#folding rotors

[strip-weathers]

Helicopters and their folding rotors

Description to each picture:

1. Neutral - this is neutral state of helicopters. They have no feelings. They simply chill and mind their businesses. Their rotors stay in common and neutral way.

2. Surprised - Their rotors lift a lot in the air due the emergency or high level of adrenaline. Again when they feel relaxed, they simply pull their rotors back down to neutral position.

3. Flirty - when helicopter want to impress other helicopter due their meeting, they lean their rotors against their side. This shows affection and the beauty of their rotors and body also.

4. Sad - when are helicopters sad or feel miserable or demotivated, they pull their rotors backwards and downwards.

5. Crying - when helicopters cry, they pull their rotors completely down on both sides of them like dead flowers.

6. Scared - when helicopters are scared, they move their rotors straight to the sides due to high pressure and anxiety and clear discomfort.

7. Annoyed - when helicopters are annoyed, they pull their rotors backwards and upwards to show their clear annoyed feeling.

8. Slightly angry - now all of their rotors are pulled backwards due to high anger inside them. Do not make them angry even more. It can end up really bad.

9. Super angry - helicopter’s rotors are thrown into every side in the air to show their anger and protective side of them. Do not come closer to them if you don’t know how to calm them down.

Second picture:

Here you can see that they can use their rotors as arms due fight. They can slap each other with their rotors. The bigger rotors and more rotors are, the pain gets worse.

Mouth of helicopters can be small at the first sight but when they open their mouth, you can clearly see how big their mouth is and how many teeth they have. {this is only a sketch tho xD}

@the-great-old-grump here is it x3

[mo-ok]

[on-a-lucky-tide]

"ETA?"

"Twenty clicks out," Simon replied after a glance at his watch.

"Rog. What's that in PBI?" Price sounded tired. Irritable. Simon flicked his eyes across to Nik for back up.

"Ten minutes," Nik said. He was smiling. Usually was when he was in the sky. One of his peculiarities. Simon glanced down. Comms were still open. Nik cleared his throat. "Captain, do you remember that time in Madrid?"

There was a brief pause, and then, "Ha, yeah... You took me up in 'n F1... Mirage. Thought I was gonna pass out."

"Helos are stress tested to about 2.9G, so it is not advised to loop them." Nik glanced out the window at the passing countryside below. "A loop at 3G will give you very little airspeed over the top and a lot of back stick. The pull through could then either chop your tail off or give you an overspeed. Plus there is the stress damage, metal remembers... Only a madman would loop a helo."

"Complete madman," Price agreed. Simon's bullshit meter was screaming off the fuckin' scale.

"MBB Bo 105 can be modified for aerobatics. But there is one helo that can do it by design," Nik continued. "The Lynx. And even then, it requires skill."

Simon tensed. Wait a fuckin' sec--

Price, who had now put two and two together, adopted a tone of mock realisation. "Well, fuck me, isn't that what yer flyin' right now, Nikolai?"

"Da."

Simon's eyes blew wide. "Don't you fockin' da--"

Nik shoved the helo's nose down forty-five degrees and initiated a dive to pick up speed. Simon scrambled in his seat, one hand slapping against the wall while the other latched onto the backrest. There were no bloody seatbelts in this thing. He might have yelped, but Price would have to waterboard him to get him to admit it.

Nik eased the cyclic control stick back, initiating a climb, and Simon swore through the bloody alphabet as the Gs pulled down on his face.  

Nik carefully managed the cyclic and collective pitch to maintain a perfect radius all the way round, no stalling or overspeeding the rotor, and Simon could hear his full belly laugh through the thundering blood in his own ears. As the helo eased back to level flight and the contents of Simon's stomach decided it might as well stay inside him despite briefly considering an unscheduled reappearance, Simon could hear Price's deep, gravelly laugh down the Comms.

"You're both evil, schemin' bastards," Simon wheezed, arms folding defensively over his chest as his vision returned.

"Perhaps you would enjoy the F1 more, lieutenant?"

"I think he'll stick t' jumpin' out the back'a Hercules, Nik," Price replied. "See ya in five." He sounded better, at least.

Simon sank a little deeper into his seat and tried to ignore the way Nik's broad grin, the amusement in Price's voice, made him feel like part of... whatever they had. Like they'd involved him in something important, something that had, until now, been all theirs.

He adjusted a strap on his carrier. Probably overthinkin' shit again.

[revelboo]

Oh lord, I had the cutest dream last night of reader reuniting with the Scavengers. It was so freaking cute and heart string tugging. Reader just running up to their boys, Spinster kneeling down with their blanket outstretched and ready to bundle reader back up. Crankcase trying to act all tough and normally angry but he’s letting that façade slip. Misfire and Krok are all over Spinster, trying to get a touch and feel of Reader to truly make sure they’re back.

And the Lost Light crew just kinda dips because Tarn is totally still on the warpath for their blood/Energon but they’re glad they got the Scavengers human dropped off

Awwww! That’s adorable!

Just Gone-Reunion Pt 3

Scavengers x Reader

• “You know these guys?” Rodimus murmurs at Megatron and the former warlord shoots him a sour look. ‘Do you know every single, other Autobot?’ Venting as the doors between the ships lock into place with a hiss, Rodimus is aware of the human just behind him, leaning to look. And a group of mechs run through as soon as the airlock cycles and the doors open, armed to the denta while two of them yell incoherent demands to give them their human and brandish weapons. “Wait,” Rodimus growls when you try to get closer, using a ped to herd you back. These lunatics are the ones you’ve been begging to go back to? They’re either insane or just stupid and he can’t decide which is worse.

• “No, I said we’re not doing that!” Krok growls as Crankcase and Misfire both scream to ‘give back our human.’ And he cringes seeing Megatron himself, arms slowly folding across his chassis as he just stares at them. Because they’re so dead. You’re dead. They’re all dead because Misfire and Crankcase freaked out. “That’s Megatron. Megatron,” he snarls, shoving Crankcase’s hand down since the mech seems stuck. Again. And Spinister stalks forward, your blanket in a fist, rotors flaring aggressively. The lunatic one wrong word away from getting them all killed. “Spinister.”

• “Spin!” You shriek, darting around Rodimus’s peds to run for him and his knees hit the ground, hands out for you as you throw yourself into his palms. And you’re lifted and pressed against the warm mesh of his neck. ‘You disappeared. Just gone,’ he murmurs, ignoring everything else, including Krok’s nervous attempts to get him to get back on the ship so they can book it. And he sounds so confused, so hurt that your heart breaks for Spin. You’re trembling as you brush your cheek against him, the fear and anxiety just washing out of you at the warmth of him. Because you’re okay now. You’re home.

• Shuddering as Megatron glowers at all of them, Fulcrum helps Krok grab Crankcase and start dragging him toward the airlock, the mech completely frozen, his damaged processor locking up. Aware of Misfire hesitantly saluting the warlord with his blaster. “Yeah, we’re just going to take our human and see ourselves out,” Misfire says. Wants to touch you, feel the weight of you in his hands, needs that to know it’s really over and you’re back.

• Grabbing one of Spin’s rotors and tugging as the big medic rubs his face and jaw against you, murmuring brokenly that you’d disappeared, Misfire’s as happy to see you as the big guy is, wants to touch you, feel the warmth of you and reassure himself you’re okay. Can’t resist reaching to brush a servo against you. But he also doesn’t want to end up in an Autobot brig. Doesn’t know why the big guy is traveling with the Autobots after their side lost, let alone why he’s not in chains, but he doesn’t trust whatever this is. “Spin, I swear if you mass shift right now, I’ll pull one of your rotors off and beat you with it. Tiny’s fine,” he growls as the mech just keeps cuddling you against you, servos sliding over you as you hang onto him. “No fragging on potentially hostile ships.” And finally Spinister gets up, stares down Megatron to make him worried the idiot might take a swing at him and get them all killed, before letting him guide the big medic away.

