers have been browbeaten into adding parenthetical conversions. Not LAM! Any risk at all of a mechanic seeing a second number and using it by accident is too great, and anyway, it violates SSOT. Lengths are in inches and feet, weights are in pounds, volume is in gallons and if you don't like it then you can go eat shit!)

After 10 minutes of following references, I arrive at that table, print it off, highlight the correct row, and hand it off to my senior mechanic.

"Great, thanks."

Gratified that I have enhanced shareholder value, I sit back down, and immediately fall asleep. Another day living the dream.

(next post in this series)

#avgeek #large aircraft manufacturer

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 8 months

Text

The Danger Zone (Part 18) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Bradshaw!Reader | OC

Word Count: 3.9k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ ONLY.

Warnings: Unplanned Pregnancy; Military Inaccuracies; Medical Inaccuracies; Crying; Angst; Family Drama; Deployments; Use of "You," No Use of Y/N, No Set Physical Description

Summary: You try to adapt to life without Jake beside you anymore.

Series Master List

Master List

Dear Jake,

You probably haven’t even reached the aircraft carrier yet. You might even still be on the ground in Miramar. But I couldn’t wait. I miss you. You’ve been gone for less than five hours, and I already miss you so much. I'm not saying that to try and make you feel bad, but because it's the only thing on my mind now.

Everyone offered to take me out today to try and distract me, but I declined. I think that I just want some time to myself. I honestly don't even want to get out of bed. Maybe I’ll do some cleaning. Or who knows? Maybe I’m an accomplished knitter who hasn’t discovered her talent yet. Or maybe I’ll bake again. I don’t know.

Also, all of the tee shirts you left behind are now mine. Sorry, it’s just wife rules. You shouldn’t have married me and knocked me up if you didn’t want me to steal your stuff.

I miss you. I love you. And so does our little girl. Come home safe, Lieutenant Commander. That’s an order.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I went back to work today. Everyone tried to talk to me about you and the wedding and everything, but I just wanted to be left alone. Also, my cravings are all over the place now. And half of the stuff seems to make me throw up these days. Luckily, I still have the gum and toothbrush in my desk.

How’s everything? I assumed that you made it to the carrier by now. Or maybe you’re somewhere else entirely.

You know all of those spy movies over romanticize how sexy it is to be waiting at home for your husband to return home from some top secret mission.

It’s not sexy. It’s just annoying.

Here’s a photo of me and my bump. Don’t mind the mess in the background, I’m rearranging the whole apartment. Call it nervous organizing. It'll be cleaned up. Eventually.

She’s been a shy ever since you left. I can still feel her moving around, but even she seems to have realized that you're gone. I think that she just misses you. And I can’t blame her because I miss you too.

I love you, Jake. Come home safely.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I got the package that you bought for me. I hope that you know that if you were here, I would have given you a rerun of that time that we went to that desert concert. The one where you wouldn't remove your hands from my waist for a second. I hope that your big promotion doesn’t change how much you enjoyed it when I tied your hands up back in your truck.

Our daughter’s been moving around like crazy today ever since I played your voice for her. She doesn’t seem to be willing to kick yet, but we’ll get there in time.

I let Emma take me out today. We just took a walk around her neighborhood. Baby girl finally went to bed after that. But knowing her, she’ll wake up just in time for me to go to bed.

Here’s our photo from today. Emma took it. I can’t believe I’m going to get even bigger. You owe me a deep tissue massage on my back when you get home. And I’ll hold you to it.

We love you and miss you, Jake.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I couldn’t take it anymore. I moved in with Mav today. I thought I wanted to be alone, but I was wrong. Being alone with my thoughts just makes me sad and lonely and I don’t want our daughter to bake in that. She needs to inherit your smile and dimples, so I’m making a bigger effort to be happy.

Penny took me to get my nails done today. I got a light pink for our daughter, but now everyone’s assuming that we’re having a girl. I haven’t confirmed it because we didn’t discuss it before you left but don’t be shocked when you come home to a lot of pink.

I also started seriously researching some girl names. I never realized how many people I don’t like until I started trying to name our daughter. And you better speak up if any of the ones that I suggest are ones that have bad meanings to you.

I’m still digging through a whole bunch of lists but there’s such weird ones out there, Jake. And we cannot name our child something that would get us a look from her teachers. Or a stripper name.

I love you. Baby girl is behaving herself, but she misses you.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

To My Beautiful Wife,

I finally got a chance to check my email. We’re settled on the carrier now, but we’ve been doing a lot of drills and long briefings. I'm sorry that I haven't written earlier. Know that the two of you are always on my mind.

I’m glad you got your gift. I tried to record what I could think of for our baby girl. I don’t want her to miss anything. And I don’t want her keeping you up at night. Has she kicked yet? By my count, you’re hitting seven months in a day or two.

Thanks for sending me those photos. I put up one of the two of you from that photo shoot in my plane. Really brightens up the place. But it also reminds me of what I’m missing. Sometimes I have to take it down so I can focus.

I miss you. I miss our little girl. Every day, every hour, every second.

Try to relax. I know that everyone’s probably told you that a thousand times by now, but I don’t want you feeling stressed about me. I’m fine and I'll be home as soon as I can. Please tell me that you didn’t lift anything heavy while you were moving into Mav’s house. Or maybe it's better if you don't tell me.

And you can tell everyone about her. I don’t mind. It’s not like we could keep it a secret for much longer anyways. But make sure to mention that I was right.

And you have to tell me the worst names that you've seen on these lists. I left a list of baby names I liked in my nightstand. I'd research them when I couldn't sleep at night.

I love you and I love our daughter. I’ll try to be home soon.

Your Husband,

Jake

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I had my seven month appointment today. Baby girl is healthy and still measuring a little small. But her heartbeat is strong and I can tell that she’s going to be stubborn coming out. The doctor says that it’s only a matter of time before she starts kicking.

I hope that the ocean isn’t too rough and you can see the stars. I remember when Mav and I spent a month in Hawaii when I was a teenager. We saw the most beautiful stars there. What if we picked a star name for our daughter? Not Stella, though. That was our dog's name growing up and I can't name my daughter after a dog.

I didn’t lift anything. Mav wouldn’t let me. And neither would Bradley. They’re watching me like hawks these days. And no, I didn’t mean that as a bird joke. Also, I can’t name our daughter after a bird. I’m trying to end the family streak of joke names.

Mckeighleigh was the most ridiculous looking name I’ve seen so far. And we’re not naming our daughter Precious either. Or worse, Chastity. I don’t know how those nurses keep a straight face when they hear those names.

And your recording telling her to go to bed has come in handy lately. Though I did warn her that we’ll be discussing the fact that she only seems to listen to you about that when she comes out.

I love you so much Jake. You’ll be home soon, I know it. And we’ll be waiting for you when you do.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I can't fall asleep, so I’m writing to you instead. And no, it wasn’t our baby girl who kept me up. I’ve had the worst heartburn these days. And Tums don’t do shit. They say that means that our daughter will come out with a full head of hair. I say that I'd take a bald baby in exchange for better sleep.

My baby shower is in a few days. Next weekend. Emma and Phoenix said that it was going to be relatively small, and I hope that they stick to it. I’m not really in the mood to see a lot of people anymore.

I yelled at Bradley the other day for making an omelet with three eggs because he left an egg in the carton without a 'friend' because he left an egg alone in its row since there was an odd number of eggs. Apparently, I kept crying about it for a while, but in all honesty, I don’t really remember much of that conversation. I’m pretty sure that Bradley’s keeping his distance now. You probably would have enjoyed seeing his face.

I asked for a little box at my baby shower to put name suggestions in. I’m running out of ideas. I keep worrying that we’re going to name her something stupid.

Baby girl is growing bigger, and I can’t believe that I’m still going to get fatter. I’m struggling to grab things off of the floor now. Maverick got me one of those grabby things that old people use. You would probably find it hilarious.

I love you. I miss you. I’ll write to you tomorrow.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

“Thank you,” you told Emma as she handed you a lemonade.

Emma and Penny took you out for the day to spend some time out of Mav’s house. You were growing increasingly less interested in leaving your 'nest,' as Bradley nicknamed it, and they were trying their best to get you motivated to go out and continue to live your life.

You had done some shopping for a dress to wear to your baby shower and now the three of you were getting a snack before you’d head over to the Hard Deck for the rest of the afternoon. You chatted for a moment before you sighed, slowly got to your feet, and grabbed your purse from your chair.

“Bathroom?” Emma asked you.

“Where else?” you joked, walking off.

A few minutes later, as you were washing your hands at the sink, you looked up when another woman stepped inside the bathroom. You offered her a friendly smile before her familiarity suddenly struck you. Quickly drying your hands, you reached for your bag and turned to leave. But the woman stood directly in your path.

She had stripes of gray cutting through what appeared to be deep auburn hair. She carried herself with a sense of purpose. And an expensive handbag. She reminded you of some of the women you used to see at the country club that you worked at in college. The type who turned a blind eye when their pig husbands made some demeaning comment to the women on staff and were never seen without some kind of drink in their perfectly manicured hands.

“You know who I am?” Georgia Seresin asked softly.

You stared her down, gripping the strap of you bag tightly. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, and you could practically feel the rhythm in your ears. Taking a breath and releasing it, you tilted your chin up and narrowed your eyes at her.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded quietly, looking around the small public bathroom. No one else was in there except for the two of you. “Are you stalking me?”

“I came to California when my son didn’t respond to my letter.”

“I wonder why?” you wondered sarcastically.

“What did he tell you?”

“Everything,” you stated firmly. “Which is why I would appreciate it if you stopped acting like it was just a coincidence that you ran into me here, hundreds of miles from your home, when Jake is conveniently deployed.” You paused for a moment before repeating through gritted teeth, “Why are you here?”

“To talk to you. About my son.”

“What about your son?”

“I know that your child isn’t here yet, but when they’re born, perhaps you can understand how much pain it could cause a mother to miss out on their child’s wedding or the process of them expecting their first child. From a mother to a mother—”

“—I’m going to stop you right there.”

You tried to keep your tears of anger in as you thought about Jake’s expression when he told you about his childhood. When you thought about the pain that you could hear in his tone, that you could feel radiating off of him.

“Because a woman who calls herself a mother would never do the things that you did. You stole him from a poor girl who loved him. You lied to her, promising that you would take care of him and love him. And then you turned around and fed him to the wolves." Nostrils flaring and angry tears threatening to fall, you added, "Did you ever even tell him that you loved him?"

“Of course, we did,” she admonished.

“Did you? Did you tell him that you were proud of him? That you loved him no matter what happened?” you snapped, trying to keep your voice even. “Every night my mom told me that she loved me and that she was proud of me. How many times did you tell Jake that, Georgia? How is a child supposed to just know that if you don’t tell them?” Shaking your head as you let out a shaky breath, you turned back to her. “And just so you know, there won’t be a day where Jake doesn’t tell our child that he loves them. Not one.”

Georgia adjusted her handbag on her shoulder and pursed her lips together. Clearly, she wasn’t used to being spoken to in this manner, but you didn’t give a shit about her feelings.

“Did you come here to convince me to talk Jake into speaking to you again? To buy my baby from me? A combination of the two? Does your husband know that you’re here? Is he waiting outside?”

Georgia took another moment to compose herself from your questions. She glanced down at the rings on your finger before meeting your gaze again.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Jake selected a woman as . . . outspoken as you,” Georgia stated, adjusting her handbag again. “No, my husband does not know that I’m here. And I’m not here to buy my grandchild. I’m here to try and get through to my son and I’ve realized that the best way to do that would be through you. The woman he married and is having a child of his own with.”

Your eyes flashed with annoyance at Georgia's words.

“I have no interest in having a relationship with you because Jake doesn’t have an interest in it.”

“There’s nothing I can do to persuade you to speak with him about me?” Georgia pressed, an edge of desperation in her tone.

“No, there’s not.”

“You would deny your child a set of grandparents?”

“I will protect my child from people who hurt their father.”

