#car carrying aircraft

[monkeyssalad-blog]

The Airport Visitor : the annual guide to civil aviation : ed : S/Ldr. N. J. Freeman and G. D. H. Linton : Penman Enterprises : London : [1953] by mikeyashworth Via Flickr: An interesting booklet aimed at the civil aviation enthusiast in days when a trip to an official viewing area at one of Britain's civil airports was quite the day out. Several here are noted as having "broadcast commentaries and recorded music" to help set the scene. The booklet lists all Britain's civil Customs airports, those operated by the Ministry of Civil Aviation or by operators on their 'behalf' and many of which still had Ministry of Defence links, along with non-Customs licensed aerodromes. As well as this there are descriptions of the various airlines, the 'planes they operate and an aircraft log book along with information as to ground activities such as control and approach radar. The cover is by artist Lawrence Fish (1919 - 2009) a noted commercial and advertising illustrator and puts Silver City Airways firmly in the picture. Silver City, formed in 1948, were noted for their "air car ferry" services operated primarily from Lympne to France and from Southampton to Cherbourg. The fleet of Bristol 170 Mk.21 Freighters and Mk.32 'Superfreighter' seen loading here carred three cars and twenty passengers. The freighters also carried, as can be seen, bicycles. The helicopter seen above is how Silver City saw the future; the company put considerable effort into considering the adoption of a freight helicopter and detachable "pannier" system for moving freight at a time when Fairey Aviation were developing the Rotodyne and Blackburn Aircraft were developing the SP60. The project never came to fruition.

[tanadrin]

@grimogretricks

For people saying that airport security is wholly theatre and that it doesn't do any good- certainly it seems they've gone overboard on certain things, but what is your explanation as to why hijackings and terrorist attacks involving planes are MUCH less common than they used to be?

Sorry that this is mostly off the dome, and has less references than I would like. We argued this stuff to death in the aughts, though ultimately the political incentives in favor of security theater were just too great. Everyone is terrified of the potential backlash of not being seen to do enough in advance of the next big terrorist attack, I guess. And to be clear, we are talking mostly about post-9/11 airport security measures as being security theater. Some degree of airport security has been necessary since people started getting on airplanes with guns and informing the pilot that, hey, guess what, we're going to Cuba instead of Miami today.

But the big reduction in airplane hijackings came with the institution of metal detectors to keep guns off airplanes after a couple high-profile hijackings in the 1970s. But remember that these incidents were of a very different character than what we now think of as the risk to airplanes: they were certainly a problem, but the modus operandi of hijackers in this era was to force the plane to fly to a non-extradition country and land safely. 9/11-style hijackings, that used the plane as a bomb and killed everyone aboard, were on nobody's radar--when the goal was blowing up the plane and killing passengers, bombers generally used bombs planted in checked baggage, which requires different security measures from passenger screening.

Two security changes occurred after 9/11 that made future such hijackings basically impossible: one, probably most importantly, was that passengers understood they no longer could count on hijackers having an interest in surviving the hijacking. This change in passenger behavior was immediate: later that same year when a guy tried to bomb an airplane (using a really ineffective device hidden in his shoe) passengers immediately acted to restrain him. The second important change was reinforcing cockpit doors and keeping them locked: this makes hijacking airplanes with knives (the only major modality left to most would-be hijackers) functionally impossible.

All the other intense passenger screening and security measures implemented after 9/11 has been repeatedly shown by security researchers to be pretty ineffective, not even very reliable at stuff like keeping knives off airplanes. For years after 9/11 there were endless news stories about law enforcement running drills at airports and weapons making their way through security. A lot of later security measures, like liquid limits in carry-on baggage, came from terrorist plots that didn't even make it off the drawing board (and are unlikely to have ever worked anyway), and seem mostly to be overzealous ass-covering by transportation security officials.

And, finally, we should note that the real security threats to airplanes in the post-9/11 era seem to have come come from two sources that are basically impossible to protect against using traditional security methods, and for which passenger-based security screening is useless: anti-aircraft missiles and suicidal pilots (plus an honorable mention to aircraft companies trying to skirt certain regulatory requirements).

Despite what decades of American media would have you believe, elaborate plots targeting transportation infrastructure and involving like a dozen people are actually not at the top of the list of terrorist methodologies--why time and money training members of your organization to fly planes into buildings, when you can just use social media to convince a guy to drive a car into a crowd of bystanders, or stab somebody on the street? It's much cheaper, and much, much harder to guard against. Random lone-wolf terrorism is, unlike the kind of elaborate plots portrayed on TV, and one-off real-life examples like 9/11, basically impossible for security services to guard against in advance. But in order to justify the war on terror, and large budgets for security services on anti-terrorism grounds, it was necessary to play up the threat of such plots, even if by its very nature 9/11 was impossible to repeat. For similar reasons, the post-9/11 era also played up the threat of Islamic extremism and large overseas terrorist networks, even though far-right extremists acting in small groups also have managed to kill huge numbers of people in spectacular ways.

So for all these reasons, and those noted at the top, the political incentives around transportation security means that passenger screening measures in airports are almost guaranteed to be a one-way ratchet, even if they don't work. It's a bit like the fabled anti-tiger amulet--it's easy to say the lack of tigers is proof it's working! Even if the real reason there are no tigers about is that you live in Ohio. The media environment post-War on Terror helped create a public appetite for and approval of such anti-tiger amulets, too, of course. This was not by any means a purely top-down phenomenon.

[c1qfxugcgy0]

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)

[ivystoryweaver]

Cosmic - Poe Dameron

Episode 1: A Space Odyssey next

Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Happy Poevember!

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Summary: In 1981, in rural America, Poe crash lands to earth and you have to show him everything (set in America but reader is not necessarily American)

Content: some minor injuries and blood, not beta'd

Word Count: 2.4k

☾ ��*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

A deafening crash obliterated peaceful sleep on a silent, country night. You sat up in bed, abruptly, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Heart pounding and ears alert, you listened, hoping to convince yourself it was nothing - a dream, or maybe even a distant car crash.

Willing yourself to climb out of bed, you crept to the window, trying desperately to calm your breathing before drawing back the curtains.

That's when you saw it. A fire - distant, but definitely on your property. Maybe someone did crash. Or...was there some sort of electrical or gas explosion? As far as you could tell, the fire wasn't near your barn, or any of your sheds or buildings.

Scrubbing a hand over your face, you decided you better go check it out. Pulling your nightgown over your head, you grabbed the nearest pair of sweats - a crewneck gray top with matching bottoms. Taking the stairs two at a time, you headed for the back door, slipping into your boots and lifting your coat off the hook. Twisting the lock, you yanked open the door, but paused. You turned back and rummaged around in the drawer for a flashlight.

It flickered once before powering on, bright enough to lead you to the laundry room where you found a more useful spotlight flashlight and a fire extinguisher. Pushing open the screen door, you tried to estimate how far the fire was. This prompted you to grab your truck keys and drive.

The familiar creak of the your father's old truck door reminded you that this thing was probably on its last leg. You put the key in the ignition, impatiently bouncing on the bench seat.

"Come on, girl, not tonight. Come on."

After a few more sputters, the old thing cranked, a puff of smoke its only protest. With your high beams illuminating the path, you made your way to the mysterious flames.

In the few minutes it took you to drive across your property, bouncing over the uneven ground in the old truck, you started to realize how big the fire was...and that you probably should've called the fire department before you charged at it with a mere fire extinguisher.

Twisted hunks of metal had ravaged your farmland. Something huge had crashed here. An airplane or jet of some sort. Maybe experimental aircraft. Or a UFO. The musical motif from 2001: A Space Odyssey drifted through your mind. The government was sure to be here soon, probably setting up camp on your property and kicking you out of your own home on grounds of national security.

You were at a complete loss, heart racing as the smoke began to burn your lungs. Pulling your shirt collar up over your nose as a makeshift mask, you began to walk the perimeter of the crash, deciding to take a look before calling the authorities.

Rounding the corner of what appeared to be a black and orange metal wing, you heard a groan.

"Oh my god," you gasped, easing closer, braving the heat and the smoke to see what you assumed was the pilot. Something welled up inside you - adrenaline, probably, but your legs carried you forward to a man, half strapped into his seat, bloodied and unconscious.

"Oh god. Hold on. Hold on, I'm gonna get you out."

Racing back to your truck, you climbed into the truck bed, looking for a tool - anything to help you. Thankfully, you found a pair of work gloves, a wrench and a pair of pliers in the back, and a utility knife normally kept in the glove box.

You scrambled back to the man, praying to anything listening that he was not dead. After using the fire extinguisher to put out the fire immediately surrounding him, you used the knife. You cut him free of the straps holding him to the aircraft seat, grateful for gloves around such hot metal. Thankfully he wasn't a big person - not overly tall or heavy, so you were able to drag him all the way back to your truck.

It took all your strength and then some to get him all the way into the truck. You quickly examined him for obvious injuries, hoping he wasn't bleeding out or hadn't broken his back. He seemed generally okay, aside from some scrapes and cuts and minor burns.

Gingerly, you buckled him into the seat and slowly removed his helmet. He was bleeding from his temple, but the cut didn't seem deep. Blood and dirt covered his cheeks and was matted into his thick, dark curls.

"Gotta get you to a hospital." Cranking the truck, you glanced over at his orange flight suit, wondering who he could possibly work for.

You drove to the end of your property, wondering if you should drive the closest medical center, which was ten miles away, and closed, or if you should drive a hour to the closest city hospital. Either option was a gamble with your somewhat unreliable truck. What if you got stuck?

You decided against it, heading back to your house to call the fire department. They could take this man wherever he needed to go in an ambulance.

You pulled up to the house and switched off the engine, exhaling heavily before unbuckling both yourself and the pilot. You walked around the truck, opened the passenger door and jumped back with a scream as his head lolled over and his eyes blinked open.

"Where am I?" He croaked out. "Which system?"

"Hey, it's okay," you tried to soothe both him and yourself simultaneously. "You're at my farm. I think your jet crashed. I'm going to call for some help."

He tried to climb out of the truck, but flopped back into the seat with a groan. "The f...the First Order. Is the First Order here?"

You shook your head. "I-I don't know what you mean. I think you need a hospital."

Slinging one leg out the door, he gripped the truck door with his gloved hand, hauling himself to his feet.

"Careful," you instructed, reaching out to help steady him.

Deep brown eyes locked onto yours. "Thank you."

"Of course. Come on, let's get you inside."

He nodded, arm resting heavily around your shoulders. "Kriffing hell," he choked, limping with difficulty.

"Hey, I've got you. Just lean on me."

The two of you made it through the back door, into the kitchen, where you helped the pilot ease down onto a chair.

"You okay?" You asked, trying to steady him. "Is your leg broken?"

"I-I don't know. I don't think so." He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

"Hold on. Let me get you some water. I need to call for help."

"Wait!" He protested, stopping you with a strong grip on your arm. "Wait, who are you calling? The First Order can't know."

You shook your head. "I don't know what that is. I was just going to call an ambulance to help you and the fire department to take care of your jet out there."

"I'm fine," he waved you off, attempting to push himself up on the chair. "Believe me, I've been in tougher scrapes than this. I just need to get back to my ship, to my transceiver. Where's your satellite?"

"My satellite? I don't have a satellite," you explained. "I have a telephone. And a couple of CB radios. That's it. No satellite."

"Damn it," he huffed, seeming to grow more agitated by the moment. Yanking off his gloves, he pushed his hands through his hair, wincing as he grazed the cut on his temple.

"Let me get you some help," you insisted, opening the cupboard to get a glass, which you filled with water from the tap. "Drink this."

His eyes met yours and he nodded once, downing the glass in one gulp. You took it from him and refilled it, collecting the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink. "Here," you said, handing the glass back to him. "Drink some more. Let me look at your head. Then I'm calling an ambulance."

Without answering, he slowly accepted the glass of water, waiting patiently while you dabbed the cut on his temple, hissing as you cleansed it.

"You need to hold this gauze here for a minute. I don't think a bandage will stick in your hair," you explained. "I don't think you need stitches, but I would rather a doctor look at you."

Reaching for your arm, he stopped you, his calloused fingers circling your wrist. "Please don't call anyone. You're very kind but...please. Not until I'm sure."

With trembling breath, you swallowed down a growing sense of dread. Was this man some sort of spy? Maybe he was Russian? "Not until you're sure of what?"

"Of where I am," he emphatically explained. "And who's in control of this system. Noticing you shudder, he released your wrists. "Please, can we take your...speeder back to my ship? I won't bother you anymore."

Slowly nodding, you stood, flabbergasted as he used the table to help him climb out of his chair, standing with difficulty.

"Here, I'll help you," you found yourself offering, despite your concern about who this man could be.

Soon enough, you drove him back out to the crash site, wondering if you would somehow get into trouble with the government if this man communicated with an enemy of the state. But, not sure of what else to do, you watched as he climbed out of your truck, limped around the perimeter of the crash and did something with the ship that made the fire go out pretty quickly.

You weren't even sure if he wanted you to stay and wait for him.

After a few minutes, however, he made his way back to the truck.

"Comms are busted. My droid is a pile of wires. Glad it wasn't BB." Shaking his head, he sighed in frustration. "This whole thing is too hot to look at tonight. Do you think anyone will come looking?" He glanced over at you.

"Uhm, the nearest neighbor is five miles. Maybe no one saw," you told him. "They might see the smoke in the morning."

He nodded curtly, running a gloved hand over his face. "Would it be okay if I waited here for a little while? Maybe let my ship cool off and..." With a groan of pain, he turned to peer through the window behind him. "Do you think we could use your speeder to haul away some of the wreckage?"

You stared at him for almost a full minute. "Who are you?"

With a sardonic, exhausted half-chuckle, he shook his head. "Sorry. I...I can't tell you until I know where I am."

Chewing on your lip, you tried to decide what to do. "I'll tell you where we are. But you have to tell me where you're from too. Deal?"

He nodded, so you unbuckled your seatbelt and shifted to face him, one leg drawn up to your chest.

"We're in Iowa. But you must have known that. You must have been flying over us, maybe to the closest base, when you crashed."

"Iowa," he slowly repeated. "What system are we in?"