• Hands grab his arm, pulling as Spinister growls after their side lost airlock shuts behind him. And he rumbles as the others reach for you, servos touching you. As the rest of the Scavengers crowd close. Crankcase grimacing as he snaps out of it and swears, turning to touch your jaw with a servo. “I get a turn after Spinister,” Misfire growls and you laugh, the sound ringing through him, because they’d all missed you. Needed you. You’re theirs like they’re yours.

Previous

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1968 AMC AMX

408-Powered 1968 AMC AMX 4-Speed

1968 AMC AMX

This 1968 AMC AMX was modified under previous ownership during a refurbishment that is said to have been conducted over the course of 10 years and was completed in 2013. Refinished in black over red vinyl upholstery, the car is powered by a 408ci V8 paired with a four-speed manual transmission. Refurbishment work reportedly involved resurfacing the cylinder heads as well as installing an Edelbrock intake manifold, a performance camshaft, Hooker long-tube exhaust headers, billet pulleys, an aluminum radiator, cross-drilled front brake rotors, and lowering springs. Additional equipment includes 15″ Vision wheels, aftermarket headlights, chrome bumpers, a Hurst shifter, tilt steering, and a push-button AM radio. The seller acquired the vehicle in 2015. This modified AMX is now offered with a service manual, books, a model kit, unused Go Package–style stripe decals, spare and removed parts, and a Nevada title in the seller’s name.

1968 AMC AMX

The car was refinished in black as part of the aforementioned refurbishment. Additional work is said to have included repainting the wheel wells and the floors along with replacing the bumpers, door handles, grille, mirrors, headlights, weatherstripping, and bright trim on the window and headlight surrounds. The “AMX” badging on the exterior features red letter Xs.

1968 AMC AMX

Aftermarket 15″ Vision wheels are mounted with 215/60 front and 265/50 rear Cooper Cobra Radial G/T tires. A space-saver spare is located in the trunk. The car is equipped with lowering springs, and braking is provided by cross-drilled front discs and rear drums.

1968 AMC AMX

The split front bench seat is trimmed in red vinyl upholstery complemented by a color-coordinated dashboard, door panels, and carpeting. Other features include crank windows, a fold-down armrest, a Hurst shifter, tilt steering, and an American Motors–branded push-button AM radio. The headliner, carpets, and sill plates were replaced under previous ownership.

1968 AMC AMX

The three-spoke steering wheel fronts a 120-mph speedometer, a tachometer, and a combination gauge for fuel level and coolant temperature. An AutoMeter tachometer is mounted to the steering column, and a trio of smaller AutoMeter gauges affixed beneath the dashboard monitors oil temperature, coolant temperature, and oil pressure. The five-digit odometer shows 13k miles, less than 500 of which have been added by the seller; true mileage is unknown. The seller notes that the clock and the factory tachometer do not work.

1968 AMC AMX

The engine is said to be an AMC 390ci V8 that was bored and stroked to displace 408ci. Additional work during the refurbishment included resurfacing the cylinder heads as well as installing forged engine internals, an Edelbrock intake manifold, a performance camshaft, ceramic-coated Hooker long-tube exhaust headers, billet pulleys, an aluminum radiator with electric fans, and an aftermarket exhaust system. An oil change and coolant flush were performed in preparation for the sale. The car’s chassis number indicates that it was originally equipped with a 360ci V8 topped by a two-barrel carburetor.

1968 AMC AMX

Power is sent to the rear wheels through a four-speed manual transmission and a Twin-Grip rear axle with 3.55:1 gearing. An Ace Racing Powerforce clutch was fitted during the refurbishment.

1968 AMC AMX

A 1968 AMC service manual, books and magazines, an AMT model kit, unused Go Package–style red stripe decals, and spare and removed parts will accompany the vehicle.

The Nevada title notes the odometer brand “Exempt.”

[merakisphere]

In addition to my handmade and visually delightful Mandala Bloom wire contraptions, I'd like to share with you a list of Palindromes I've recently come across! :)

A man, a plan, a canal, Panama! Eva, can I see bees in a cave? Was it a car or a cat I saw? Never odd or even. Do geese see God? A Santa lived as a devil at NASA.

All of these, when read backwards spells out the same sentence! My all time favourite Palindrome is "TACO CAT"

Palindromes also apply to single words:

Level Rotor Racecar Stats

Am I missing any? Comment below your favourite Palindromes, as I'm certain there are more out there I haven't heard of!

Also, please consider browsing my handmade Lotus Bloom fidget toys & ornament shop. :) These make wonderful gifts or ornaments this holiday season. Sharing & reblogging would help me so much as an indie artist. <3 Thank you! Use code TUMBLR (for 45% off), and so I know to include a FREE Lithograph sticker with your order. :)

[astraljedi]

Bewitched - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw (Part 1)

Part 1.5 | Part 2 (coming soon)

Summary: After two years since they last saw each other, Bradley and Sadie cross paths again. What started as a heated rivalry turned into something more, only for Rooster to walk away, leaving Sadie with nothing but a voicemail. Now, assigned to the same mission, tension lingers between them.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female! OC

Warnings: Just some cursing and fighting. It will contain a lot of smut, angst, jealousy, mention of death, PTSD and panic attacks. It also contains spoilers for the Top Gun movies.

Word Count: 4.4k

Song: Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift / right where you left me by Taylor Swift

Author's note: This is a re-upload of an old fic/idea I posted months ago and rewrote. I've been diving back into writing and decided to write a few parts for this idea. If you have any requests for anyone in the dagger squad, request are always open! Also, this is pure fiction, this isn't going to be 100% accurate and it's just for fun. Enjoy!

-

Someday, when you leave me I bet these memories Follow you around

The tension in the room was suffocating. Sadie felt it when she walked in, but it wasn't from the mission.

It was him.

Bradley Bradshaw.

His gaze was on her, sharp and unreadable, and his jaw locked tight as Admiral Solomon introduced her as the leader. She refused to let her expression waver and acknowledged how her stomach twisted at the sight of him after all this time. Instead, she stood tall, arms folded behind her back, nodding once when Solomon finished speaking.

Her eyes flicked over the group. Phoenix, Hangman, Coyote, and some familiar faces. But she kept coming back to him.

Bradley

She hadn't seen him since—

No.

Not now.

She shoved the thought away as Maverick stepped forward, taking over the briefing. He explained the flight drills, the schedule, and what was expected from them. Sadie barely heard him. She felt Bradley's stare like a weight pressing against her ribs.

She last heard his voice through the voicemail he left her two years ago.

"I can't, I—" his voice broke.

Sadie gripped her phone tighter, pressing it against her ear.

"I'm sorry, Sadie."

And then it cut off. No explanation. No closure.

Maverick's voice pulled her back.

"You all have ten minutes to gear up and meet me on the runway. That includes you, Captain Kazansky."

Sadie nodded, the movement sharp. She turned on her heel and headed for the lockers, blocking out the murmurs behind her. She could feel Bradley watching her go.

It wasn't until she was halfway into her flight gear that it hit her all at once.

The past.

The mission.

The accident.

Him.

Her fingers fumbled with the straps. Her breath came too fast, too shallow. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn't stop them, no matter how hard she tried. 

The walls of the locker room blurred at the edges, narrowing into a tunnel.

Not now. Not now. Not now.

She braced herself against the bench, head lowering between her arms. She needed to breathe. 

She needed to focus.

But all she could hear was her plane screaming warnings at her—

"Low altitude. Low altitude."