Forcing yourself to take a breath, you stared down Georgia for a moment. She looked far more pathetic than you knew she was comfortable with. Apparently, she thought that she would just waltz in, and you would agree with her without any pushback.

But she couldn't have been more wrong.

“You know, when Jake told me about his upbringing, I honestly felt a bit of sympathy for you, Georgia. Maybe you were convinced that being a rich housewife to a pathetic little man was a better life than being loved by a poor man. And I’m sure that your husband hasn’t been kind to you over the years.”

The rage flashed to the surface again as she turned away from you for a moment.

“But how could you look another woman in the eye and convince her to hand over an innocent baby to a man that you knew would be a horrible father? That you knew would hurt that baby?”

After a moment, you walked past Georgia, who did not move to block your path this time. You opened the door and strode out of there and you didn't dare look back. Trying to gather yourself, you looked up to see Emma and Penny a few steps away from you.

“Are you okay? We were getting worried," Emma questioned with clear concern.

“Fine. Let’s get going to the Hard Deck,” you stated, already turning towards the parking lot.

“What happened?” Penny asked, studying your expression. You didn’t reply and just kept marching towards the parking lot until Penny rested a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to slow down. “You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

“Jake’s mom walked into the bathroom,” you explained quietly, looking over your shoulder.

“What?"

“She knew where you were?” Penny asked urgently, looking around with a protective stare. Wrapping her arm around your shoulders, she encouraged you forward again. “Come on, let’s get going.”

~~~~~

Maverick’s face darkened after you finished with your explanation about what happened at the mall. Grabbing his phone, he got up from the table with a serious expression.

“I’m going to make a call,” he stated firmly. “They can’t stalk you and your child. I don’t care who the hell that they think they are in Texas. That’s not going to fly out here. That’s not going to continue.”

“Who are you calling?” you asked as Maverick walked off.

“An old contact. I’ll be right back.”

Penny told you to just let Mav make the call as the remaining four of you remained seated at the table. You twisted your engagement ring around your finger nervously, sharing a look with Emma and Bradley, who sat across from you.

“She didn’t try to hurt me—”

“—Doesn’t matter,” Bradley interjected quickly. “It’s creepy and it’s over the line and it’s going to stop. Now. Just let Mav make his call. He'll handle it.”

“I know,” you sighed, holding your head in your hands. “Jake is going to freak out when I tell him.”

“You’re going to tell him right away?”

“I can’t hide it from him. It might take me some time to find the words, but I have to tell him.”

Penny hugged you to her side and rubbed your back with her hand, giving you the maternal support that you really needed in that moment. You sighed and leaned against her, desperately wishing that Jake would be home soon.

“Everything will be alright. We’re going to figure this out.”

~~~~~

Dear Jake,

I hope that everything is running smoothly where you are. And that you read this email sooner rather than later.

Penny and Emma took me to the shops yesterday and when I was trying to leave the bathroom, I ran into your mother. She came up from Texas and she told me that she wanted to talk to me about you. Said something about using me to convince you to talk to her again. I told her that I wasn’t interested in that because you weren’t interested in that. She let me leave after that.

I don’t want to stress you out or make you feel like you have to do anything when you’re so far away, but I wanted to be honest with you. Mav’s made a few calls and he seems to think that he has a solution. Don’t stress about us, just focus on your mission and coming home safely in one piece.

We love you, Jake. And we’re safe, we’re fine. And we miss you.