"You keep saying 'system' - I don't know what that means," you insistently explained. "We're in Iowa. In the United States. Are you not from here?"

"Uh, no," he quickly answered. "I have no idea where we are. Who's in charge of your United States? Are you occupied by the First Order?"

"I don't know what that is! We're the United States. Do you seriously not know the United States of America? Maybe the most powerful nation in the world? Or one of them, anyway. There's no one occupying this country. I've never even heard of something called a First Order."

"Good. That's good." Removing his gloves again, the man stroked his chin. It seemed to be a habit of his. "You said 'this world'. What planet is this?"

Without meaning to, you looked at him like he was crazy. "You must have a concussion. I definitely should've called an ambulance."

"Just - please, answer me. Please." His eyes found yours, dark eyebrows shifting pleadingly. True, deep concern radiated from his gaze as a shimmer brimmed along his lower lashes. "Please tell me. I don't understand. I don't know where I am."

"Okay, okay," you quickly reassured him. "I'll answer anything you ask. And...remember, you're going to tell me where you're from too. And a name."

He nodded quickly, scooting a little closer as if he were hanging on to your every word.

This poor man. He seemed really out of it. "We're on Earth. This is planet Earth. In North America. United States. In Iowa. On my farm. That's it, that's where we are. And you can call me Trix." You shrugged one shoulder. Not your real name, but your dad called you Trix when you were really young.

"Trix," he slowly repeated. "Trix...from Earth." He sighed, worriedly. "Earth. I've never heard of it. And you don't know the system?"

You shrugged. "I mean...Earth is in the solar system? In the Milky Way galaxy? Is that what you mean?"

"Milky Way," he gasped, staring at you in disbelief. "The Milky Way galaxy? Oh my...I've...I've never left our galaxy. I've never..."

His breathing grew shallow as his head hit the headrest with a thud.

"Oh, god, I think you're having anxiety or...just breathe." Reaching across him, you rolled down the truck window to give him fresh air, which didn't help much, because the air smelled like smoke. It seemed to help, however as he slowly began to calm down.

"Are you okay?" You finally asked after several tense moments.

"I think so. I must've. I think..." He trailed off, something in his eyes so forlorn.

You had to ask. "Are you...a spy? Are you Russian?"

Turning to face you, he frowned in confusion. "What's Russian?"

Okay. So either this man was completely mental, or...no. It couldn't be. You had watched too many science fiction films. He must have amnesia or something.

"Where are you from? You promised," you reminded him.

He swallowed hard, sitting up a bit straighter. Then he looked right into your eyes, again. There was something so honest and slightly unnerving when he did that.

"My name is Poe," he finally declared. "I'm from Yavin 4. It's in the Yavin System, in the Gordian Reach sector, in the Outer Rim Territories." Glancing down at his lap, he exhaled shakily. "It's definitely not in the Milky Way Galaxy."

next

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[museum-mind]

I LIKE THE WAY YOU KISS ME

ᯓ★ after receiving (and ignoring) your text which was calling him out, sae found himself growing nervous as he arrived in japan for the u20 match. what would happen to his fluttering heart as he watches you cheer for blue lock in the bleachers?

a/n : guess who’s back!!!! also, i’m sorry i forgot to link this to the request so a special shout-out to the anon who asked for a part 2. love ya!! ALSO! i apologise if this doesn’t match the blue lock manga / timeline.. i literally forgot like everything ( ；∀；)

“please wait until the aircraft has parked to take off your seatbelt.” the flight attendant spoke into the speaker with a commercial smile.

the rest of the words from her blurred, as a pool of emotions swirled deeply in sae’s gut. he can’t believe it, he thinks, as he stands up from the cramped airport seat, unbuckling his seatbelt. is he really here? the country he swore to never step foot in again — the home of the same person who he thought he’d never get the chance to see again.

it’s not like he want to see you, right? he’d mutter to himself, his feet carrying him through the airport quickly as he dragged his suitcase behind him.

as sae called over for a taxi, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of dread wash over him. he sighed, letting the driver to whatever car drove to him pick up his luggage and place it in the trunk.

he’d open the car door, taking a seat in the back as he placed his sports bag beside him before buckling himself in.

the drive was silent, apart from awkward attempts at small talk from the driver — sae couldn’t stand it.

he wouldn’t say it was horrible to be here — but it certainly wasn’t enjoyable to be here. the japan u20 team was full of a group of weirdos. and the only reliable player he could pluck from blue lock was even worse.

“saaaeeee~” the said man squealed, twisting his body as a delighted grin finds it’s way onto his face. “i’m so excited to play with youuuu!”

sae rolled his eyes, reaching one of his hands to massage his shoulder. he groaned at the feeling; he still felt sore.

no matter how much practice he had, he could never relieve himself of the pain as good as you could. your hands were made for him.

“you need help with that?”

“no.”

“awww, come onnnn!”

“i said no.”

“itoshi sae!” the announcer called out his name, cameras flashing all across the stadium as he stepped foot onto the field.

“aaaand… ryusei shidou!”

sae rolled his eyes as the man jumped onto his back, shouting a range of odd phrases.

his sharp teal eyes scanned the crowd, and for a moment — the world stopped. he caught the gaze of a familiar person he used to know.

you.

you were just as perfect as he last remembered; maybe even more. you both held eye contact for a moment, sae being the one to break it and look away from you.

why were his cheeks so warm?

“come on you two, hurry up! the game’s starting soon.” the dual haired man would shout towards sae and shidou, ignoring the flustered expression on a certain player’s face.

the game went by pretty smoothly — sae was able to push you to the back of his mind, eyes focused on the field only. that was, until he heard the sweet sound of your voice.

it’s so familiar, so welcoming, he thinks.

“come on blue lock!!” you’d shout, arms raised high as your cheer for your friends. after you and sae ended, you ventured out into the world, eventually befriending a pretty woman named anri.

she introduced you to the group of rowdy foot ball players who stay cooped up in the soccer facility, and you became fast friends. she even let you work there as her assistant! totally not an excuse for you both to gossip together about which celebrities you think are the cutest.

you had grown fond of the bunch, even meeting sae’s younger brother. at first, he was wary. but as soon as he realised you were not like his brother, he saw you as an older sister of sorts.

the sibling he wished he could have forever.

“go rin, you got this!” you scream out for him, hands waving towards him with a large smile on your face as he glances your way, sending a brief, bashful smile back.

sae could barley believe his ears, quickly whipping his head around as he watched his brother grow more determined.

sae felt so frustrated. you should be cheering for him like that! but he messed up.

he messed up big time.

after a treacherous amount of time, sae could finally take a break at halftime.

“where did you keep looking off to?” one of the u20 players would ask sae, taking a sip out of his water bottle.

“no one.” sae would snap back — a little too quickly.

“what?”

“i wasn’t looking at anyone.”

“i never said you were looking at anyone?”

in the end, u20 lost. it almost brought sae back to his first game in spain.

he lost, thinking about you.

as he ventured out of the stadium, he was immediately caught by paparazzi and news reporters.

he paid no mind, staying on his track toward the car which was picking him up.

“itoshi sae, how do you feel about the outcome of today’s match?” a woman would ask, practically shoving a microphone into his face.

he scowled, a hand reaching to swat it away slightly. he looked off to the side, lifting the same hand to cover his eyes and shield them from the blinding lights.

but as he locked his gaze on you once again, he paused. a feeling that he couldn’t quite name came over him as he stood still for a moment. it was only a matter of time before the paparazzi would follow his line of sight, he thought as his feet began to bring him towards you.

he had to hold onto the strap of his bag tightly, afraid that he’d be caught trembling as he reaches. a shaky hand to grab onto you, pulling you into the shadows of a dark alleyway.

what was he doing?!

“shh.” he’d hush, placing his large palm over your lips as he leaned a little closer to you, a hand pulling you against his chest as he peeked over the corner. he watched the paparazzi run around like a bunch of rats, scurrying to find something, anything to write about.

he scoffed, rolling his eyes before looking down at you. your eyes were wide, and he could feel the way you’re holding your breath. “calm down.”

you bit at his palm, your eyebrows furrowing together in anger as you pulled away. “calm down?!” you whisper shout to the man. “how am i supposed to do that? what is wrong with you?”

“just take a few breaths — like i told you.”

“that was years ago!”

sae stopped. this was futile. he was never able to properly explain his feelings to you. he doesn’t know why, but whenever he’s around you he feels his throat tighten and his stomach flutter. his head is light and his cheeks are warm.

only you could have such an effect on him, he thinks.

before you could say another word, he leaned down, lips pressing against yours as his eyes shut. he hoped that maybe — just maybe — this could tell you everything he wanted to tell you.

everything you deserve to know.

with a soft touch of his lips, he knows you’ll understand. you always did, he remembers.

“sae.” you mumble as he pulls away, your eyes blinking open.

he breathes out, only for a gasp to get stuck in his throat as you lean towards him, returning the kiss. you were so gentle, so loving.

“don’t say another word to me.” you say after breaking away. “your kisses are enough for me to understand how you feel.”

“i like the way you kiss me, name.”

“i know.”

[callsign-mayhem]

too sweet (part 1)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female!Reader Word count: 6.4k CW: Use of Y/N, occasional swears

As Natasha's lifelong best friend, you've always known her crew was off-limits, especially one cocky aviator with a killer smile: Jake "Hangman" Seresin. But when you take a writing retreat to sunny San Diego, a break that was supposed to help you escape distractions, you find yourself sharing late-night conversations, beach bonfires, and undeniable chemistry with the one person you've been strictly forbidden to date.

This is a multi-part fic.

As soon as your plane touched down in San Diego, you were switching flight mode off and texting your best friend. It had been almost six months since the last time you saw her, and your patience had worn thin not long after the second week of her being gone. Now, you were practically bursting with excitement. As a result, you’d become one of those annoying people who got up as soon as the seatbelt sign went off, standing in the aisle with your carry-on even though the steps for the plane hadn’t even been brought onto the runway yet. 

Once you eventually got off the aircraft, you ran as fast as possible with a backpack and a carry-on suitcase, not stopping until you reached passport control. Once past that particular hurdle, it was onto baggage claim. Being a full-time writer afforded you much more flexibility and freedom than most other people, especially your best friend. This was why you usually visited her and not the other way around. Since it had been so long since you last spent time together, your ticket to San Diego was one way. It seemed as though Nat was setting up shop in Fighter Town for a while, and with your latest manuscript almost ready to be sent to your editor, you were taking the opportunity for a much-needed change in pace and scenery. 

The airport was busy, and you were swarmed by people from your flight trying to spot their bags on the carousel. This included the screaming set of twins and their dishevelled parents seated two rows behind you. 

They were still screaming, and you were briefly reminded why you didn’t want to have any children yet. Not that there was any chance of that happening, anyway. You’d been single for so long that it was a basically a personality trait at this point. 

When you spotted your suitcase, you ran to meet it and hauled it off the conveyor belt less than gracefully. The arrivals lounge was an assault on your already overloaded senses, and dragging two suitcases wasn’t making it any easier. But when you got closer to the exit, you saw Nat’s black Suburban parked right out front, and all the stress dissipated. 

When you barelled out of the doors and onto the sidewalk, she jumped out of the car with a huge, uncontainable grin. Her hair was freshly cut and styled, and her skin glowed beneath the Californian sun. 

North Island looked good on her. 

Bags be damned, you ran into her arms, almost knocking her over. She still smelled of citrus and vanilla, which was to say that she still smelled like her family home where you’d spent most of your childhood. You’d had a couple of boyfriends in and just after college, but their hugs had never lived up to Natasha’s. There was nothing more comforting to you in the entire world.

‘Lieutenant Trace in the flesh!’ You squeaked. 

‘Y/N Y/L/N, bestselling author. It truly is an honour.’

Reluctantly, you let go so you could take her in. ‘Those FaceTime calls just weren’t cutting it anymore.’ You told her, smiling. ‘You look good, Nat. Better than good.’

‘I think this place agrees with me.’ She replied. ‘You look like you need a holiday.’

‘Wow, thanks.’

She laughed. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I know.’

She glanced at your luggage with a raised brow. ‘Let’s get what appears to be everything you own in the trunk, and then we’ll get on the road. ‘Kay?’

‘I know it looks like a lot, but you know I like to be prepared.’

You took the smaller case, and she took the bigger one. ‘For what? Moving states?’

‘My ticket is open-ended.’ You explained. ‘Once I get my manuscript in next week, I’ll be free as a bird until my editor is ready to shatter all my hopes and dreams.’

Natasha eyed you somewhat disbelievingly. ‘You’re saying you might be staying a while?’

‘If that’s okay with you, yeah.’

‘Let’s see how long it takes me to get sick of you.’ She jibed.

‘How do you know I won’t get sick of you first?’

‘Because I’m a delight.’

On the way to Nat’s apartment complex, she pointed out landmarks and told you about the latest happenings. You were mostly caught up since you spent every other evening on FaceTime, but it was always different when you caught up in person. The two of you always remembered other details you’d forgotten about. 

The drive from the airport to Nat’s apartment on Island Avenue took just over fifteen minutes, and before you knew it, you were being shown to the guest room. She’d moved in a little over a month ago, after being told she was being stationed in Fighter Town indefinitely along with some of her crew from a super secret mission she’d been involved in. Nat told you more details about her work than she probably should because even if you had someone to tell, you wouldn’t. Your friendship wasn’t like most other female friendships, where you think your secret is safe until it’s not. The two of you trusted one another wholeheartedly because there genuinely wasn’t any reason not to. 

The guest room was as tidy and organised as the rest of the apartment. With Autumn just around the corner, she’d adorned the double bed with pumpkin throw pillows and a dark red teddy blanket you immediately wanted to crawl under. You were thoroughly exhausted, but you knew neither of you would be going to sleep anytime soon.

‘I put my desk in here,’ she told you. ‘Since I knew it would be your room. That way, you can write while I’m on base.’

Even after all these years, things like this still warmed you. ‘Thanks, Natty.’ You said, reverting to your childhood nickname for her. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘You hungry?’

‘Practically wasting away over here.’

‘I thought you might say that. Wanna go out or order in? I can take you to this amazing restaurant I went to with some of my team a few weeks ago. It’s right by the beach.’