She could feel the violent shake of the controls as she tried to regain control: the sharp snap of the eject handle beneath her fingers, the deafening rush of wind, the crack of her body hitting the ground, the suffocating weight of her helmet pressing against her skull, and the rotor wash of the recovery chopper.

And underneath it all—

"I'm sorry, Sadie."

The voicemail looped in her head like a cruel echo, like a broken record.

A hand landed gently on her shoulder, interrupting the voices in her head. "Sadie."

She jerked up, gasping, eyes wide. Maverick was crouched beside her, concern all over his face. Behind him, Coleman stood near the doorway, arms crossed, observing her.

"It's okay," Maverick said, voice low. "You're okay."

She wasn't.

Coleman exhaled. "You can't fly like this, Captain."

Maverick's hand cradled the side of her face, grounding her. "Watch from the ground. Just for today."

Sadie opened her mouth to argue, but Maverick shook his head.

Her jaw clenched, but she gave a slight nod after a moment.

Maverick pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "I'll handle the others."

When they left, the silence was suffocating and lonely.

Sadie sat back down, pressing the rough skin of her palms into her eyes.

And then—

The past came rushing in.

Two Years Ago

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when Sadie stepped onto the carrier's deck, the scent of salt and jet fuel thick in the air. She barely had a moment to process the rush of adrenaline still coursing through her before the roar of an approaching F/A-18 forced her to shield her eyes.

Rooster's jet.

Her grip on her helmet tightened. Rooster's wingman had already exited his aircraft, rolling his eyes—annoyed by the situation that could have been avoided.

Out there, the team had to work together. If they wanted to come home alive—and not in a casket—there was no room for mistakes.

She had flown many missions and led countless pilots, but something about this one had her blood running hot. Sadie was used to being undermined by men, used to the names they called her and the rumors that followed. But not once had someone outright disobeyed her orders during a mission.

He was infuriating.

She waited long enough for his wheels to hit the deck before turning sharply and heading toward him. The moment he climbed out of the cockpit, she was there.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw." Her voice was steady and clipped, but a sharp edge was beneath it.

Rooster barely spared her a glance as he pulled off his helmet. "Captain."

Sadie narrowed her eyes. She knew that tone—disinterested, almost dismissive, like she wasn't worth the respect of her rank like she was just some nepotistic baby-playing soldier.

She wasn't in the mood.

Sadie squared her shoulders, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. He towered over her, all broad shoulders and cocky, but she didn't intimidate easily. His chest was puffed out—just like his ego.

"You left your wingman," she said, stepping closer. "You were given a direct order, and you ignored it."

Rooster exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp, sweaty hair. "I was covering you. You were caught too close to the enemy."

"I was baiting them," she snapped. "That's the point of the maneuver. When I give an order, it's because I know what I'm doing out there. I didn't need saving from you."

His jaw clenched. "That maneuver was reckless."

Sadie let out a humorless laugh. "Reckless?" She took another step toward him, close enough to feel the heat rolling off his flight suit. "You ignored a direct order and left your wingman vulnerable because you thought you knew better."

Rooster's eyes darkened, but he didn't back down. "You could've been shot down."

Sadie tilted her head, studying him. He wasn't entirely wrong—what she did was dangerous. But it was also calculated. Controlled. And it worked every time. She wouldn't pull that maneuver if it put her or, more importantly, her team at unnecessary risk.

"You don't know me, Lieutenant," she said finally, her voice quieter but no less sharp. "And you sure as hell don't know how to follow a simple order."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "I know your reputation."

There it was.

Sadie felt the slow burn of anger in her stomach, but she refused to let it show. Usually, comments like that rolled right off her. She didn't need to prove herself to men who already made up their minds about her. She knew what kind of leader and pilot she was. But something about this—about him—struck a nerve.

"You don't have to like me," she said simply. "But you will follow my orders, or I'll report you. Not just for disobeying a superior but for disrespecting me as a female pilot. If I were a man, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?"

Rooster's throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he said nothing.

Sadie let the silence stretch, letting the weight of her words settle between them. Then, with a steady, unblinking gaze, she added, "You are dismissed, Lieutenant."

His jaw tensed. Sadie could see the fight in his eyes—the urge to argue, to push back. But he couldn't. Because she outranked him.

Rooster exhaled sharply through his nose before muttering, "Yes, ma'am."

They had an audience—of course, they did. She was constantly being watched, waiting for her to falter or overstep. But that wasn't going to happen. Sadie didn't break. She didn't have meltdowns—not like the men did.

Rooster turned away first, gripping his helmet as he stalked off the crowded tarmac. Sadie's gaze flicked to the group of men who had been staring. They quickly pretended to be busy.

She could write him up, but that would mean a lot of paperwork. And she already had enough to deal with, thanks to Rooster's hiccup of leaving his wingman alone.

…

Being on the aircraft carrier always felt like a buzz. Sadie was most alive when she was in the air with her jet. It was thrilling and euphoric. But there was something about being back at base that brought her peace.

She had her family, the new house she'd already moved into. A white corner-lot home with blue shutters, small but hers. But instead of spending the night there, she was going to the bar after a long day catching up on work.

The Hard Deck felt alive with the low hum of conversation mixing with the crack of pool cues and bursts of laughter while the jukebox hummed a rock' n' roll tune. The scent of sea salt and beer lingered in the air, the warm California night spilling through the open doors.

Sadie barely spared the crowd a glance as she stepped inside. She didn't need to—she felt their attention snap toward her the second she walked in. Part of it was her name, her reputation. The other part was the way she looked. There was no denying her effortless beauty. Light brown curls hung loose over her back, starkly contrasting the tight bun she always wore at the base.

As she passed the pool table, movement caught her eye. A group of lieutenants stood around the table, sticks in hand, easy banter flowing between them. 

Rooster was among them. She didn't acknowledge him.

Instead, she headed straight for the bar, spotting her friend Mia, a Navy medic, already waiting with a beer in hand.

"You're late," Mia teased, pushing the cold bottle toward her.

Sadie smirked, shrugging off her jacket as she slid onto the barstool. "Had to finish up reports. You know, actual work."

Mia scoffed. "Please. Like you weren't just busy terrorizing another group of pilots."

Sadie clinked her bottle against Mia's glass. "It's both a curse and a gift."

Behind them, Rooster stepped away from the pool table, offering to grab the next round for the group. He didn't have to stand near Sadie, but gravity pulled him there against his will. The bar wasn't packed like usual—he could've ordered from the other side.

But he didn't.

He placed his order and waited, close enough to hear Sadie laugh with her friend.

"It was horrible. The worst lay," she said, laughing as she sipped beer. "And then I had to go on a mission for months with that disappointment."

Mia nearly choked on her drink. "Please tell me you didn't let that man leave without knowing he couldn't fulfill."

"Trust me, I didn't. I told him he could fuck off." Of course, she had. Sadie Kazansky was opinionated and ensured people knew how the fucked up.

Mia cackled, shaking her head. "A good deed for the women's community."

"Karma better pay me back for my good deed soon, please."

"I have a feeling good karma is around the corner for you, babes," Mia said, sliding off the stool. "I gotta hit the bathroom. Be right back."

Rooster clenched his jaw, fingers flexing around his glass.

He wasn't sure why it bothered him—why the thought of her in bed with some guy who didn't know what the hell he was doing got under his skin—but it did.

He didn't know what possessed him to move, but he pushed off the bar, forgetting the round for the guys.

Rooster hovered close behind her, his broad chest brushing against her back as he leaned in, lips just by her ear.

"Is that why you're always cranky? No one can make you come?"

Sadie choked on her beer.

His grin was slow, lazy, dripping with amusement. "Save the choking for later, sweetheart."

She wiped her mouth, whipping her head around with wide eyes. "What the fuck, Bradshaw?"