Love,

Your Wife

~~~~~

Folding some fresh laundry in Maverick's house a few days later, you looked up when you heard your phone buzz. An unknown number was calling you and despite your hesitation, you answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Honey.”

“Jake?” you whispered out shakily, holding a hand to your mouth. Moving to sit, you tried to calm yourself down and not just simply sob. “How are you calling me?”

“I have my ways,” Jake replied teasingly. Growing more serious, he asked, “Are you alright?”

“We’re fine, Jake.”

“I’m so sorry, Honey. She never should have been anywhere near the two of you.”

“We’re fine,” you repeated softly. “She didn’t threaten us. If anyone was threatening anyone, it was me.”

“That’s my wife,” Jake praised, causing you to smile bashfully. “But my father wasn’t there, right? It was just my mother?”

“Yeah. She said that he didn’t know that she was there, and I didn’t see him around.”

“Good. I’ll deal with them when I get home.”

“Okay.” After a moment you asked, “How much longer do you have?”

“Less than a minute. I’m sorry, Honey, I just needed to know that the two of you were okay. They thought that I was having some kind of stroke when I read your email and I managed to convince them to let me call you.”

“At least one good thing came out of the whole shitshow,” you sighed, resting a hand on your bump. “I love—”

You froze when you felt your daughter press her foot against your hand. Jake felt his heart leap into his throat when you cut yourself off and stop talking without a clear reason.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“She’s kicking,” you whispered softly.

“What?”

“Jake, she’s kicking. Our daughter is kicking!”

“She’s kicking?”

“Yes, she’s kicking,” you laughed, before your joy dimmed and tears pooled in your eyelids. Sniffling, you croaked out, “I love you so much, Jake. We love you so much.”

“I love you too. And I miss you so fucking much, Honey. And I’m so sorry that I’m not there.”

“Hangman, time’s up,” Jake heard from behind him, causing him to look over his shoulder.

“I’ve got to go, Honey,” he replied, grinding his jaw to try and stave off the tears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. Bye, Jake.”

The line went dead, and you slowly placed your phone down. Holding your hand to your mouth, you finally let out your sobs. And about a thousand emotions that you'd tried keeping in ever since Jake was forced to leave you.

Your daughter was finally kicking, but her father wasn’t here to feel her. And the thought only made you sob harder.

Back on the carrier, Jake rubbed the tears that leaked from his eyes.

He missed it. He fucking missed it. He missed his daughter kicking for the first time. He wasn’t there when his mother showed up out of nowhere and accosted you in a public bathroom. He wasn’t going to be there for your baby shower.

Jake had anticipated that deploying while you were heavily pregnant was going to be difficult. But he didn’t realize that it was going to be impossible, killing him slowly from the inside out.

“Hangman?”

“I’m coming,” Jake called back, clearing his throat. “I’m coming.”

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starphasedd · 1 year

Text

lessons

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

rating: 18+ (nsfw)

notes: who doesn't love a good bathroom counter fuck? 🫣 this one is short! But I hope everyone likes it. 💜

Ao3

Today was one of those days.

As a woman, you inherently had those days. The days where nothing seems to go right and you immediately subconsciously blame everything on yourself.

The days where your confidence drops to zero.

The days where you can't seem to do anything right.

And the most frustrating thing of all, is how you seem to always have those days when you're with Ghost.

Long story short--you fucked up today. And it directly affected your colleague. When everything was said and done, the chopper ride back to the base eerily silent. Not a peep from your friend.

And once you arrived, he disembarked without a word, large boots clumping heavily down the metal gangplank of the aircraft.

Ghost wasn't a particularly chatty person, but he always talked to you. Even if it were just a few encouraging words after a hard mission. He always made sure you knew he appreciated you. And after some of your intimate encounters in the past, you liked to think he saw you as more than a friend or colleague. But today, that couldn't seem further from the truth.

Nonetheless, you let it be.

You immediately went to your room and stripped all your dirty clothes. You were covered in dirt and blood--not your own blood, which made it more disgusting. If possible. Mud was smeared all over your face, and your greasy hair stuck to the side of your neck like you had some kind of hair treatment slick in it.

A deep groan escaped your mouth when you finally stepped under the warm stream of water. All the memories from the day slowly drained down the tub as you washed yourself clean.

When finished, feeling squeaky clean, you stepped out into the misty room. The mirror was fogged completely. The air smelled pleasantly of lavender and salon brand shampoo. When you stepped onto the rug, the fabric immediately started soaking up the water on your feet. You grabbed the towel hanging on the rack next to you and slowly began towling off.

Once you finished, you walked to the counter where you had placed a fresh pair of panties and your favorite oversized tee. You made no rush at pulling your panties up to sit tightly on your ass, and then you dropped the shirt over your wet hair, letting the fabric stick to your soft skin. The shirt was big--came down just to the bottom of your waist. It covered most of your ass, but some still peeked out underneath.

The cotton fabric began to stick to your naked breasts--perked nipples starting to show through. You paid this no mind as you began to brush the wet tangles from your hair.

Memories from your embarrassing behavior today began to invade your mind in the silence of this room as you brushed the tangles from your hair. You huff, closing your eyes to concentrate as the brush comes to a stop mid-way through this stroke.

"Stop it." You hush yourself.

"Beatin' yourself up?" A deep boisterous voice slams you back to reality.

You jump slightly and shoot around to where the voice came from. Your heart is about to pop out of your chest. It's then that you see Simon standing tall in the doorway of your private bathroom. He's stripped of his gear, only left in his jeans and his black hoodie. He's leaning against one side of the doorway, his large arms crossed over his chest as he examines you.

"Christ, Simon--" you say, exasperated. "--what are you doin'?"

He cocks his head to the other side.

"What are you doin'?" He asks in rebuttal.

You watch him for a few seconds before huffing and crossing your arms over your chest to mimic him.

"I'm taking a shower. What does it look like I'm doin'?" You fire back.

"Looks like you're havin' some kind of mental battle with yourself to me." He says softly. His deep baritone sends chills down your spine.

Your arms loosen as you lock eyes with him. A sigh eventually escapes your lips. You turn back around to avoid his gaze and face the mirror. You continue what you were doing before.

"M'fine. Just--" you sigh.

"You're beatin' yourself up over today." He answers for you.

You sigh again, leaning down and placing both hands on the counter as you drop your head. You don't need to say anything--he knows.

You feel a sudden warmth approach you from behind, and you feel his large hands start to snake around your waist. He palms you--his thumbs digging into your lower back to message you there.

"Shit happens." He says softly from behind you.

You sigh again.

"I know, but--" you say, groaning when he pushes down on your lower back, making you arch. "--I-I know better. It shouldn't have happened--"

"But it did." He says, one of his large hands beginning to trail up your spine to attach to the back of your neck. "Which sucks. But you owned up to it. And recognized you made a mistake. Shit happens."

He words soothe you--relax you. And it's then that you notice his clothed erection pressed to the inside of your thigh. He's pushing on your ass with his hips in a slow, almost unnoticeable thrusting motion. The hand on your hip starts to slip under your shirt to lift and make your ass visible to him.

You blush, and huff out a nervous laugh.

"You still want me after my fuck up today?"

This time, he thrusts into your ass hard. You can feel the arousal starting to pool in your underwear as the hand on your neck moves to grip your shoulder for leverage.

"Course I still want ya. Did good today." He groans out.

"Wha--what?" You ask, feeling his fingers slip under the band of your panties to pull them down.

He can't hold in a groan at the sweet sight of your dripping pussy once he gets your panties down. Fresh from a steamy shower. You can hear him start to fumble with the zipper on his jeans.

"Can the explanation wait, luv? Want this sweet pussy, now." He says, impatience heavy in his tone.

You moan when you feel the tip of his cock press into your tight entrance. And you bite your lip in anticipation--only for him to stop.

"Yes or no, luv?" He asks.

Fuck, you love when he asks nicely. He has every right to take what he wants at any given moment. He knows you'd never turn him down--but he always insists on asking first.

"Fuck--yes, Simon. Please..."

It's not often that Simon's so impatient for sex that he doesn't prepare you first. He's large, and he knows you often need something to help the adjustment. But today, his desires outweigh his patience. And you're ready for it.

You spent all day wondering if he was mad at you. It's very clear now that he's not. The breath is stolen from your lungs as he plunges in deep, all the way to the end. His hips make contact with your ass and the head of his cock breaches your cervix. You whimper loudly for him.

His hands anchor on your hips as he begins setting a brutal and needy pace. You can't help but fall to your elbows and drop your forehead to the counter as he ravages you from behind. His thick fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he fucks you in earnest.

Your toes curl and your knees buckle as the brutal pace he sets brings your orgasm awkwardly fast. The string in your lower belly is pulling tight as heat creeps its way into your lower back.

"Good girl." He encourages, heavy breaths and deep groans escaping his chest as he fucks you hard. "So good."

Your moans are getting caught in your throat as his heavy thrusts bare down on you. It's almost overwhelming.

"C'mon." He grits through his teeth, hips slapping hard against your ass as he fucks clear up into your cervix.

"Simon--" You whimper. He squeezes your hips in response.

"Thas it. C'mon." He encourages.

You start to tighten around him. When his hips stutter, his fingers dig in deeper, and he throws his head back--you all but cry like a child and cum hard around his cock. He stutters again, grunting when your walls start to pulse around him.

He grunts your name a few times, praising your sweet core, your kushy and comfortable ass, and your beautiful moans.

Of course, he wasn't far behind you. After only a few more thrusts, he's bearing down on your hips and filling you to the point of leakage. His seed starts to leak, trailing down your thighs until it pools on the floor at your feet.

He leans down over you, supporting his weight on the counters as he breaths heavily into your ear.

You shuffle a little, pressing your back up into his chest. A large hand comes around to press on your lower belly where his cock still sits.

"Feel me clear up in here, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck.

You whimper his name, fingers sliding over to touch that hand of his that rests on the counter next to you.

"Enough. Gonna get us caught." You laugh softly.

He grunts.

"You think that's gonna stop me?"

You sigh. "Nope."

He presses a soft kiss to the nape of your neck. "Smart girl."

He removes himself from you, but not completely leaving before he cleans you of his arousal.

As he's fixing his jeans, you turn to look at him.

"What did you mean? By 'did good'?"

He glances down at you for a few moments while he pulls his zipper up. Then a large hand comes up to gently caress your chin. He makes you look at him.

"I meant you did good." He says gently, his thumb swiping over your lower lip. "It was an honest mistake. Not even the most honorable of men can admit they did wrong, but you did."

You watch him softly.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes. Next time, you'll know better."

A soft smile crosses your cheeks as you nod softly in his palm.

You blush when he leans down and softly places a clothed kiss to your cheek through his mask.

"Now get dressed. Supper time soon."

"Yes sir." You say with a smile.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #smut

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luvfy0dor · 7 months

Text

“Hands Under My Sweatshirt, Baby Kiss it Better ♡⁠˖” Fyodor Dostoevsky x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; BSD Spoilers, mentions of death, ch. 112 events, soft!fyodor

Description; Having a nightmare about your partner dying and waking up to him comforting you

A/n; i'm supposed to be doing a saq rn but I COULDNT NOT POST ON NEW CHAPTER DAY AHHHH I WANNA BE FYODORS MEDIEVAL HOUSE SPOUSE SO BAD IN EVERY LIFE TIME

ೃ⁀➷

Everything felt so real- you watched as your lover got into a helicopter with a briefcase containing an antidote, expecting a swift escape from Mersault only to be impaled by an iron rod. You watched as his eyes widened and his slender fingers wrapped around the pole. Blood trickled from both the new piercing in his midsection and between his lips while his breathing became shaky. He glared at another man in your dream who has been rendered faceless while speaking, although everything in the dream was silent so you couldn't make out any particular words or sentences.

The night terror didn't stop at your boyfriend being impaled, as a matter of fact it made you watch as the helicopter was messily flown directly into a tower and burst into flames with Fyodor still inside. You tried to hurry towards the aircraft, but it exploded before you could reach it. The blast didn't effect you, not scorching you or propelling you backwards at all, but letting you stand there and watch as all hope of getting Fyodor out of there shattered like glass. The crackling embers of fire surrounding you gradually became accompanied by a soft whisper-one that was all too familiar and thick with sleep. You were still in shock from the dream when your eyes snapped open, your legs curled inward with Fyodors chest to your back and his hand soothingly rubbing your side. "It's okay, Moya Lyubov, what happened?" He asks you, his eyebrows furrowed and his breath warm against your ear as he presses a chaste kiss to the nape of your neck. "Nightmare. You're...you're okay." You murmur, relief taking over your heart and mind. You rolled over, your body pushing his backwards a bit. "Ofcourse I'm alright. I'm not going anywhere, y/n, I promise. Was the dream about me getting hurt?" He correctly assumes, his tired gaze fixed on your own. "Mmm, worse, dying." You say, your heart finally returning to a steady pace.