‘Sold.’

An hour later, you were sitting in the outside area of a trendy new steakhouse. You were so hungry after your flight that you doubted you’d have noticed if the food had been awful. Nat enjoyed her brisket immensely, so it couldn’t have been bad. 

‘So,’ you said, around a mouthful of food. ‘Tell me more about this new squad. Better than the Black Aces?’

‘They’re so different, they aren’t comparable. But they’re pretty awesome.’

‘Any of them particularly awesome?’ You asked, waggling your eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes playfully. ‘No, no, and no. Even if there were, I wouldn’t do anything about it. I don’t date navy guys.’

‘I still don’t understand that.’

‘I don’t like to shit where I eat,’ she said simply. ‘Or rather, I don’t like to let men shit where I eat since usually they’re the ones doing the shitting.’

You nodded in understanding. ‘Am I gonna get to meet any of the famous Daggers?’ 

‘Yup. Tonight.’

Your stomach dropped. While you were definitely up for meeting them, you were a little nervous, especially since it was happening so soon.

‘Tonight?’ You echoed.

‘Friday nights, we always go to The Hard Deck after work. I’ll come back to the apartment first, change and then we can head over together.’ 

You hoped you were doing a good job of hiding your nerves. Nat would never let you live them down. 

‘So not only am I meeting the famous Dagger Squad, but I’m also gonna experience the highly acclaimed Hard Deck on the same night.’

‘Don’t bother wearing socks, ‘cause they’re gonna be knocked right off.’ Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

‘The novelty might have worn off for you, but this is big for me. I listen to you talk about these people and that bar day in and day out without understanding. I’m finally getting to put faces to names my best friend doesn’t shut up about. It would be like you stepping into one of my books and meeting all the characters.’

‘Okay, when you put it that way, I understand why you’re excited. But you gotta promise me one thing.’

She was suddenly all serious. ‘Anything.’ You replied earnestly.

‘Do not let Hangman charm you. I’ve already told him you’re off limits, and I’m saying the same to you. He’s bad news.’

You knew all about Hangman from Nat’s stories. There were only a few where he was one of the good guys. As a writer, you were all too familiar with the good girl falls in love with the bad guy trope, and as tantalising as it was to read about, you knew better than to fall for it in real life.

At least, you’d like to think so.

‘You don’t have to worry about that. He sounds like an asshole.’

‘You say this now, but he’s a charmer, and you’re vulnerable.’

You threw a chip at her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I mean no offence when I say this, but it’s been a while since you dated anyone, Y/N. I’m not saying you’re naive, but I know he’ll lay it on real thick just to mess with me, and I don’t want you to fall into his trap and get hurt.’

‘You think he’d pretend to hit on me just to get under your skin? This guy sounds even worse than I thought.’

‘You can never be too sure what his intentions are. Safer to assume that he has an ulterior motive.’

‘Well, thanks, Nat. Now I’m really nervous.’

‘You’ll be fine. I’ll be there to yank on his leash if he starts barking too loudly. And Rooster is always looking for an excuse to take him down a peg.’

In true best friend style, Natasha had emptied your suitcase in search of the perfect outfit for you to wear to The Hard Deck. Thankfully, she’d settled on one of your favourites: a black velvet romper with bell sleeves covered in little silver moons and stars. You didn’t have to debate whether to wear your hair up or down because Nat had already decided for you and was almost done curling it. You applied a thin layer of lip gloss in front of her vanity mirror while she worked her magic. You’d gone easy on the makeup since you often felt self-conscious when wearing a lot. 

‘Okay, done.’ She announced, running her fingers through the curls. 

She’d done a great job, better than when you did it yourself.

‘Thanks, Nat.’

‘You’re welcome. You look drop-dead gorgeous.’

In her skinny jeans, white tank and leather jacket, you thought Nat looked like a sexy biker chick, and you told her so. 

‘Anyone would think you’re in love with me.’

‘So what if I am?’

You decided to get an Uber since neither of you wanted to stay sober to drive the other home. You spent the whole journey fretting that the Daggers wouldn’t like you. Maybe they’d think you were boring because you weren’t in the Navy. Perhaps they’d think being a writer wasn’t a real job (it wouldn’t be the first time someone had told you that). Or worse, maybe they’d think you weren’t good enough to be friends with the highly decorated fighter pilot who was your best friend. 

By the time the Uber driver pulled up in front of The Hard Deck, your stomach was tied in knots, and you were gasping for a shot of something strong to give you a confidence boost. Despite your overwhelming sense of anxiety, you were able to appreciate how incredible The Hard Deck was. Adorned with lights and overflowing with all different kinds of people, it was the kind of place that felt almost dreamlike. Music spilled out through the open doors and windows, and the surrounding area thrummed with a near-tangible electric current. 

Natasha looped her arm through yours as you headed into the bar, and you were grateful for the physical and moral support. Inside, it was a hubbub of activity. The wraparound bar—which had at least five people behind it—was surrounded by people. The crowd was at least three people deep; as soon as a bartender finished serving someone, there was another to take their place. You’d done a brief stint as a bartender just after college, and while you’d never worked somewhere quite this busy, you had a pretty good idea of how they were feeling. 

A Bon Jovi song blared from a jukebox you couldn't locate. A large pool table and a mounted dart board stood in the far corner of the bustling bar. This appeared to be where Nat was leading you. A group of aviators—some still in uniform from the day, some not—stood around the pool table. 

Your heart was in the base of your throat. It was beating erratically. 

‘Ready?’ Nat asked, flashing you an encouraging grin.

‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

When you reached them, those who had been immersed in their game stopped, and the others let their conversations die out. All eyes were on you, and you briefly wondered if something was on your face. 

‘Guys, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my squad.’ Each one beamed at you as they swarmed around you to shake your hand or hug you. ‘For better or worse.’ Nat said.

The tall, handsome one with the moustache and the Hawaiian shirt you knew to be Rooster playfully poked Nat in the ribs. ‘Hey, you know it’s for better.’

‘Depends on the day.’ She shrugged.

‘Y/N,’ Rooster smirked. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

He had to reach down to wrap his arms around your shoulders. He smelled of sandalwood and sun lotion, and you’d already forgotten Nat’s reasons for not wanting to sleep with her squad members. 

‘All good things, I hope.’

Before Rooster could respond, a strapping blonde guy with a movie-star smile cut in. ‘Better than good,’ he said with a southern drawl. ‘I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity.’

The squad collectively rolled their eyes. ‘This is Hangman.’ Nat sighed. 

He held out his hand, and you took it. ‘Jake Seresin.’

‘Pleasure.’ You replied. 

When you finally worked up the courage to look into his eyes, you saw chaos swimming in the blue depths. He smiled at you as if he knew what colour underwear you had on, as well as all your darkest secrets. He was disarming, and you’d always made a point to steer clear of men like that.

‘Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, darlin’.’

‘Alright, Bagman, that’s enough.’ This voice belonged to one of the shorter guys with a buzzed head and a much nicer vibe. ‘You’re gonna scare her off.’ Instead of hugging you or shaking your hand, he kissed your cheek, and you felt a surprised blush creep across your cheeks. ‘I’m Mickey, callsign Fanboy. Welcome to North Island.’

‘Thanks, Mickey. It’s nice to meet you.’

‘This here is Payback, but you can call him Reuben. I’m his backseater.’

‘Hi,’ you grinned, starting to find your feet and your confidence. ‘I hear you’re quite the pilot.’ 

Reuben glanced at Nat, apparently pleasantly surprised. ‘Damn, you say nice things about us behind our backs?’

‘Not all of you.’ Nat shot a pointed look at Jake. ‘But yeah. Don’t sound so surprised.’ 

Coyote—AKA Javy—was less intimidating than Jake, but you could tell they were privy to something you weren’t. Your mind flicked back to the conversation you’d had with Nat earlier, and you were starting to understand what she meant. Maybe they had some kind of awful bet on who could bed you first. Either way, you planned to be cordial but not engage with them any more than you had to. 

Last but not least, you were introduced to Bob, Nat’s backseater and perhaps the team member she spoke most highly of. You’d been desperate to meet him for months, partly because Nat had told you he had a really funny side to him once he came out of his shell and partly because you wanted to thank him for keeping your best friend alive.

‘Y/N, this is Bob Floyd. My WSO.’

In one hand, he held a half-empty cup of peanuts. The other, he held out to you.

‘Bob, it’s an honour to meet you. Thank you for looking after Natty. I didn’t need to meet you to know that there’s nobody else I’d rather be in the sky with my best friend.’

Bob blinked at you behind his wireframes, dumbfounded by your kind words.

‘Uh, thanks, Y/N. I’m just a Weapons Systems Officer. Phoenix is the hero, not me.’

‘Don’t put yourself down. Your job is just as important, if not more so. I know she won’t mind me saying that.’

‘I agree,’ Nat said. ‘I’ve told you before, Bobby; you gotta give yourself more credit.’

Bob flushed. His eyes remained fixed on his peanuts. ‘Well, thank you. It sure means a lot.’ 

With the initial introductions out of the way, you could relax. Payback and Fanboy headed to the bar to get a round of drinks in while you made yourself comfortable at one of the tall tables. Rooster and Bob joined you and Nat while Coyote and Hangman resumed their game of pool. They’d been playing doubles with Payback and Fanboy, and it was their turn. 

You found yourself staring at Hangman as he leaned over the table and expertly sank three balls—one after the other—into the pockets. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud, but he was gorgeous. Walking, talking Texan Ken dolls weren’t usually your type, but it was impossible to deny Jake’s appeal. Maybe it was because Nat had explicitly told you not to look that you found your eyes wandering back to him, even as Rooster launched into a story about a recent mission. Didn’t something always feel more endearing when you weren’t allowed to do it?

When Payback and Fanboy reappeared, each with a tray of drinks in hand, you could finally refocus your attention. 

‘Tequila shots!’ Fanboy gestured with bravado.

‘And some beers to chase them with.’ Payback finished.

You giggled, reaching for your shot. There was enough for everyone to have two, and you made a mental note to get them both back. Hangman and Coyote sauntered over at the mention of hard liquor. It was difficult to ignore Jake when he came to your side of the table and reached over you for his shot. Was he making a point, or were you hyperaware of him after your warning from Nat?

‘What’re we toasting?’ You asked.

Rooster’s eyes twinkled as he raised his near-overflowing shot glass in your direction. ‘To old friends and new.’

The whole squad echoed his toast and downed their shots. Bob coughed and sputtered, and Fanboy smacked him on the back encouragingly, only making him cough more. Your stomach ached from laughing, and you weren’t even drunk yet. 

One shot of tequila, and you were already wondering if there were any apartments for rent close to North Island. 

As the night progressed and you got tipsier, you found yourself playing some kind of game with Hangman. The rest of the squad seemed totally unaware of it, for which you were incredibly grateful. If Nat or Rooster caught so much as a whiff of attraction between the two of you, you were sure they’d haul your ass home and sit you on the naughty step. You’d only known Bradley for a few hours, but you’d hit it off immediately. You understood why he and Nat were so close. He’d already adopted some kind of brotherly responsibility for you, and apparently—before your arrival—he and Nat had made a pact to protect you from Hangman at all costs. Super dramatic, but you were sure it was warranted. 

Of course, this approach had the opposite effect. You found yourself drawn to him for reasons known only to the almighty. Nat and Bradley had said (not in so many words, but still) ‘fuck around and find out.’

And here you were, fucking around and finding out. 

He was standing at the dart board nursing a whiskey on the rocks. Payback was taking his shot while Fanboy egged him on from the sidelines. It seemed that the two pairs had a mission to thrash each other at various bar games, and you sincerely hoped that Payback and Fanboy won at least one round of something by the end of the night just to see the smug grin wiped off Jake’s pretty face. 

As for the game the two of you were playing… Well, you’d started that. He’d caught you staring at him after the second round of shots, and the look he’d given you in response had been incendiary. More for something to do with your hands and mouth, you’d taken a sip of your cocktail (courtesy of Bobby Floyd) and looked away again. You’d looked up again a little while later and caught him staring. You’d raised your eyebrows, and in response, he took a long drink of his whiskey before mouthing ‘bet.’ Thus, your little drinking game was born, and you hadn’t even had to speak to each other.

Whenever one caught the other staring, the guilty one had to take a drink. 

You were more than tipsy now, so you silently promised not to look at him for a while lest you end up on the floor before 10 pm. 

‘So, Phoenix tells us you’re about to finish another book.’ Bradley said, bringing you back to Earth.

‘Yeah, I’ve just gotta mess around with the ending, and then it’ll be good to go. That is until my editor tears it to shreds.’

‘Did you always want to be a writer?’ Bob asked.

He’d come out of his shell significantly since you walked into The Hard Deck earlier that evening. The two shots had helped since he wasn’t a big drinker. They’d gone right to his head, and his cheeks were stained pink. Bob was sweet and kindhearted and had a knack for making you feel seen and heard in the conversation. You’d never met a man who was so attentive before, and you got the feeling that Nat and Bradley had an agenda, what with the knowing glances they shared whenever you went off on tangents about music and different novels you’d both read. 

Bob was perfect. Bob wouldn’t break your heart. Out of all the guys in The Hard Deck, he was the one who made the most sense to you. 

But Bob didn’t have you shifting in your stool whenever he looked at you as warmth pooled in the bottom of your tummy. 

‘For as long as I can remember, yeah.’ You responded. ‘Most people thought I was insane for choosing a liberal arts major in college. They’re notorious for leading you absolutely nowhere, but I was persistent, and now here I am.’ 

‘Not many people are successful enough to live off their writing, even if they get published.’ Nat added proudly. ‘She’s a one-percenter in the writer world.’

‘You know, I’ve actually read one of your books.’ Bob said, smiling down at his Corona Light, suddenly shy. 

This was the kind of moment you always dreamed about as a kid: meeting someone and finding out they already knew your name because they had a copy of one of your books at home. 

‘Seriously?’ You leaned forward. ‘Which one?’ 

‘Fourth of July.’ 