"Cranky Kazansky," he mused, grabbing the round of beers. "It flows off the tongue so easily." He winked at her before turning away and walking toward the pool table.

He didn't need to look back—he could feel her eyes burning into him.

She didn't mean to. Didn't want to. 

But the way his arms flexed as he lined up his shot, the way his fingers curled around the wooden stick, steady and precise—it held her attention longer than she'd like to admit.

How would it feel to have those fingers—

Sadie cut off the thought the moment she felt the heat rise.

Then, Rooster caught her staring.

Mid-shot, he glanced up, his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. Slowly, he dragged his gaze over her summer dress, showing off her toned calves and thighs. His brain flooded with images of what it would be like to have his head buried between them.

The thought lingered as he went back to his game.

That should've been the end of it. She was his superior. They worked together.

Their thoughts alone weren't professional.

"I'm gonna call it a night. I'm getting too old to be out of my house after eleven," Mia yawned. "Want to ride-share?"

"No, I don't think I'm ready to call it a night." Mia gave her a look but hugged her goodbye anyway.

Sadie leaned against the bar, an almost empty beer bottle dangling from her fingers, waiting for the bartender to finish up with another customer. The young and eager bartender rushed toward her, handing her a fresh bottle with a grin that was too enthusiastic.

Rooster shouldn't care. He shouldn't feel anything about a guy flirting with her.

But the way she laughed at his probably terrible joke, the way she blushed when he refused to take her cash for the beer she shouldn't have been paying for in the first place—

Someone like Sadie shouldn't be wasting her time with inexperienced boys.

"Another game?" Coyote asked, lining up the colored balls on the green table.

Rooster tore his gaze away from Sadie and looked at Coyote instead.

"No, I'll give you a break so you can beat someone," Rooster teased before finishing his beer. 

He was about to offer to grab another round—maybe as an excuse to be near Sadie—but he saw her heading toward the bathroom.

"I'll be right back," he said.

Coyote, oblivious to where Rooster was looking, scoffed. "Sure, you're just lucky. I can beat you at this stupid game."

Rooster tossed his empty bottle into the trash and strode after Sadie. She didn't hear his approach over the music, but suddenly, he grabbed her arm and pushed her against the wall in the dimly lit bathroom hallway. His palm braced the back of her head, protecting her from hitting the hard surface, while his other hand gripped her waist.

"Are you going home with him?" His voice was low, rough—more desperate than he intended.

Sadie's breath hitched, her eyes widening in shock at how quickly he had her pinned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The bartender." Rooster's grip on her waist tightened slightly. "Don't go with him."

Sadie stared at him, her lips slightly parted, but the bathroom door creaked open before she could speak. She shoved Rooster off, making him stumble back just as a drunk old man staggered out, barely sparing them a glance.

When he was out of sight, Sadie grabbed Rooster by the front of his shirt and pulled him into the small bathroom. She shoved him against the worn-out door, locking it in the process.

Rooster barely had time to react before she yanked him down into a messy, desperate kiss. She took control immediately, tugging his unbuttoned shirt over his shoulders as their mouths warred against each other. His large hands settled on her waist, pulling her flush against him.

Sadie moaned at the feel of him hardening against her through his jeans. He let her think she was in control—until she started unbuckling his belt. That was when he decided he'd had enough.

In one swift motion, he spun them around, pressing her back against the door before dropping to his knees. His hands skimmed up her thighs, pushing the skirt of her dress higher.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, he slid her underwear down and tossed it over his shoulder carelessly toward the sink.

Neither of them spoke. Their heavy breathing filled the small space, the air thick with anticipation.

Rooster hooked his hand under her thigh, lifting her leg to wrap around his waist. Sadie leaned in, biting down on the skin of his neck, impatient, rushing him.

He let out a low groan, his grip tightening on her as he lined himself up at her entrance. His hand slid up to wrap gently around her throat, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Eager, are we, Captain?" he rasped, sliding into her.

Sadie parted her lips to retort, but her words never left her tongue. Instead, her head fell back against the door, pleasure crashing over her.

Rooster watched her—the way her head tilted back, lips parted in a silent gasp—the way her walls squeezed around him, and she wasn't even full of him yet. His grip on her thigh tightened as he thrust into her, slow at first, letting her adjust, savoring every second.

Sadie clawed at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, desperate to ground herself. Fuck. Her breathless curse barely passed her lips as her hands tangled in his hair.

Rooster groaned, low and guttural like he hadn't expected this to feel so damn good. He'd told himself this would be a one-time thing, a way to fuck out the steam and tension between them. But the way she squirmed beneath him, the way their bodies moved together in sync—he knew it was going to take more than walking out of this bathroom to let her go.

And they had barely even started.

"Shit, Sadie," he muttered, his forehead dropping to hers as he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. He was holding back, trying to make the feeling last—for her, for him. 

He couldn't lose control. Not yet.

Sadie's breath hitched, her fingers slipping down to the open buttons of his Hawaiian shirt, fisting the fabric. "Harder," she pleaded, chasing the coil tightening inside her.

Rooster cursed under his breath, his restraint slipping, and obeyed, driving into her with more force. His hands gripped her like he was molding himself to her as if he wanted to carve this moment into his memory.

Sadie's head hit the door, lips parting in a sharp gasp. She wasn't quiet—he should've known she wouldn't be.

"Shh," Rooster hushed, his voice edged with amusement. "You don't want the whole bar knowing what I'm doing to you, do you?"

Sadie huffed a breathless laugh, her grip tightening around his shoulders. "Then show me how a man really fucks," she challenged, her voice dripping with defiance.

That was it. That was the moment he lost himself completely.

With a growl, Rooster lifted her higher, pressing her against the door. He felt her shudder, her fingers threading through his hair. Then her gaze flickered behind him, and he followed it—to the mirror on the wall, perfectly angled so she could see everything.

A wicked smirk spread across his face. "That's right," he murmured, voice rough, his lips brushing against her jaw. "Watch yourself while I fuck you."

Sadie whimpered, her nails digging into his back as the sight of them—of how perfectly they moved together—pushed her over the edge. She bit down on his shoulder, muffling the sound of her moan as she shattered around him.

"Bradshaw," she whimpered, breathless, and the way his name tumbled from her lips was all it took to send him spiraling after her. With a sharp curse, he buried himself deep, his forehead pressing against hers as the aftershocks ran through them both.

For a long second, neither of them moved. Their heavy breathing filled the small space, mixing with the low music hum and the bar's distant chatter beyond the door.

Rooster watched her—how her chest rose and fell, her hair clinging to her damp skin, the faint blush on her cheeks.

That was his doing.

Slowly, he eased back, his hands still firm on her waist, careful with her.

Sadie finally opened her eyes, glancing toward the door. Without a word, she smoothed down her dress, already putting herself back together. But when she caught her reflection in the mirror, her cheeks darkened further, and her lips curved slightly as she tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear.

Rooster hesitated, buttoning his jeans and tucking himself away. There was something in the air between them—something neither acknowledged.

He decided to keep it light. "Ladies first, Captain." He opened the door for her when she was ready.

Sadie shot him one last look, searching his face as if trying to read his thoughts, but she said nothing. Then, without another word, she slipped out.

Rooster leaned against the wall for a moment longer, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair. He turned toward the sink—and that's when he saw them.

Her lilac lace panties were neatly abandoned on the counter.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips. 

That's my sign.

He swiped them off the sink and stuffed them into his pocket before slipping out of the bathroom minutes later.

His eyes scanned the bar for her, but she was already gone.

"Hey, the guys are calling it a night. Are you good?" Coyote's voice broke his thoughts as he nodded toward Rooster's untouched drink.

Rooster blinked, then forced a smirk as he pulled out his wallet. "Yeah. Just tired."