"Ah, that makes more sense. You were very restless, you know." He tells you. "It's easy to tell when you have nightmares, you're like a dog. You make some distressed noises and kick your legs." He says with a grin. You sigh and close your eyes, pressing your head to his chest. "It's better than being stiff as a board though, 'cause that means you'll pick up on it and be all sweet and affectionate." You say. Your arms wrap around his torso like they would with a stuffed toy. "I'd say I'm rather affectionate regardless. You're just needy." He looks down at you and pushes your head out from his chest, kissing your forehead while his other hand slides up the back of your sweater and rests on the small of your back. You hum and twist the fabric of his tee-shirt between your pointer and thumb. "M'not needy." You roll your eyes and look up at him through your eyelashes. "If you insist." He says, closing his eyes and readying himself to delve back into a dreamless sleep. "Mhm..g'night, Fedya, I love you." You say, pressing a quick kiss to his lips that gets his eyes to open right back up. He kisses you back and smiles faintly. "Good night, Y/n, I love you too, sleep well." His arm drapes over your side with the blanket strewn messily over the both of you. Now you could sleep a little more peacefully with the reassurance of your lovers presence in your arms, and more importantly, his safety.

A/n; i speedran this tbh, so I'm sorry if it's not great. Also, would if I made like,,, a taglist would any of y'all wanna be on it because I see so many people do it and it looks cool but I've been too nervous to like say anything or ask bc I don't want people to be like "ew no wtf" THATS LITERALLY NOT GONNA HAPPEN BUT LIKE IDK I'm scared djsjjfjekekak

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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months

Text

Boeing, Spirit and Jetblue, a monopoly horror-story

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables TONIGHT (Jan 22) at 8PM. Berliners: Otherland has added a second date (Jan 28) for my book-talk after the first one sold out - book now!

Last week, William Young, an 82 year old federal judge appointed by Ronald Reagan, blocked the merger of Spirit Airlines and Jetblue. It was a seismic event:

https://storage.courtlistener.com/recap/gov.uscourts.mad.254267/gov.uscourts.mad.254267.461.0_6.pdf

Seismic because the judge's opinion is full of rhetoric associated with the surging antitrust revival, sneeringly dismissed by corporate apologists as "hipster antitrust." Young called America's airlines and "oligopoly," a situation he blamed on out-of-control mergers. As Matt Stoller writes, this is the first airline merger to be blocked by the DOJ and DOT since deregulation in 1978:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/antitrust-enforcers-block-the-jetblue

The judge wasn't shy about why he was reviving a pre-Jimmy Carter theory of antitrust: "[the merger] does violence to the core principle of antitrust law, 'to protect] markets –- and its market participants — from anticompetitive harm."

The legal arguments the judge advances are fascinating and worthy of study:

https://twitter.com/johnmarknewman/status/1747343447227519122

But what really caught my eye was David Dayen's American Prospect article about the judge's commentary on the state of the aviation industry:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/01-19-2024-how-boeing-ruined-the-jetblue-spirit-merger/

Why, after all, have Spirit and Jetblue been so ardent in pursuing mergers? Jetblue has had two failed merger attempts with Virgin, and this is the third time they've failed in an attempt to merge with Spirit. Spirit, meanwhile, just lost a bid to merge with Frontier. Why are these two airlines so obsessed with combining with each other or any other airline that will have them?

As Dayen explains, it's because US aviation has been consumed by monopoly, hollowed out to the point of near collapse, thanks to neoliberal policies at every part of the aviation supply-chain. For one thing, there's just not enough pilots, nor enough air-traffic controllers (recall that Reagan's first major act in office was to destroy the air traffic controller's union).

But even more importantly, there are no more planes. Boeing's waitlist for airplane delivery stretches to 2029. And Boeing is about to deliver a lot fewer planes, thanks to its disastrous corner-cutting, which grounded a vast global fleet of 737 Max aircraft (again):

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-01-09-boeing-737-max-financial-mindset/

The 737 disaster(s) epitomize the problems of inbred, merger-obsessed capitalism. As Luke Goldstein wrote, the rampant defects in Boeing's products can be traced to the decision to approve Boeing's 1997 merger with McDonnell-Douglas, a company helmed by Jack Welch proteges, notorious for cost-cutting at the expense of reliability:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-01-09-boeing-737-max-financial-mindset/

Boeing veterans describe the merger as the victory of the bean-counters, which led to a company that chases short-term profits over safety and even the viability of its business:

https://www.airliners.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=213075

After all, the merger turned Boeing into the single largest exporter in America, a company far too big to fail, teeing up tens of billions from Uncle Sucker, who also account for 40% of Boeing's income:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/its-time-to-nationalize-and-then

The US government is full of ex-Boeing execs, just as Boeing's executive row is full of ex-US federal aviation regulators. Bill Clinton's administration oversaw the creation of Boeing's monopoly in the 1990s, but it was the GOP that rescued Boeing the first time the 737 Maxes started dropping out of the sky.

Boeing's biggest competitor is the state-owned Airbus, a joint venture whose major partners are the governments of France, Spain and Germany – governments that are at least theoretically capable of thinking about the public good, not short-term profits. Boeing's largest equity stakes are held by the Vanguard Group, Vanguard Group subfiler, Newport Trust Company, and State Street Corporation:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2024-01-18-airbus-advantage/

As Matt Stoller says, America has an airline that the public bails out, protects, and subsidizes but has no say over. Boeing has all the costs of public ownership and none of the advantages. It's the epitome of privatized gains and socialized losses.

This is Reagan's other legacy, besides the disastrous shortage of air-traffic controllers. The religious belief in deregulation – especially deregulation of antitrust enforcement – leads to a deregulated market. It leads to a market that is regulated by monopolists who secretly deliberate, behind closed board-room doors, and are accountable only to their shareholders. These private regulators are unlike government regulators, who are at least nominally bound by obligations to transparency and public accountability. But they share on thing in common with those public regulators: when they fuck up, the public has to pay for their mistakes.

It's a good thing Boeing's executives are too big to fail, because they fail constantly. Boeing execs who are warned by subcontractors of dangerous defects in their planes order those subcontractors to lie, or lose their contracts:

https://www.levernews.com/boeing-supplier-ignored-warnings-of-excessive-amount-of-defects-former-employees-allege/

As a result of Boeing's mismanagement, America's only aircraft supplier steadily has lost ground to Airbus, which today enjoys a 2:1 advantage over Boeing. But it's not just Boeing that's the weak link aviation. US aviation is a chain entirely composed of weak links.

Take jet engines: Pratt & Whitney are Spirit's major engine supplier, but these engines suck as much as Boeing's fuselages. Much of Spirit's fleet is chronically grounded because the engines don't run. The reason Spirit buys its engines from those loveable goofballs at Pratt & Whitney? The Big Four airlines have bought all the engines for sale from other suppliers, leaving smaller airlines to buy their engines from fat-fingered incompetents.

This is why – as Dayen notes – smaller US airlines are so horny for intermarriage. They can't grow by adding routes, because there are no pilots. Even if they could get pilots, there'd be no slots because there are no air traffic controllers. But even if they could get pilots and slots, there are no planes, because Boeing sucks and Airbus can't make planes fast enough to supply the airlines that don't trust Boeing. And even if they could get aircraft, there are no engines because the Big Four aviation cartel cornered the market on working jet engines.

Part of Jetblue and Spirit's pitch was that they hand off the routes that they'd cut after their merger to other small airlines, like Frontier and Allegiant. But Frontier and Allegiant can't service those routes: they don't have pilots, slots, planes or engines.

Spirit hasn't been profitable since 2019 and is sitting on $4b in debt. Jetblue was proposing to finance its acquisition with another $3.5b in debt. The resulting airline could only be profitable by sharply cutting routes and massively raising prices, cutting 6.1m seats/year. With a debt:capital ratio of 111%, the company would have no slack and would need a bailout any time anything went wrong. Not coincidentally, the Big Four airlines also have debt:capital ratios of about 100-120%, and they do get bailouts ever time anything goes wrong.

As William McGee reminds us, it's been 14 years since anyone's started a new US airline:

https://twitter.com/WilliamJMcGee/status/1747363491445375072

US aviation is deeply cursed. But Boeing's self-disassembling aircraft show us why we can't fix it by allowing mergers: private monopolies, shorn of the discipline of competition and regulation, are extraction machines that turn viable businesses into debt-wracked zombies.

This is a subject that's beautifully illustrated in Dayen's 2020 book Monopolized, in the chapter on health care:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

The US health care system has been in trouble for a long time, but the current nightmare starts with the deregulation of pharma. Pharma companies interbred with one another in a string of incestuous marriages that produced these dysfunctional behemoths that were far better at shifting research costs to governments and squeezing customers than they were at making drugs. The pharma giants gouged hospitals for their products, and in response, hospitals underwent their own cousin-fucking merger orgy, producing regional monopolies that were powerful enough to resist pharma's price-hikes. But in growing large enough to resist pharma profiteering, the hospitals also became powerful enough to screw over insurers. Insurers then drained their own gene pool by combining with one another until most of us have three or fewer insurers we can sign up with – companies that are both big enough to refuse hospital price-hikes, and to hike premiums on us.

Thus monopoly begets monopoly: with health sewn up by monopolies in medical tech, drugs, pharmacy benefit managers, insurance, and hospitals, the only easy targets for goosing profits are people:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/05/hillrom/#baxter-international

This is how you get a US medical system that costs more than any other rich nation's system to operate, delivers worse outcomes than those other systems, and treats medical workers worse than any other wealthy country.

Now, rich people can still buy their way out of this mess, but you have to be very rich indeed to buy your way out of the commercial aviation system. There's a lot of 1%ers who fly commercial, and they're feeling the squeeze – and there's no way they're leasing their own jets.

Stein's Law holds that "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." America's aviation mergers – in airlines, aircraft and engines – have hollowed out the system. The powerful, brittle companies that control aviation have so much power over their workforce that they've turned air traffic controller and pilot into jobs that no one wants – and they used their bailout money to buy out the most senior staff's contracts, sending them to early retirement.

Now, I'm with the people who say that most of US aviation should be replaced with high-speed rail, but that's not why our technocrats and finance barons have gutted aviation. They did it to make a quick buck. A lot of quick bucks. Now the system is literally falling to pieces in midair. Now the system is literally on fire:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/01/19/us/miami-boeing-plane-engine-fire.html

Which is how you get a Reagan appointed federal judge issuing an opinion that has me punching the air and shouting, "Yes, comrade! To the barricades!" Anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. When the system is falling to pieces around you, ideology disintegrates like a 737 Max.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/21/anything-that-cant-go-on-forever/#will-eventually-stop

Image: Vitaly Druchenok (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:ECAir_Boeing_737-306_at_Brazzaville_Airport_by_Vitaly_Druchenok.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

Joe Ravi (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Panorama_of_United_States_Supreme_Court_Building_at_Dusk.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #aviation #antitrust #monopoly #boeing #jetblue #spirit airlines #oligopoly #air traffic controllers #airbus #steins law

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mikhailwrites · 7 months

Text

Soaring Ever Higher 2 - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover

Previous chapter | This Chapter on AO3 | Next chapter

Ghost met John "Trigger" MacTavish and after the pilot saved his life - at cost of disobeying a direct order - asked him out for a drink. However, Trigger stood him up...

John is on his way to change from his flight suit to something considerably nicer. Well, maybe not all that much nicer since he wasn’t exactly planning on going out during this deployment, let alone going out with someone. Still, a tan tee and black cargo trousers could be considered an improvement.

Just as he’s nearing the door to his room, someone is standing in front of them, hand raised to knock. Trigger makes another two steps before he pauses. He’d recognise the unruly mop of dirty-blonde hair anywhere. “Count?” he calls out his wingman, who turns around quickly.

“Ah, there you are! Come on, the boss needs you,” Count gestures. Trigger stops. No way. Do they really have to do this right now?

“Can’t he wait at least till tomorrow? He can chew me out then,” John shrugs, resuming his walk towards his room.

However, Count shakes his head. “It’s not about your stunt today, I think. There’s another mission, an urgent one,” he explains. “So, come on. It’s not like you have somewhere better to be.”

He does, actually, but doesn’t say it out loud. If Count knew about his plans, Trigger wouldn’t hear the end of it. “Aye, okay, lead the way.”

True to Count’s words, Long Caster is already in the briefing room, going over maps and documents. The moment Trigger and his wingman come through the door, their commanding officer looks up, eyes locking on John.

“Good thing you haven’t changed yet. You’re about to go out again. The station personnel is refuelling your aircraft as we speak.”

“What’s so damn urgent then?” Trigger barely hides his displeasure as he walks around to the table and looks at the mission intel.

Long Caster also turns to the table and pulls out a topographic map of the nearby mountain range. “We need you to do a recon sweep.”

John gives him a long, hard look as if to ascertain if he’s serious or not. “Excuse me? A recon sweep? Don’t we have drones for that?”

“We do. That, and insubordinate, obstinate SoBs that treat commands as if they were mere suggestions. Get ready. You leave in ten,” Long Caster nods at the fellow pilot. When Trigger doesn’t move an inch, he adds: “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” Trigger grunts and leaves.