You were taken aback. Fourth of July wasn’t the book you were best known for, but it had been your favourite to write. It was literary fiction, and few people had the stomach for it. After publishing it, your agent practically forced you to write something on the opposite end of the spectrum, more for sales than anything else. 

‘What did you think?’ 

‘I thought it was extremely provocative. You know the kinds of books you think about for months when you’re finished?’

Your smile was so big, your face ached with it. ‘Yeah, I know the ones you mean. You really think that?’

‘I do.’ 

‘I don’t even know how to respond to that. I’m so happy.’ You gushed. ‘So I’m just gonna buy you another drink.’

Bob chuckled. Nat and Bradley shared another knowing look. ‘You don’t need to do that.’

‘I want to. Besides, it’s my turn to get a round in.’

You floated up to the bar on cloud nine and made the order in such a daze that you didn’t notice Hangman slide up next to you. 

‘I’ll be paying for this round, Penny.’ He drawled. 

Your head snapped up. He still had that shit-eating grin on his face, and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to slap it or kiss it off. 

‘I can pay. It’s my turn.’ You insisted.

Jake waved you off. ‘You’re the honoured guest.’

‘And it’s my turn.’ You repeated sternly. ‘Plus, I’m buying Bob an extra drink as a thank you.’

Jake recoiled slightly, a bemused grin on his face. ‘For what?’

‘He gave me some great feedback on one of my books. The one I’m the least proud of. Nothing in the world beats that feeling, so I want to thank him.’

‘Trust Bobby to have read your work before knowing who you are. I bet he’s mighty pleased with himself.’ Jake ruminated. ‘He’s not the one trailing behind for once.’

You frowned deeply. ‘That’s not very nice. Bob seems like a great guy. He probably doesn’t seem like it to you because his ego isn’t the size of North Island.’

Jake laughed. ‘And you think mine is?’ 

Penny was smirking to herself as she poured all the drinks, and you had a feeling she’d probably back you up. 

‘I think it’s probably quite close. You and Bob don’t speak the same language, so you think he’s beneath you.’

‘Come on, I don’t think he’s beneath me. You’re making me sound like a dick.’

No, actually, I think you manage that quite well on your own.’ You quipped.

Jake staggered back, clutching his chest, feigning hurt. You laughed despite yourself. His energy was contagious like that.

‘So, are you gonna let me pay for my round?’

‘How about I pay for the round, you just pay for Lieutenant Bookworm. You know, to save your conscience.’ 

‘Fine,’ you said, rolling your eyes. ‘But I’m gonna get the next one. I’ll just wait until you aren’t paying attention.’ 

Jake glanced at your lips so quickly that you would’ve missed it if you’d blinked. 

‘Good luck with that, sweetheart.’ 

You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He’d disarmed you yet again, and you disliked feeling so helpless. It was almost as if you were at his mercy, and he knew it. Jake Seresin didn’t need any more power than he already had. 

He paid Penny and took the tray of drinks over to the table. You hadn’t ordered any shots because you wanted to remember some of this night, and it was probably a good idea because you could no longer walk in a straight line. Jake went right back to the dart board, and you took your seat at the table.

‘What was that about?’ Nat asked, voice laced with concern.

‘He paid for the round, even though I asked him not to.’ You took Bob’s beers off the tray and set them before him. ‘I got these, though.’

‘Thanks, Y/N.’

Bradley’s eyes were boring holes into Jake’s back. ‘It’s rare for him to do something nice without an ulterior motive.’

‘Well, that’s easy. His ulterior motive is getting in Y/N’s pants.’ Nat growled.

‘Okay,’ you said with a sigh. ‘Let’s change the subject. I’m sick of talking about him already.’

Although Bob didn’t speak as much as everyone else, you felt he noticed more than they did. You could tell he saw right through you. You just hoped he wouldn’t say anything to your best friend. 

You felt truly alive, as if the electrical current surrounding The Hard Deck had been injected directly into your veins. Your first meeting with The Dagger Squad had gone incredibly well, and they’d exceeded your expectations tenfold. It had only been one day, and you already felt like you’d made some friends for life. You were beginning to understand why Nat looked so healthy, why she seemed to be glowing from the inside out, the amazing people, the energy of North Island, the beautiful weather. These things separately were better than any multivitamin, but together? You felt as though you’d drunk some kind of magical elixir that would permit you to live forever. 

You wouldn’t mind living forever if you got to stay here permanently. 

Was it too soon to be thinking this? Did you care? 

Penny had called last orders, but nobody was ready for the night to end. Your exhaustion had worn off long ago, and thankfully, you were experiencing a rather mighty second wind. Somebody had suggested going back to Nat’s for some more drinks. Reuben’s place was the biggest—a three-bed detached house right on the outskirts of North Island—but nobody wanted to Uber that far, so you settled for Nat’s. Her apartment was the second biggest, spanning two stories. You knew she’d received a considerable inheritance a few years ago, and paired with her Navy money, she was well-off. It helped that her finance-managing skills were impeccable. She’d been the one to help you invest and save money from your first book deal when you’d wanted to blow it all on an expensive trip to New Zealand. 

It took two Ubers to get you all to Island Avenue. You carpooled with Nat, Bob, Bradley and Reuben. Mickey pulled the short straw and had to jump in with Jake and Javy. To be fair, they weren’t bad guys; you just knew their type and weren’t accustomed to it. 

Back at Nat’s, everyone was assigned a job. You and Nat set about turning all the fairy lights on, putting more chairs out on the generously sized balcony and finding throw blankets for those who got chilly. Bradley was connecting his phone to the Bluetooth speaker and queuing songs since he insisted he had the authority in that particular department. Bob was hovering, suggesting more songs for him to queue, arguing that he had just as much authority as Bradley did since they had similar taste in music. Reuben and Mickey went through Nat’s drinking/board game selection, picking out a few to keep everyone occupied. Dangerously, Javy and Jake had declared themselves bartenders. On the way back, they’d stopped at an off-license and grabbed a wide selection of booze to add to what Nat already had stocked in her kitchen. They’d set themselves up on the kitchen island and were attempting to make homemade cocktails. 

You and Nat found a moment of solitude in her room when she was searching for some sweats to give Mickey, who was still in his uniform. 

‘So it’s going pretty well, huh?’ She smiled. ‘You like the squad?’ 

‘Hell yeah, I do, they’re a riot.’

She opened her wardrobe door, smirking knowingly. ‘Who’s your favourite?’

‘Don’t have one.’ You said, a little too quickly.

‘I know you’re lying. Just tell me.’

While she rooted around in her wardrobe, you gave it some thought. You didn’t have a favourite because you liked them for different reasons. Bob was genuine and intelligent, and he understood your writing almost as well as you did. Bradley was vibrant and interesting, and he made you feel safe, as if you could be yourself unapologetically. Same with Mickey and Reuben. You liked the fact that Javy was sure of himself without coming across too cocky (mostly).

And as for Jake. Well, you didn’t have the words to describe how you felt about him. 

Nat poked her head out of the walk-wardrobe. ‘Well?’

‘I like them all, Nat. But if I had to choose, it’d be Bob.’

She smiled. ‘I knew it.’ 

‘Knew what?’

‘You have a thing for Floyd. And he has a thing for you.’

‘Jesus Christ, Natty. No. Not like that.’

She’d finally found sweatpants and a T-shirt that she didn’t mind lending to Mickey. When she came out of the wardrobe, she wore a cunning expression.

‘You wouldn’t date him? I think he’s perfect for you.’

How were you supposed to tell her that the reason you wouldn’t date him was because Jake caused a swarm of butterflies in your stomach? How were you supposed to tell her you were crushing on the only guy from her whole crew she’d warned you off? 

There was only one answer to that: you couldn’t. 

‘I didn’t come here to date. Why would I start something here that I can’t finish? I’ll be back in New England before the leaves change.’

‘Everything is always so poetic with you. But you’re right,’ she relented. ‘Bobby is someone you have a quick fling with, anyway. He’s too nice, and I don’t think that’s his thing.’

You gestured as if to say, ‘there you go.’ 

‘Shall we get back out there and see what havoc those two dickheads are wreaking in my kitchen?’

‘Let’s do it.’

It turned out that they were wreaking a lot of havoc. There were open spirit bottles everywhere, and the kitchen island was lined with shots. Not only that, but a selection of cocktails surrounded the bottles. You didn’t know what any of them contained, and honestly, you were scared to ask. 

‘Ladies,’ Javy said. ‘What’ll it be?’

‘Something that’s not gonna put me on my ass after two sips?’ You offered.

He looked at the selection of drinks with a pained expression, and you laughed. 

‘I’m guessing that’s not on the menu?’

‘Er, no…’

‘Okay, give me something sweet.’

Jake stepped around the island and came right up to you. He was so cocksure that it should have been cringe, but it was just incredibly sexy.

‘Here you go, darlin’.’

Natasha and Javy laughed, but you couldn’t stop looking at him. He was drunk, but there wasn’t a hair out of place. If you hadn’t watched him throw drinks back all night, you would think he was sober. 

‘Nice. Does that work on all the girls?’

‘I haven’t tried this one before.’ He winked.

‘I’ll take whatever concoction that has the most vodka in it. No whiskey.’ 

Your swift change of subject didn’t phase him in the slightest. ‘Anything you want.’ 

When he handed you a drink and your hands brushed, you had to glance around to see if Nat noticed. Because if she had, she’d have seen you linger for a moment before you turned around and walked away. 

After a few particularly vicious rounds of Cards Against Humanity that had you all creasing on the floor, you took yourself off to the bathroom. Bob and Javy were talking about heading home. Bradley and Mickey had called dibs on Nat’s huge, L-shaped sofa for the night, and Reuben was trying to convince Nat to let him top-and-tail in her bed. While they were arguing, you headed inside and up the spiral staircase to use your bathroom without worrying about a drunken aviator trying to get in.

Or at least, that had been your plan. 

You reached out to grab the door handle, and someone’s hand closed over your own.

‘Jake?’

You turned around, your back against the closed door, and he moved in front of you, his chest flush against yours. 

‘What’re you doing?’ You breathed.

‘You’ve been givin’ me those come-to-bed eyes all night. I assumed that’s where you were headed.’

He leaned in closer, but not so close that you thought he was going to kiss you. 

‘I thought you were suspiciously quiet when everyone was talking about sleeping arrangements.’

‘Mhm, so you were thinkin’ the same thing?’

You shook your head, but your smile was a dead giveaway. ‘Even if I wanted you to, you couldn’t spend the night here. Nat would crucify both of us.’

He leaned even closer. You could smell the liquor on his lips now. ‘Who says she has to find out?’

‘I can’t do that to her. It’s disrespectful.’

He regarded you thoughtfully. ‘Come on, Y/N. Take that halo off for one night.’ 

Bravely, you nudged his nose with yours. When he tried to kiss you, you pulled back. His expression was a mix between hurt and challenged. 

‘I’ve been warned to stay away from you, in case I get hurt.’

‘Well, that’s funny,’ he responded, closing the space between you. ‘Because I’ve been warned to stay away from you so I don’t wake up and find my balls missing.’

You laughed. ‘Nat threatened to castrate you?’

‘That she did.’

‘I suggest you go home and sleep in your own bed then.’

His lips were basically touching yours now. ‘You don’t really want that.’

You reached up and put a hand on the back of his neck. The first kiss you shared with Jake Seresin was exactly how you imagined it would be. There was no softness, no easing you into it. One minute, you were talking, the next, you were tasting the whiskey sour he’d just finished. He had both hands on either side of your face and was kissing you more intensely than you’d ever been kissed in your entire life. It was raw passion and desire—you could feel how needy he was. 

When he pushed against you, you felt his hard-on through his Levis, and a small whimper escaped your lips. You found yourself grinding against him, hoping for any kind of friction to ease the tightness in your stomach. 

When he pulled away, you followed his mouth and kissed him again, but he stopped you soon after.

‘What was that about me going home and sleeping in my own bed?’

You groaned. ‘Don’t make this hard for me.’

‘You’re the one making things hard, sweetheart.’ He smirked. 

‘I’m gonna go down first, and you’re gonna follow me a couple minutes later. That way, nobody will be suspicious.’

He shook his head in disbelief, but he was grinning like a fool. ‘You’re seriously not gonna let me stay?’ 

‘I told you, it’s disrespectful.’

‘So what, then? That’s all I get?’

You flashed him a devilish grin of your own. ‘For now.’ 

A/N: This is the first part of this series. There shouldn't be more than two or three parts. For some reason, I struggle to write one-shots; it always turns into a series...

[naturesapphic]

Is it possible for a lady dimitrescu x reader where Alcina has a lover in the past before the cadou but died and years later she meets reincarnated reader when she saves reader from a crash (aircraft or vehicle etc.) and the three daughters meddling thinks that reader will be their new parent?

Reincarnated

Lady dimitrescu x fem!reader

Warnings: little bit of angst, cussing, fluff

- the crash was horrible, there was many cars involved and only few survived

- you were one of the survivors

- the ambulance and cops were surrounding the whole area

- you were in and out of consciousness

- when you came too, there was someone carrying you to the ambulance

- when you woke up, you were in a hospital bed with a tall woman standing over you with three people behind her

- she introduced herself as alcina dimitrescu and her three daughters were daniela, Cassandra, and bela dimitrescu

- for some reason those names and how they look looked so familiar to you

- the lady must have felt the same because she kept looking at you and was always with you

- you always did wonder why she saved you and not the other people, why did she care for stranger so much?