He tossed some cash onto the bar and downed the last drops of his beer, but his fingers brushed against the lace in his pocket as he walked out into the night.

Yeah, he had a feeling this wasn't the last time.

Present

The locker room was empty. Bradley assumed everyone had gone back to their assigned living quarters. The dim overhead lights flickered and hummed, casting uneven shadows against the metal lockers. Rooster's jaw was tight, his flight suit half unzipped as he tore off his gear, muttering under his breath.

"Stupid. Fucking stupid," he hissed, barely registering his own voice. He was thrilled to be at TOPGUN, following in his father's footsteps, but he had to go and fuck everything up. He had to let his emotions slip earlier that day with Maverick. His fingers curled into a fist before he slammed it into the locker beside him. The sound cracked through the room, echoing off the walls.

A sharp inhale from across the room made him freeze.

He wasn't alone.

His eyes flicked up, breath still heavy, and landed on her.

Sadie stood on the other side of the room, her hand clutched to her chest like she had jumped at the sound. Her eyes were wide, guarded—but only for a split second. Then, just as quickly, her expression smoothed into something unreadable.

"Sorry, Captain," Rooster muttered, turning away, focusing on peeling off his flight suit like she wasn't there. Like she didn't matter.

Sadie exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head. "What you and Maverick did up there was reckless."

He looked at her, debating if he had the energy to defend himself. She couldn't even begin to understand how Maverick had set him back.

"If you want to go to that assignment, you must keep your recklessness in check, Bradshaw. I can't have you flying if you can't control your emotions and put the rest of the team at risk."

Rooster let out a sharp laugh, humorless, bitter. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Sadie looked up from her zipped-up bag, her jaw clenched as her eyes locked onto his, filled with anger and—sadness?

"You don't understand what I've been through," he continued, voice rough, turning toward her now. "Especially with him. You don't know what it is to struggle, to grieve—"

"No, you don't know what I've gone through," Sadie cut in, her voice echoing through the locker room, her eyes still locked onto his. "And the weight I carry every single fucking day."

Something flickered in Rooster's expression, but she didn't stop. He hadn't seen her like this—not like before.

"You knew a version of me that no longer exists," she said, quiet but firm, slicing through him like a knife. "The person you're looking at is a version that doesn't have you in it."

Rooster's heart ached—it had never stopped, not since the moment he ended that voicemail years ago. He thought that at some point when they met again, she would have moved on. Maybe married and had a kid—a thought that haunted him for years. Deep inside, he hoped it hadn't come true.

He looked at her for the first time since she walked in. Really looked at her.

He had noticed it before when his eyes landed on her earlier that day. She looked different. She was still Sadie Kazansky—shoulders squared, confidence unwavering to the average person. But he had seen it, just for a second. A slip.

After he got grounded and did his push-ups for Coleman, he noticed her hands shaking. He sensed it. Something about her was different; he couldn't pin it down yet.

Rooster's lips parted, his hand aching to reach for her, but Sadie didn't give him a chance to respond. She grabbed her bag, threw it over her shoulder, and walked past him without another word.

The door swung shut behind her, leaving Rooster alone in the locker room—heart pounding, jaw clenched, and the weight of her words pressing against his chest like a vice.

A version that doesn't have you in it.

Sadie held her breath as she walked down the corridor toward her car. She left the base, desperate to get home—to her safe place—but the moment the wheels of her Jeep crossed the gate, her vision blurred with tears.

She swerved into her driveway, slammed the Jeep to a stop, and punched the wheel, her screams ripping through the silence.

All day, she had been holding it in. And being in that room alone with Rooster had nearly made her break. It nearly made her scream, letting everything out.

But he had made his choice.

He didn't want her in his life, and he made it clear when he left her stranded at the gala. 

And she wouldn't allow him to witness the broken version he left behind.

[bad-wolf-blue]

Reflections

10th Doctor x fem!Reader

Description: the reader is kidnapped and has a clone made of her. (Fluff, ANGST)

Word Count : 3,251

The TARDIS spun in a whirl of colors and sounds, the familiar hum vibrating through the air, You stood beside him, watching as the glowing time rotor descended with a low, reverberating groan. The Doctor, as ever, was bouncing on his toes, a grin already tugging at the corners of his mouth. You, however, couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease as your eyes scanned the scanner’s readout.

“Another uncharted planet, another mystery,” he said with a gleam in his eyes, his voice brimming with that insatiable excitement you knew so well.

You sighed, folding your arms as you leaned against the console. “Mmm, right. But something about this place… it doesn’t feel quite right.”

The Doctor paused mid-step, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh, come on! Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I have an adventurous spirit,” you replied dryly, “but I also have instincts. And they’re telling me we should maybe take it slow on this one.”

He waved off your concern, tapping a few buttons on the console with practiced ease. “That’s the thing with your instincts—they’re not always right”

With that, he threw the TARDIS doors wide open, and before you could protest, he was already out on the alien world’s surface, breathing in the strange, almost citrus-like air. You followed him, a reluctant smile on your face, ready for whatever was about to unfold.

You found yourself in a dense jungle, the trees towering high above you with thick, bioluminescent vines draping down like glowing ropes. The flora was unlike anything you’d ever seen before—large flowers in every shade of blue and purple, leaves that shimmered and pulsed with life, and an almost overwhelming sense of the world holding secrets just beneath the surface. The Doctor was already leaping from one stone to another, his mind racing with excitement as he analyzed everything in sight.

But you stayed back a bit, letting the surreal beauty of the place sink in. The warmth of the atmosphere was comforting, even if the strange, almost electric hum in the air made your skin prickle with a sense of anticipation.

Everything felt too still.

The air seemed to warp—an unnatural crackling noise followed by the sudden appearance of figures from the trees. They were too fast, too silent, before you could even process what was happening.

Hands gripped you from behind, pulling you off your feet before you could make a sound. Panic surged in your chest, but your body was already heavy, weighed down by something unseen. Your legs went limp, and a sharp, searing pain shot through your skull. Everything went black.

The next thing you knew, you were awake, your head throbbing, and your vision blurry. The faint smell of chemicals hung in the air, thick and sterile, a stark contrast to the vibrant jungle outside. You tried to move, but something cold and unyielding restrained your arms. Your body was bound to a chair—metallic, hard, the kind of chair that made your skin crawl. Panic set in again as you tried to push yourself upright, but the restraints held firm.

You could barely make out the dim light above you, flickering, casting strange shadows across the cold walls. There were no windows, no sounds of the outside world, only the feeling of utter isolation. The only other noise was the soft hiss of machinery humming around you, and the occasional whir of unfamiliar devices.

A door opened with a mechanical hiss, and you tensed, muscles aching as you pulled against your restraints. The figure who entered was tall and thin, with unnervingly smooth features and gleaming, reflective eyes. There was no warmth in their presence, no indication of any human emotion. The creature’s form was almost alien—too long, too lean, and the way it moved was more like a machine than a person.

“You’re awake,” it said, its voice dissonant, lacking inflection. The words were simple, but there was something cold in the way it spoke, as though your suffering didn’t matter to it at all. “The procedure is complete.”

“W-what procedure?” Your voice came out weak, but it was enough to provoke a response. You had to understand what was happening. Why were you here? What had they done to you?

The creature didn’t respond directly. Instead, it leaned closer, studying you as though you were nothing more than an object on display. “You are the key. The data we have gathered from your body will allow us to proceed. The replication is complete.” It turned on its heel and walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your rising dread.

Replication. You understood the meaning immediately, though it chilled you to the bone. They hadn’t just captured you—they were trying to replace you. Your mind spun, and you tried to recall every bit of training you had, every moment of your life where you’d learned to survive in these types of situations. But the knowledge felt distant, as if the fear was slowly overriding everything else.