Count looks at the back of his friend and wingman before he turns to Long Caster. “With all due respect, sir, was that really necessary?”

“I don’t need you questioning my orders, Count. However, if you insist, I’m sure we can arrange some rewarding mission for you as well,” his superior cocks an eyebrow in obvious challenge.

“I think I’ll pass. Permission to leave?”

“As far as I’m concerned, you were never here,” Long Caster nods to the still-open door and Count excuses himself.

The flight path is long and utterly boring. Trigger has to fly low and slow for the radar and lidar to catch everything he needs. He’s bored. His jet is bored, too. It’s just a sea of green, stretching in all directions, and, even worse, the sky is still overcast, so it’s just the green below and dull grey above.

He returns after the nightfall. Taking off the helmet, the sweat-drenched mohawk sticks to his head. Trigger only exchanges a few pleasantries with the staff and engineers before retreating to his quarters to shower.

Only then, under the spray of lukewarm water to cool himself down, does he remember he was supposed to meet with Ghost and practically stood the man up. Great way to fuck up a promising start they had. John shortly debates if he should go to Ghost’s quarters and explain to him what happened.

No. It sounds like bullshit, and he’s way too beat to go anywhere, anyway. Even more so since the Strider squadron’s mission has been completed, and they will be returning to their home base tomorrow. Another long, boring flight. At least he will have his mates to chat with.

Ghost finds Laswell first thing in the morning. He’s not angry, and he’s willing to give Trigger the benefit of the doubt. Ghost knows better than most how quickly downtime can turn into active duty, especially for top operatives such as himself or Trigger.

Laswell is fully immersed in the display of her laptop. Ghost knocks on the open door and is given a lifted index finger – a universal symbol to wait, and that’s what he does. Full five minutes, actually. Only then does Laswell click a few times and finally nods at Ghost to come in. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“Do you know where Trigger is?” Ghost’s voice is steady, as is the rest of him. To anyone else, it wouldn’t sound any different than asking what’s for lunch, but not to Laswell since it’s her job to notice even the most subtle changes and details. She’s also damn good at her job.

“Yesterday, Flight Lieutenant was needed elsewhere, in a rather urgent manner, I’m afraid,” she confirms Ghost’s unvoiced theory, “as of this morning, Strider squadron’s mission has concluded, and they returned to their home base”. By mentioning Trigger’s rank, she also lets Ghost know that MacTavish actually outranks him. Interesting, if not exactly surprising. It’s good that John didn’t intend to leave him hanging. However, Trigger is now, quite literally, in the wind. Who knows how long before they run into each other again? Ghost tries to convince himself that he mostly minds the debt; he’s promised John a drink. “I could get you his phone number if you want.”

“No need,” Ghost declines her offer and pointedly ignores the knowing look on her face. Laswell doesn’t need to know everything, let alone the degree of interest Ghost has in MacTavish.

Ghost walks out, stopping on the tarmac and looking up. There’s the vast expanse of clear blue sky. If he’s honest, he never paid too much attention to it. His fight is and has always been on the ground. Now, he can’t help but wonder: how does being up there feel? There is no ground to support you, no cover to help you, no nothing, just you, the mission, and almost endless space. There’s something freeing in the thought but, at the same time, anxiety-inducing. No, Ghost is very much ground-animal, thank you very much.

If he gets to talk to MacTavish again, he will ask him what he sees in the blue. What does he feel when the jet leaves the ground? What is he thinking about, up there, among birds and clouds? And what’s with those three strikes on the tail? With a newfound resolve, he changes the initial if to when. When he gets to talk to MacTavish again.

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ace combat #ace combat 7

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thedroneranger · 2 years

Text

Par for the Course

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Précis: You're tasked with interviewing the U.S. Navy's media darling.

Warnings: n/a—light n' fluffy

Word count: 1.5k

My tongue clicked against the roof of my mouth as I did my best to appear calm. Internally, I was screaming about being late. Being punctual was never my forte, and it astounded me that my inability to properly judge the amount of time I needed to get out the door followed me this far into adulthood. At this age, I had accepted it as a flaw that friends and family just had to plan around.

Even my employer did their best to accept my lack of punctuality. My assistant went as far as to build in time buffers on my schedule. To keep me on my toes, she never told me which events she built buffers into—smart girl.

The dashboard clock stared at me as I weaved through traffic without going too much over the speed limit. "Shit, shit, shit." I sang in tune to the music.

Finally, the rolling hills of the country club we agreed to meet at came into view. After parking, I gave myself one more check in the rearview mirror before sliding out of my seat and heading for the clubhouse.

Odds were good they'd begun their tee time without me. A couple bucks would get me my own cart, and I could cruise the course in search of them.

Turns out the time I missed was a buffer time. My assistant knew me too well. The clubhouse attendant was kind enough to get me set up, so now I was just waiting on my interview subjects.

My clubs were giving me some trouble as I situated them to my liking. I nearly rocketed to the moon when someone touched my shoulder. After catching my breath, I made eye contact with a man that was definitely one of the pilots I was interviewing.

"Jake Seresin." He stuck out his hand for me to shake. I took it, and then introduced myself.

"Where are your fellow pilots? I believe there are supposed to be at least three of you so we can golf a foursome."

He laughed and flashed an absolutely enamoring smile. "You'll have to settle for a twosome." Spending the morning golfing with one of America's top fighter pilots? And he was extremely soft on the eyes? I couldn't think of a less painful punishment.

The only downside to his news was that I'd have to rethink my article angle. Straight, white male, dripping testosterone, fit every stereotype our society was built on. It was a welcome challenge—as a magazine feature writer, I needed some hurdles in my work.

Once our clubs were loaded and our caddy was ready, we drove to the back nine. Jake surely didn't want to spend his entire day with me, so we'd agreed to nine holes.

Jake let me tee-off first. Surprisingly, he did not comment when I elected to hit from the white tees. We made small talk, first about golf, our hobbies and then transitioned to aviator life. Jake had already given consent, so I let Voice Memos record while we played.

Clearly, Jake was one of the U.S. Navy’s media darlings. I was tempted to ask if the Department of Defense Entertainment Media Office loaned him out with the aircraft. He was well-spoken and photographed easily. That infectious smile and deep cutting dimples could easily out-muscle Hollywood’s latest boy toy.

Heading into the 18th Hole, Jake and I were neck-and-neck. Jake was about to sink a putt for eagle, when his head jerked up and he looked directly at me. "Loser buys a round of alcoholic beverages?"

A smile curled the corners of my mouth. "Deal." He easily sank his shot. I needed to replicate his actions to keep the game alive. However, my ball was in a less favorable position. I spent a few minutes staring at the hole and then at my ball. Finally, I readied myself and sank the long putt for eagle.

"You made that look too easy," Jake commented.

I shrugged. "I guess those Sundays golfing with Dad really paid off."

His eyebrows rose in excited surprise. "That's how I like to spend time with my old man.” We exchanged smiles as we bagged our clubs and climbed into our cart.

Being a fighter pilot wasn't just about flying, it was also about competition. And Jake was as competitive as they come. Naturally, he was unable to let the game finish in a stalemate, so we golfed three more sudden-death holes. We matched each other stroke for stroke until Jake hit a putt too hard and it hopped over the hole. I softly sank a putt to win.

Surprisingly, he took the loss rather well. He shook my hand and gave me one of his lethal smiles. I had a feeling I was one of very few people to beat Jake at something.

We loaded into our cart headed back to the clubhouse for lunch. Jake and I walked side-by-side into the clubhouse—amazing what walking into a place with an attractive man would get you. The waitstaff immediately doted on him and were practically falling over themselves to seat us.

I excused myself to freshen up. Upon my return, I found not one but two servers at our table. Jake had them eating out of the palm of his hand. When I arrived it was as if I didn't exist. Jake finally shooed them away by turning his attention to me.

"Are you a regular here, Mr. Seresin?" I asked, mocking the hospitality.

"Yes, yes I am, Ms." he winked at me as he drained his water.

"I do believe you have a debt to fulfill." I was referring to his drinks bet on the 18th Hole.

"Yes, yes I do." He summoned one of the eager waitstaff so we could place our order. It practically killed her that she had to also take my order.

While we awaited our meal, Jake and I continued to chat. The interview was long over. Our conversation skewed much more personal. In fact, Jake was asking me more questions than I was asking him. "Are you single?" Jake wasn't one to beat around the bush.

I smiled and swirled my cocktail around my glass before looking back at him. "Yes." He raised a brow, silently pressing me to explain, "I've dated a long string of pricks and just gave up."

He laughed, "My story is something like that."

"Come on! People are practically falling over themselves to be noticed by you." I shifted my gaze to the two servers at the ready for Jake's next beckon. His cheeks got the slightest blush—another thing I don't think happened often to Jake.

He laughed. "It's hard to find a woman that looks past my exterior or profession. Most claim to be ok with the demands of my job, but it always ends up our undoing," he explained.

"Mhmm." I nodded. "Men aren’t any less insecure," I replied, thinking about how hard it was to find someone who didn’t feel like they were competing with my job.

Our lunch arrived, and we spent the next hour eating between conversation. We even ordered a second round of drinks. Our plates had been cleared, and we were finishing our beverages when my phone vibrated. My boss's name flashed on the screen. "My apologies, I need to take this. Give me just a couple minutes." Jake nodded in acknowledgement as I scooted away from the table.

My boss was just looking for an update. We chatted for five minutes, and then I kindly ushered my boss off the phone to not keep Jake waiting any longer.

I pocketed my phone and headed back to Jake. "Sorr—" I cut myself off, finding our table empty. I looked at the busser.

"This is for you." He slid a cocktail napkin across the table. There was a note scribbled on it.

Sorry, I had to jet—lost track of time. I'm due back to the base for training. Thanks for a great interview. I'd love to take you out for a proper date. Call me. Jake

A grin crept across my face. Thank God he had decent handwriting. I clutched his note in my hand as I dug my phone out and added his number, which he had included.

On the walk out, I stopped at the hostess stand to settle our bill. "It's all taken care of," the hostess said. I raised an eyebrow. "Courtesy of Mr. Seresin." We exchanged smiles.

As I unlocked my car and slid into the driver's seat, I looked at Jake's note one last time before putting it into my purse. My fingers thrummed on the steering wheel as I stared out the windshield. Pursing my lips, I dug back into my purse and pulled out the note. Without hesitation, I typed his number into the contact field of a new message, composed a flirty reply and pressed send. I dropped my phone in the cup holder, pushed the ignition button and headed home.

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idliketobeatree · 5 months

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Once you get this, you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly. Then you have to send this to ten of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool~)🌈🌈

Tee babe thank u for this opportunity to put myself in stocks on the main square and think hard about my behaviour!! hehe and @wemightliveinasociety @sabotage-on-mercury @thesherrinfordfacility who also dropped this earlier in my askbox <3 kisses things i like, mostly about myself. 1. how the world is a wet towel and i'm determined to wring out every drop of humour and art from it, especially when there is not much to laugh about, and no energy for creating. always walking on eggshells, that part, but it's also a lottery win, when it lands. and i like being able to pilot that aircraft safely sometimes.

2. despite my doubts, i like that i've chosen to pursue an art-related field. the way i've calmed down in the last years about my place in it. it used to feel like digging through mud because everything i did sucked and i blamed myself for not working hard enough. not cool. it turns out you really gotta turn around and grab another artist's hand and only then it makes sense.

3. everyone likes their eyes i think? jolly good, well i've been told my eyes are kind and my voice warm and i like being so disarmingly open on default it puts strangers at ease

4. —but it's also nice to (hopefully) radiate energy that other people can bounce off?? it's such a treat. neurodivergents most normal talk

5. i've put a lot of effort into learning how to cook and now whenever i have the opportunity to prepare something for others i go ALL the way and man. the grandpas were onto something. meal prep is a love language. i will happily jump out of bed at 6:30 to make breakfast for you

flayed open tomatoes on my face etc etc. if u shed a tear you can throw a coin in the straw bag by my leg. just be careful not to bonk the cat on its head. until next time 🤙

#answered #ask game #personal #marcela talks

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typingtess · 2 months

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NCIS: Los Angeles Season 14 Rewatch: “Shame”

The basics: Kensi, Deeks, Fatima and Rountree investigate the death of a sailor on the Allegiance. Callen is with Anna and their possible wedding planner while Sam is spending the day with Kam.

Written by: Written by: Sam Block & Jamil Akim O’Quinn. This is the first episode as writers for both Sam Block and Jamil Akim O'Quinn. Since season 13, Sam Block was an assistant to the executive producer. Jamil Akim O'Quinn was a writers production assistant for "Of Value" earlier this season.

Directed by: Daniela Ruah directed “Russia, Russia, Russia”, “Lost Sailor Down”, “Pandora’s Box”, “Live Free or Die Standing” and "Flesh & Blood".

Guest stars of note: Kayla Smith as Kam Hanna is back from season 12’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You”. Bar Paly returns from “Flesh & Blood” earlier in the season. Kavi Ramachandran Ladnier as Shyla Dahr is back from “A Long Time Coming” crossover episode, Duncan Campbell is back “In the Name of Honor” as Agent Castor, Joy McElveen as Chief Petty Officer Kemi Adebayo, Heather Grace Hancock as Robin Wassner, Rosanna Pansino as Tara Walker, David Figlioli as Rondel Fryer, Marco Antonio Martinez as Command Master Chief Petty Officer Jalen Hughes, Justice Gamble as Chief Petty Officer Dennis Bradshaw.