- after you got out of the hospital the lady and her three daughters wanted to keep in touch

- you agreed because she did save your life and they did seem very nice

- even though you had a gut feeling that you knew them, maybe from a past life or something

- it’s been around a year and you have developed feelings for the lady and has grown fond of her daughters as well

- when you left the hospital a year ago, she invited you to stay with her until you rested up

- you didn’t live far from her so you decided to take up on her offer and now you are living in her castle

- sometimes you overhear her daughters beg and meddle her about how the two of you need to get together

- you thought it was cute and actually wondered if alcina felt the same way you do

- so one night you came into her office and you told her the truth about how you feel about her and the deju vu feeling you’ve always had with her since the first time y’all met

- she was very understanding and had the same romantic feelings you have for her which made you relieved and so happy

- she even showed you a photo of her old lover which looked a lot like you and she explained that you may have been reincarnated and came back, that’s why you look the same and the extreme deju vu you’ve been having ever since you’ve met her

- you were shocked beyond belief and everything suddenly came back to you

- memories of you and her started flooding in and you starting sobbing which caused alcina to worry

- but you quickly reassured her that they were happy tears and that you were so happy that the universe brought you back together

- you both enveloped each other in a tight embrace and share many kisses that were lost throughout the years

- after the two of y’all shared a special moment, you both decided to go tell her daughters

- they were absolutely ecstatic and were so happy

- they knew they had a good feeling about you and told them that you died before the cadou and before they were born

- a few months later you got married and you had your wife and her children now with you

A/n: sorry anon that this took so long but I hope you enjoyed it and I hope the rest of y’all enjoy it too! Requests are still open for all of my characters including of course Rhea ripley/Demi Bennett. I have my own buy me a coffee page! You can give me a dollar and it will help. I also have some different commission types I will do so here's my page to look into it :) https://www.buymeacoffee.com/naturesapphic Requests are open for yeehaw!wanda, country!wanda, and any other southern variants of Wanda or Natasha! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! I love y'all!

[cazzyf1]

Some information and lore about Gilles Villeneuve

During the driver's strike, Gilles played some joyful tunes, like music by Scott Joplin, he knew on the piano before it was used to barricade the door

He also played romantic music on the piano for Didier Pironi when Didier took some ladies out on a date

Alain Prost and Gilles Villeneuve shared a bed together during the driver's strike, and Patrick Tambay said if a baby came because of this, the rest of them might as well give up

Someone was snoring so loudly during the drivers sleepover that Gilles put a blanket over them to muffle it

Gilles once flew his helicopter near Niki Lauda's window at a hotel as he tried to land it. It woke Niki up from his sleep and Niki glared at him through the window

Enzo Ferrari saw Gilles like a son, and there were only a few drivers that Enzo was particularly close to

Gilles Villeneuve was discovered by James Hunt when Gilles raced against him. James and Gilles became quite close

He got nicknamed the 'Prince of destruction' at one point

Gilles Villeneuve and Didier Pironi got up to lots of fun together, including a game where they competed to see who could crash their rental car the best. They even got Alain Prost involved

Once, Gilles was giving Jody Scheckter a lift back home in his helicopter, Jody noticed a red blinking light, but Gilles told him not to worry. Every so often, suddenly, the aircraft would free fall (as Jody put it), freaking Jody out before Gilles got it under control again. Jody grabbed the manual for the helicopter and looked up what the red light meant. It meant that the battery was overheating. He then realised Gilles was purposely shutting down the engine to let the helicopter battery cool and then carry on flying

"During the flight between Montreal and Milan, Villeneuve had told Parent that he wanted permission to continue doing risky activities like skiing, driving his 4x4, boating and the like. "I told Mr. Ferrari that Gilles wanted to be the owner of his body. You have to believe that I used unusual words! Because Ferrari looked at me and asked me if I was a lawyer. I told him no. Then he asked Gilles if he was a lawyer. No. Ferrari asked me to repeat my question, which I did using the same words. And he accepted. In fact, Ferrari understood, by mistake, that Gilles wanted to be the owner of his body, in fact of his racing suit! That Gilles wanted to negotiate his own personal contracts. This is not what we had in mind, but that we got by mistake!" Parent exclaimed

Quebec rock and pop band 'The Box' made a song 'Live on TV' inspired by Gilles televised death. A Italian rock band 'The Rock Alchemist' wrote the song '27' as tribute to Gilles Villeneuve #27 f1 Ferrari

A film based on Gerland Donaldson's book about Gilles Villeneuve, directed by Daniel Roby reportedly entered production in 2023. However there hasn't been much information on it since.

Feel free to reblog with any other information you know about Gilles Villeneuve <3

[bekolxeram]

7x03 analysis part 1 — Everything Air Ops

I promised helicopters, so now we get helicopters. I want to look into how Air Operations work in the 9-1-1 universe, in comparison to its real life counterpart in this first part. Then, I will try to figure out the location and intensity of "hurricane Ethel" during the clandestine operation in the second part. And finally, I will prove how risky it is to fly a helicopter into a storm and why Tommy deserves every bit of his Medal of Valor.

Location

Real!LAFD Air Ops operate (Station 114) out of Van Nuys Airport (VNY/KVNY). It's not only one the busiest general aviation airports in the world, it's also smack dab in between major green areas of the city of LA itself.

This location makes perfect sense in real life. Air Ops might get the occasional highway car wreck or urban structural fire calls, but most of their missions still consist of wildfire suppression and rural search and rescue. Being based at Van Nuys makes sure they can respond to emergency in a timely fashion.

in the 9-1-1 universe, the LAFD Air Ops are based at "Harbor Station", or Station 217. (Harbor and 217 are the same station, Chimney especially asked if Tommy was still at the 217 in 2x14 when requesting air support, unless the 911-verse LAFD has 2 different air operation units, which I highly doubt.) Obviously it has to be at an airport, because that's where the hangers and helipads are, and going by "harbor" I can only speculate that it's in the Harbor Region of LA.

The only non-military airport in the LA Harbor Region is Long Beach Airport (LGB/KLGB), but it's quite a busy commercial airport, probably not a good one to run emergency services from. There's also the Zamperini Field (TOA/KTOA) nearby in Torrance, although not exactly inside the Harbor Region, it's coastal and close enough to the 2 LA ports I guess? Feel free to create a whole new airport using your imagination though, as you know 9-1-1 is set in an alternate universe where geography and physics work differently.

Helicopters

The LAFD Air Ops have 5 medium (FIRE 1-5) and 2 light duty (FIRE 6/7) helicopters, you've heard Tommy in 7x04. Everything applies to the real world counterpart, but the medium type that real!Air Ops operate is AgustaWestland AW139, the Italian-made medium sized twin-engine helicopter with a 5-blade main rotor primed for emergency response and off-shore oil rig transportation.

It has auto-pilot, an anti-icing system for harsh weather and even auto-hover suitable for hoist rescue missions. In a passenger transport configuration, it can carry up to 15 passengers in a 3 row seating plan. In an SAR (search and rescue) configuration though, the middle row can be removed for gurney space. It's big and powerful enough to transport multiple patients, but at the same time, light and agile enough to get into difficult terrain.

The AW139 is designed to be flown by 2 pilots, flying solo is also possible, but only under VFR (Visual Flight Rules), with an additional certification, which LAFD pilots can and do. To fly it under IFR (Instrument Flight Rules), it always requires 2 pilots according to the FAA last time I checked.

The light helicopter type real!LAFD flies is the Bell 505 Jet Ranger X, a single engine twin-blade made in Canada. It's an relatively new airframe, set to replace the aging Bell 206, which the LAFD used to operate. It's quite a bit smaller than the AW139, it can only fit 1 pilot and 4 passengers.

While it's perfectly capable of carrying a Bambi bucket to assist with aerial firefighting missions, it's mainly used as a training aircraft for new pilots and HLCO (Helicopter Coordinator) when there is a major catastrophe that requires on-the-site air traffic coordination.

These are all brand new and sophisticated aircrafts that a mere TV channel can't get their hands on without a government budget. So for 911!LAFD Air Ops, ABC went to their usual helicopter service company for prop aircrafts.

Helinet Aviation provides all sorts of helicopter services from aerial journalism, medevac, delivery to regular chartering. All the 911!Air Ops scenes in 7x03 and 7x04 are naturally filmed in the Helinet hanger, for convenience's sake, at VNY, just a runway across from real!Air Ops.

911!Air Ops

Helinet hangar Street View

I believe I've identified all the helicopters shown in 7x03 and 7x04, but let's get the 2 in the background which probably do not belong to 911!Air Ops out of the way:

N72EH, a Sikorsky S76C++, still in its Boston MedFlight livery. Sold to Helinet in 2022, possible used as a medevac vehicle currently? Unlikely to have anything to do with 911!Air Ops, probably just happened to be in the background to make it seem like there were many helicopters.

The one Tommy flies Eddit to Vegas in is N67TV, an Eurocopter AS350B2 Écureuil (aka squirrel). No fire department would ever let employees take their expensive equipment out for a joy ride so it's likely that in universe, Tommy rented it from somewhere outside of the station. IRL though, according to this forum post, it's used as a backup helicopter for all its customer news stations, but also any TV or film production purposes outside of journalism.

Now, for the one seen in the hangar, therefore explicitly belonging to 911!LAFD:

N29HD, also an AS350B2, also a news helicopter. According to this reddit comment, it used to be shared between CBS and FOX, but now it seems to be configured as a dedicated aircraft for ABC7.

The one the who cares gang stole to rescue Bobby and Athena though has a fake registration number on it:

You just have to look up Helinet's fleet, and you will see this is obviously a DHL livery, and it's quite easy to find out that this is actually:

N211FN, an AS350B1 (so an even older variant than the previous two), operated on behalf of DHL for package delivery service.

Don't get me wrong, the AStar (how the AS350 is called in the US) is a versatile and reliable aircraft. It the 4th most produced rotorcraft in the world, someone even managed to land one on top of Mount Everest. But it's kind of small? It can seat only up to 5 passengers with 1 pilot, and there is hardly room left for any gear. There is also no space for stretcher, so anyone they rescue would have to sit upright. It's just not very realistic.

I have no idea what medium duty helicopters 911!Air Ops operate, we're unlikely to see them in the future. There is this Bell 205 in 4x12 Treasure Hunt, but it clearly says L.A County Rescue on the tail.

Pilots

Real!Air Ops pilots wear beige flight suits, it's the aeromedics who wear blue, and helitac crews wear orange. I'm not complaining too much though, Tommy looks good in blue. (I think the chief pilot wears dark blue, but I'm not sure.)

Helicopter pilots in general usually wear helmets, in case a particularly strong pocket of turbulence slams you against the body of the aircraft, or a bird decide to fly through the windshield into your face, but I get that it gets in the way of the camera, so I'm just gonna enjoy Tommy's beautiful face.

Real!Air Ops pilots work on a 24/48 shift schedule just like any platoon firefighters. Due to the danger of pilot fatigue on aviation safety, they do try to limit their continuous flight time to 6 hours before taking a prolong break.

There are 5 levels of pilots: pilot I (trainee), pilot II (probational), pilot III (full pilot), pilot IV (lead pilot) and pilot V (chief pilot). The chief pilot oversees the entire Air Ops and work on a 10 hour per day, 4 days a week schedule. The rest of the pilots are put into 3 shifts, each shift with a pilot IV, 2 pilot IIIs and 2 trainees/probies, together with 4 aeromedics. (Can't find the most updated version, the lastest one I can get my hands on is from 2022, so good enough?) Therefore Tommy's Bobby would not be a captain, it would be a lead pilot.

I've already explained in detail the timeline of Tommy's career as a firefighting pilot, but here is the short version of it: Once accepted into the LAFD pilot training program, he would have to train with the LAPD for 180 hours then back to the LAFD for 200 hours, that takes around 2 years, and by then he would be a probie. After that, he would have to slowly build up flight hours then train and certify for all types of missions on the medium duty helicopter, that would take another 2-3 years, and after that he would be promoted to a pilot III, which is probably the rank he holds now.

We can see from the form Hen submitted in 7x03 that she initially asked for Lucy as their pilot, as she's forgotten that Tommy also worked there. Fortunately Chimney called Tommy, as Lucy most likely would've still been a probie if not just a trainee.

Melton

I have no idea who he is.

I can sort of see his badge says "firefighter"? At real!Air Ops, everyone wears a flight suit as uniform, so that they can hop into a chopper in an emergency. I don't know what a dude in a regular uniform with the regular LAFD patch on his arm doing there.

Tommy's arm has the Air Ops helicopter patch on it.

Real!Station 114 though do have a crash unit staffed with regular firefighters, maybe Melton is with them? But then, why is he doing with Hen's helicopter requisition?

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Over the last couple of days, 3 independent Palestinian terrorist attacks took place. In one of them, Palestinian terrorists killed a Palestinian man that they mistook for a Jew, 33 years old Amar Mansour. A 42 years old Palestinian woman who was in the car with him was wounded. She was evacuated to a hospital in Ramallah, and then later transferred to the Hadassah medical center in Jerusalem, where she works as a pharmacist. Israeli soldiers risk their lives whenever they go after terrorists, and they are doing that for these Palestinians, just as they do for Israeli Jews and for Israeli Arabs murdered by terrorists.

Since Saleh al-Arouri was eliminated in Lebanon, the fighting between Israel and Hezbollah has escalated. The terrorist organization, which is destroying civilian communities, has struck an Israel Air Force base, nicknamed "the country's northern eyes," which is dedicated to monitoring aerial threats invading Israel's north, and monitoring aircrafts in Israel's northern sky (so they're kinda like an air force control tower, making sure aircrafts don't crash). Hezbollah released footage showing 2 of the base's 3 domes being hit. Reports say it took two hours to get the fire under control, and the base back online. It's not the only army base hit by Hezbollah (the Northern Command's base was struck today), but probably the most damaging attack so far.

Following that, a Hezbollah senior terrorist was killed yesterday in Lebanon. In the terrorist organization's announcement, he was described as 'The Commander,' a term not used for any of Hezbollah's other killed terrorists, suggesting just how important he was to their terrorist activity. There's a report on Saudi news, that Hezbollah tried to attack an Israeli natural gas rig using drones, but it's too early to know how true this is.

Here's a conversation made by a Gazan to an IDF officer, to ask for aid. The IDF officer tells the man to raise white flags as they approach Israeli soldiers for this purpose, but then the man inquires when the Israeli army will destroy Hamas. He points out that Hamas is killing Gaza's people.

As Israel is being sued by South Africa at the International Court for Justice (here), and as SA chose to appoint a judge to the case (in addition to the 15 permanent judges of the ICJ, a right given to both the suing and sued countries in that court), Israel has appointed Aharon Barak as a judge on its behalf. Barak is an 87 years old Holocaust survivor, globally renowned and respected judge and legal expert, and the former president of Israel's Supreme Court of Justice.