Meanwhile, back outside, the Doctor’s mind was a whirlwind of panic and confusion. One moment, you were right there beside him, exploring the strange alien landscape, and the next—gone. It didn’t make sense. He had turned around, just for a second, to adjust the settings on his Sonic screwdriver when the familiar hum of your presence disappeared. His hearts stuttered in his chest.

He quickly activated the scanner settings, his fingers flying over the buttons, but the readings made no sense. There were faint traces of energy, too faint to be human, but unmistakably connected to something unnatural. It was like an invisible thread had been cut, and now he was lost in the wake of it.

His gut was screaming at him. Something was terribly wrong. He activated his Sonic screwdrivers more advanced sensors, focusing everything on one singular mission: find you. His eyes flicked rapidly from readout to readout, before something caught his attention—a faint but distinct energy trail. Not far. The path seemed to pulse with an odd frequency. It wasn’t just random interference—it was intentional. Someone was hiding something.

Without a second thought, the Doctor sprinted towards it, the wind whipping through his hair as he followed the trail that now seemed to grow clearer with each step. His mind raced, calculating, interpreting. He wasn’t sure what—or who—he would find at the end of this path, but he had no doubt that whatever it was, it had something to do with you.

After a few minutes of hurried searching, he found the source: a tall, forbidding building, almost camouflaged against the dense jungle around it. The structure was sleek, dark, and eerily silent, a perfect match for the alien architecture he’d seen before. The Doctor didn’t stop to think—he just ran toward it, adrenaline pushing him forward.

He reached the entrance and paused for only a moment to assess the situation. The door was sealed tight, and the faint hum of machinery buzzed within. His mind didn’t waste time on hesitation.

With a quick twist of his sonic screwdriver, the door slid open, and the Doctor bolted inside. The alarms blared to life, sharp and shrill, but they were little more than background noise to the man already diving headfirst into danger. His hearts raced, his eyes darting around the sterile, metallic interior. No matter how much noise the alarms made, none of it mattered now. All that mattered was finding you.

He had to get to you.

Then, as he turned down another narrow, dimly lit corridor, something caught his eye. The air around him shifted, cold and wrong, like stepping into a different world. At first, he didn’t know what it was—just a feeling, something instinctual—but when he took another step forward, his gaze locked onto it, and his blood ran cold.

It was you. Or, at least, it looked like you?

He knew—instantly. A Clone

The figure that had appeared in your place stood tall, Had it not have been for the Smell in the air giving it away. You would never have guessed. It was perfect.

The Doctor didn’t even need to think. His instinct kicked in. He’d seen this before, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice low, dangerous.

The clone’s expression didn’t change. “She is safe. The procedure is complete.”

“Not good enough.” The Doctor grabbed the clone’s arm, his eyes blazing with fury. “Take me to her. Now.”

The clone hesitated for just a fraction of a second—enough for the Doctor to know it wasn’t quite as perfect as it wanted to be. He dragged her through the facility, his mind already working on a plan. He could feel you—the real you—just a few rooms away. And he wasn’t leaving without you.

When he finally saw you, lying unconscious on a cold metal table, his breath caught in his throat. Your face, your hair—everything was the same. But the cold, lifeless stillness of your body, the absence of your spirit… it tore at him. This wasn’t you.

His heart hammered in his chest, and before he could even process what was happening, he was already rushing into action, pulling the wires off your body, yanking you from the table, his voice a frantic whisper, “Come on, come on, please wake up. You’re going to be fine…”

The Doctor could hear the footsteps of the guards drawing closer, their weapons ready. The urgency in his chest burned hotter. There was no time to waste. With a sharp, decisive movement, he lunged into action, his body moving with a precision born of years of experience. His hands flew across the controls, his sonic screwdriver buzzing through the air, disabling the guards one by one with swift, calculated strikes. It was almost effortless, the chaos of the fight flowing around him like a storm, but his focus never wavered.

But in the whirlwind of his movements, the clone—your clone—was caught in the crossfire. A stray blast of energy hit her, knocking her to the ground in a crumpled heap.

The Doctor’s breath hitched. Time seemed to freeze for a moment, his heart skipping a beat as the clone’s body lay still on the cold floor. Her form, once moving, now lifeless

The Doctor tried not to look at it. He couldn’t. His entire focus was on You. His breath ragged, he lifted you into his arms, trying to wake you once again.

“Please,” he murmured desperately. “Wake up.”

You stirred. Slowly, your eyelids fluttered open, and the grogginess of unconsciousness faded away. But what you saw when your eyes focused on the room was the most horrifying thing you could have imagined.

The clone lay there, motionless but still alive, her eyes—your eyes—staring back at you. There was something eerily unnatural about it, seeing yourself lying there, pale and unmoving, yet still struggling to breathe. It felt like the world had tilted off its axis, and nothing made sense anymore.

The clone’s hand weakly reached out toward you. Toward the Doctor. Her fingers barely lifted from the cold floor, but the gesture was desperate. She wanted something—some kind of connection, some form of life—yet her body betrayed her, too exhausted to even make the movement whole.

You froze. Terror gripped you as you realized what you were witnessing. This wasn’t just a reflection of yourself—The clone had been made from you, it had all your feelings, memories. but it wasn’t you. And it was dying.

The sight was more than you could handle. Your stomach twisted with a combination of horror, confusion, and a deep aching sadness. How could this happen? Your breath caught in your throat, the image of the clone’s weak, trembling hand stretching out toward you burning into your mind.

Then, with a final exhale, the clone’s hand fell limp. Her eyes closed, her body relaxed in surrender, and the life drained from her face. The last flicker of motion went out, and she collapsed fully, lifeless.

The clone was dead.

“No,” you gasped, your voice trembling as you backed away. Horror and disbelief consumed you. You couldn’t take your eyes off the sight—the broken, lifeless version of yourself. The Doctor was at your side immediately.

You couldn’t move. Your body trembled, your mind unable to process what you had seen—the grotesque, haunting reflection of yourself, dying and abandoned on the cold, metallic floor.

The Doctor's grip on your arm tightened, his voice low and commanding, though there was an undercurrent of tenderness. “Don’t look at it,” he said, his words laced with urgency. “It’s not real. It’s just a clone. It’s not you, Please… don’t look.”

But it was too late. The moment your gaze fell upon the figure lying on the floor It—Her—You couldn’t tear your eyes away. It was you lying there, lifeless, pale and unmoving. The clone, the reflection of yourself, left you frozen in place. The air around you thickened with a kind of suffocating horror, and your chest tightened. A sickening feeling spread through you as you stared, unable to comprehend what your mind was desperately trying to deny.

“Please, don’t…” The Doctor’s voice cracked, his hand gently pulling at your arm, trying to guide you away from the sight, but you were still rooted to the spot, your body trembling as the world blurred around you.

The Doctor’s face twisted with sorrow, but his tone was sharp, his voice demanding. “We need to go. We’re not safe here, and you’re not safe if you stay. Come on, we have to leave.”

With a desperate breath, the Doctor wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you away, guiding you through the narrow corridor and back out into the jungle. His steps were fast, unsteady, almost as if he, too, needed to escape the suffocating weight of what you had seen. His hand never left your back, urging you onward.

What should’ve been a short walk—fifteen minutes, maybe twenty at most—felt like an eternity. The thick foliage of the jungle pressed in on you, the humidity heavy in the air, but you barely noticed. Your mind was trapped, replaying the horrifying image of yourself, the reflection of your own death, again and again. Each step you took felt like it carried the weight of a thousand thoughts you couldn’t escape. Every shadow in the jungle seemed to hold something sinister, every rustle of leaves sent a fresh wave of panic through your veins.