Our heroes: Are siloed like a COVID episode.

What important things did we learn about:

Callen: Wants serious security at his wedding after Kensi and Deeks’s nuptials. Sam: Good father whose compassion isn't conditional Kensi: Fill-in Agent Afloating with Fatima. Deeks: Good at noticing handwriting differences. Fatima: Fill-in Agent Afloating with Kensi. Rountree: Training with Sam to improve his chase times. Kilbride: Worried about clusters of suicides.

What not so important things did we learn about:

Callen: Quoting “The Deer Hunter” while planning a wedding. Sam: Wanted to make Michelle’s meatloaf, had it made for him instead. Kensi: Fishing for a wedding invite from Fatima. Deeks: Left for a deposition. Fatima: Going on long walks with Akhil Rountree: Jokingly weirded out by Deeks. Kilbride: Proud of Gen Z for being open to who people truly are.

Where in the world is Henrietta Lange? Not a mention.

Who's down with OTP: Kensi and Deeks are Kensi and Deeks. Wedding plans yield arguments between Callen and Anna and also so quality time on the couch. Fatima seems to be having a good time Ali. Kam broke up with Josh and is dating Riley.

Who's down with BrOTP: Sam is training Rountree. Kensi is looking for wedding invites for Fatima.

Fashion review: Callen wore a dark blue button down shirt for the wedding planner appointment. An eggplant colored long-sleeve tee for Sam. Lightweight beige pullover sweater for Kensi. Dark grey long-sleeve tee for Deeks. Fatima wore a long-sleeve dark brown turtleneck. Both Kensi and Fatima wore NCIS jackets on the Allegiance. Rountree started the day in a Nike light grey athletic long-sleeve tee and later was in a light grey, long-sleeve tee-shirt (no swoosh). Blue three-piece suit, light blue dress shirt and medium blue tie for the Admiral.

Music: “Falling” by Lauren Jauregui is playing in Kam’s Air Pods as Sam returns home. “Modelle” by Bruno Nicolai plays at the wedding planner’s office.

Any notable cut scene: Not today.

Quote: Sam: “You know, I had always hoped that me and your Mom created an empathetic environment for you and Aiden. Wanted to make sure you never felt like our compassion was conditional.” Kam: “Yeah, of course.”

Sam Hanna – good father.

Anything else: On an aircraft carrier, Chief Petty Officer Kemi Adebayo notices Petty Officer Eli Wassner is missing from his station. She starts to search for him only to find a note in his bunk. Going deeper into the carrier, she finds him hanging from a pipe in a hold. He’s dead.

Rountree is running through a park area, doing some parkour as he runs. Sam is timing him. 1-minute, 17-seconds. Sam is shooting for 1:10. Rountree expects “a Sam Hanna lesson” and is not disappointed. Sam tells Rountree it is all about his mentality, keep setting goals and resetting them higher, “no comfort in greatness.” Rountree notes Sam looks pretty comfortable. Flattery will get Rountree nowhere with Sam. Rountree is looking for a ride to the office. Sam has the day off so it is Uber for Rountree who was driven to the park by Sam.

Sam shows up at home with some fancy coffee for a studying Kam. With Raymond hanging out with Arkady, it is daddy-daughter time for Sam and Kam. Kam tells Sam he didn’t have to bring her coffee and goes back to writing her paper. Sam offers to help but the reading material includes “Teen Women’s Sexuality and Politics: A Case Study of the Adolescent Female Body”. Sam thinks Kam’s got this.

Sam does, however, want Kam ready for her favorite sandwich at a local eatery. Kam brings up Hanna House Rules number 17 – schoolwork comes first. Kam picks up her coffee but the lid isn’t on right. The coffee spills on Kam. Running off to protect her Berkley sweatshirt and get the hot coffee off her jeans, Kam leaves Sam to save her computer. As he keeps it from the coffee puddle, Kam gets an IM from a friend name Riley. A cleaned-up Kam retrieves her computer and decides to work in her room. Sam mops up the rest of the coffee.

In the Armory, Kensi and Fatima are talking about her walks on the pier and the beach, probably with Akhil (but not mentioned). Kensi asks if Fatima has her address for the wedding invitation. They are called to Ops. Kensi lets Fatima lead so Kensi can hold her train.

In Ops, Petty Officer Wassner’s personnel info is on the big screen. Shyla is running the briefing. Wassner was an electronics technician on the Allegiance. The Allegiance had two suicides on the ship in recent months, the SecNav wants to know if this is the third. Kensi asks why the Agent Afloat isn’t handling the investigation. Lucy Tara just left the Allegiance for Hawai’i so a new Agent Afloat has not been assigned.

Wassner leaves behind a wife in Los Angeles and parents in New Jersey. Kensi asks if Wassner had any history of depression. If there was, Wassner never sought treatment. He also didn’t have gambling debts. The Admiral wants to know where Callen and Sam are. Kensi doesn’t know. Shyla reminds Kilbride that he sent Callen and Sam home for a week to get through some of their annual leave. Deeks and Rountree are going to interview Wassner’s widow in the boat shed, Kensi and Fatima are on their way to the Allegiance. The Admiral is worried that the suicides happening in clusters will have some struggling sailors think this is a way out.

In a wedding planner’s office, Callen and Anna are in for an appointment. They are offered champagne. Anna tells Callen he doesn’t have to be there, she could have brought Fatima. Callen wants to be there. After Anna gives him a look, Callen revises that to wanting to be there for Anna. Anna wants Callen to want to be there for the two of them. That’s what Callen meant, he assures her.

On the Allegiance, Kensi and Fatima are brought to see Master Chief Hughes in the hold where Wassner was found. He’s there to help as needed. Hughes points out the ladder Wassner used, the rope stored in the hold and Wassner’s knife. Kensi wants to see the body but that’s impossible, the body was sent stateside. Wassner is Jewish and the Navy is respecting his traditions. Fatima will have Shyla speak to the medical examiner.

Hughes turns over the note found in Wassner’s bunk. That is going back to NCIS for analysis. Fatima asks who knows about the note. Hughes says the ship’s Command, NCIS and Chief Adebayo, who found both the note and Wassner. Kensi asks to speak to Chief Adebayo.

In the boatshed, Castor shows up with Robin Wassner, the widow. Deeks points to the couch, and offers sympathies. He’s sorry to do this to her with all she’s going through. He’s looking to find out a little more about Eli, what he was going through on the Allegiance. They had a weekly phone call every Sunday. There were no signs that he was struggling. He was happy, they were laughing on the call. “We loved each other,” Robin tells Deeks and Rountree. They were starting to plan a family. Eli was a letter writer – he was old-fashion, she thought it was romantic. She’s happy to turn over the letters – “whatever you need.”

Kensi and Fatima interview Chief Adebayo. She is rather emotionless, giving one word answers. Fatima brings up two complaints filed against Adebayo. Having none of it, Adebayo explains that she doesn’t coddle sailors, that makes her the villain. She’s not complicit with mediocrity. Wassner did good work but in recent times, lost focus. Adebayo says she told Wassner to get his act together. Kensi pushes – was she too aggressive telling Wassner to get his act together? With a large group of sailors to lead, Adebayo does not have time to deal with each sailor’s personal issues. She didn’t know he was unstable. Kensi really pushes – the team’s well-being is part of her duties as their leader. Wassner is the third dead sailor on the Allegiance, maybe it is time to review how she is dealing with her sailors.

Looking at Wassner’s background, Rountree says there is no drug use, no alcohol issues, no other mitigating factors. Wassner’s medical records are clean, his discipline history is spotless and there are no financial issues. Deeks points out that Wassner was about to go on leave and start a family, there is real pressure there. Looking at the suicide note, Rountree calls it short and generic. Comparing them to the letters to Robin, Deeks notices that Wassner was quite poetic in his writing.

Both Deeks and Rountree notice something else is off with the suicide note. Deeks points out differences in how certain letters are written, how the ‘i’s are dotted. Wassner didn’t write his own suicide note – he was likely murdered.

Shyla tells Deeks and Rountree that forensics confirms Wassner didn’t write the suicide note. Looking through the sailors on the Allegiance, everyone was thoroughly vetted. There is no history of violence in any of the men and women on the ship. There were also no visitors or contractors on the ship in the last 48-hours. Someone on board did this but Shyla wonders why they hung the body, why not throw Wassner overboard. Deeks, who was almost thrown overboard 10-Christmases ago, tells Shyla that any sailor going overboard triggers an immediate investigation. By hanging Wassner, the killer tried to come up with a believable cause of death.

Castor returns with Robin Wassner. Saying there is no easy way to tell her, Deeks tells Robin that Eli was murdered. And while it may be hard, anything Robin could remember might help. Deeks brings up Chief Adebayo, who Robin calls lovely. In the prior year, Robin had a miscarriage. Chief Adebayo pushed through Eli’s temporary leave papers, called in favors to get him home to her. Eli didn’t ask for help, Adebayo overheard Eli mention the miscarriage and she got him home. “It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for us.”

Kensi tells Fatima that Wassner didn’t write his suicide note. They are looking for a killer. Fatima brings up Adebayo but she has alibis from the other Chief Petty Officers on the Allegiance – they all share a room and she was there all night. Kensi also brings up Adebayo helping the Wassners “in their time of need”. Adebayo also has a stellar personnel record. Disappointed in herself, Kensi says she left Adebayo’s personality cloud her judgment during the interview. Adebayo could have been an ally on the ship. Fatima brings up that Adebayo wasn’t helpful with some of her answers, Kensi shouldn’t beat herself up. They need to interview her again. Kensi also wants to apologize.

Since schoolwork first is still in effect, Sam offers to make Kam Michelle’s famous meatloaf. Kam likes that idea. When Sam offers an invite to Josh, Kam doesn’t like that idea. They’re not hanging out anymore. They’re both busy with their own things. Sam tells Kam he’s there if she wants to talk. The phone rings and Kam retreats to her room. Raymond is on the phone – could Sam bring over his pickleball paddle to Arkady’s?

At the wedding planners, Tara Walker introduces herself to Callen and Anna. She’s so excited to be working with them. Fatima told Tara about Callen and Anna. Since marriage is between two people, she wants to hear what they both have planned. Anna lets Callen go first. Callen brings up a theme and Anna is not big on themes. Tara ask what they are looking for in a venue. Anna is looking for atmosphere, Callen is looking for security. When Anna gives him a look, Callen tells her she didn’t attend Kensi and Deeks’s wedding. Moving on to an officiant, Callen mentions not being religious, Anna brings up that Arkady is looking into becoming an officiant.

Seeing things are going to hell, Tara pass Callen and Anna a list of questions to learn their expectations about the wedding. Callen thinks about eloping.

Kensi opens her second interview with Adebayo with an apology but Adebayo is not listening to it. Maybe if she was more involved in Wassner’s well-being, he wouldn’t have taken his life. Kensi tells Adebayo that Wassner was murdered. Adebayo is stunned. After speaking to Kensi and Fatima, Adebayo spoke to her sailors. An Ensign Choi saw a sailor named Bradshaw on roving watch. This was around 1AM. Fatima is going to get Master Chief Hughes to set up an interview with Bradshaw. When Fatima leaves, Kensi calls into Kilbride and Shyla, updating them on Bradshaw. Shyla has a time of death – around 2AM. Also, Wassner wasn’t hanged, he was choked to death.

From his office, Kilbride reads Kensi Petty Officer Dennis Bradshaw’s background. From Alabama, Bradshaw lives there with his wife. Their financials are odd. He’s has a separate account with $50,000. Kilbride doesn’t believe Mrs. Bradshaw knows about that second account. And all the money was deposited into the account in cash.

Walking into Ops, Shyla has more on Bradshaw. While Alabama is his home, he did not fly home when on three-months of leave in recent months. Instead, his cellphone was pinged in San Pedro. Bradshaw spent a lot of time in business called The Brass Boot, owned by Rondel Fryer. Fryer was administratively discharged from the Navy. As soon as he was out, investigations were started into tax evasion, fraud and money laundering. Investigations but no convictions. The Admiral asks about foreign connections and there are running phone calls with someone in China.

With Wassner’s position as an electronics technician, he had access to radar and ship technical data. Shyla thinks Bradshaw was selling Wassner’s intel through Fryer. If something went wrong, and Wassner learned Bradshaw was selling his data to a civilian in China, that could lead to a fight. It could also lead to Navy secrets being in the hands of China. Kilbride want Deeks and Rountree to interview Fryer. When Fryer’s background as an MMA fighter and the owner a large cache of weapons, Kilbride wants Sam to join Deeks and Rountree – “day off be damned.”

At the wedding planner’s office, Callen is stuck on question eight. Anna won’t let Callen “cheat”. Callen grabs Anna’s paper. Anna grabs Callen and pushes him onto a couch. They are not fighting anymore.

At The Brass Boot, Rountree is alone when Sam arrives. Deeks had a deposition – Kilbride knows. Rountree asks about Kam, “the first future woman President of America”. Sam mentions a paper, “tolerating” him at best. Rountree brings up Jordyn but Sam is not interested in any Rountree lessons right now.

Walking into the bar, Rondel Fryer tells the “gents” – Sam and Rountree – that they aren’t opened yet. Sam says “federal agents” and since we’ve all seen this show, Fryer runs. Rountree chases, sliding over cars, jumping over beer kegs. Sam pulls up in his car but Fryer already ran into an alleyway not no exit.

Walking back into her office, Tara finds a rather disheveled Callen and Anna. They thought the questions were great but they have to go. Tara looks at her messy couch.

Kensi and Fatima find Master Chief Hughes, who was looking for them. Petty Officer Bradshaw was in an accident on the flight deck. He’s in the trauma room in sick bay. Kensi and Fatima are on their way to sick bay.

Saying he thought Sam and Rountree were the IRS, Fryer ran because they are harassing him. Sam shows Fryer a photo of Bradshaw – was he ever in the bar. “I’m not at liberty to say.” Rountree sees that as a yes. Sam accuses Fryer of selling Naval Intel and being part of the murder of a Naval Officer. Fryer explains that The Brass Boot isn’t just a bar, there is a private club in the back. It is a safe space for military men, Hollywood types, executives who want to keep their private lives private. It is a part of a different time. Rountree realizes it is “a gay speakeasy.” Seeing himself as a guardian angel, Fryer explains that being gay may not get you beaten up on the streets anymore but “how many gay global action stars do you see starring in Hollywood movies?”