Since the anti-Israel crowd love quotes from Israeli officials (and to take them out of context, in a way that vilifies the Jewish state), here's another one (source in Hebrew): Moshe Arbel, an ultra orthodox member of the Knesset (Israel's parliament), and currently Minister of Interior Affairs, has said today explicitly that the status of the Arabic language in Israel must not be harmed, and that despite some populist utterances, most of the public in Israel is looking for that which unites everyone here, rather than that which divides us.

Among the things you never hear about when looking at anti-Israeli sources, is that when Jews build houses illegally, those are demolished by the state, just like when Palestinians do it. This night, Israel did exactly that in Judea and Samaria.

It's the third time, at the very least, that Israel has done so since the start of the war in Gaza.

The families of the hostages have said that today, they'll had for the border with Gaza, to block the way of aid trucks going in from Israel. They are upset that while their family members have been held hostage for over 90 days (when we know that there has been rape and abuse of the hostages in many different ways, when the mothers have started talking about the fact that their daughters might be forced to carry pregnancies from the Hamas terrorists continuously raping them in captivity, when the hostages are known not to be receiving proper medical care or even enough food and water), the aid going into Gaza is being stolen by Hamas, allowing them to continue to fight, and to refuse the release of the hostages. At the time of compiling this post, IDK yet if the families carried this out.

This is 86 years old Shlomo Mansour.

In one of my past daily update posts, I mentioned him, and that he's the oldest hostage in Gaza. He was 85 years old when he was kidnapped. He's also a Holocaust survivor. I watched a touching piece that was aired in Nov about him, interviewing his wife in light of their upcoming 60th anniversary, during which he was still held captive by terrorists. Now it's been translated into English:

This is 35 years old Idan Amedi.

If you watched Fauda, you may know him from that show as an actor.

If you're Israeli, you probably know him even before that as a singer. I got to watch a vid at a relatively early stage of the fighting in Gaza, where Idan's voice can be heard, dedicating his unit blowing up a terror tunnel, to their friends murdered on Oct 7. I believe many Israelis saw that vid, and knew he was in there, fighting for over 3 months by this point.

Idan was seriously wounded, one of at least 9 Israeli soldiers killed in Gaza yesterday, and at least 6 soldiers injured. His cousin asked everyone to pray for him (Idan ben Tova). Israeli-Serbian basketballer Deni Avdija, who plays for the Washington Wizards, took the court today with a dedication to Idan on his basketball shoes. It says, in Hebrew, "For the healing of Idan son of Tova Amedi."

Maybe Idan's biggest, most well known song is Warriors' Pain (which he wrote himself, lyrics and melody). One of its haunting lines is, "You don't understand why, I have long stopped being myself, images running from that night." I am gonna add the official YT vid of this song, and dedicate it to the memory of all of those who were injured or died fighting the terrorists from Gaza, whether on Oct 7 or since.

You know what was absolutely abhorrent? I pretty much stopped going on Twitter, because the antisemitism is beyond disgusting. But I had a moment of weakness, went there, and saw a tweet from a British journalist, who couldn't say anything yet, but implied that many Israeli soldiers were killed yesterday, and the amount of commenters basically celebrating it was despicable, but also a reminder... people who care about human rights don't celebrate the death of so many human beings. Every single one of those soldiers is fighting in a war that Israel didn't choose to start, and that Hamas could have ended a long time ago. Not a single one of them would have chosen to be in Gaza and die, if Israelis had a choice. Each one is an entire family destroyed. I was listening to an interview with the best friend of one killed soldier, and she was so clearly devastated, fighting to speak through tears, it was hard to bear so much pain, and she wasn't even a relative or spouse. Those disgusting people who celebrate the death of Israeli soldiers prove that they don't care about human rights, they just rejoice over the death of Jews.

Oh, and a part of why they do that, is because they don't want us talking about our pain. Who would talk about their pain, when it just because a weapon for haters to inflict even more emotional pain? But that's the thing. We're human beings. The antisemitic anti-Israel crowd seeks to de-humanize us in the same way the Nazis did. If we speak about our pain, if people hear us, that is way more threatening to them than any of their distorted facts being called out. So I'm not going to stop talking about our pain, we deserve to share it when we're hurting, we deserve to be seen as the human beings that we are. And people who are so morally lost, that they can try to use it, to inflict more pain? They don't deserve for their words to count.

This is 32 years old Dvir David Pima.

He was a deputy battalion commander, who identified a terror tunnel shaft as booby trapped, but without enough time to stop it from blowing up. He threw himself at it. His body took the blast, and by doing so, he saved the lives of the 3 other soldiers who were there.

May his memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[seresinhangmanjake]

Signed Away: Epilogue

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Fem!Reader Series

Summary: You find out about the contractual marriage your parents arranged with Jake’s when you were a baby. You’re plently angered by it, but Jake doesn’t seem too bothered. He might even be happy.

Notes/Warnings: smut-ish 18+, cursing, pregnancy.

Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, or commented on any part of this story. I very much appreciate it, and I’m glad this was something people could enjoy and wanted to stick around for :)

Masterlist

Words: 3659

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“Jakey Seresin!” 

You plopped down on your knees in the patchy wet grass, dirty droplets soaking into the fabric of your flowery dress and ruining the cream-colored tights covering your legs.

He heard you but didn’t stop molding the straight, raised path of solid mud in front of him, a couple feet long, smooth on top, and about five inches in width. You watched his mud-caked fingers work, tilting your head like a puppy searching for understanding. With a twig he drew a careful line down the center of his creation, then he tossed the stick aside and stretched an arm high so the toy airplane he held could soar above both of your heads. 

"I wanna marry you," you said when he still hadn't acknowledged you.

Jake’s eyes followed the plane, but his nose wrinkled in disgust. “No way. I’m never getting married.”

“Why?” you whined, bottom lip protruding in a pout.

“Because girls are yucky,” he said. 

The plane circled the space between you then went in for the landing. His thumb flicked a tiny piece of plastic on the toy and small wheels shot out from the belly of the plane.

“I’m not yucky!”

He paused, looked at you with a huff, and dropped the vehicle in his lap. “Sure, you are,” he teased. He pinched your cheek and pulled, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to give new shape to your face. “And you’re just a little baby.”

“I am not!” You tried to speak with determination, but the awkward elongation of your mouth from his tugging fingers made the words come out sloppy and muddled.

“You’re four,” he countered and released your cheek. “That’s a baby.”

“I’m almost five!” you snapped as you held up your hand, spreading all five fingers wide so he could clearly count each one.

“You still have nap time.”

“Not forever! I’ll grow up! Then we can get married.”

He appeased you with a pretend moment of consideration, then he shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

With a sigh of disappointment your head fell, forcing Jake’s muddy craft project to invade your line of sight. It sprouted new interest, allowing you to forget your heartbreak. “What did you make?”

When you looked up, Jake was staring at you, waiting for you to say more. A blond eyebrow rose. “Why?”

You shrugged. “I want to know.”

Another few beats of uncertainty passed before a grin took over his face. A glimmer shone in his eyes; excitement evident in the language of his body. “Ok, well these,” he pointed to the wiggly lines etched into the mud around his man-made construction, “are waves in the water. And this,” he motioned his finger up and down the long path, “is a runway. Like on an aircraft carrier.”

“What’s an aircraft car-eer?”

“Carry-er.”

“Carry-er,” you repeated.

He nodded. “It’s kinda a big boat. Navy jets take off and land on it in the ocean.”

“That’s weird,” you giggled, and Jake shrugged.

“Well, when I’m older I’m gonna be a pilot.”

“A pilot?”

“Yea. They fly the planes…jets and stuff.”

“Woah.” Your eyes widened. You weighed his words in your mind, tossing them around until you settled on your own understanding. “I’m gonna marry a pilot!”

Jake snorted and shook his head, then he picked up one of his planes. “Here,” he said, handing it to you. He watched your little fingers wrap around the wing. “Play with me.”

—--

26 years later

“I can feel your eyes on me,” you said. 

You were staring out the window of your home, loving how even in the winter, the sun shined bright—its warmth carried on the breezes traveling from the ocean that was your backyard. California was different than Texas in many ways, but the lack of winter chill was something you were glad to have be the same. You’d had your fill of the cold season over the past few years with Jake’s job taking you around the world. And while you loved the experiences and people and cultures, California offered things no other place could. Mainly, your family—or adopted family as you had taken to calling them—settled down all in one place. 

“My eyes are always on you.” 

Jake’s voice was as soft as the breath that caressed the shell of your ear. You shivered from the feel of it, gooseflesh spreading on your arms and raising the short hairs there. His hands rested on your shoulders and he began to knead his fingers into the exposed flesh, easily working around the thin, yellow straps of your dress. Under his touch, your body relaxed and allowed the massage to loosen any knots.

“You seem tired," he said. 

You chuckled but it quickly turned into a moan as his thumbs met at the base of your neck and pressed against your spine, moving up and down in slow strokes from your hairline to the chain of your necklace and back. “Carrying your child inside me is no easy feat."

“If it makes you feel any better, you look amazing while you're doing it." 

His lips replaced his fingers, drawing a line of gentle kisses over your shoulder. The second moan you released was met with a subtle growl, so low no one but you could’ve possibly heard it had a hundred people been near. Each kiss lasted longer than the one before and you loved falling into it. Whenever he kissed you, regardless of where, each nerve ending in your system happily hummed and tingled and begged for more. You could lose track of time that way. Often did.

You twisted in his arms and wrapped your own around his neck, willingly accepting the touch of his lips to yours. He ran the tip of his tongue over your bottom lip, asking for entrance, and you opened your mouth so it could slip inside to play. Fingers snuck under the hem of your dress. Rough palms dragged up your thighs and around to your ass, squeezing and pulling you closer. You savored the feeling while you could. Soon your belly would be too large for him to hold you this way.

When you separated for a breath, Jake's eyes grazed down to your neck. His finger traced along the thin chain, down to the new diamond that now sat at the center of your clavicles. "You like this?"

"I love it,” you said. “I love you.”

“I love you, baby.” he brushed a soft kiss on your forehead. "And now you know how much."

"I've always known, Jake." Always known—never questioned it—even when he’d neglected to inform you of what your mother had tried to do to the two of you. It came from a place of love, fueled by an instinctual need to protect you and the future you could have. The future you eventually got. 

"You were supposed to be off all day. What did they call you in for?" you asked.

"To get a couple things ready for the new class. Did Rooster come by already?"

"Yep. We're all set. So what do you want to do for our special day, Mr. Seresin?"

"It’s not wise to ask me that, Mrs. Seresin,” he said, tucking some of your hair back behind your ear. “We'll end up staying in bed all day."

"Oh, that would be very tragic."

He chuckled. "I gotta take you by the bar. Penny has a baby gift that she said she won't hand over unless she gets to see you herself."

When Jake decided to be a pilot after you were released from the contract, he quickly became one of the best, and it put him in line with his friends in no time. But being one of the best granted him the attention that brought you to California two years ago—to Top Gun. While you’d been unbelievably proud of him, that mission nearly killed you. You’d sat at home, not sleeping, your knees constantly bouncing, your nails whittled down to nubs. With your family off risking their lives, all you had was Penny. She understood; she took care of you. She became a friend, a confidant, and something of a mother figure.

“And after the bar?”

“Whatever your heart desires, sweetheart.”

—--

You watched him, your eyes glued to his face as he laughed loudly enough to fill the space, his head thrown back from something Penny said, his teeth on full display, and blond hair shimmering in the midday sunlight that coated the inner walls of the bar. 

He was so beautiful. He’d chuckle if you ever spoke it aloud, but it was nothing short of the truth. Every line and plane of his face seemed so carefully crafted. Like the work of an artist; a sculptor chipping away at a block marble to uncover the hidden beauty within. There was no poor angle; no slip of the chisel. He was undeniably perfect. And he was yours.

Ten years had passed since your wedding. Ten years of growing, of loving, of aging, and yet Jake looked just as good as he did when he stood across from you in front of that altar. Better, actually, when you gave it a thought. He had delicate little lines across his forehead, some at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but all a decade had really done was make him stronger, harder, wiser, firmer. He was a wall of a man. Somehow broader. Somehow thicker. But still devastatingly attractive. The same and yet different. 

When you pulled out your wedding photo that morning—the one you’d chosen not to hang on your pale blue wall; the one that was partially blurry because you were both too giddy to stand still—you were amazed at how young you looked. Babies. Without any physical wear and tear. Both fresh and new and standing a little taller after the weight of your mother was off your shoulders. It was so far from yesterday, but you could still remember every second of that day and the days that followed. You could remember having the thought that your happiness in that bungalow wouldn’t carry through to the rest of your life; that surely it wasn’t possible. But Jake made it possible. 

Your new reality was wrapped in happiness, and everything else—the business, the contract, your mother—became a dream. It all slipped away, losing power until you could finally say that you no longer acknowledged that life. You took the lessons you learned and stepped into a different world. A world with Jake. 

He laughed again.

You had promised one another you’d do something special for the day—lunch at your favorite restaurant or maybe an afternoon at the beach. But as you stared at your husband, you knew you didn’t need anything else. He was all you wanted. So after Penny smiled and threw her arms around you and handed you the gift—a silver rattle with the words Baby Seresin etched into the rounded shape—you leaned over and whispered in your husband’s ear all the things you wanted him to do to you. 

At that moment, any plans you'd considered for the day were canceled. He said a quick goodbye to Penny and grabbed your hand, dragging you out the door before you could finish your glass of water. 

You ended up doing exactly as he’d teased—spent the rest of the day in bed, kissing and fucking and loving every second of your bodies giving and taking the pleasure between you. You surrendered to the heat of the room, the thick air dampening your skin and molding you together. Pregnant as you were, you were surprised you managed to last so long, but Jake did everything to keep you in safe positions, comfortable and cared for until you’d thoroughly exhausted one another. 

You laid side by side, both staring at the ceiling, your chests rising and falling—admittedly, Jake’s a little more vigorously. 

“Any chance you’re hungry after all of that?” he asked through heavy breaths. 

“Starving.”

His fingers intertwined with yours and he sat up. “Come on, baby.”

As you walked through the door, you noticed for the first time that the sun's light had faded while you were holed up in your room. What felt like an hour, turned into many, and darkness sprouted stars in the sky. 