The Doctor noticed. He noticed how you stiffened with every step, how your breath hitched, how you couldn’t seem to focus on anything except the horrors you had witnessed. His brow furrowed, worry lining his face, though he didn’t press you for answers. He knew you needed time. He could see the toll it was taking on you, the way you were unraveling, slowly, silently.

He didn’t speak as he led you to the TARDIS. Once inside, the familiar sound of the TARDIS doors shutting behind you, the comforting hum of its walls, should’ve felt like a relief, but it didn’t. You barely registered the surroundings—the blue walls, the spinning time rotor, the familiar glow of the console. All you could see, all you could feel, was the weight of what you’d just witnessed.

And then, before you even knew what was happening, your legs gave way beneath you, and you collapsed to your knees, the cold metal floor of the TARDIS grounding you.

Tears fell freely, without warning, without control, staining your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath. The sight of yourself dying on the floor, the fear and confusion that it stirred in you—it was too much. You couldn’t process it. You couldn’t speak. Your voice had abandoned you, your words locked behind a wall of trauma that you couldn’t bring yourself to break down.

The Doctor was there, kneeling beside you in an instant, his presence a calming anchor in the storm that was threatening to swallow you whole. He cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears, though more came—too many to stop. His voice was a soft whisper, filled with all the care he always had for you, but now there was an edge of worry, of desperation. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re here, with me. It was just a clone. It wasn’t you. You’re real. You’re alive.”

His hands moved to pull you closer, gently wrapping his arms around you, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the universe, as though his very presence could shield you from the horrors that had invaded your mind. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you, ever. I promise.”

But you couldn’t answer. You could only cling to him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, letting his voice, steady and sure, try to reassure you, though the images of your own death still haunted your mind, refusing to let you go.

And somehow, as his words wrapped around you like a blanket, you believed him. Just for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that with him, you might just be able to forget what you had seen.

But the fear and the trauma would linger, a shadow that wouldn’t fade as easily as the Doctor's promises. It would take time. But as long as the Doctor was by your side, you knew you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

[captain-price-unofficially]

MA-VMF Ka-52K, the navalized variant of the Ka-52. Includes folding rotor blades, folding wings, and reinforced landing gear. Since its wings are shorter than those of the land-based variants, the Ka-52K only has four weapons pylons, instead of six on the land-based Ka-52

[mo-ok]

[judgemark45]

USS Bataan (LHD-5) underway in the Mediterranean Sea as part of Amphibious Task Force-East (ATF-E) in January 2003. Three CH53E choppers are spotted on the flight deck, one with its tail boom and main rotor blades folded.

[strip-weathers]

Cabbie: *feels sad*

Blade: *rubs against Cabbie*

Cabbie: *smiles gratefully*

More of Uncle Cabbie X3

@the-great-old-grump here’s an example when Blade chills, he simply folds his rotors back x3

[thefifteenthindotribe]

Ace’s High:

Problem: The Insulindian Civil War was not the first war to see the use of aerostatic aircraft on both sides, but it was the longest. For eight years folded multi-rotor aircrafts criss-crossed the air above Revachol, Ozonne, Face-A-La-Mer, and the Arcade Islands. They made sweeps over sandy beaches and shot each other out of the blue sky, then sank as wrecks to the bottom of the sea. The Ace's High was a custom on the revolutionary side, performed by squadron mates after landing. Lieutenant Kitsuragi likes it... why is that?

Solution: For the rest of the world the Ace's High is *just a cool Revachol* thing, politically neutral. In Revachol it still holds revolutionary connotations. Also, have you looked at Lieutenant Kitsuragi's *clothes*? He wears a bomber jacket, just like the ones worn by aerostatic brigades. And those cargo pants could store tools for hotfixing your aerostatic... maybe you should ask him about this?

[literatecowboy]

Dr. Feelgood

10. The One Where Ghost Punches A Cop

Summary: You've been in trouble at work several times before for "lack of professionalism" but now you've gone too far. You've been reassigned to Task Force 141 as a temporary doctor to replace the ones they've made quit out of frustration. You must either prove yourself and earn your former position back at a prestigious military hospital in California or face dishonorable discharge. Author's Notes: This is my first fanfiction - please be gentle. Additionally, the reader's callsign is "Feelgood." I have done my best to write the reader as ambiguous regarding appearance, but she/her pronouns and AFAB anatomy will be utilized. I hope for this to be a slow-burn romance with Simon "Ghost" Riley.  Warnings: Hospitals, angst, police, arrests, punching

Masterlist

-----

You were up an instant, the tears gone from your eyes but worry still clouding your heart. You turned the corner into the lone bedroom and locked eyes with Price who gave you a weak smile. 

“Feelin’ better already,” he grunted, his eyes flicking behind you as Simon joined you in the doorway. “Son, if you don’t marry her, I think I might. Or at least, I’d like Soap or Gaz to. We’re keeping this one.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed playfully, unable to stop the smile and the warmth that crept to your face. 

“You’re high, captain. Now settle back and relax, I’ll get you some water,” you said, slipping back out the door and heading for the kitchen. Simon stepped fully into the room, letting the door shut behind him as he took a seat beside the bed. 

“Think I’d like to someday,” he said. 

“What’s holding you back?” Price asked, trying to sit up in his bed but wincing at the pain caused by the exertion. 

“Think she’d ever want her old life back? A fancy doctor in California giving up that lifestyle for a soldier who could die any moment?” he asked.

“Think she’d laugh you outta this house if she ever heard you call her fancy, mate.” Price said. Simon snorted and nodded, shaking his head. 

“Don’t have to be a soldier forever, you know. Could make a life for yourself - something easier.” Price said, studying Simon as he sat staring at the bedsheets. This made the lieutenant sit up straighter. 

“Don’t think I’m made for that. Don’t think any of us could…” he trailed off, meeting the captain’s gaze once more. 

Their conversation ceased when you returned to the room, a glass of cool water in your hand.

—

Evac came several days later when the snowstorm had abated. A helicopter came to the field outside of the safehouse and retrieved all of you. Price was the first aboard and settled heavily into a seat near the back with your assistance. You sat beside him to keep an eye on him as the rest of the boys chucked the gear into the heli and hopped in. It took off before the door even finished closing. 

The flight back home seemed quicker than the one to the mission, most likely because you were busy the majority of the time tending to the Captain. Near the end, Gaz and Soap stepped in so you could rest. 

When the helicopter landed, the ground crew didn’t bother waiting until the rotors had stopped spinning to throw open the door. An unfamiliar medical team rushed to Price and, despite his protests, loaded him onto a stretcher and started loading him into the back of an ambulance. You leapt off out of the helicopter and jogged after him, attempting to climb into the ambulance with him, but you were held back back by a military policeman. 

“Ma’am, are you the individual who performed an authorized appendectomy on Captain John Price?” he asked sternly. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz had come to your side now and you looked back at them with a furrowed brow. 

“I am,” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “What is this about?” 

“You’re being placed under investigation for criminal medical malpractice. I’m placing you under arrest.” he said, producing a pair of cuffs and taking ahold of your arm with a rough grip. Without hesitation, Ghost shouldered his way between you and the officer, shoving him back and ushering you behind him. Soap grabbed his arm and held him back and Gaz came to your side. 

“Under whose authority? The doctor operated under the Captain’s own direction in order to save his life. To arrest her on such a charge would be inappropriate.” Gaz said.

“The order comes directly from General Shepherd - the very top. Step aside or I’ll have the rest of you arrested for obstruction of justice,” the officer ordered. Ghost bristled, but you lay a hand gently on his bicep. 

“I’ll go willingly,” you said softly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You offered the officer your hands and he cuffed you immediately, your vision blurring. 