While that explains the bar set-up, Rountree asks about the calls to China. Fryer’s brother teaches English in China. After the brother went through a rough patch, Fryer lent him some money. The brother has been wiring Fryer money every month to repay the loan. Fryer makes it clear, he didn’t kill anyone. He’s there to let people be who they really are.

In Ops, Shyla confirms all of Rondel Fryer’s story. Other than the IRS, everything about the bar is above board. Perhaps Bradshaw and Wassner were involved in a relationship. And maybe something went wrong – breakup, one person wanting to go public when the other did not.

Fatima calls into Ops, Bradshaw wasn’t hurt at all. Hughes lied, which means the two are working together. The Admiral and Shyla try to figure out if Hughes and Bradshaw are a couple, where did Wassner fit in.

Outside Master Chief Hughes’s bunk, Petty Officer Bradshaw is banging on the door, begging “Jalen” to come out. Bradshaw tells Kensi and Fatima that Hughes has a gun and Bradshaw fears Hughes may kill himself. In his room, Hughes has his gun out. Explaining that he didn’t mean to hurt Wassner, it was an accident. Kensi says it is going to be OK as she inches closer to Hughes. Bradshaw understands, telling Hughes that he lived too many years in shame. Hughes says he’s so tired. Kensi gets the gun away as Hughes keeps apologizing. Fatima is able to cuff Hughes.

In the office, Deeks tells Sam and Rountree that Wassner found out Hughes and Bradshaw were a couple. He didn’t plan on telling anyone but Wassner freaked out when Hughes tried to bribe him with a recommendation for a promotion. Sharing some beers, Deeks understands Hughes and Bradshaw keeping their relationship on the ship quiet but didn’t understand keeping it from their families. “Sometimes the hardest people to talk to are family,” Sam says. Deeks agrees – “exhibit A, Roberta Deeks.” Rountree agrees as well. He doesn’t tell Jordyn everything and he knows Jordyn doesn’t tell him everything. But Rountree’s doesn’t think any of this makes sense - that Hughes thought of bribing Wassner because Wassner saw him kissing Bradshaw.

It makes to Kilbride. In 1991, the year Hughes joined the Navy, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” started its 20-year run. Many gay members of the service were beaten, assaulted and killed but there are no stats for that because it wasn’t counted. What was counted was the 100,000 service members who were discharged. Hughes was from a different time. While Kilbride isn’t always a fan of the younger generation, he likes that they aren’t afraid of someone who is different. They may not understand the other person, but they aren’t afraid. Rountree says Deeks still freaks him out a little. That kills the moment.

Arriving home, Kam wound up making the meatloaf for Sam. Sam tells Kam that he always hoped that he and Michelle created an “empathetic environment” for Aiden and for her. That the two would never feel like “our compassion was conditional”. Kam knew this. Sam tells her he knew that she broke up with Josh and that she may be dating a woman. Kam wants to know if Aiden told Sam. Sam is not happy that Kam told Aiden first. Kam says Aiden wasn’t told, he just figured it out.

Sam makes it clear, he would never turn his back on her. Why didn’t she tell him? Kam explains that she really liked all the guys she dated. And she really likes the woman she is dating now. She doesn’t know if she’ll go back to dating men again or if she’s going to only date women. She’s figuring things out and she didn’t want to tell anyone until she knew. Sam ticks off the reasons he loves and admires his daughter – brave, smart, courageous. None of that changes based on who she is dating. He will always love her. Sam asks if Riley, Kam’s girlfriend, has a 4.0 GPA, works with a number of charities and has a prestigious internship set up for the summer. Kam explains she’d never settle for anything less. The two have dinner.

What head canon can be formed from here: There was a good episode to be done about the military’s history with gay service members but this one isn’t it. In fact, the best part of the episode was Kilbride’s thoughts at the end about how gay service members are treated now compared to when he was a younger man.

A very siloed episode – had a COVID season feel.

Liked seeing the Kensi-Fatima friendship in the armory. The program’s long-running friendship between Kensi and Nell is missed. Callen and Sam are bros, Kensi should have a friend not named Deeks.

Kam telling Aiden first is a nice bit of continuity. Kam also told Aiden first about her car and her volunteer work. Sam assuring Kam that his love for her is unconditional was good to hear but even better to know that Kam didn’t need to hear it, she knew it.

Of course Fatima knew a high end wedding planner.

Episode number: This is episode 14 of season 14 – two-thirds of the way there. It is episode 316 overall.

#NCIS: Los Angeles Rewatch #NCIS: Los Angeles #NCIS: LA #NCIS Los Angeles #ncis la

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roosterforme · 2 years

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Batting Practice Part 3 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley realizes why you started running hot and then cold with him. He makes sure he remedies the situation with you.

Warnings: Fluff, angst and swearing (eventually 18+)

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Bradley was counting down the minutes until he could leave work on Monday. The sporadic, slightly flirtatious texts between you and him Saturday night and all day Sunday were driving him wild.

He couldn't fucking wait to see you. He kept imagining how you would react to him in person now, especially after what you texted him this morning.

You should wear your hat backwards later today. That looked good on you.

Really, nothing about that was dirty, but it seemed to have that type of effect on him. Plus it meant that you were thinking about him, which left him grinning.

"Rooster, look alive, man," Jake told him, slapping him in the chest with a copy of the newest F/A-18 flight manual. Bradley grunted as the massive book made contact, and he glared at Jake. "What's got you distracted? Excited about all the MILFs you're going to see later? I wish Bob had asked me to coach with him."

Bradley just shook his head. "Moms aren't my type. Too complicated." He just wished he still believed himself when he said it.

Then he settled into the seat next to Nat, ready for a long lecture about his aircraft, his imagination drifted to you. He imagined the three of you at the Phillies game, all in matching backwards hats. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd like the way you looked with a hat that way, too.

Maverick's voice droned on in the background, and Bradley was pretty sure the information he was giving would be useful to know, so he forced his mind back to the present.

Once they were all dismissed, Bradley headed to the locker room to change out of his khaki uniform. When he glanced over at Bob, he chuckled.

"You know, we could wear our uniforms to practice one day. Drive the moms wild," Bradley said as he unbuttoned his shirt.

Bob just shook his head. "None of them know I'm in the Navy, and I don't plan on telling them."

"Oh," Bradley said as he unzipped his pants. "I did tell one of them that we're aviators."

Bob laughed lightly. "Let me guess, Everett's mom?"

Bradley decided not to reply. He just shrugged and pulled on his Tiny Eagles tee shirt and gym shorts. Then he pulled his worn out Phillies cap onto his head. Backwards.

"I'll see you over at the ballfield," he told Bob as he exited the locker room and headed for the Bronco.

There was just something about you. Yeah, you were pretty. But lots of women were pretty. Yeah, he liked the way your body looked. But the female form was something that never failed to get him going.

He wanted to flirt with you. He wanted to make you warm. He wanted to wear his ratty, old Phillies hat the way you liked it. Which was just a terrible idea, since dating a mom was not on his agenda. Even sleeping with someone who came with baggage was something he avoided at all costs, whenever he could.

Bradley mentally scolded himself for even briefly believing that a sweet kid like Everett could be considered baggage. He wasn't quite that shallow. But he liked his life simple.

Perhaps he should have kept the phone number of that woman from the bar.

He coasted into his usual parking spot and made his way toward the ballfield. He stretched and ran the bases a few times, basking in the early evening sunlight. When Bob arrived, they tossed a ball back and forth for a few minutes until the kids started to arrive.

"You miss playing," Bob said with a smile. "Why don't you play with the officers rec league?"

Bradley shrugged after he threw the ball to Bob one last time and removed his glove. "Because, no offense, but they suck."

Bob laughed loudly. "I resent that! I play center field!"

Bradley just grinned. "I know you do. Listen, I wanted to play pro ball until I was twenty-one years old. And while I love being an aviator, I am still good at baseball."

"Coach Bradley!" called Everett as he came streaking across the field.

"Hey, kiddo. You get lots of rest over the weekend? Ready to play?" he asked the kid, tugging down the bill of his cap and making him laugh.

But then Bradley saw you.

Okay, this was a problem. The whole text thread between the two of you was playing in his mind now as he watched you walk across the grass, hopping on one foot as you changed out of your high heels as you went. You were wearing a plain gray suit and trying to talk on the phone while you juggled your shoes and Everett's gear bag.

You looked complicated as hell at the moment. This was a problem, because Bradley's mind was telling him he suddenly liked complicated.

"Start warming up with Coach Bob," Bradley told Everett as he patted him on the head. That same warm sunlight that had felt so perfect on Bradley's skin was illuminating your face and hair, and he was already looking at you when he saw your eyes catch on him.

"I need to go, Frank. We can figure it out later," you said, pulling your phone away from your ear and ending the call.

"Hi." Bradley's voice was laced with everything he really wanted to say to you in person but didn't think he should.

"Coach," you replied softly, your long lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you closed your eyes for a beat.

"You give any more thought to the merits of sitting behind home plate versus sitting in the outfield?" Bradley asked softly, just for you to hear.

The way your lips parted wordlessly as you played with your hair had him grinning. You crinkled up your nose in that way he already loved as you looked down at the field. "Are you really serious about going to the game with Ev and I?"

He wasn't actually completely sure before this moment, but now he was. "Yeah. Of course I'm serious. Should I ask Everett where he wants to sit? Since you don't seem to care? And since I'll have an equally good view of you from any seat?"

This time when you raised your eyes to meet his, he could feel them examine every inch of his chest and arms and the scars along his neck. Your gaze didn't move from his mouth as you whispered, "You're making me flustered." Then your eyes met his, and Bradley could feel your hesitation that wasn't evident through texting.

"I'd love to be responsible for that. You look cute when you're flustered."

Your eyes went wide as you muttered, "And you look cute with your hat like that."

The sound of Bob's whistle had both of you jumping so that you almost collided. Bradley could hear you mutter, "Oh shit," as you pressed your hand to your forehead and turned away from him to find a seat on the bleachers. And try as he may, he couldn't seem to catch your eye at all during practice.

-----------------------

You were embarrassed. Coach Bradley and all of his flirty text messages were making you silly.

He really seemed to want to take you and Ev to a baseball game. He had told you twice that the best seat in the house would be one where he was looking at you.

Nothing was ever going to be that easy for you though. As soon as Everett spent a Sunday afternoon watching baseball and eating ice cream with his coach, he was going to want that to happen all the time.

You were afraid you were going to want it all the time too. You were so attracted to Bradley. The way he flirted with you was subtle and yet intentional, and it left you craving more from him already.

How much was he willing to give? How available was he? How available were you? Frank wanted to get together with you again this week, but you didn't know if you'd be able to get a sitter for Everett. You didn't know if you wanted to see Frank outside of work anymore either.

But you could imagine sitting at Petco Park eating nachos and drinking a beer with Bradley while Ev ate ice cream out of a tiny plastic helmet.

"Fuck," you groaned, forcing your attention to remain on Everett even though you could practically feel Bradley's eyes on you.

Everett was better at tee ball than you had expected him to be. He managed to hit the ball over Bob's head pretty consistently, and you cheered for him when he turned and looked toward you. This is what he needed; an outlet for all of this energy and some male role models.

When practice ended and Bob announced that each child could come up and get their jersey for Saturday's game against the Tiny Hawks, Everett was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Mommy, I get a jersey just like the ones the coaches wear!"

You chuckled and kissed his cheek. "You sure do. Listen for your name."

When Bradley called his name, Everett went sprinting up to get his jersey, and you watched Bradley help him put it on over his shirt. Then he sprinted back to you and hugged you around your middle.

"Let's get going, sweetie. You must be hungry," you said, tossing his equipment into the bag, trying to make a hasty exit. You didn't want to continue your conversation with Bradley, because you were so mixed up at the moment.

And that's when you heard him talking to Henry's mom.

"Coach Bradley. I was hoping we could exchange phone numbers, just in case you ever needed any extra help with anything."

"Uh, sure, Sandra. Our Team Mom probably has everything under control, but what's your number?"

You shoved Everett's cleats into the bag and rushed him through getting his sneakers on. And all the while you heard Sandra offering her help with anything he might need. The worst part was the way she was rubbing Bradley's arm when you decided to glance in their direction.

"Let's go," you told Everett, ready to make a run for your car. How embarrassing! You'd flirted with your kid's tee ball coach over text all weekend, and now he was lining up Sandra, who was of course fucking gorgeous.

Gross. You felt jealous. You never felt jealous. Danny had been cheating on you for the last year or so of your marriage, and you'd never felt this way! You'd been mostly content knowing that you had Everett to make it all worth it.

So this felt wrong. The cold envious feeling seeping under your skin. Just wrong.

The two of you almost made it to your car, and of course, like an idiot, you had parked next to the Bronco again.

"Hey!" Bradley called, closing the distance as he jogged up. "I didn't get to say goodbye." He high fived Everett next to your car, and then you ushered Ev into the backseat.

"So, I'll see you on Thursday?" Bradley asked, ducking his head a little bit, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

"Yes," you told him, grasping your door handle. But he only let it swing open a few inches before he caught it in his massive hand.

"What's wrong?" he asked you softly.

You sighed and met his eyes. "I thought we originally exchanged numbers just to talk about team business."