Jake led you down the stairs, his hand not dropping from yours until he opened the fridge to grab a leftover cupcake from the original dozen Phoenix had whipped up for you. He pulled the shiny wrapper down and tore off a small piece of the cake before holding it up to your lips. You parted them for him and he slowly pushed the sweet sponge into your mouth. 

Vanilla icing clung to the top of your lip as you chewed and with his index finger Jake swiped it off, sticking it in his mouth and sucking. 

He smirked. "I can still taste you on my finger through the icing."

"Let me see." You snatched his hand and wrapped your lips around his extended finger, tracing and swirling the tip of your tongue over the digit. 

Jake groaned.

"Baby, you can't do shit like this." His voice was rough, gravelly, deliciously drowning in lust while his eyes followed your mouth sliding up his finger before releasing it with a pop. "You know I'm just going to want to throw you onto that bed again."

"Maybe that's the whole poin—"

"Whatever dirty things you're doing to each other, stop now!" You jumped at the sound of Rooster’s voice coming from down the hall. Neither of you heard the door open, too distracted by one another. "An innocent child is about to enter the room." 

"We aren't doing anything," you called back. 

“Anymore,” Jake mumbled as he kissed your temple. 

Rooster cautiously peeked his head around the corner, a dark eyebrow raised and eyes scanning up and down your bodies to ensure you were fully clothed. "Oh, good. You never know with the two of you."

"You walked in on us one time, Rooster."

"And it scarred me for life."

The two-year-old child on Rooster's hip was giggling non-stop. So much so that his rounded cheeks had turned bright red. You grinned at the look on his little face—the joy he displayed as he laughed and wiggled in your friend’s arms.

"Mama!"

"Hi, bug!" you said. "Come here."

Rooster set your son on his feet and he dashed over to you, ramming into your legs and wrapping his tiny arms around them as best he could. You ran your fingers through his blond hair, straightening out the messy locks.

"Up!"

Jake chuckled and plucked his son off the floor. "Mama can't pick you up right now, little man. Do you remember why?"

"Sissy?"

"Mhmm. Mama is carrying your baby sister," he said, placing his palm against your rounded stomach. "Right in there."

You laid your hand atop his, returning the beaming smile Jake was shooting you before looking to Rooster.

"How was he?" You asked. 

"Easy as always. We had a great time. Watch this—Hey Caleb, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I'm gonna be a pilot like Daddy and Uncle Roo and Auntie Nat and—

You sighed. "Oh, lord."

"Well would you look at that, sweetheart."

"And let me guess: all of you are going to teach him now that you're instructors?"

"Absolutely," Rooster chimed. "My godson will be taught by no one but the best." 

Jake nodded, poking at his son's belly with his free hand until the beautiful song of his giggles rang through the room again. "We're gonna have to start practicing our saluting, aren't we, little man?"

"Yes, Daddy."

Jake kissed his cheek and put him down, giving a little pat to his back. "Alright, go say goodnight to Uncle Rooster."

Rooster crouched and spread his arms wide for a hug, and Caleb took off across the tiled floor, launching into him.

The two had a special bond. Rooster, like the rest of your friends, truly was family. And with your parents not in your son’s life and Jake’s still in Texas, you were thrilled Caleb had more people around to love him. You were able to give him what you never had, and every time you saw them together, it was one more reassurance that you were nothing like the woman who birthed you.

"Bye, bye, Uncle Roo."

"Bye, kiddo. Sleep well, ok?"

"Ok."

Caleb twisted in his spot and hopped back over to his father, gripping his outstretched hand with all ten fingers and swinging it back and forth. Jake let his arm fall limp, allowing Caleb to flail it about as he pleased. 

"Thank you, Rooster," you said, hoping the sincerity was evident in your tone. 

"I'm always here when you guys need a little break." He winked.

Then he left, likely to make his way to the Hard Deck to see the young fiery-haired bartender who had become your friend after you discovered your children were attached at the hip from daycare. She was sweet and loveable and you knew why he liked her. It was about time another one from your small group found someone. 

“Alright,” Jake began, “Bedtime.”

—--

"Is he out?" You asked as Jake shuffled into your bedroom. 

"Like a light." 

He peeled his clothes off, a piece falling to the floor with each step toward your bed. Then the comforter was pulled back and he snuck under it, settling into the mattress and yanking your body against his. 

You giggled, limbs uncontrollably writhing when his nose began to nuzzle your neck. "Jake, it tickles. Stop."

"No," he whined. “You smell too good."

You hummed contently as a kiss met your skin. "What do I smell like?"

"Just…” he sucked and nibbled, “like you."

A beat passed. Then suddenly your bottom lip moved on its own, the beginning of the quivers you were unsuccessful in tamping down. Carefully flipping onto your side to face him, you rose a hand to cup his cheek. 

“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” he whispered. Your faces were so close, noses nearly touching, and his question was a warm puff of heat against your lips. 

That question had a dozen answers. The tears welled from countless places, pulling from every feeling contained in each cell of your body. You cried because you loved him. You cried because of how good he could make you feel. You cried because of what you had, and what you'd made. You cried because of the letter he left you that morning before going to work; the one that sat beside the box holding the diamond necklace now around your neck.

You blinked to clear the salty liquid that was blurring his face, squeezed-out tears falling and soaking into your pillow. “I’ve known you my whole life” you said, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb.

“And that makes you,” his brows twisted in confusion, “sad?”

“No, Jake. That makes me grateful.”

Dimples carved into his cheeks, then he closed the space, lips sealing, fingers tangling into your hair. It tasted sweet, a sugary hint still clinging to the walls of your mouths from the icing you’d both sucked on. 

Your body sank further into the mattress and your only thought was: Stay. Stay where you are, in the arms of the man who saved you and loved you, who you, too, saved and loved. Stay where you’re content and warm from the weight of his body beside you. Stay in this moment where your child sleeps soundly down the hall and the one inside you continues to healthily grow. Such a perfect time to freeze your life, and bottle it up for safe keeping.

But you couldn’t stay. You would have to continue on, as people do. Though, you weren’t afraid anymore. It had been ten years since the thought of your future terrified you. You couldn’t fear the next chapters of your life if you tried. There was too much good. Too much hope.

Jake took a breath. Smiled. Kissed your forehead. “Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart,” he said.

And you replied, “Happy Anniversary, Jake.”

—--

Sweetheart,

I’m sorry I couldn’t wake up with you. I got called into work this morning, but I’ll come back to you soon. Maybe the necklace will make up for it?

I want you to know something. Hopefully you already know it, though. Hopefully I’ve proven it time and time again. If not, then I’ll have to spend the next ten years doubling down on the effort, because you deserve nothing less. You deserve everything, baby. 

I want you to know how much I love you. I know you know that I do love you, but the depths of it, Sweetheart…it's hard to find the words to fully explain. But I’m going to try anyway:

You are the love of my life. You’re the love of any life I might’ve had. Of any direction my life might have taken or any universe we might have lived in, it would always be you. Had we not been friends as children, had we not been neighbors or gone to the same school or had parents that forced us together, it still wouldn’t have mattered. I believe we would’ve found each other, somehow. I believe you were made for me, and I for you, and anything else would not have been enough. 

You and I faced the biggest challenge we possibly could have and we made it out. We fought our way out, baby. And we built something perfect. We’ve given each other so much. Love and support and care. We gave each other Caleb and our baby girl, and I couldn’t ask for more. There isn’t anything else I want or need. I have our children. I have you. I have it all. 

I love you, sweetheart. Always. Happy Anniversary.

x Jake

THE END…kind of

---

A/N: Again, thank you to everyone who read and supported this story. It’s really meant a lot to me :) Hopefully this was a satisfying ending in some way. There will be future fics stemming from this so if you liked Signed Away, look out for those. Also, requests are open if anyone has any ideas for future things they’d like to see. 

To @xoxabs88xox, that thing we talked about happening is being moved to a future fic. 

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[bigairplaneblog]

Antonov An-225: The Biggest Airplane in the World

When it comes to airline airplane models, there's one that towers above the rest—quite literally. The Antonov An-225, known affectionately as "Mriya" (which means "Dream" in Ukrainian), holds the title of the biggest airplane in the world. This massive aircraft is not just a large airplane model in the figurative sense; it's the largest in every conceivable dimension.

The Antonov An-225 was originally designed in the 1980s to transport the Buran spaceplane, the Soviet Union's answer to NASA's Space Shuttle. But its capabilities far exceeded its original mission.

With its maiden flight in December 1988, the An-225 quickly became a symbol of Soviet engineering prowess, and later, an indispensable asset in global heavy-lift cargo transportation.

So, what makes the Antonov An-225 the biggest airplane in the world? Let’s delve into the details.

A Giant Among Giants

The sheer size of the Antonov An-225 is mind-boggling. This large airplane model has a measure of 84 meters (275 feet) in length, with wingspan size of 88.4 meters (290 feet). To put that into perspective, it's longer than an American football field and has a wingspan wider than a Boeing 747. The An-225 stands at 18.1 meters (59.3 feet) tall, nearly as tall as a six-story building.

This airline airplane model is equipped with six turbofan engines, each capable of producing 51,600 pounds of thrust. These engines, combined with its enormous wings, allow the An-225 to carry a maximum takeoff weight of 640,000 kg (1,410,958 pounds). This includes the cargo it carries, which can be up to 250,000 kg (550,000 pounds). This impressive lifting capability makes it the go-to choice for transporting oversized cargo, such as wind turbine blades, military tanks, and even other aircraft.

The Unique Capabilities of the An-225

The Antonov An-225's cargo bay is so large that it could fit 50 cars. The interior is 43.32 meters (142 feet) long, 6.4 meters (21 feet) wide, and 4.4 meters (14.5 feet) high, making it spacious enough to accommodate a wide range of oversized items. Unlike many other cargo aircraft, which load through a rear cargo door, the An-225 is loaded through the nose. The aircraft's nose lifts up, allowing direct access to the cavernous interior. This feature is crucial for loading extremely large and heavy objects that cannot be easily maneuvered.

Another notable feature of this large airplane model is its 32-wheel landing gear system. This complex system allows the An-225 to land on runways that would be unsuitable for other aircraft of its size, providing flexibility in the types of airports it can access.

The An-225 also has a range of 15,400 km (9,569 miles) when carrying a smaller load, but this decreases as the payload increases. Despite this, its range and payload capacity make it ideal for long-distance heavy-lift missions, and it remains a vital tool in global logistics.

A Record-Breaking Aircraft

Throughout its operational life, the Antonov An-225 has set numerous world records. In 2001, it carried the heaviest single cargo item ever transported by air—a 189-ton generator for a power plant. In another instance, it transported a 130-ton piece of machinery from Germany to Kazakhstan, marking the largest payload ever carried by an aircraft.

The An-225 has also been used in humanitarian missions, delivering supplies to disaster-stricken areas around the world. Its ability to transport large quantities of aid quickly and efficiently has made it an invaluable resource in times of crisis.

The Legacy of the Antonov An-225

The Antonov An-225 is not just a marvel of engineering; it's a symbol of what human ingenuity can achieve. Despite being over three decades old, this airline airplane model remains unmatched in terms of size and lifting capacity. Its continued operation is a testament to the foresight of its designers and the enduring need for such a massive aircraft in today’s world.

However, the An-225's future is uncertain. The only existing model has been in and out of service due to the high costs of operation and maintenance. There's also been speculation about building a second An-225, but financial and logistical challenges have stalled those plans.

Despite these uncertainties, the Antonov An-225’s legacy is secure. It continues to capture the imagination of aviation enthusiasts and the general public alike, reminding us of the heights—both literal and figurative—that human technology can reach.

In conclusion, the Antonov An-225 is not just the biggest airplane in the world; it’s a symbol of human achievement. From its origins as a Soviet space transporter to its current role in global cargo transportation, this large airplane model has set records and exceeded expectations. Whether or not it continues to fly for years to come, the An-225 will always be remembered as a giant among giants in the world of aviation.

[scotianostra]

July 28th 1909 saw brothers Harold and Frank Barnwell make Scotland’s first heavier than air flight.

The brothers reached an altitude of 13ft when they travelled 80 metres over a field in the shadow of the Wallace Monument. The Barnwell brothers' first experiments included gliders fitted with motorbike engines which they built in their garage in Causewayhead, Stirling. They ran the Grampian Motor and Engineering Company to fund their pioneering aviation work. On this day in 1909 their biplane, powered by a car engine and piloted by Harold Barnwell (1878-1917), made the Scotland's first powered aircraft flight When the engine was started, the aeroplane, like a huge white-winged bird, rushed forward and with a rapid sweep rose into the air. The nose was pointed at a very high angle and after travelling about 80 yards the machine suddenly dipped and came rushing to the ground. Harold Barnwell succeeded in flying for eighty yards on 8 July 1909, but the machine was damaged on landing. Although the aeroplane was badly damaged, Mr Barnwell escaped with a few slight cuts and bruises and was highly delighted with the results. The aeroplane was repaired. Believed to be Scotland's first aircraft. After repairs and with the wingspan reduced to 45 feet further trials were carried out on 8 September 1909 using a starting rail. A height of 25 feet was reached before the machine was damaged beyond repair on 10th September 1909.

More info on the brothers at the link below.

[donttxtathebeach]

Waves of Home| a Forever & a Day filler chapter

Word Count: 1k

warning: none : )

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The wheels of the plane gently touched the tarmac, signaling their arrival in Charleston after what had felt like an eternity in the fast-paced, whirlwind world of New York City. For Y/N Williams, the model who had just graced the Chanel runway, the last week had been a blur of glitz, glamour, and a never-ending stream of events. But now, as the plane slowed to a stop, there was a deep breath of relief, a weight lifting off her shoulders.

She had missed this place, Charleston, home.

The doors of the aircraft opened, and the warm Southern air rushed in, carrying with it the faint scent of saltwater, a reminder of the ocean just beyond the horizon. Y/N inhaled deeply, a smile tugging at her lips as she stood, stretching her legs after the long flight. Drew stood beside her, waiting.