“Call Laswell,” Ghost said, offering Gaz his phone, who looked confused. 

“Why can’t you–”

Ghost took a step forward and dropped the military policeman with a single punch to the face. 

—

Later that evening you sat against the wall of your holding cell, snuggled as much as you could be into Ghost’s side. He had slid a bulky arm through the bars to wrap it around you and sat quietly, rubbing your side as you sniffled. 

“It was stupid of you to do that,” you mumbled, brushing away your tears with your sleeve. Ghost merely shrugged and pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“They wouldn’t have let me come with you otherwise.” he said softly. It was quiet for a moment. 

“I love you,” you whispered. Ghost squeezed you gently. 

“I love you too,” he said after a minute. The sound of keys jingling broke the romantic moment. 

“You’re out of here for now. Both of you,” the guard said, fitting the key first into the lock of your cell, then into the lock of Ghost’s. As you stepped into the hallway, Ghost took your hand again, and you walked together down the hall and toward freedom. 

“You’re not being charged, lieutenant. And despite Captain Price vouching for you, General Shepherd is insisting that you be court martialed for your actions. A date will be set soon and you will stand trial,” the officer said. You were offered your belongings back and took them - Ghost’s gear from the mission had been returned to the task force. 

Soap was waiting outside with a car and you pulled him into a tight hug the moment you saw him. 

“How’s Price?” you asked immediately, holding him at arms length and looking deep into his eyes for any indication of bad news. 

“He’s okay, lass. They took him in for a second surgery but you had done a good enough job. Gaz is with him now, they’re at the hospital. How are you holding up?” he asked. You shivered. 

“It was…cold in there.” you murmured. Ghost rested a hand on your lower back. 

“Kept ‘er safe. Let’s go see the captain.”

—

The ride to the hospital didn’t take long, but before you could enter and head up to Price’s room, your phone rang. The number was familiar. Ghost studied you as you shakily tapped answer and lifted the receiver to your ear. 

“What can I do for you, Dr. Klein?” you asked, leaning against the car as it stood parked in the hospital lot. 

“I’ve heard rumblings about you, doctor. You seem to have caused quite a stir during your time with the SAS.” he said, his voice not betraying any emotion. 

“You know me, sir. Did you expect anything else?” you asked, doing your best to put on your most confident voice. Were you about to be fired? Kicked out not only from your position with the 141 but also from your position working with the American military in California?

“I went over the progress report submitted by one Captain John Price, and I must say that I am impressed. I did not expect you to make progress with your professionalism so quickly. It has been recommended to me that you return to your position here in California and be taken off of your probationary period effective immediately.” he said. Your mouth went dry and your heart fell into your stomach, a cold sweat blooming across your body. 

“...What?” you asked, unable to control your emotions any longer. 

“Your captain has insisted that you return and resume your position here immediately. I expect you by the end of the week.”

You hung up the phone, tears pooling in your eyes as your hand flew to your mouth. 

“What is it?” Ghost asked, the concern evident in his voice as he took hold of your hands and gazed at you. 

“Price gave the order for me to go back to California.”

—

“What the fuck is wrong with you, John?” you barked, pushing past Gaz in the doorway and shouldering your way into Price’s hospital room, your furious gaze locking onto him the second you located him. He raised his head from his pillow and gave a weak smile. 

“Hello to you too, doc.” he said, sitting up slowly and settling himself in the bed. 

“You’re getting rid of me?” you barked, your hands flying to your hips. “You’re the one who gave me the order to operate on you. I caught a fucking court martial because of you. I–”

“You’ll be safer in California.” Price said, raising a hand to silence you. “Shepherd is up to something. I don’t trust him, and it’s obvious that he’s trying to get rid of you. If you were to go back to California, you’d be out of harm’s way.”

“I’d still be facing a fucking court martial. What is going to do, kill me? I care too much about all of you to go back. I-I love Simon too much to leave. I belong here, with the 141” you said, your voice cracking. It went quiet, and Price sighed. 

“I’ll help you fight it to the best of my ability. Laswell is working on getting the charges dropped already. If it’s really what you want…then you can stay.”

—

You left the hospital later that night with Soap and Gaz at your side. Simon had conspicuously disappeared not long after things had settled down and you hadn’t seen him since. 

“Broody fucker is probably off lurkin’ in the shadows. He’ll catch up - no offense, but ya need tae go shower, bonnie,” Soap had teased. The three of you had driven back to your barracks together and they had seen you into your room before heading off to their own. 

A long shower had you feeling better - it had been a long last few days, and as much as you wanted to collapse into bed and sleep your exhaustion away, you were starving. 

You padded down the hall and toward the kitchen slowly, your fuzzy slippers protecting your feet from the cold, concrete floor of the 141’s residence hall. It was quiet with the exception of snores drifting out of Soap’s room - you couldn’t help but smile at that. 

On your way back from the kitchen, snacks in hand, you noticed that the doors to your med bay were ajar. Upon poking your head in, you found that your normally locked office door was open too. Worry filled your heart and you padded inside to check for any intruder. 

As you emerged from your office, the sound of boots on the tiled floor startled you. Ghost met you in the middle of the med bay, hands in his hoodie pockets. He wasn’t wearing his balaclava. 

“Oh, you scared me, love. Where did you run off to?” you asked, offering him a tired smile as you moved to head back to your room. Simon held up a hand, stopping you. 

“Wait,” he said, looking away and fiddling in his pocket nervously. “I’ve never been good at these things,” he muttered, producing a little box from his pocket. Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze. 

“Sorry - didn’t know there were sizes. So I had to get this because I didn’t know yours,” he said, getting down to one knee and gazing up at you. There was no shake in his hands as he slid the box open, revealing a beautiful silver necklace with a small glittering stone set into it. 

“Simon,” you whispered, and his eyes found yours. 

“Would you marry me?” he asked.

-----

taglist: @iamaliceinwonderland, @itsmeamysworld, @ghostlythots, @oranoyaora, @keiva1000

[clarissaexplainsbatchall]

Whirling rotors blew snow about in a cloud of white as the recovery VTOLs came in over FOB Hawk. Below them, hanging from a dozen taut lines, was a Coyotl omnimech inwith its left leg sheared off at the knee that they began to lower to the ground. Behind them came a Mad Cat III in the same teal and blue as the Coyotl, its right arm ending in a sparking stump at the elbow, and a great mass of melted armor like a tumor on its left side.

It came to a stop nearby where the VTOLs were depositing the omnimech. The sealed hatch to the cockpit opened and a rope ladder folded out of it, followed by Clarissa descending at a slow, tired pace. When she made it to the ground she reached for her neurohelmet, a custom built thing in grey and silver. Where a visor would be on most models of neurohelm there was only a bulky bulge of steel and flashing lights, leaving her looking like some kind of insectoid alien thing come to haunt the base.

She clicked a pair of fasteners on the helmet and in an instant the lights blinked out. As did the world. The aurora in the sky, the snow, the bustling people; they all vanished into nothingness to Clarissa. She could hear the wind blowing and the people rushing about, but to her sight, or rather lack of it, all was nothing. It was relaxing in its own way, a return to a childhood spent with only her skin, her nose, her ears, to guide her.

With a sigh she unzipped her cooling suit and the scent of her own body's sweat filled her nostrils. She really needed a shower.

[genius-built-donatello]

[Don hops backwards down the house’s front step, finally outside, which gives the shell’s arms just enough room to block Nova’s jump, grabbing her arms and tossing her down.]

HA! Try again!

[He’s still retreating towards the base. Ugh, this is going to be annoying. The arms can’t be active at the same time as the rotors - it’s a pretty long way away. The arms retract, rotors folding out while the bō spins to give him space.]

Where’s your dog, Nova? Did it do this?

@echo-nova-2036