Bradley cocked his head to the side. "Yeah... we can make it just team business, if you want. But I obviously wanted you to be the Team Mom. And I was kind of enjoying the more...personal chit chat."

You scoffed. "I get it. I do. But if you want to exchange numbers and have personal chit chat with all of the moms who are clearly interested in you, then maybe you and I should keep it businesslike."

When you wrenched the door open another foot, he didn't stop you this time. But he still gently closed it for you.

------------------------

The next morning, you felt a lot better. Bradley hadn't texted you, and you weren't about to text him. It was honestly better this way. He could flirt with Sandra as much as he wanted to, and now you didn't have to worry about anything except whatever was strictly required of the Team Mom.

When Frank knocked on your door at lunchtime, you had just finished up a project. So you let him come in, and soon he was kissing you. It felt pretty good, so you let him unbutton your shirt as well.

"Baby, how about a quickie?" he whispered next to your ear before kissing your neck.

That didn't sound too bad. Now that you had rid your system of yearning for Coach Bradley.

"Okay," you whispered when he started kissing the tops of your breasts and caressing your sides. You unzipped your suit pants and slid them down your hips along with your underwear while Frank pulled a condom out of his wallet and locked your door.

Bent over your desk with your cheek pressed to the smooth wood surface, you let your eyes drift closed. And that was a big mistake. Because it was too easy to imagine a backward cap, a mustache and a deep, raspy voice in your ear.

You felt him slide inside you, stretching your pussy in the process. It felt so much better than it usually did, you had to bite your lip to suppress a moan. Then he was moving, and you could practically smell sweat, spicy deodorant, and the freshly watered grass of the infield. Is this how it would feel to be bent over the wooden bleachers and fucked by Bradley? His mustache grazing the back of your neck as he whispered those flirtatious text messages to you?

Hands gripped your hips, squeezing you tight as your pussy was filled over and over. He would love taking you from the back like this, quick and dirty. Unrelenting.

You were gasping now, your lungs tight with each breath as you imagined his voice. You look cute when you're flustered.

"Oh," you groaned, and the pressure increased bit by bit. "Oh!"

He'd fuck you so good. He'd take care of everything you wanted. He'd press his mustache to your pussy, rubbing you until you cried. He'd finger you while he drove you around in his Bronco. You could picture it all so clearly. Feel it seamlessly.

Legs shaking, you fucked yourself back against him, wanting as much pressure as you could get. Then you felt it, and you knew it was going to be good. Your orgasm washed over you quickly, and you lifted your head off your desk, suddenly alert.

You were with Frank. You were coming so fucking hard on Frank's dick while you thought about another man.

"Oh! Fuck! Ohhhh," you moaned, completely shocked, totally stunned. It felt like you had been with Bradley. And now you were conscious of all the noises Frank was making as he blew his load into the condom.

You stood with your back to him and quickly started to get your clothes in order with shaking hands.

"Sounded like you really enjoyed that, baby," Frank said, and you could hear the smug smile in his voice.

Hell yes, you had enjoyed it, but not because of him.

"I have a lot of work to do," you muttered, rubbing your hands along your burning hot neck.

"Let's do this again later this week," Frank told you, kissing your cheek before he left.

You dropped into your seat and spent the entire afternoon thinking about what you had done.

-------------------------

It took Bradley until Tuesday to realize what he had done wrong. You must have heard or seen Sandra with him. Fuck. He was just trying to be as accommodating as he could without telling Henry's mom to back off; he'd have to see her multiple times per week for eight more weeks!

But you'd gone from a simmering warmth with him to frosty cold on a dime. And that must have been why.

He didn't know how to make it up to you, and he didn't want to text you since you'd told him no more personal talk.

So he waited until Thursday at practice. When you pulled into the parking lot, you avoided the spot next to his Bronco. And you and Everett stayed in your car until practice was about to start, hustling across the grass at the last possible minute.

You were not going to make this easy for him.

Everett came running over to join the rest of the team just as Bob was dividing the kids into two groups. But Bradley could only focus on you. Your hair was swept up today, exposing your graceful neck, and you were wearing a black pencil skirt with a tight blouse tucked into it. You seem to have forgotten your beat up sneakers today, because you were walking around the field on tiptoes so your heels wouldn't get ruined.

You looked smoking hot, and you were not sparing a single glance in his direction.

"Bradley!" Bob called. "Focus."

"Right, sorry," Bradley replied, reluctantly taking his spot behind home plate where he couldn't spend the next hour looking at you.

He watched the kids go through the batting order, and then had them start practicing in the field. They were actually pretty good, and Bob was always such a calm presence that they responded really well to him. Bradley thought they would do well against the Tiny Hawks in two days.

Once the kids were dismissed, Bradley followed Everett to the bleachers, and on the way he asked, "Is it cool if I walk you and your mom to the car again, kiddo?"

"Yeah! My mom would like that too!"

Bradley wasn't so sure, but now at least he had his in with you.

"Hi," you said as Bradley approached, and he watched you kneel down in that tight skirt, his mind going to the filthiest places imaginable. If you turned and looked at him over his shoulder, he would probably end up embarrassing himself.

"Hi," he rasped, pressing his lips together as you helped your son change his shoes. "Everett said it would be cool if I walked with you two up to the parking lot."

"Whatever," you said without looking at him. So Bradley walked up with Everett between you and him as usual.

"What do you do in the Navy?" the kid asked him.

"I fly airplanes," Bradley told him. "And I wear all these cool pins so people know I'm a Lieutenant."

"What's a loo-tent?" Everett asked, and Bradley saw you trying to hide your grin.

"Nothing, really. It's just a fancy word for someone who still has to salute to pretty much everybody else."

Now you were biting your lip as Everett tried to pronounce Bradley's rank over and over again until the three of you reached your car. Bradley opened the back door and placed the gear back on the floor as Everett scampered in, but then he put a firm hand against the driver's door so you couldn't open it.

"Hear me out?" Bradley asked, and your eyes finally met his. Your eye makeup made them look impossibly big, and he could feel the saliva pooling at the back of his tongue.

"About what?" you asked softly, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I think I gave you the wrong impression about who I have and have not been talking to in my free time. Sandra did give me her number, but I will only text her back if she needs information directly related to the Tiny Eagles."

Your lips parted, but you didn't say anything so he continued.

"And yeah, as soon as you volunteered to be Team Mom, I was jumping at the chance to get your number. But can you blame me?"

"You were?" you asked, a look of disbelief on your face. But when he ducked down to meet your eyes and nodded, you ducked to the side and crinkled your nose.

"Yeah, Kitten. I was. So you can put your claws away now."

You sucked in a breath, and your arms fell loosely to your sides as you looked at him. All embarrassment was gone as your expression softened and your pupils went wide. "Did you just call me Kitten?"

"Mmhmm. You've got some claws on you, yeah? And you scrunch your nose up like a cat. Cutest thing I've ever seen."

Bradley's body was humming, and the look of pure desire on your face as you inched closer to him had him aching.

"Are you going to keep calling me Kitten?" you whispered, your eyes lazily taking in his lips and mustache.

"You liked that." He was telling you, not asking.

You were the one nodding this time, and Bradley bit back a groan as your fingers teased the back of his hand. "And which would you prefer I call you? Coach Bradley or Lieutenant Bradshaw?"

Bradley did audibly groan this time. "You're trouble, Kitten."

"You didn't answer my question." You were smirking now, desire mixing with boldness in your eyes.

"You can call me anything you want."

You nodded up at him, such a smug look on your face as you reached behind you and opened your car door. Bradley watched you gracefully ease yourself onto your seat.

"I'll see you on Saturday," he whispered, and then he cleared his throat. "Can't wait for our first game, kiddo," he added a bit louder, smiling at Everett in the backseat.

"Bye, coach!" he called to Bradley.

"Yeah, bye, coach," you added, and Bradley closed your door softly.

As you pulled away, he started to make the long walk back to the bleachers to grab his own gear with a smile on his face.

-----------------------

Coach and Kitten! Ahhh! Big thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32!

PART 4

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x female reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley rooster x reader

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frogblast-the-ventcore · 11 months

Text

As requested by @thediam0ndt, the list of Frogblast's headcanon Ace Combat AU major characters (in order by game release date). Genderswaps abound:

Phoenix: cis/female/aro-ace

Nemo: Genderfluid-genderqueer-enby/pan

Mobius 1: cis/female/bi (additional notes: married to Yellow 4 post-war)

Cipher: cis/male/gay (additional notes: furry)

Pixy: cis/male/pan (additional notes: married post war, had a son, who became Osean fighter pilot 'Tabloid')

Blaze: enby/pan (additional notes: married to Nagase post-war)

Nagase: cis/female/pan (additional notes: aeromorph fetish enjoyer (she was really into the Arkbird after all...; married to Blaze post-war)

Bartlet: cis/male/bi

Chopper: cis/male/bi

Grimm: cis/male/pan

Snow: cis/male/straight

Talisman: cis/female/bi

Trigger: cis/female/lesbian (additional notes: full name and titles: Countess Anamaria von Hartmann; country of origin: Belka; DoB: 06/06/1995; place of birth: Stier Castle (family estate); confirmed furry; involved with Rosa Cosette d'Elise by several years after the Lighthouse War)

Count: cis/male/graph straight (additional notes: dating Huxian post-war)

Huxian: cis/female/straight (additional notes: dating Count post-war)

Jager: cis/male/straight (additional notes: married, with one child)

Mihaly: cis/male/gay

Hugin: Genderfluid-genderqueer-enby/omni

Munin: Genderfluid-genderqueer-enby/omni

Monarch: transfemme/enby/pan

Prez: cis/female/poly

Diplomat: cis/male/pan (additional notes: married to Comic)

Comic: cis/female/bi (additional notes: married to Diplomat)

Crimson 1: cis/male/gay

K-9A Driver: cis/male/straight

K-9A Eye-Tee: cis/female/straight

K-9B Bookie: cis/male/pan

K-9C Cobb: enby/straight

K-9D Brick: cis/male/gay

Additional notes on this AU below the cut:

* Some of the aircraft flown by certain squadrons got upgraded from earlier models to the newest and best versions available, assuming the nation is either the originator of said variant, or IMO able to afford it monetarily and diplomatically

* includes fanon names for many characters not given full names

* McKinsey's first name is Dick (in canon we know it starts with a D), and I cannot be convinced otherwise

* a new LRSSG squadron has been made (Gorgon) to fit the reassigned Spares (Alexander "Tabloid" Foulke is squadron lead, members include Avril, Full Band, High Roller, and other former Spares

* all squadrons are now properly 12 aircraft, though most of the members do get the "generic Spare" treatment bc I cannot be bothered to fill up 36 spaces on a TO&E, even for the LRSSG). Rage and Scream, old friends of Trigger's, had their contract bought out by Trigger herself and now fly with the group.

* many cool fanon skins have been turned into full squadrons

* Brownie lives and becomes squadron leader after Knocker bites it being dumb and trying to fight Mihaly (who properly ignored two retreating aircraft openly broadcasting that they were doing so)

* Razgriz is here! It consists of Blaze (proper name I made up for him: Daemon Nacht), Bartlett (now married to his Yuke spy waifu), Chopper (who landed in the river, and still listens to Blurry) and Grimm (who remains as extremely competent as ever). They now fly F-14

* OMC and OANG squadrons get some love!

* Labarthe lives, and unites a lot of the Erusean Conservatives into a functional faction that properly allies with the Oseans. Shilage's independence claim is respected, and so Mihaly doesn't get shot down and gets to fight alongside Trigger

* Some of the named Aces show up (pulled from an excellent mod on Nexus that created actual assault records for the enemy aces from 7; the Su-47 from Cape Rainy, an EASA test pilot; the F/A-18 from Faceless Soldier; now an EASA field coordinator for a whole Hornet/Flanker drone squadron, has a Copro unit as a backseater like Mihaly, named "Copine"; the MiG-21 ace from the first mission returns to head a squadron that all use Su-35s, except for him: Silber vibes); the Mirage ace from Stonehenge shows up as the leader of Erusea's demonstration team that got swept up into actual combat; the Su-35 ace from the night Anchorhead mission is retconned into a Conservative ex-noble who stays alive.

* Many named squadrons survive/get reconstituted as they would in actual wartime.

* Yellow Squadron is here! Yellow 4 didn't act dumb and stayed behind after getting guerilla-bombed in AC04, so she leads the Yellows now. She and Mobius got along so well after the war that they got married. Her name is Algerian-based and her callsign is the French word for "catgirl" bc some Yellow 13 concept art had a catgirl on his flight jacket.

* Rosa gets Royal Guards now, some flying F-15EX and some flying X-02S. They are very competent, despite their ceremonial functions and fancy white-and-orange Erusean rose paintjobs.

* An Erusean intelligence/internal security squadron called "Polonium" works with the LRSSG in taking out the Alicorn

* The Alicorn has an anti-mutiny occur during the events of SP03, and doesn't get sunk, goes on to form a naval dream with the Marigold and the Eminent Domain. Torres gets to rant about "crisp white sheets" in a jail cell.

* The Erusean cowboy F-4 pilots from SP01 get to stick around since they weren't TGTs in that mission, and they were fun as hell

* The one poor MiG-31 with all the "mechanical issues" from SP01 and SP02 ends up leading the squadron by virtue of being the only one still alive, which may or may not be one of the squadrons that did the Erusean side of the satellite oopsie via ASAT missiles (like the MiG-31 can carry IRL)

* Nuclear ordnance is considered as a backup to Stonehenge in taking out the Arsenal Birds. Luckily Railgun Mommy McOnie gets Stonehenge working as in canon (and without randomly using civilians as surveyors)

* Lots of countries represented in an actual multinational IUN set up! Yukes! Belkans! Ustio! Emmeria! Estovakia! Cascadia! The Federation!

#ace combat #project wingman #headcanon #alternate universe #au fanfiction

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