The memories of their unexpected reunion a year ago at the beach seemed like a distant dream now, but that moment had changed everything. It had brought them here, to this point—where the lines between friendship and something more were beginning to blur.

The two had spent countless hours talking, laughing, and sharing stories, like no time had passed since they were kids running around their families homes together. But as their friendship deepened, so did something else—something neither of them had been prepared for. The chemistry. The tension. The feeling that something more could be possible, something deeper, something neither of them had anticipated.

“Finally, it’s nice to be back home where I can hear the ocean,” Y/N said, her voice soft, the exhaustion from the week melting away in the presence of her hometown’s familiar charm. She turned to Drew.

Drew gave a small, easy smile, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket as they strolled toward the exit. “You’re not the only one who’s glad to be back.” He paused, glancing at her with a playful glint in his eyes. “Though I have to admit, I’m still not used to seeing you in those haute couture dresses.”

Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes. “I’ll bet. You’re still trying to figure out how I ended up in all that, huh?”

Drew shrugged, the teasing expression never leaving his face. “It’s still kind of crazy. The girl I used to climb trees with is now strutting down the Chanel runway. Pretty wild, right?”

“You make it sound like I’ve changed.” She nudged him with her elbow. “I’m still me.”

Drew’s grin softened, and he nodded. “You are. And I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

As they stepped outside into the humid Charleston evening, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore reached their ears—the familiar symphony of home.

They had made it, and now it was time to settle back into normal life.

Y/N glanced over at Drew as they walked toward her car, the weight of the past few days catching up with her. “I’m going to go back to Hickory for a bit,” he said, breaking the silence. “See my family. It’s been a while.”

Y/N nodded. “That makes sense. They’ll be happy to have you home.”

Drew shifted his weight, hesitating for a moment before speaking again. “I was thinking, maybe we could plan that stay-at-home date later in the week? I really want to spend time with my family, but I also want to be able to give you my full attention when we have it. No distractions.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, and she smiled at him softly. The way he spoke—so thoughtful, so considerate, made her feel even more connected to him. “Drew, don’t worry,” she replied, her voice warm. “Go visit your family, you should. Don’t worry I’ll be fine.”

“And you promise you won’t get too busy?” Drew asked, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of sincerity.

Y/N laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be fine. It’ll give me some time to figure out what I’m going to make you.”

Drew chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Whatever you make will be good. I’m not worried about that.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the certainty in his voice. There was something in the way Drew spoke to her, something that made her feel like he truly cared. The last year had been filled with moments of realization, small yet significant shifts in their relationship. What started as a rekindling of friendship had grown into something more, and neither of them was entirely sure where it would lead. But what they did know was this: they were both willing to see where it would go.heading to Drew’s car the drove to y/n’s house.

As the car came to a stop in front of her house, Drew didn’t hesitate for a second. He quickly got out, rounded the car with a smooth grace, and opened her door, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His hand extended toward her, and without a word, she placed her fingers gently in his. He helped her out of the car, making sure her feet touched the ground securely before turning toward the front door.

He kept a steady pace beside her as they walked toward the entrance, his presence almost protective, yet effortless. His hand brushed against hers now and then, a quiet reassurance that spoke louder than any words could. They reached the front door, and Drew, ever the gentleman, stood beside her for a moment. His eyes met hers, and the soft warmth in his gaze made her heart skip a beat.

He paused and turned to face her, his expression softening.

“Listen, Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter now. “I just want you to know… you’re more than just a friend to me. I know we’ve been figuring things out, but I think we both feel it. The connection. The chemistry. I don’t want to rush things, but I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t care about you in a way that’s more than friendship.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. She had known, of course, that something was changing between them, but hearing Drew say it out loud, hearing the sincerity in his voice, made her heart race.

She reached up, placing a hand on his arm, grounding herself in this moment. “I know,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I feel it too, Drew. And I don’t want to rush anything either. But whatever this is... I want to explore it with you.”

Drew’s eyes softened, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside had faded away, leaving just the two of them standing there, connected in a way that neither of them had been before.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Then, without warning, he pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her.

The kiss was slow at first, hesitant even, as if both of them were testing the waters, unsure of how far to let things go. But as the kiss deepened, the world around them seemed to dissolve entirely. In that moment, there was only Drew, and there was only Y/N, caught in the warmth of their embrace, their hearts beating in sync.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, eyes locked as they took in the reality of what had just happened.

With a soft sigh, Drew stepped back, giving her space to unlock the door. “I actually fly out to Hickory tonight. But I’ll be back. And when I get back... I’ll be all yours.”

Y/N chuckled, feeling a sense of peace wash over her. “I look forward to it.” She paused before adding, “And when you come back, you’re going to have the best meal you have ever had in your entire life."

Drew grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

As Y/N stepped into her house, the door closing softly behind her, she felt a warmth spread through her chest. Things were changing, yes. But for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be. And whatever came next, she was ready for it—because she wasn’t facing it alone.

abbie's corner

I accidentally posted this in the wrong order, so if you saw this earlier no, you did not.

[mariacallous]

A Mayan city lost in the dense jungle of southern Mexico has been revealed. The discovery occurred in the southeastern state of Campeche, and archaeologists have named it Valeriana, after a nearby freshwater lagoon.

“The larger of Valeriana's two monumental precincts has all the hallmarks of a classic Mayan political capital: enclosed plazas connected by a broad causeway; temple pyramids; a ball court; a reservoir formed by damming an arroyo (a seasonal watercourse); and a probable E-Group assemblage, an architectural arrangement that generally indicates a founding date prior to AD 150,” says the study, published in the journal Antiquity.

The city's discovery didn't require breaking through the jungle with machetes or patiently excavating with brushes and spatulas. Nor did researchers need tape measures, binoculars, or compasses to find their way through the thick foliage. Instead, they employed state-of-the-art technology: lasers, drones, and satellite maps. With these tools, they discovered a city hidden for centuries beneath the thick Mexican jungle, unearthing pyramids, enclosed plazas, and an ancient reservoir.

Luke Auld-Thomas, an anthropologist at Northern Arizona University, made the discovery. His analysis revealed a huge network of previously unexplored settlements.

Auld-Thomas and his fellow researchers have succeeded in mapping the city beneath the jungle thanks to airborne laser scanning, better known as lidar (light detection and ranging), a remote-sensing technique that uses pulsed lasers and other data collected through flyovers that can generate accurate three-dimensional models of surface features, revolutionizing the way archaeologists explore the hidden past.

Laser pulses generate a topographic map in a manner similar to how a bat uses echolocation: Laser light is fired from an aircraft, bounces off objects on the ground, and returns to the detector located on the underside of the aircraft. In Mexico, although only a small fraction of the pulses pass through the dense jungle, the large number of pulses emitted allows enough light to reach the ground, creating a map with a resolution of up to 1 meter. Based on the timing and intensity of the returning pulses, the detector can map the contours of the terrain, revealing hills, ditches, and ancient ruins covered in vegetation. The technology is also being integrated into autonomous cars to help them avoid crashes.

“For a long time, our understanding of the Mayan civilization was limited to an area of a few hundred square kilometers,” Auld-Thomas says. “This limited sample was obtained with great effort, with archaeologists painstakingly scouring every square meter, hacking away at vegetation with machetes, only to discover they were standing on a pile of rocks that might have been someone's house 1,500 years ago.”

While Auld-Thomas knew that lidar could be a valuable tool, he was also aware of its high cost. Funders are often reluctant to invest in lidar surveys in areas where there is no visible evidence of Mayan settlement, despite the fact that this civilization reached its peak between 250 and 900 AD.

Campeche: A Center of Dense Urbanization Since the Mayan Era

In this case, the lidar data was originally collected over a decade ago, for completely unrelated purposes. The scans were completely in 2013 by the Mexican firm CartoData, using a Riegl LMS-Q780 sensor. Processing was carried out by the Woods Hole Research Center (WHRC), and the data was made publicly available a few years later by the M-REDD+ Alliance.

The dataset includes three transects and three study blocks. The transects have an approximate width of 275 meters and a total length of 213 kilometers, covering an area of 58.3 square kilometers. The survey blocks cover a total area of 64.1 square kilometers, distributed in three locations: south of the town of Xpuhil, near the archaeological site of Río Bec; near the villages of Dos Lagunas and Bel Ha; and near the town of Ucum, in northern Campeche.

The study mentions that the analysis of 6,764 structures in the lidar data blocks reveals a settlement density of 55.3 structures per square kilometer, comparable to other research in the region. These data are useful for assessing settlement density on a regional scale and exceed values recorded in Belize and Guatemala. However, they do not provide a complete picture of the level of urbanization, which requires analysis of local variability and density gradients. For this purpose, a kernel density estimation was applied to the study blocks, the results of which are consistent with the densities recorded in other Mayan archeological sites such as Oxpemul and Becan.

Archeologists in the 20th century were correct in stating that the interior of Campeche is a substantially anthropogenic landscape, i.e., human-modified, with urbanized areas where rural populations interacted with dense cities. Settlement density data, ranging from 49 to 61 structures per square kilometer, indicate that cities and dense settlements are common in large parts of the central Maya lowlands. New discoveries, such as the city of Valeriana, reinforce this view, showing that urbanization was a widespread phenomenon in the region.

Archaeologists increasingly recognize that the world's tropics and subtropics hosted a wide variety of urban forms in antiquity. Many of these settlements followed a pattern of spatial dispersion, commonly called “low-density urbanism.” However, it is now being recognized that these urban landscapes were not uniform, but exhibited significant variations in settlement density, both within and around cities and between subregions.

At the same time, the growing body of research has revealed a greater abundance of settlements and cities than had previously been contemplated. This has generated a tension between two developments: On the one hand, the recognition of high variability in settlement density and, on the other, evidence of a more densely urbanized past than previously thought.

Although lidar was developed in the 1960s to study clouds and atmospheric particles, its application in archaeology is relatively recent. It was not until the last decade that archaeologists began employing it to unearth hidden landscapes. In 2009, archaeologists Diane and Arlen Chase of the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, pioneered the use of lidar to map a Mayan city, revolutionizing the way ancient civilizations are detected and studied.

According to the study, some researchers argue that the discovered landscapes reflect a high population density, while others suggest that the surveys are biased and overrepresent the most densely populated areas. This leaves open the question of whether as yet unexplored areas could confirm the existence of a higher urban density or show less dense occupation.

[raniamuhanna]

Tent Diaries (4)

Daily Death Meal in Gaza.

The occupation cuts a daily meal of victims in Gaza. It is approximately equivalent to 70 victims. On average. And on days that are semi-stable. Without major and huge events or explosions. And without negotiations in Doha or Cairo. Not a day goes by without cutting this meal. Who is this meal for? And why does it cut it?

The occupation possesses advanced and sophisticated killing tools. They are the most modern in the world. So that the Gaza Strip appears as an open carpet in front of it. Every citizen in the Gaza Strip is exposed to being part of this daily meal that the occupation destroys by firing surprise tank shells at the tents. Blowing up a car of passersby with a missile. Random bombing by Quadcopter aircraft on the displaced in the so-called humanitarian zone. Sniping citizens from long distances. Executions of the elderly, sick and disabled in their homes who were unable to implement the evacuation instructions in the blocks it announces.

The methods by which the occupation surprises citizens and takes them away from them are many and varied. All killings are unnecessary and not urgent from a security and military perspective. The evidence is that the occupation carries out killings in areas that are supposed to be safe. Or that were warned to evacuate. And it regained control over them once, twice, and more.

The only sin of the citizens that the occupation kills in a daily meal is that they were at the wrong time and place in the occupation's estimation. Even though they may be sleeping in their tents. Or children queuing to get a gallon of water.

What benefit does the occupation gain from providing a daily meal of Gazan victims?

This is the literal application of Netanyahu's repeated declarations that the war will not stop. These are the fuel of the war that he presents through the media to his audience and to the world that the war is ongoing. The war cannot continue without daily blood to feed and revive it. And these are the bloods that drive the war every day to deliver it to the next day. And so on.

They are like the fuel of a car whose engine must keep running without stopping until it reaches its final set goals. Can you imagine a day without Palestinian casualties under the pretext that the occupation army is waging a war in Gaza?

This is impossible. It is an Israeli political goal before it is a military goal. It is true that it is possible to imagine that no Israeli soldiers will fall in Gaza. In light of the imbalance of power. But for the occupation, it must continue to kill every day. With or without a pretext. With or without a reason. The important thing is that the number of victims of the daily meal in the media reaches a large number equivalent to seventy victims. So that the war appears to be fierce, fierce and brutal. Less than thirty, for example, is a small number that may raise suspicion that the occupation is waging a fierce war in Gaza. It is a number that does not fit the losses of war.

The killings within the meal are random and irregular: children. Women. The elderly. Suspected militants. But the process of serving the meal itself must be regular, daily, fixed and unchanging. No one has the authority to review, inspect or verify the victims within the meal: the reasons for their extermination, for example. Israel has been able to marginalize everyone who has legal or military authority in the world to do so. But the important thing is that the army presents this meal every day with a lot of theorizing, claims, pictures and justifications to continue the war that will not stop.

Nasser Hospital morgue. Every morning it has become like a box of luck. Or a box of the world. A large number of mutilated and dismembered bodies. These are part of the components of the meal that was cut for one day. Their identities and names can barely be recognized. Families rush to it to identify their sons who were missing throughout the previous night. And those who were led by bad luck. And without an appointment. To exist, sleep or walk in the wrong place where the occupation launches its bombs. To prepare the daily meal and present it to its audience and the world. The happiest mothers then are those who do not find their missing son among the bodies. And she returns hoping that he will return to her from his absence. Or her cell phone rings and his voice comes to her from afar that he is still fine and alive.

Only the bad luck of the victims made them part of this day's meal. But even those who think they are safe in their tents and displacement. And far from the occupation's random choices of death. Bad luck awaits them. It must be repeated at least seventy times a day. In different places. Until the next daily meal is ready for them. No matter how much they think they have taken all the precautions and safety measures to avoid being part of the next meal.

The issue of deducting the daily meal from the lives of the Gazans is one of the most important military decisions of the occupation army in the ongoing war of extermination. As for whether any citizen is included in it. Or not. It is a matter of luck and fate in the first degree.

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